Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“He’s a big baby,” Tony growled into his phone. The rain started pouring harder, so he ducked under an overhanging sign as he continued on his way down the sidewalk. He had managed to escape the last debriefing of the day, and he was just about ready to start punching people in the face for no good reason; that was what Steve Rogers seemed to bring out of him these days – rage and uncontrollable swearing. “No – correction. He’s a big, stupid baby.”

“Tony, you’re yelling.” Pepper sounded irritated, as usual.

Tony rounded the corner, stomping into a coffee shop called Laurel’s to get out of the rain. He held the phone up to his ear as he paid for the largest hot chocolate they had on menu and then found himself a window seat while he waited for them to make it. He wrung out his shirt on the floor, trying to ignore the way his pants had grown skin tight. “He screamed at me in front of Nick Fury – about a fucking sesame seed bagel. Can you believe that?” Tony said into the phone, leaning back against his chair. “All I did was steal a bite and he almost ripped my arms off for it. A bagel, Pepper – he would have murdered me for a bagel. Tell me I’m not being crazy.”

“You know how he is with food,” Pepper chided through the phone. “Natasha told you all about the steak incident for a reason you know. It wasn’t just a joke.”

“I know, I know,” Tony groaned, shifting the phone to his other ear. The barista was kind enough to drop off his hot chocolate and a hunk of biscotti the size of his hand before slipping away; the fifty dollar tip probably had something to do with that. Tony bit into his biscotti, licking whipped cream off of the lip of the cup. “I think he hates me.”

“Well can you blame him? You’ve told me that you hate him at least five times a week since you met him. He’s probably picking up on the negative energy,” Pepper snorted. “Look, I’ve got seven different meetings to get to since you don’t have the time – and we both know that’s a lie, before you start in with your oh Pepper’s. You’ve got a flight to catch tonight – remember? I don’t want to find out you’ve missed it – we’ve rescheduled the Tokyo meeting seven times already. They’re going to get mad.”

“Yeah, yeah,”

“Is there anything else you need to tell me about before I have to go? Because I can’t do anything about the bagel, Tony. You’re going to have to go out and buy him another one or something,” Pepper said dryly. “Maybe send him a basket of mini-muffins? He likes food. Buy him more food.”

“Fine, I’ll buy the rude guy food,” Tony muttered, swirling his biscotti in his hot chocolate. The chocolate shavings on the whipped cream melted into a pathetic puddle of sludge; he drank the entire thing down in one gulp, ignoring the way his teeth cried out in protest. “You coming back for dinner?”

“No,” Pepper sighed. “I’m not going to make it this week. Rain check?”

“Sure,” Tony said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “How’s Happy?”

“He’s good. We’re both doing fine. Have you spoken to Rhodey?”

“A little,”

“He’s heading back from his tour of duty soon, isn’t he?” She went quiet and then something rustled in the background; her voice came back strong. “His letter says he’s coming back on the fifteenth of May.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony nibbled at his biscotti, debating on how best to demolish it without any more hot chocolate to soak it in. He wondered if he could get away with ordering a few more cups. “I’m sure I got the memo.”

“Tony,”

“What? It’s not my fault he’s angry,” Tony muttered, biting the biscotti hard enough to make his jaw ache. “He’s the one who wanted to take War Machine out for a test spin without consulting me.”

“You told him it was fine,”

“Well it wasn’t,” Tony said, dropping the remainder of his biscotti onto his plate. “He should have talked with me.”

“Oh honey, he did talk with you. He didn’t go behind your back to talk to Fury because he was being a jerk – he talked with him because he was worried they were going to screw you over and get you hurt again. He was looking out for you.”

“I know!” Tony put his head in his hands. “I know he didn’t mean it.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Pepper sounded tired. “Are you sleeping?”

“Yes,” Tony lied, shoving his cup and plate out of his way. He sprawled over the table, closing his eyes. “I’m sleeping just fine.”

“You’re lying again,” Pepper grumbled. “I wish you wouldn’t lie to me like that. You know I’ve got the nightmares too.”

“I know,”

“Alright – listen, I’d love to continue this, but I’ve got to go. You need to send Steve a bagel basket or something, and you need to phone Rhodey and talk with him,” Pepper said. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes Mother,” Tony grunted, his eyes still squeezed shut.

“Very funny,”

“I’ll give Steve his stupid bagels and phone Rhodey. Fine. Do I need to go down to the office to sign papers or anything?”

“No, I’ve taken care of it all. Just try and get some sleep on the flight, Mr. Stark,” Pepper said, softly. “Can you try and do that? I know it’s hard…”

“I don’t want to…”

“I know you don’t, but can you try? For me? Just for a few hours. You can have Jarvis time you or something. I worry when you’re out there running on fumes and coffee.”

“I’m buzzed on hot chocolate already. I don’t think I’m going to get any sleep anyway,” Tony said with a sigh. “But I get your point. Fine. I’ll go lay down when I get home, alright?”

“Alright. Take care, ok?”

“Yeah, yeah. You too. Tell Happy I said hi,”

“I’ll tell him. Talk to you later Tony,”

“Bye,”

Tony hung up, setting his phone on the table beside him. He looked around, trying to get his bearings. The place was small. The decorations on the walls were just short of becoming the wet dream of an entire commune; it was nice though, in a strangely hippie-dippie kind of way. There was probably enough white wash and rainbow tie-die in here to make a few thousand business suits cry in despair. He rubbed his forehead with the flat of his hand. Why did things always have to end up like this? Every time he tried to do something nice – every time he tried to be himself – it came back to bite him in the ass. He had known better, yeah – he had known better than to steal a bite of Steve’s stupid bagel, but he hadn’t been able to help himself. He had wanted Steve to smile at him, maybe roll his eyes unhappily – what he hadn’t counted on was Steve screaming at him like he had just put his hand down the guy’s pants. For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like he wasn’t trying to be nice to Steve. He was! He had even invited the guy to live with him; sure, everyone had gotten an invite to live in the tower, but he had been extra special with Steve’s – he had gone to Steve’s crumby little apartment and groveled and everything. He wouldn’t have done that if he hadn’t been trying!

The phone rang in front of him. He sighed, recognizing the ringtone, and picked it up. “What’s up?” He gritted out, not bothering with small talk, knowing Natasha wouldn’t appreciate it anyway.

“You’d better get down here,” Natasha said. She sounded flustered, maybe a little upset; it was hard to tell with her sometimes. Usually she just sounded bored. There was someone crying in the background – it sounded like a little kid. What the hell was a little kid doing around Natasha?

“Get down where?” Tony said, standing up. He picked up his plate and cup and took them to the bussing station, setting them down before heading out the door. The barista gave him a wave, and he smiled back at her.

“Get your ass to the Tower – now, Stark. Steve got hit by some kind of magical beam. We have a serious problem on our hands.”

Tony stalked through the lobby of Avengers Tower and headed up to the hospital wing. He felt shaky all over. He wondered idly if it was from all the sugar or the knowledge that Steve had been hurt; he was pretty sure it was just the sugar. “What’s going on Jarvis?” He stepped out of the elevator, striding towards the recovery ward as fast as possible, knowing the team would all be waiting for him.

“I believe you are going to want to see it first hand, sir,” Jarvis said.

“Right,” Tony sighed. He pushed open the door and walked inside. The team was gathered around a hospital bed; it was one of the plush ones that they only used when someone was suffering from a whole whack of broken bones and or stab wounds. “What’s going on? What’s wrong with Steve?”

Bruce stepped out of the way, turning to smile at Tony, nervously wringing his hands. “We just got him down for his nap. Maybe we should talk outside?”

“His… nap?” Tony peered around Bruce’s shoulder. There, lying prone amidst a pile of colourful blankets was a small blonde boy; he was stick thin and sickly looking, his skin milk white like he hadn’t been out in the sun for more than a few minutes at a time. Tony approached cautiously, peering at the monitors and then back to the boy. “Oh, my, god – is that – that can’t be – is that… is that Steve?”

Clint patted Tony on the shoulder, sitting down on the bed across from Steve’s. “That’s our fearless leader alright,” he sighed. “Bruce thinks he’s around seven years old – give or take a few months.”

“You’re kidding,” Tony rasped, looking from Clint to Steve, hoping to see the joke somehow; there were cameras all over the tower, but he didn’t think Jarvis would use them for evil. When nothing changed, he turned to Natasha, gnawing on his thumb. “You’re not kidding, are you?”

“No,” Natasha drawled, looking from Steve to Tony. “He’s around seven or so, like Clint said. Bruce measured him before you got here. He did scans – Bone density, length – blood panel, allergies. Steve’s small for his age, somewhat malnourished, but healthy despite that. He’s going to need clothing – some toys. You know – kid stuff. Do you think you could handle that?”

Tony scowled at Natasha, mildly offended by her words. “How much do you think he’ll need?”

“The SHIELD doctors and consultants say that he’ll change back,” Bruce said, adjusting Steve’s blankets until they were wrapped around Steve’s shoulders again. Bruce scratched his head. “I don’t know Tony. I really don’t know.”

“That isn’t really an answer, is it?” Tony sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No,” Bruce said. “It’s not, but it’s the best I have to offer at this point. All I can say is that it’s definitely magic, and it’ll wear off. I called in a favor with the SHIELD lab. They estimated the power of the spell – give or take – and they think it will stick around for six months or more, but beyond that they can’t tell.”

“Was it Loki?” Tony leaned over the side of the bed, brushing Steve’s bangs out of his face. The boy coughed weakly, burying his nose in his pillows, but didn’t wake. His cheeks went a soft pink from the exertion, as if coughing had been too much for him.

“Nay,” Thor murmured from his chair. “It is not Loki. My brother is still imprisoned, as are his fellow enchantresses and enchanters. There is no trace of Asgardian magic on Steve, and though I have asked Heimdall to see if he can find the culprit, there has been no answer. What is here is Midgardian by design – weak, but long lasting. I do not know what more we can do for Steve aside from waiting for the spell to end.”

“You think he’ll turn back?” Tony pursed his lips, eyeing Steve again. “I mean, he can’t stay like this. You’ve seen his medical files, right? The guy had everything in the book before the serum. It was a miracle he made it to seven, let alone into his twenties.”

“That’s where we’re lucky,” Bruce said, gesturing to the monitors. “I had Jarvis run a full panel on him – blood work, biochemistry – EKG – the works. His blood’s still infused with the super serum – he’s healthy, although he doesn’t look it.”

“Well what kid from the great depression looked healthy?” Tony snorted. The 1930’s weren’t the best time to be a kid for anyone – let alone for someone living a single parent household. Steve’s mother had probably scraped and scrounged to keep him as healthy as he was; the medical reports had been staggering, the bills even more so. Tony pulled out his phone, turning away from Steve, afraid to look at him in case he woke up and looked back. “Alright. Well, I guess I’ve got some shopping to do. What size is he? Boys small?”

“Maybe – if he puts on weight,” Clint muttered. “Man, his file didn’t do him justice. Look at how scrawny he is. I could fit two of him in a regular five year old. He looks like he’s going to break in half if he sneezes.”

“I don’t think he would appreciate hearing you say that,” Natasha said, squeezing Clint’s shoulder. “What do you think we should do?” She looked at Tony, her hand resting lightly on Clint’s arm, her lips drawn into a tight line.

Tony raised an eyebrow. “Why are you asking me? I’m not the leader here.”

“Yeah, well Steve’s the leader, and right now he’s down for his nap,” Clint chuckled darkly. “I think that puts you in charge, Mr. Moneybags.”

“Really? Little old me?” Tony grinned. “You’re putting the guy they didn’t want in the Avengers in charge?”

“You’re second in command. Steve wrote it into his safety plan, remember?” Bruce said, crossing his arms over his middle.

“He did?” Tony shook his head, putting his phone up to his ear. “Yeah, well, he didn’t tell me any of that. Hold on – I’ve got to make a call.” He walked out the door, stepping outside into the hallway, knowing that his voice would carry; it always did in the hospital wing. That was one of the reasons he hated being down here; there was no privacy. Besides, he thought, trying to shrug off his unease, kids needed their naps after all, and he was damned if he was going to have to put up with a cranky little kid for the rest of the day. “Hello? Hi, Angie? I need to get some clothing ordered in special – boys small – yeah. I know. No. I do not have a secret love child. I would have told you if I did – you know me,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. “What do you know about kid stuff? You know – toys? Colouring books? The whole shebang – yes.”

Tony sat down on the floor in his penthouse living room and started sorting through boxes. Angie had worked fast; she usually did considering the amount of money Tony threw her way for rush deliveries. There was enough clothing here to last three weeks or more if Steve didn’t grow a few inches. He had ordered in five whole boxes of stuffed animals, books and art supplies too. Mini-Steve was going to be so happy; adult-Steve, probably not so much. Tony sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

What the hell was he supposed to do now?

He looked at the boxes, wishing they would go deliver themselves so that he wouldn’t have to go down to Steve’s floor. Natasha had moved Steve back into his room as soon as he had woken up again; she had Clint pulling guard duty on Steve’s couch, waiting to see when and if Steve decided to show his face. According to her, Steve had been terrified. He had screamed for his mother until his voice had given out, and after that he had hidden himself away in his bedroom, wrapping himself up with his blankets. Thor had tried to calm him down, but even he hadn’t been able to do much more than get Steve to nod his head a few times.

“Sir?” Jarvis asked.

“Yes?” Tony stuffed the last of the clothing back into the box it had come out of, aware that his hands were shaking. He pressed them against the cardboard, taking in a deep breath.

“Captain Rogers is asking for you,”

Tony laughed weakly. “I’m assuming you’re still talking about Mini-Steve, right?”

“Yes, sir. Thor has finished showing him pictures of the team, and he is anxious to meet everyone now that he knows he isn’t in any danger.”

“Great,” Tony grumbled. “This is going to be a disaster.”

“Perhaps bringing a gift with you would increase the likelihood of this meeting going well?” Jarvis said.

“Right,” Tony said, snapping his fingers. He grinned. He could do this – hell, he was rich Uncle Tony, now, wasn’t he? Kids liked gifts, right? Why was he nervous? This would be fine.

Tony hovered in the doorway, ready to pull out every last piece of his hair one strand at a time. Steve was looking through the boxes Tony had brought down with him, staring at everything with a critical eye, like he suspected something bad was going to happen if he didn’t check them over. It was a little disconcerting to see a seven year old giving a box of stuffed animals the hairy eyeball. Tony was tempted to take a picture, just to show Steve when he turned back into an adult again, but he thought better of it. Jarvis was recording it all through the security cameras after all. Who needed pictures when he could have stunning HD video instead?

Thor leaned against the wall beside Tony, seeming to sense his discomfort. “Fear not, Tony,” he said, nodding towards Steve, who was now staring wide-eyed at the box of art supplies, “the boy is suspicious, but he will relax when he is comfortable with the tower. He was quite startled when he woke to find us there – that may be the source of his unease. I’m sure with time he will come to like this place as much as his boyhood home.”

“Well, as long as he doesn’t act like a little asshole,” Tony said with a shrug, “I’m sure we’ll all be fine.”

Steve looked up sharply. “Ma says we’re not supposed to say words like that. She’ll wash your mouth out with soap.”

“I see,” Tony chuckled, examining his fingernails instead of looking Steve in the eye. “So you think that stuff’s alright for now?”

Steve frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Do you want anything else?” Tony asked, trying not to be sarcastic. Were all children annoying like this? “Do you need anything else? Did I miss a toy or whatever?”

Steve shook his head rapidly. “No – no this is fine. Thank you, sir. I couldn’t ask for more.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s fine, you know – if you want something else just say the word. I’m loaded.”

“Loaded?” Steve cocked his head to the side, still looking a little nervous despite his newfound curiosity. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m rich,” Tony said. “Sorry. I forgot you don’t know all the slang - again.”

“I know slang,” Steve insisted, clutching a colouring book to his chest.

“Its fine, Steve,”

“You don’t have to be so angry about it,” Steve muttered, scowling at the floor.

“Who said I’m angry?” Tony grumbled. “Whatever. Look, I’ve got stuff to do. See you later, kid.” He slipped past a now scowling Thor, and ambled out into the living room. Well that had gone well. Here he was supposedly making a better first impression and he had fucked it up again. “Good introduction my ass,” he muttered, heading to the elevator. “Great job Tony. Even the kid version hates you.”

“Sir?” Steve shuffled into the living room, the colouring book still held tightly in his hands.

Tony paused, about to enter the elevator. “Yeah?”

“Can I come with you?”

Tony caught the door before it could close on him. “What?”

“Can I come with you?” Steve looked down at his feet and then turned his attention to the room, not letting his eye rest on any one object for too long. “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble, sir.”

Tony stepped into the elevator, and held the doors open. “You can come with me on one condition – you are never allowed to call me sir again. Call me Tony.”

“Ok,” Steve said, darting forwards. He slipped inside the elevator, his eyes filled with wonder as he got a good look at the elevator buttons; he looked like he was itching to press one, but he was too short to manage it. Tony sighed to himself and then bent down, scooping Steve up. It was ridiculously easy to do too. Steve didn’t seem very happy about it at first, but after a few minor adjustments, he relaxed and seemed to accept the fact that Tony wasn’t going to drop him on his head.

“Here,” Tony said, holding Steve against his hip; the colouring book was jabbing him in his left nipple – and that hurt like a bitch – but it was a small price to pay for the smile on Steve’s face. “Press floor 92 for me, will you?”

Steve reached out, pressing the button so carefully it looked like he thought the damned thing would break. He pulled his hand back after, cuddling close, his cheek resting on Tony’s shoulder. “The elevator in our building doesn’t look like this.”

“Not many places have the cool kind of buttons we do,” Tony agreed as the elevator ascended. Steve felt lighter than a sack of potatoes; that thought alone was almost enough to break Tony’s brain. Steve Rogers – light? Portable? Impossible.

The elevator opened at his penthouse and he walked Steve inside, avoiding the living room in favor of hitting the kitchen. He set Steve down on one of his favourite cushy barstools, making sure the kid was balanced properly before he went around the island and started going through his cupboards, looking for sustenance.

“What are you doing?” Steve asked, setting his colouring book down on the counter.

“I’m going to make us a snack,” Tony said, pulling a loaf of fluffy white bread out from his breadbox. He made a mental note to have Jarvis restock his kitchen again – this time with more kid-friendly foods. “You want a sandwich?” he asked over his shoulder, pulling out a bread knife.

Steve eyed the bread like he was thirsty and it was the last glass of water on the entire planet. “You’re going to use that?”

Tony chuckled. “Sure – why not? It’s in my kitchen and all.”

“But aren’t you supposed to ration things? Ma says we have to be careful with our food because it’s expensive,” Steve said, pulling a box of crayons out of his pocket. He opened the box slowly, running his fingers along each crayon. Tony smiled. Even tiny, he was the same old Steve.

“We’re not at war anymore kiddo,” Tony said, reaching for a tub of margarine. He paused, frowning at it. Would Steve even like this kind of margarine? Had they had it back in his day? He could remember reading about it being white like lard and something about it being coloured by powdered dye, but not much else. “Hey, what do you want on yours?” he asked instead of having Jarvis look it up; there was always time for research later, when Steve wasn’t watching him like a hawk.

He wasn’t sure how much the others had told the kid to be honest. Natasha had talked about limiting Steve’s exposure to the new world as much as possible; Bruce had been against that, claiming that it might cause psychological damage if they didn’t show him the world as it was now. Tony was pretty sure it was up to him now – and that thought alone was frightening enough to make him want to run screaming from the building. Tony Stark – in charge of Steve Rogers’ reintroduction to the modern world. How could that possibly go wrong?

Steve almost broke one of his crayons. He looked up sharply. “Huh?”

“What did you want on your sandwich, Steve?” Tony repeated, propping open the fridge door. He wondered what he had left sandwich-wise. The last time he had been up here for a meal was a few days ago, but the cleaning staff had probably restocked by now. He heard Steve’s stool squeak and turned, about to ask him for a third time what he wanted on his sandwich.

Steve teetered on his stool, his arms shaking; Tony had to dive around the island to make sure Steve didn’t crack his head on the countertop as the kid caught a glimpse of all the food inside the fridge. Well that certainly hadn’t been the reaction he had been expecting. “Whoa there little guy,” Tony said, scooping Steve up. He carried him around the island and set him down on the floor in front of the fridge. “There. Pick out what you want, alright?”

Steve’s jaw dropped. He looked from Tony to the fridge and back, as if not sure what he was being asked to do.

Tony smiled and turned back to the bread. It was a good thing he had always kept a supply of peanut butter, nutella and jam in his kitchen at all times; quick food was the best kind of food. Pepper always gave him shit for never eating a sit down meal at home if he could help it; keeping a supply of breakfast food around at all times had been the best compromise he had ever made with her. He had a bunch of eggs in the fridge too, if he remembered right. He wondered if Steve would want a hard boiled one; the little guy looked like he could use all the protein he could get.

“Is this ok?” Steve tugged on Tony’s pant leg.

Tony turned and spotted the jar of peanut butter in Steve’s hand. “Yep, that looks fine to me. You want some jam to go with that?”

“I don’t know,” Steve said, looking back at the fridge with trepidation. “Ma only lets us have one at a time. And I don’t recognize anything else in there.”

Tony stooped down and took the peanut butter from Steve, setting it on the counter. “Do you have any preferences? Is there any kind of fruit you really like?”

Steve shook his head.

“How about strawberry?” Tony plucked a strawberry confiture jar from the door-shelf, holding it out to Steve; he had the stuff shipped in weekly from a small town in France. Sure, it cost him a small fortune, but he liked it. Hell, he had even sat there eating it clean out of the jar sometimes when the mood struck him; that strawberry confiture had gotten him through quite a few bad break ups over the years.

Steve read the label, his little face scrunched up as he tried to figure out what Tony had just handed him. He looked up at Tony, confused. “It says confiture on it. That’s not jam,” he said, pursing his lips.

Tony smiled. “Confiture is a type of jam. They make it differently – it’s made out of whole fruit, not just the juice and fruit bits.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured. “That sounds expensive.”

Tony shrugged. “It’s worth it, believe me, buddy.”

Steve offered the jar up with shaking arms.

Tony took it from him, setting it down beside the peanut butter. “You want help getting back onto your stool?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head, “I can do it.” He shuffled over to the stool and started climbing it, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he wedged his foot against the foot bars on the island; Tony watched him, amused by the determined look on Steve’s face. The kid looked like he was trying to scale Everest for christ’s sake.

“You ok over there?” Tony asked, turning back to the sandwiches. They weren’t going to make themselves after all. He unscrewed the lid on the peanut butter and started slathering it across the bread, giving everything a healthy coat of sugary, peanuty, goodness. “Hey, you want a boiled egg to go with this?”

Steve didn’t answer.

Tony turned in time to watch Steve slip backwards off his stool; he dropped the peanut butter and butter knife and bolted, sliding across the floor in time to cushion Steve’s fall with his lap. Steve’s face went bright red; he cringed when Tony stood up, sullenly glaring down at the stool from his perch in Tony’s arms.

“I almost did it,” Steve muttered.

“Yeah, well,” Tony grunted, “There’s nothing shameful in asking for help.”

“I’m not a baby,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tony carried Steve around the island, setting him down on the counter beside the sandwiches. He let out a sigh, unscrewing the lid on the jar of Strawberry confiture. “I know you’re not a baby,” he said, spooning jam onto their sandwiches, “but you need to be careful.”

“I am careful,” Steve said. He looked down at his lap, hunched over, and started crying. It wasn’t a little sob fest either – it was a full on snot-dripping-down-your-face-tears-streaming event, one Tony hadn’t seen in years – not since it had been him doing the crying.

It was strange. Tony didn’t have much experience dealing with children, but he knew what to do; he set his spoon of jam down and wrapped his arms around Steve, hugging him close. “I know, honey. You tried really hard. Maybe stools just aren’t your thing?” He rubbed circles on Steve’s back, forcing himself not to wince when he felt Steve’s ribs and spine through the thick shirt the kid was wearing. He was definitely going to fatten Steve up somehow. There was no way Steve should be this tiny – at least not in this day and age.

Steve hiccoughed and buried his face in Tony’s shirt, his fingers digging into the fabric. “I want my Ma,” he cried, trembling in Tony’s grasp.

“I know, honey,” Tony said, hugging Steve tighter. “But she’s not here. She left you with us, remember? She has important work to do.”

“When’s she coming back?” Steve sniffled.

Tony felt awful lying to Steve, but what else was he supposed to do? Was he going to break the kid’s heart and tell him that his mom was dead? That he had grown up in a goddamned orphanage after she had died? He knew Steve’s file well enough to know the orphanage hadn’t been the best place for a kid like Steve; Steve had never talked about it with him, but he always got a funny look on his face when someone brought it up, which was never a good sign. Tony knew better than to ask what that was about. So he lied. He gritted his teeth and he lied, knowing full well that Steve probably wouldn’t believe a word of it. “I don’t know, Steve. I think she’s going to be gone for at least a few months. It was the best job she could get, and she didn’t want to say no to the guy who offered it to her.”

“Is she ok?” Steve tugged at Tony’s shirt, looking up at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and watery, his pale cheeks pink from sobbing.

“She’s ok,” Tony said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “She made sure we would take care of you, remember? We’re the Avengers – if she was in trouble, we would be out there helping her.”

“Ok,” Steve said, nodding slowly. He wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve, lowering his gaze.

“Let’s eat something, ok?” Tony lifted Steve up, holding him against his hip again; he cleaned up the jam and peanut butter, sticking the jars back in the fridge before retrieving their sandwiches. Steve hung against him, his head resting on Tony’s shoulder, still sniffling a little. Tony walked them over to the coffee table, figuring it would be the best place for a kid with short legs to eat. After all, it was the perfect height. Unfortunately, his choice of venue didn’t work out the way he expected. Steve gaped at the windows as he got his first view of the city. He started trembling in Tony’s grasp. His sobs came out short and quick; he buried his face in Tony’s shoulder, tears streaming down his face all over again.

“It’s ok,” Tony said quickly, setting their food down on the coffee table. He wished he had thought about blacking the windows out earlier; the kid was probably traumatized now. Fantastic. “Jarvis, can you dim the glass a bit?” The glass gleamed for a moment and then went grey, blurring the view until Tony could only make out the rough outline of the city below. He sat down, feeling just as lost as Steve. He hadn’t thought it would be this bad. Steve had never really said anything about the city being, well, scary. It had changed a lot over the years, but Tony hadn’t thought it had changed so dramatically – at least not this dramatically. Well, ok, he knew it was fairly dramatic considering all the skyscrapers and glass everywhere, but it wasn’t like they were in Tokyo or someplace with neon lights and advertising everywhere. He held Steve until he was ready to pull away, wishing he could tone the city down for the little guy.

Steve sniffled loudly, looking around the room. He glowered at the tinted glass and turned to Tony, gnawing on his lower lip. “Was that real?”

“It’s real,” Tony said, patting Steve on the back again when he started hiccoughing. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have let you see it that way.”

Steve shrugged, his attention drawn to the sandwich sitting in front of him. “It’s alright.”

Tony was tempted to call Steve on the lie; he turned to his own sandwich instead, picking up one of the quarters, glad that he had at least had the forethought to cut the damn thing up into smaller pieces. He was about to take a bite when Steve clasped his hands in front of him and started muttering something, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Oh, Tony realized with a start, Steve was praying. He watched, wondering if he should put his own sandwich back; his parents had never bothered with this kind of thing when he had been growing up. Howard had complained that it was a waste of time – that as men of science they should raise their children to know better than to believe in an invisible being ruling the world. That was probably one of the few things that had come out of Howard’s mouth that Tony had agreed with.

Steve, however, had not had Howard Stark raising him. He continued to mumble away, his words lost amidst sniffles. He paused when he was done, looking up with one eye cracked open. “Aren’t you going to pray too?”

Tony pursed his lips. Was this something he wanted to do? Did he want to keep lying to the kid?

“You don’t have to say the words out loud,” Steve said, looking back down at his plate. “He can hear you anywhere.”

“That’s… uh…,” Tony looked down at his own plate, contemplating making a break for the elevator. “That’s great, kid.”

“Do you not… believe?” Steve asked. There wasn’t any judgement in his voice. That was probably a first.

Tony shook his head. “No. I don’t believe in god.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe in proof – in people, and the future. I guess I just don’t like the idea of people not being responsible for their actions.” Tony grabbed a piece of sandwich and stuffed it in his mouth, hoping the peanut butter would keep him from running his mouth.

Steve picked up his own sandwich, slowly nibbling at the first quarter. “Ma says people are allowed to believe in lots of things and that we’re not supposed to judge them. That’s what God is supposed to do.”

“Seems fair,” Tony said through a mouthful of peanut butter.

Steve chewed carefully around the outside of the sandwich before going in for the middle bit; he looked up at Tony, his mouth hanging slightly open. “Wow, this is really good.”

“Yep,”

“Do you eat this all the time?”

“Sometimes,” Tony shrugged, demolishing another quarter of his sandwich. “What do you normally eat for lunch?”

Steve finished his first quarter, and reached tentatively for his second. “Sometimes we have potatoes or cabbage. Sometimes we have bread and lard. Ma doesn’t have a lot of time to cook most of the time. She works a lot because I get sick.” He hung his head, leaving the sandwich quarter in his hand untouched. “I wish I didn’t get sick all the time. I hate the hospital – and I hate that Ma has to pay so much for it.”

Tony wished he could tell Steve that things were different now, that thing were easier for working class families, but that would be yet another lie; most of the people under the poverty line were still unable to afford proper health care – hell, some of those over the line couldn’t afford it either. He gave money to the Maria Stark Foundation every year for that very reason. “Yeah, hospitals are expensive,” Tony said, licking strawberry confiture off of his fingers, “But I’m sure she doesn’t mind it. She loves you a lot, right?”

Steve nodded, nibbling at his sandwich quarter.

“Then she’s probably more worried about you than the money,” Tony said. He polished off the last of his sandwich and leaned back, making himself comfortable as Steve continued to eat his at a snail’s pace. He was fairly certain the sandwich was going to start molding over by the time Steve got to his third quarter.

Steve seemed to notice Tony’s gaze. He went very still, staring back at Tony with a weird look on his face; it was a little scary, actually, how quickly the change happened. He was a sweet little boy one minute and then it was like a switch had been flipped. It almost looked a little bit like Steve was going to bite him if he reached for his food. “What?” Steve said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

“I didn’t say anything, kiddo,” Tony said. He yawned, rubbing his eyes; he always had been bad at staying awake after he had lunch usually he dropped off right after, dozing on whatever he was near, which was why Pepper never scheduled after-lunch meetings.

“Did… are you hungry still?” Steve asked.

Tony opened one eye. “No, that’s alright, Steve,” he murmured. “You go ahead and eat. If I get hungry I’ll just make something else. There’s plenty to eat here.”

The change in Steve was dramatic; he slumped as he started eating his sandwich again, moving from the crusts to the soft part of the bread quicker this time. He stared down at his hand when he had reached the largest layer of peanut butter. “They take my food sometimes when they’re still hungry,” he said, taking a tiny bite.

Tony turned slowly, afraid to move too fast. His first impulse was to speak, to ask the names of the little bastards that had been swiping Steve’s food, but he remained silent, wanting to hear what Steve had to say; the bastards were dead after all – and there was nothing he could do to punish them for what they had done.

“I don’t like it when they take my food. I hit Joey last time and hurt my hand – was that wrong?” Steve asked, looking up from his food.

“No. I don’t think that was wrong. I would have slugged him too.”

Steve smiled brightly. “That’s what Ma said!”

Tony smiled back.

“Sounds like your mom is a smart cookie.”

Steve nodded, biting into his sandwich. “I don’t like bullies.”

“Same here,”

“Bucky gives me his food sometimes,” Steve said, licking a chunk of strawberry off of his thumb. “He’s my best friend. He and I go to the library together, although he doesn’t really like reading that much. I like books though – I read a lot because when I’m sick Ma doesn’t let me go outside. Do you think I could visit him?”

Tony sighed. He had been dreading this question all morning. “Bucky’s not in the country right now kiddo,” he said, picking his words carefully. After all, how were you supposed to explain to a little kid that their best friend was dead? “His parents got a job overseas.”

Steve looked crushed. He looked down at his plate. “Oh.”

Tony swallowed hard. God, why was he the one having to answer all the tough questions? It was bad enough adult-Steve hated him, but this was going to make mini-Steve hate him too. Here he was, systematically stripping the kid of hope one person at a time; Steve didn’t deserve it, but what was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to tell the kid flat out that his friends and family were dead? Was he supposed to sit the kid down, look him in the eye and tell him that he was years out of time?

“Do you think his parents would mind if I wrote to him?” Steve sounded so heartbreakingly honest, Tony wanted to hug him again.

“Sure,” Tony said with a soft smile. “I’m sure he’d like to get letters. I don’t know if he’ll be able to write back quickly though.”

“That’s ok,” Steve said, wiggling his sticky fingers. “I’m used to waiting. It won’t be that bad.” He stood up, crossing his legs a little.

Tony recognized the move. “Bathroom?” he asked, chuckling.

Steve nodded rapidly. “Can you come with me?”

“Uh… sure.” Tony made his way to the bathroom with Steve trailing behind him, trying not to laugh at the way Steve was moving at triple speed. “You know, you could have said you had to go earlier.”

“I don’t like the bathroom Thor showed me,” Steve said, his brow furrowed in concentration. “It was too big.”

“Well, I’m going to have to warn you then,” Tony said, pushing the bathroom door open, “this one’s pretty big too, kid.”

Steve skidded to a halt, bumping into the back of Tony’s thigh. He peered around him into the bathroom, sucking in a sharp breath. Tony’s bathroom wasn’t that big – at least for him. Sure, there was a separate bathtub slash hot tub and a shower, but they were only big enough for two people or so – it wasn’t like he had installed them thinking about having a wet and wacky orgy in here. Everything was a mixture of silver and white marble tile; it was all custom made, designed to his exact specifications. He didn’t have anything weird in here – it was all pretty standard, really, although judging by the look on Steve’s face it was the most terrifying place on earth.

Steve’s knees knocked together, his hands dropping to the crotch of his pants. “I changed my mind.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that,” he chuckled. He walked into the bathroom and mimed for Steve to follow him, waiting patiently while Steve hovered in the doorway. “Come on. It won’t bite.”

Steve shuffled into the bathroom; Tony moved backwards, leading Steve to the toilet.

“Here,” Tony said, lifting up the toilet lid. “I’m sure you recognize this.”

Steve nodded. He darted forwards, slipping around Tony and tugged his pants down, fear forgotten, throwing himself onto the toilet. Tony politely remained facing the other direction, drumming his fingers on his arm while Steve did his business.

The toilet flushed.

Tony walked up to the sink and turned the tap on, checking the water temperature while Steve wiggled his way back into his pants. “Alright, so the first thing you need to know about the bathrooms here in the tower is that nothing’s going to hurt you, alright?”

Steve hovered at Tony’s side, looking up at the sink; he was a few inches too short to reach the counter, and he knew it. He pursed his lips, going up on the tips of his toes to try to get at the water. Tony let him struggle for a bit, waiting until he got the idea that he wasn’t going to get at it without help; he bent down and scooped Steve up, setting him down on the counter so that he could squirt some soap onto his hands. Steve played with the foamy soap, wiping it around his fingers.

“This stuff’s great,” Steve said. He brought his soapy hands up to his nose and gave them a sniff. He sneezed, spraying Tony with bubbles.

“It’s much better than a bar of soap, right?” Tony said, leaning his hip against the counter. He wiped a blob of bubbles off of his neck, chuckling. He watched as Steve rinsed his hands off, glad that the kid was taking to it so easily. He had been a little worried there for a second. Bathrooms had been around for ages, but ones like this hadn’t exactly been all that common. Giant showers were kind of a big deal, all things considered; most people had just had a tub and a shower head up above – if that. They had used shower curtains on a metal rod, not glass doors to keep the water in; a lot had changed since Steve’s time.

Tony plucked a fuzzy blue hand towel from the bar behind him and handed it over to Steve. “Here you go.”

Steve patted his hands dry. “Does everyone use this bathroom?”

“Nope,” Tony said, lifting Steve up from the counter and setting him down. “This floor’s all mine.”

“Wow! That’s really cool!”

“It’s alright,” Tony said with a shrug.

“You live up here alone?”

“Most of the time. Sometimes people come to stay with me.”

“Do you have a lot of friends?”

“I have a few,” Tony said, leading Steve out of the bathroom. “You’ve met Jarvis, right?”

Steve nodded, following Tony back to the living room. “The scary lady told me about him. He lives in the ceiling, right?” He hopped up onto the couch and curled up in the corner, nestled against the pillows and the armrest.

“Well, I guess you could say that. He’s an AI – do you know what that means?” Tony sat down beside Steve, sitting cross legged on the couch so that he could face him without getting a crick in his neck.

“What’s an AI?”

“It stands for Artificial Intelligence. It’s something people make to mimic humans – designed by numbers and equations. Did someone explain computers to you?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “It’s like math, right? Ma bought me an abacus once, but the beads fell off when Daniel was playing with it. Are computers like an abacus?”

Tony smiled. “It’s like math, yeah, although it’s a lot more complicated than an abacus. Computers are things that people use for lots of different things. They started out as a way of making calculations easier, so that people could keep track of things – like, say when you go to work. You put in variables – any kind of numbers, like a wage, and then you can use it to count to see how much a person made every hour. Does that make sense?”

“Yes. I’ve read Buck Rogers before. He has machines that do stuff like that all the time. What else do computers do? You said they do different things. Can they read your mind?” Steve asked excitedly. “Can they walk around? Do they help people?”

“Well, they’re not exactly mind readers, although Jarvis is sentient for the most part. And yes, they can help, but most of them don’t go walking around – at least not ones as smart as Jarvis. I could build him a body if he wanted one, but I don’t think he likes that idea very much,” Tony said.

“Why?”

“I think he likes being omnipotent,” Tony said with a chuckle.

“Omnipo..” Steve pursed his lips.

“Omnipotent. It means all seeing – all powerful.”

“Oh. Do all AI’s do that?”

“Nope. Jarvis is the only one that smart. I built him myself.”

Steve looked star struck. “Really?”

“Really, really,”

“What else can computers do?”

“You can read book on them if you want to – you can get entire libraries in one computer. You can listen to music, watch movies – play games.” He grinned when Steve’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “They’re really easy to use – don’t worry,” he said, patting Steve on the head, “I’ll teach you how to use one. I’ll even get you a tablet of your own.”

“Sir?” Jarvis’s voice made Steve jump a foot and a half into the air. The kid whirled around wild-eyed, looking for the source of the sound and then scooted across the couch towards Tony, throwing himself into Tony’s lap.

“It’s ok, Steve,” Tony said, smoothing down Steve’s hair as the boy trembled in his lap. “That’s just Jarvis, remember? We were just talking about him.”

Steve looked up sheepishly. “I forgot. Sorry.”

“That’s ok. Jarvis doesn’t mind – do you Jarvis?”

“No sir. It’s nice to meet you Master Rogers. I’m sorry to interrupt, but Ms. Potts is on the line and she is demanding to speak with you. Apparently you have missed your flight,” Jarvis said.

“My flight?” Tony frowned. “What flight? Did I have a flight?”

“Ms. Potts has informed me that she reminded you of your flight during your earlier conversation,” Jarvis said. “I believe she told you to sleep on the plane. I’m paraphrasing, of course. Her words were much more explicit than that.”

Tony groaned. “Oh shit.” He struggled upright, scooping Steve up. “Shit, shit, shit – don’t repeat that word.”

“I already know the word shit,” Steve grumbled, dangling in Tony’s arms. “What are you doing?”

Tony skidded across the floor towards the elevator, jamming his finger into the call button. “I’m taking you downstairs so that I can rush back up here, pack and get to my private plane before Pepper finds me and skins me alive.”

“Would she do that?” Steve asked, hanging upside down in Tony’s grasp.

“No, she wouldn’t really skin me alive – but she’ll throw paperwork at me until I die from sore fingers,” Tony sighed. He got off at Steve’s floor and handed the now giggling boy to Thor. “Take this.”

Thor chuckled and hoisted Steve up onto his shoulder. “I see my predictions were correct,” he said, ruffling Steve’s hair.

“Yep,” Tony said, stepping back into the elevator.

“Tony?” Steve called out, sounding confused.

Tony stepped out of the elevator again. He flattened Steve’s hair down and gave his cheek a pinch. “I’ve got to run. I won’t be back for a week – but if you need to talk to me, all you need to do is ask Jarvis, alright? He’ll connect you to me whenever you want.”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, tugging at Tony’s sleeve. “Ma says I shouldn’t bother people when they’re working.”

“Yeah, buddy,” Tony said, giving Steve’s nose a gentle prod. “I’m sure. Call me whenever you want. Behave yourself.”

“I will,” Steve said. “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to Japan,” Tony said, stepping inside the elevator. “I’m supposed to be checking out the plant I own there.” He jabbed the button for the penthouse, calling out as the doors closed, “Wish me luck!”

Chapter Text

True to his word, Steve called Tony the very next day to check in. Tony was surprised how much the little guy seemed to absolutely need to talk to him; Steve would have been on the phone every damned hour if Clint had let him. Tony reminded himself to make Clint some nice new arrows as a thank you for keeping Steve occupied while he was gone. He wanted to be annoyed by the constant phone calls, he really did, but there was just something so sweet about someone actually waiting to see him get home.

By the next day, he was exhausted. The work itself was so tedious, he couldn’t even leave the factory during the day for lunch; he attended meetings, scoured workrooms and pretty much spent his free time quizzing staff to make sure they knew every last thing they needed to know about clean energy. Everything had to be checked over three times – not because he didn’t trust the workers, but because he needed to make sure his data was correct. Things were always a little off the first time you opened a plant, and considering this was the ninth he had opened this year alone, he knew what would happen if he didn’t do his due diligence.

He got back to his hotel room at just after midnight, ready to pass out and hungry as hell. He collapsed onto his bed hoping for a good night’s sleep, telling his whining stomach that he would feed it later.

His tablet started beeping the moment he started drifting off – just his luck.

Tony sighed. He reached blindly for his tablet and found it in the darkened room, propping it up on his pillow so that he didn’t need to get up to see it. “Jarvis? What’s up?”

“Master Rogers requests that you answer the phone,” Jarvis said through the tablet. “I have informed him of the time, but I’m afraid he is too excited to pay attention.”

“Great,” Tony groaned. “Put him on.”

Steve’s face appeared on the screen; he was sitting too close to the tablet, so all Tony could really see was his left eye and part of his cheek. Tony chuckled, running his fingers through his tangled hair. “Hey Steve,” he said with a yawn, his eyes barely open, “What’s up, buddy?”

“Tony?”

“You’re going to need to pull the tablet back a bit. All I can see is your eye. It’s a very nice eye, but I’d like to see you.”

“Oh,” Steve mumbled. He moved the camera, listening to Jarvis’ instructions and then positioned it properly, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s ok,” Tony said. “How was your day?”

“We got to watch movies in colour!” Steve said, grinning from ear to ear. “Clint showed me one in 3D too – and we ate ice cream for breakfast.”

“You had ice cream for breakfast?” Tony leaned his face against his hand. “I hope you’re going to eat something healthier for lunch. Sheesh… when did I get to be the voice of reason?”

“Ms. Natasha said we were going to have hotdogs and potato salad,” Steve said. “She says we can go walk in the park later if I’m good.”

“That sounds like fun,”

“Yeah! She helped me find books in your library. You have a lot of books. Did you know that?” Steve pulled a book out from underneath him, holding it up so that Tony could see. It was The Velveteen Rabbit, one of Tony’s childhood favourites. This particular copy had ended up in the Tower’s library after Rhodey had given it to him last Christmas.

“That’s a good book you’ve got there. What did you think of it?” Tony asked.

“I like it. I’ve read it already, but it was even better this time,” Steve said, putting the book down. “Who’s Rhodey? It says ‘To Tony from Rhodey’ on the first page.”

“Rhodey is my friend James Rhodes. He gave that to me for Christmas.”

“OH, ok. Did he like the story?”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a yawn. He toed his shoes off when he realized that they were still on; the cleaning lady was going to murder him. “Yeah, he really liked it. He got me a copy of The Wind In The Willows too – he thought it was funny.”

“I’ve read that one,” Steve said, “Clint says I should ask you to read me something called Redwall when you come back.”

“Oh, he did, did he?” Tony chuckled, wrestling off his tie.

“He bought all the books at the store today,” Steve said, looking around as if this was some big secret he wasn’t supposed to be sharing. “It cost him two hundred and fifty dollars!”

“Yeah,” Tony said with a lethargic nod, “there are twenty two books in that series, kiddo. I’m not surprised.”

“Ma doesn’t even make that much in a year,” Steve murmured, fear blossoming in his eyes. “How’s he going to pay it off? I don’t think he has a job.”

“It’s ok,” Tony said, rubbing his eyes. “He works as an Avenger, and we make a lot more money than that now. Besides, he probably used that black plastic card I gave him, right?”

Steve nodded solemnly.

“Then it’s fine. I’m apparently footing the bill for it.”

“You are?” Steve looked sad.

“Steve, honey – you’re adorable, really – it’s ok. I’m rich, remember? I can buy you an island and it wouldn’t cause me any problems.”

“You could?” Steve sounded skeptical. He pursed his lips, playing with the books in his lap.

“I could,” Tony said with a yawn. “I really could. Seriously, don’t worry about it, alright? My bank account will be just fine. No one’s going to end up on the street, I promise.”

“Tony?” Steve hesitated, looking down at something off camera. “What year is this?”

Tony wished he had fallen asleep. “The year?” he asked, his throat going dry. Oh god. Why hadn’t they just explained everything when they had had the chance?

“Ms. Natasha said I need to wait until you come home before we talk about it,” Steve said, still looking down. “But I don’t understand.”

“I wish we could talk about it right now,” Tony said with a sigh, scrubbing his hand over his doughnut-glaze sticky beard, “but if Natasha says we’ll talk about it when I’m back, then I think we’ll have to wait. Are you ok with that?”

“I guess,”

“Are you scared?”

“A little,”

“It’ll be alright,” Tony said. He wished he could reach through the tablet and wrap his arms around the kid; he could use a hug, now that he thought about it. No – scratch that, he could use a couple of thousand hugs. Shit, they were going to have to tell the kid about Bucky – about his Ma – about everything, weren’t they? How the hell else were they going to explain the whole it’s 2013 thing? Why had he lied? Why hadn’t he just kept his mouth shut?

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Something happened to my Ma and Bucky, didn’t it…?”

Tony looked down at the bedspread. “Steve…”

“They’re not coming back for me, are they,” Steve whispered.

“We can’t talk about this right now, remember?”

“Ok,” Steve said, gnawing on his lower lip. He looked up, his eyes shiny and watery. “I know I can’t ask, but you’re going to come back, right?”

“Of course I am.” Tony forced himself to sit up. He lifted the tablet, holding it at shoulder level, giving Steve his most solemn smile. “I’ll be back in a week – I’m serious about that. I’m not staying a day longer, ok? If they want me to stay longer I’ll tell them to go to hell.”

“Do you promise?” Steve asked, his lower lip trembling.

“I promise, sweetheart,” Tony said. “I promise. I will be back there in a week, and then we’ll talk about everything.”

“Ok.”

“Steve – it’s time for lunch!” Tony could hear Clint’s voice as clear as day even though they were the opposite sides of the world. He watched Steve swallow down his tears, putting on a brave face, and tried to keep from frowning. Steve smiled at Clint, clearly well versed in pretending to be happy; Clint didn’t seem to notice anything was amiss.

Clint stuck his face in front of the camera instead of looking at Steve, squinting at Tony. “Dude,” Clint said, smirking at Tony, “You look like shit.”

“Well, you try working a thirteen hour day,” Tony grumbled, moving his hand to give Clint the finger. He froze, realizing what he was doing and settled for giving Clint the stink eye instead. “I’m assuming you’ve been behaving yourself, Barton.”

“Oh yeah,” Clint said, nodding along, all faux-innocence and sweet smiles. He scooped the tablet up, carrying it away; Tony could hear Steve’s ‘hey!’, but couldn’t see him anymore. “So how are things going in the salt mines? Are you actually working, or are you there to buy yourself another vending machine?”

“I’m working,” Tony grunted. “I was working – I would like to not be awake right now though. And the vending machine thing happened once. I don’t know why you keep bringing it up.”

“It sold panties, Stark. How can I not continue to bring it up?”

“The panties were discretely removed after I realized they were in there. It came pre-stocked! How the hell was I supposed to know they were there?”

“Uh, huh.”

“Yeah, well, Natasha thought it was funny,” Tony grumbled.

“She smiled – that did not mean she liked it,” Clint chuckled. “I still have my pair by the way.”

“You’re kidding. You bought a pair?”

“I couldn’t resist! They had little hearts all over them,” Clint said with a shrug. “They’re very comfy.”

“Oh dear god,” Tony groaned, burying his face in his blankets. “I did not need to know that.”

“Yes you did.”

“No, I didn’t,”

“Well, you know now. Deal with it, Stark.”

“Look, as much as I enjoy corrupting the youth of today, can I talk to you in private?”

Clint looked down, off screen. “Hey, buddy – take a hike. Go get yourself some hotdogs.”

“That’s rude!” Steve said, his voice muffled.

“I know it’s rude. I’m a rude guy. Why are you trying to climb my leg?”

“Because I want to talk to Tony,” Steve grumbled.

“I need to talk to Tony alone though – so scram. Go. Hotdogs – calling your name. They’re good – I swear, I didn’t touch them or anything. Scouts honor.”

“You’re not a scout,” Steve said with a huff. “Scouts don’t lie.”

“How do you know? Are you a scout?”

“No.”

“Well, then you can’t prove they don’t lie. If you don’t want any hotdogs, I can just tell Thor to eat them all. I’m sure he’ll be happy to do it.”

“No! I’ll go!”

Tony winced. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?” Clint looked over his shoulder. “Alright, we’re good. He’s gone. Man, that kid moves fast when you mention food.”

“Don’t tell him someone’s going to eat all the food,” Tony muttered. “He’ll think you’re serious.”

“You’re kidding,” Clint said, raising an eyebrow.

“Sadly, no, I am not. His ‘friends’ used to steal his food from him.”

Clint stared into the camera, his eyes almost comically wide. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, I’m not,” Tony sighed. “I wish I was.”

“Names – I want names, Stark. Those fuckers are going down,” Clint growled, looking absolutely murderous.

“I don’t have names, Clint – but think of it this way. They’re probably all in an old folks home if they’re still alive, so don’t worry about it – it can’t get much worse than that. Believe me, I thought about going after them too, but there’s no point in harassing the elderly.” Tony tapped his tablet, locking their channel from other devices in the Tower on the off chance that Steve tried to get back in on their conversation. “Look, we have a big problem.”

Clint sighed. He sat down on something, propping the tablet up so that he didn’t have to hold it anymore. “What happened?”

“Steve asked me what year it is.”

“Oh jesus – already?” Clint groaned. “I thought we had a few more weeks before he figured that out. He’s seven – how the hell did he realize it wasn’t the right year? He should be drinking his weight in milk and stuffing himself with Oreos, not planning his week on a calendar.”

“He claims he went to the bookstore with a certain archer, who spent a crap-ton of money on a bunch of really awesome books for me to read to him – one thing lead to another and he asked if you had put yourself into debt. I, stupidly, explained that in this day and age, two hundred and something dollars isn’t much.”

“Natasha’s not going to be happy,”

“Yeah, well, when is she ever happy about the things I do? It’s not like I can turn back time. What are we supposed to do about it? We can’t wipe the year off everything on the planet, and while I’d like to think we could survive with a seven year old trapped inside the Tower for the unforeseeable future, I don’t really think that’s going to be an option for long,”

“Hey, we could totally make it work. Jarvis could lock all the doors – he’d be fine. He lived indoors for most of his life already anyway,” Clint snorted. “How would he know the difference?”

“Yeah, well he’s not bed ridden anymore, so I highly doubt he’s going to be so willing to stick around. He’ll go stir-crazy if we try to keep him cooped up on his floor,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Look, can you talk with Natasha and the guys about it? I don’t know what the hell to say, and I’m exhausted.”

“Alright, alright,” Clint grumbled. “Jesus – why’s he so damned smart?”

“I guess Ma Rogers didn’t believe in raising dumb children,” Tony yawned. “Alright. I’ll talk to you tomorrow or something. I’m pooped.”

“Fantastic. Any advice on what not to say to the little guy in the meantime?” Clint asked.

“Well, for starters, try to avoid talking about his Ma and Bucky not being around – maybe tell him they’re incommunicado or some damn thing – can we make them spies? Do you think he’d believe that?”

“Well, he’s seven… He might, if I sell it right.”

“I may have made the mistake of hinting to the kid that they weren’t coming back for him…” Tony grimaced. “Why couldn’t I have just said they were in Boca Raton cleaning old people?”

“Well,” Clint sighed, “that’s a major fuck up alright. Nice going, Stark.”

“Thank you. Rub it in a bit more why don’t you?”

“Oh, I will,” Clint grumbled, flapping a hand at the camera. “Alright – go get your beauty sleep. I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,”

“You’re welcome. You can do me a favor, if you want,”

“Oh, here it comes. What do you need?”

“I’ll email you a list.”

“Alright. Go – email it. I’m going to sleep.” Tony hung up before Clint could say anything else. He flipped the tablet upside down and crawled under the covers, not bothering to undress properly. He heard the tablet chime, signaling he had received a new email and groaned, squeezing his eye shut, praying for sleep to take him.

The week went by in a blur of coffee, coding and machine inspections; by the time Tony managed to get back to his private airstrip, he was fairly certain he was going to black out from his latest wicked bout of insomnia. He thanked the woman who had done his shopping for him – and boy was he glad he had invested the money in her, because he hadn’t been able to sneak away to do any shopping on his own – and boarded his plane. There was a massive bag of stuff from Akihabara sitting on the coffee table waiting for him; most of the stuff in it was for Clint, but a few choice items were for Steve.

Tony opened the bag as they took off, checking everything over. There, nestled amidst Clint’s pile of manga, body pillows and figurines was the crown jewel of his shopping spree – a stuffed sesame seed bagel pillow; it was beautiful, a replica worthy of admiration. He plucked the pillow from the bag and turned it over in his hands. Everything was perfect; every seam was immaculate. Each sesame seed was made from a smooth polyester blend fabric, filled with a little bit of fluff to make it stand out. The bagel was large enough to use as an actual pillow rather than just as a novelty one, and it even came with its very own removable outer shell for easier washing. The fabric was mostly cream coloured – not exactly the best colour for a little kid, but he had a feeling that a neat and tidy little kid like Steve would take good care of it and keep it dirt free. Tony put the pillow away and leaned back against in his seat, letting his eyes close. He couldn’t wait to get home.

“Tony!”

Tony jerked awake. He looked around and managed to catch a glimpse of blonde hair before Steve hurled himself through the air, and landed on top of him with an audible oomph. He ruffled Steve’s hair, grinning as the kid hung off his neck like a limpet. “Hey buddy! What are you doing here?”

“I asked Ms. Potts if I could go with her when she came to get you,” Steve said, his face still buried in Tony’s neck.

“Is that so?” Tony chuckled. He didn’t think he was ever going to get over the idea of Steve raring to see him.

“There you are!” Pepper hurried towards them, her hair plastered to her head. “I thought I’d lost you!” She wiped frantically at her dripping wet suit, trying to sop up some of the water with a napkin. “He moves fast.”

“That he does,” Tony said, standing and hoisting Steve up in his arms. He groaned as his back protested the move and nearly went backwards into his seat again. “Good god – what have they been feeding you?”

“You shouldn’t say god’s name in vain,” Steve said, still smiling.

“Oh, right – yeah. Ok. Uh… hm. What’s a better way to say it then? Good gravy? Is that a thing? I think it’s a thing – I distinctly remember hearing it once. Maybe.”

Steve giggled.

“Alright – Good gravy it is. Good gravy,” Tony said, tucking Steve against him, “what have they been feeding you? You’re like ten pounds heavier than you were the last time I saw you.”

“Clint gives me Oreos,” Steve said, looking to Pepper as if she was hearing some kind of lurid tale. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

Pepper raised an eyebrow. “I see,” she said, sweeping forwards. She plucked Steve from Tony’s arms and set him down on the floor beside Tony’s bags. “No more jumping on Tony. He’s old and his back is bad.”

“It is not,” Tony grumbled, rubbing his back. “It’s just not used to lugging around Mini-Steves all the time.”

Pepper smiled. She bent down and smoothed Steve’s hair so that it wasn’t stick up all over the place. “Can you help me carry one of these bags?” she said. “We need to get going – Tony has a meeting to get to, and he’s late again.”

“I am?” Tony scowled. “How am I late? I’ve been here a whole ten minutes.”

“It’s an Avengers meeting,” Pepper said softly, eyeing Steve, who was lifting up the smallest of Tony’s bags. “Natasha called it a few minutes ago while I was driving up to the airstrip. She seemed pretty nervous, actually.”

“Oh?” Tony picked up the rest of his bags, sling them over his shoulder before Steve could try to pick anything else up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her look nervous before. Can she be nervous?”

“She can, and you’re not going to like the reason why,” Pepper said, leading them out of the plane. “I think it has to do with the Captain.”

Tony sighed. “When isn’t it about the Captain these days?”

“True,” Pepper said, helping Steve down the flight steps. She took the bag from him after he started dragging it on the floor because it was a bit too heavy for him. “I’ll get that. Why don’t you go get the car door for me, honey?”

Steve scampered off ahead of them, running towards Pepper’s avocado-coloured Bentley.

“They had some bad news,” Pepper said once Steve was out of earshot. “Hydra and some of Steve’s other enemies found out about the spell somehow. Coulson called it in a few minutes ago. He said he’s got it under control for now, but they want to take protective measures and discuss a better plan for dealing with it. He’s recommending that Steve not be allowed out of the tower until they take care of the first ‘wave’ – whatever that means.”

“Great,” Tony said, “Pop the trunk, will you?”

“Sure,”

Tony stuffed his bags into the trunk and closed it, mindful of the action figures crammed inside, and then crawled into the back beside Steve as Pepper got into the passenger’s seat. “Hey, Happy. How’s it going?”

Happy grinned sheepishly. “It’s going. How are things with you?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary – well, aside from the whole workaholic thing eating my soul,” Tony shrugged. He watched Steve close his door and then helped the kid into his car seat, pulling the seat belt into place before tackling his own. “How’s my Tower?”

“Looks the same to me,” Happy said with a shrug, starting the car. “You want to grab lunch?”

“Burgers,” Tony said, licking his lips. “I missed burgers.”

“Alright,” Happy laughed, putting the car into drive, “burgers it is – if that’s ok with you, Pep.”

Pepper rolled her eyes, a smile creeping across her face. “Go ahead, honey – let’s go get some burgers. I’ll text Natasha and let her know where we’re going.” She pulled her phone out of her purse, humming softly. “She’s going to be mad – I’ll just blame it on Tony. I’m sure you won’t mind, right?”

“Right,” Tony snorted. He turned to Steve, lounging against the back seat. He could have dropped off to sleep right then and there. “You hungry too, buddy?”

Steve nodded rapidly. “Can we really get burgers?”

“Of course we can,” Tony said, winking at Steve. “Pepper said we could. We can even get fries too - or onion rings - ooh! Or both!”

“You and your onion rings,” Pepper laughed. She pressed her phone up to her ear as they pulled out into traffic, cocking her head to the side so she could peer back at Steve. “Natasha? Yes, this is Pepper. We’ve got Tony. We’ll be there in a bit – the boys want burgers.”

“What’s your stance on milkshakes? Yay or Nay?” Tony said, prodding Steve in the shoulder.

“Milkshakes?” Steve’s eyes widened. “We can get milkshakes too?”

“Yep – my treat. What flavor do you want?”

Steve looked down at his hands and then looked up again, meeting Tony’s gaze meekly. “Vanilla?”

“No chocolate?” Tony quirked an eyebrow. “Vanilla… hm. Why am I not surprised?”

“Behave,” Pepper said, rolling her eyes. “No, not you Nat. I’m talking to Tony. Uh huh.”

“Don’t worry about it, Steve,” Tony said, smiling at Steve’s confusion. “Vanilla’s pretty good too.”

Tony made his way to the common kitchen, trying to keep awake after coming down from his milkshake-induced sugar crash. The other were already gathered around the dining room table for their meeting. Coulson was sitting beside Clint and Natasha, resting his chin in his palm, looking so exhausted it seemed like he might go head first into the table. Bruce was sitting in a chair beside him, sipping a mug of tea with a notebook open in front of him, casually scrawling down thoughts. Thor sat sprawled in a chair on the opposite side of the table from Tony with his legs spread wide, his hands resting on his knees; all of the Avengers looked ready to sleep.

Tony handed Clint his bag of goodies before the archer could throw himself over the table at him; Clint eyed the bag, gnawing on his lower lip, but didn’t reach for it even though he was clearly itching to claw his way through the paper bag to get at his gifts.

“You’re late,” Coulson said with an exasperated sigh. “Did you really have to stop for burgers?”

“I really did,” Tony said, plopping himself down in a chair beside Clint. “It was a long plane ride – I needed food. Is there a problem?”

“Aside from the one you left us with?” Natasha growled. Her arms were crossed stiffly in front of her chest; her glare could have cut glass.

Tony winced. “Look,” he said, pushing his chair back a few inches so he would have room to escape if he needed to, “It wasn’t like I told him anything he hadn’t already figured out. He was the one who knew something funky was up. He talked to you first.”

“He mentioned it to me and I told him we would talk later. You were the one who couldn’t keep your damn mouth shut,” Natasha snapped.

“Children,” Coulson cut in, scowling. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to talk about why we’re actually here. Blame games won’t help anything if Hydra gets their hand on the Captain. I’m assuming you’ve heard some of the details already, Stark?”

Tony crossed his arms over his chest, slumping in his seat. “Pepper mentioned it to me,” he said giving Natasha a dirty look, “but as Steve was in the car with us at the time, she couldn’t say much. He’s with her right now by the way. She’s got him filing reports for her – he really seems to like it.”

Coulson smiled softly. “He always did like paperwork. I guess it’s not really that much of a surprise. Here,” he said, sliding a file across the table towards Tony.

Tony picked it up, flipping it open. He didn’t like what he saw inside; the file was filled with pictures taken directly from the Tower’s security cameras. Each photo had the same group of people in it, although they were wearing different clothing in some of the images. Tony looked up, frowning. “You’re sure they’re Hydra agents and not just our everyday whackos?”

“They’re Hydra all right. I saw the confirmation sheets myself. They appeared about the same time you left on your trip to Japan,” Coulson said, “They’ve been traveling in pairs, searching for something. At first we thought they were just looking to steal your tech as usual, but after we left a bait piece out – with Jarvis’ help, of course – we realized that they could have cared less about the tech. They were looking for Steve.”

“And there’s a reason you didn’t mention any of this until now?” Tony growled. They had known about these assholes for a week, and they hadn’t said anything? If he had known, he wouldn’t have had Happy drive them to a goddamned burger shack.

“We need you to set up contingency plans – I’m sure you understand the need for them. We couldn’t risk tipping our hand over the phone in case they were patrolling the airwaves somehow. They’ve been upgrading their equipment over the year, and it’s getting far more complicated than we predicted. We thought we had it under control until an hour ago. The men and women in those pictures are currently sitting in SHIELD cells – well or so we thought,” Coulson grumbled, tapping the tabletop, “to be honest, we have more than a few sets of them in the lower levels being interrogated, and the results aren’t good. They’re LMD’s, Stark. The real ones are still out there.”

Tony groaned, rubbing at his forehead. Great. He was two hours back from a grueling marathon factory review and this was what was waiting for him? “You’re telling me Hydra has a bunch of robot clones running around out there?”

“Unfortunately, yes. We’ve had Jarvis scanning the crowd for matching signatures, and they’re multiplying,” Coulson said with a grimace. “For obvious reasons we can’t exactly EMP the downtown corridor to get rid of them.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Tony said, flipping through the file. “I’m assuming you want to take Steve somewhere else – hide him away from them. If they’ve got LMDs lurking outside, it’s not exactly safe even if the Tower does have the best security out there.”

“Yes,” Natasha growled, drumming her fingers on her arm, “Thus why we needed you here, and not out there eating burgers in a car with only Happy for protection.”

Tony sighed. “What do you want me to do? I can build you a working remote for the LMDs – make them easier to shut down – no, correction, I’m going to build a remote to shut them down. What else do you need me to do?” He closed the file; it was useless now anyway considering he had it memorized.

“We’re going to give Steve the cover story after this meeting is over,” Clint said, his fingers inching across the table towards Tony’s bag of gifts. Coulson rapped Clint smartly across the knuckles; Clint jerked his hand back, sulking. “We’re got it all worked out already. It’s fine.”

“And what are you telling him exactly?” Tony asked, dreading the answer.

“We’re going with the spy idea you gave Clint a few days ago,” Coulson said. “Sarah Rogers has been given security clearance and is an active member of SHIELD. She was recruited through our time travel division – and yes,” Coulson sighed, shaking his head, “as implausible as it sounds, to a seven year old it will check out. I’ve had them draw up files and photographs. We had the best of the best building Sarah Roger’s life up. He won’t be able to tell the difference between truth and lie – believe me. I went through every last detail personally. We’re not going to have that baseball game fuck up again.”

“So you’re telling the kid that his mother’s a super spy on a mission for SHIELD,” Tony said carefully, shaking his head. It sounded crazy, even to him, but Coulson was right. It was plausible – to a seven year old who didn’t know shit about science and time machines.

“We had the team do some photo manipulations – it’s good work,” Natasha said, scowling. “It’s cruel, but it’s good work.”

“You’d better burn those files when Steve’s back to normal,” Tony muttered. “The last thing the guy needs to see is his mother in a bunch of fake files.”

“Agreed,” Thor said, shifting in his seat. “That would be far too cruel. The Captain is already distressed enough without having to see such things. If it were up to me, I would not let you deceive him at all, but this is a dire situation – one that requires tact and control. Steve must believe what he reads, and he must understand that he needs to continue to follow our lead.”

“The real question isn’t if he believes or not,” Bruce said, sipping his tea. He took off his glasses, setting them down on the table. “The real question is who we’re going to have deliver the lie.”

Tony stood up, pushing the file away. “Yeah, well – I think you guys can handle that much. I’m going to go get some work done.”

“Stark –”

“Look, I’m good, but I’m not that good. Put your super spies to work,” Tony said, heading towards the door. “I’ve lied to the kid enough. You can do the dirty work this time.”

Tony worked as quickly as his sleep-deprived brain would let him, building a prototype for the LMD Energy Remote within a matter of hours. When it was done, he ran it through a debugging program to make sure he hadn’t missed anything and leaned back in his chair, wondering if the others had told Steve their grand lie yet. He could have asked Jarvis, but frankly, he didn’t really want to know. He rubbed his eyes, trying to ignore the ache in his lower back that was growing progressively stronger. With the remote ready for production, all he needed to do was start working on the rest of the contingency plan.

“Sir?”

“Yeah, Jarvis?”

“Captain Rogers is requesting entrance to the workshop,”

“Steve, or Captain Rogers?”

“My apologies, sir. It is Steve,”

Tony turned around on his chair, looking towards the door. Steve was standing beside the glass, his face squashed against it as he tried to get a better look at what was inside. His cheeks were an adorable shade of pink. “Let him in,” Tony said, scrubbing his hands over his beard.

Steve stepped back from the door and waited patiently for it to open before stepping cautiously inside. He moved slowly, his eyes moving from one side of the workshop to the other, cataloguing everything he saw. He froze when he spotted the Iron Man armor and Dummy and then, before Tony could even say hello, he backed out of the room at double speed, vanishing into the hallway.

“Steve?” Tony stood up, cracking his back.

Steve peeked out from around the corner, holding onto the door frame for dear life. His eyes were so large Tony was pretty sure they could have given a couple of saucers a run for their money. “Tony?”

“What’s wrong, kiddo?” Tony ambled towards the door, rubbing a hand over his lower back. “You scared?”

Steve nodded.

Tony held his arms out. “It’s ok. Come here – I’ll show you around.”

Steve gave the wall a sorrowful stare and then let go, walking back through the doorway. He didn’t look up, shuffling forwards instead until he bumped into Tony’s legs. The moment he made contact, he wrapped his arms around Tony’s shins, burying his face in Tony’s sweat pants.

“Aww, it’s ok,” Tony said. He reached down and ruffled Steve’s hair. He was tempted to pick Steve up, but he didn’t think his back would appreciate it very much; he dropped down to his knees and wrapped his arms around Steve, giving him a firm hug. He knew what it was like to see a workshop like this for the first time; he had been terrified of Howard’s lab the first time he had seen it, and although he had grown to love the place, it had always remained a little spooky to him as a child. “It’s alright. Nothing here is going to hurt you, ok. I know it looks pretty scary, but it’s all safe.”

“Do you promise?” Steve whispered in Tony’s ear, squashing his face against Tony’s neck.

“I promise, honeybunny. It’s fine.”

“Ok,” Steve said. He didn’t let go of Tony’s neck; he held on tight, keeping himself wedged in place against Tony’s chest, which was a surprise considering how thin his arms were. “I believe you.”

Tony grimaced and lifted Steve up. His back groaned in protest but it wasn’t too bad – at least not now, anyway. He was pretty sure he would be lying flat on the floor later, but that was a small price to pay for Steve’s peace of mind. He carried Steve towards the Iron Man first, showing it to Steve as it stood idle in its rack waiting to be disassembled and worn. “This is Iron Man.”

Steve turned cautiously peeking at the armor over his shoulder. “It’s big,” Steve said in a very small voice.

“It’s not that big,” Tony said, bringing them closer. He patted the armor on the head, letting his hand rest there. “See? It won’t bite.”

Steve looked unconvinced, but he reached out anyway and ran his fingers over the helmet, copying Tony’s movements. He seemed to relax when the faceplate didn’t snap at him, but he still pulled his hand back quickly after he was finished. “Where did you get it from?”

“I’m an engineer, remember? I built it,” Tony said, shifting Steve against his hip. “Jarvis, disengage the helmet and gauntlets, will you?”

“Done,” Jarvis said, “Would you like me to have Dummy back up, sir?”

Tony heard Dummy toot sadly from behind him. He laughed as he lifted up the helmet, giving his head a shake. “He’s fine where he is for now.” He held the helmet up in front of Steve and turned it over so the kid could look at the circuitry inside. “See? There’s nothing in there. No boogie-men hiding here.”

Steve stuck his hand inside the helmet and then pulled it back out. He wiggled his fingers, seeming surprised that nothing had happened to them. “Are you a knight?”

Tony smiled. “Well, not really. This is a suit of armor though, so I guess you could say I’m like a knight.” He put the helmet back onto the armor and disconnected the left gauntlet, putting it on; the metal slid smoothly up his arm, clicking in place.

Steve’s eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. He leaned back, almost falling out of Tony’s grasp.

“It’s ok,” Tony said soothingly, holding his hand up for Steve to see. “It didn’t hurt me. It’s like wearing a big metal gloves.”

Steve eyed the gauntlet with trepidation. “Are you sure?”

“Absolutely,” Tony said, clenching and unclenching his fist. “Go ahead. Give it a feel.”

Steve gingerly prodded Tony’s hand, feeling his way along the gauntlet’s finger joints. When he looked up again he was grinning. “Wow! You made it? Really?”

“Yep,” Tony said, setting Steve down on the floor. “I really, really, made it. Go ahead. Poke away to your heart’s content. You can’t break it – go wild.” He chuckled as Steve lunged forward and started feeling along the armor’s legs and torso, his eye wide and excited.

“See,” Tony said, turning to Dummy who had wheeled slowly up behind him, “I told you it would be fine.”

Dummy waved his arm in agreement.

Tony took the gauntlet off and reattached it to the armor. As much as he loved showing the Armor off, he didn’t think it was a smart idea to show Steve the repulsors just yet; someone would probably have an aneurism at the thought of the kid flying around, even if it was under direct, professional, supervision. There was always another day for that, after all; it would be kind of adorable to see Steve flying around, now that he thought about it. Hell, he could build Steve his own mini-armor. That would probably be fun. He watched as Steve clambered all over the armor, inspecting and feeling every last bit of metal he could get his little hands on. Tony cocked his hip to the side, patting Dummy fondly on his hand. “See? He likes it too.”

Steve turned away from the armor, finished with his exploration. His gaze settled on Dummy and for a split second he looked panicked again; his body gave a twitch as his legs bent at the knees, and he took a single step backwards.

“This is Dummy,” Tony said, deliberately patting Dummy on the hand again so that Steve could see that nothing bad was going to happen. “I built him when I was around your age.”

“Really?” Steve approached Dummy and held his hand out. “Hi,”

Tony tapped Dummy on the hand. “Go ahead. Just be gentle with him. He’s little.”

“I am not,” Steve grumbled.

Dummy tooted and rolled forward, creeping his way towards Steve until they were standing a few inches apart. He raised his hand and extended it until one of his fingers poked Steve in the shoulder. He lowered his hand and held it out, offering it to Steve.

Steve laughed and shook Dummy’s hand. He was nearly lifted into the air when Dummy started shaking back. Steve let out a squeal and latched onto Dummy with his arms and legs, holding tightly on as the robot lifted him up. “Hey!”

“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” Tony said, tapping his foot on the ground.

Steve giggled as Dummy spun in a slow circle, carrying him around.

“Traitor,” Tony chuckled. He stalked over to his desk, keeping one eye on them even though he knew Jarvis was doing the same thing. “Record that, will you Jarvis?”

“I am already recording, sir,” Jarvis said, sounding amused.

“Excellent,” Tony said with a grin. He fished the bag of goodies he had bought in Japan for Steve out from under his desk, laying everything out. He had planned on giving this stuff to the kid later on, but now seemed as good a time as any.

Dummy did another slow circle as Steve hung off of his arm. He beeped and drove across the room towards Tony, bumping him in the leg when he arrived. Tony smiled down at them. “Looks like you’ve both got a new friend.”

Steve let go of Dummy, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and dropped back to the ground. He patted Dummy on the hand and stared up at Tony with a toothy grin. “That was fun!”

“It looked like it,” Tony agreed. “I’m a little too big to ride on him anymore. It’s a good thing you’re the right size.”

“Yeah,” Steve said with a nod. “What’s that?”

“Oh, this?” Tony held his hand to his chest, batting his eyelashes. “It’s just something I threw on.”

“Not that,” Steve said, putting his hands on his hips.

“Oh you mean these?” Tony lifted up the first of his gifts. He handed the stuffed sesame seed bagel to Steve, trying not to laugh when he realized it was almost too big for the kid to hold. “That’s yours.”

“Mine?” Steve hugged the bagel to his chest. “Really?”

“Yep,” Tony said, picking up the next gift. “And this yours too.” He handed Steve a set of water colour paints, the kind that were washable and didn’t take a lot of effort to use; strictly speaking they weren’t the most Japanese of things, but they were good quality, and his personal shopper had recommended them because her own kids played with them all the time.

Steve clutched the paints in one hand, still holding on to the stuffed bagel with the other. “Thank you,” he said, shuffling his feet.

“You’re very welcome,” Tony said, picking up his final gift. He passed it from hand to hand, hoping Steve would like it. It was an old school Gundam Wing figurine – the kind that needed to be hand painted and assembled. Strictly speaking, he hadn’t known if Steve actually liked robots, although judging by the way he had taken to Dummy, it probably wasn’t going to be a problem. “This one,” he said, lowering the box to show Steve, “is one we’re going to do together – if you want.”

“What is it?” Steve struggled with his bagel and paints. He squinted at the box, biting his lower lip when he tried to read the text but couldn’t.

“It’s a figurine of a robot mecha – a robot. It’s from a television show. It’s a little bit like my Iron Man, only, well… not functional, and not really realistically proportioned,” Tony said with a shrug. He knew he had been a little selfish when he had picked the model out. When he had been little, there hadn’t really been any miniature robots to paint and assemble. He had put together an entire room’s worth of model cars, boats, planes and submarines on his own when he had been Steve’s age; the boxes had always said to have a parent around to supervise, but there had never really been anyone aside from Jarvis to help him with it. Thankfully, despite the lack of adult supervision, he had never managed to super glue his hands together, but according to Jarvis, it had been a very near thing. Models were something he was good at – something he had sort of wanted to do with someone else for a long time. Assembling them on his own had been kind of… well… lonely.

“You want to work on it together?” Steve sounded awed.

“Of course I do,” Tony said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “I know you like to paint, right? You can help me do all the painting on it, and I’ll help you with the assembling. It’ll be fun.”

“Neato!” Steve leapt forward, awkwardly trying to wrap his arms around Tony’s leg while still holding on tightly to his other gifts. “They have tin soldiers at the toy store, but Ma says we can’t afford more than one every year. I always have to paint them myself with this little brush Ma got from a neighbor. I’m really good at painting! This is going to be fun!”

Tony rested his hand on Steve’s head. “Tin soldiers, huh? Maybe I can find some of those for us too – if you want.”

Steve hugged Tony’s legs tighter. “Thanks. That would be really swell.”

“Not a problem,” Tony said, clearing his throat.

“Oh!” Steve detached himself from Tony’s legs, shuffling his presents until he had a free hand. He grabbed Tony’s and started tugging him towards the workshop door. “Bruce said you’re supposed to come upstairs for dinner. I almost forgot,”

“Dinner, huh? It’s been that long already?”

“You have been in your workshop for thirty six hours, sir,” Jarvis said.

Tony sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Ok. Time may have gotten away from me.”

“Bruce made spicy stuff,” Steve said, leading Tony towards the elevator. “Can you show me how to eat it?”

“Sure,” Tony said, letting Jarvis take them to the right floor. “Let’s go eat spicy stuff.”

Chapter Text

Eating spicy Indian food with Steve turned out to be far more entertaining than expected; the kid was interested in everything, and even though Tony didn’t know the names of half the stuff he was looking at it didn’t seem to dampen Steve’s enthusiasm. He just followed along as Tony loaded up a plate for him, eyeing everything as they went along the counter like he was seeing otherworldly food provided by whimsical faeries; it was, after all, not the kind of stuff they would have had lying around in the 40’s. But then things got even stranger. Steve didn’t let Tony put more than a tablespoons worth of food at any given time, and the sight of an entire piece of baked naan seemed like it was going to give the kid nightmares.

Bruce noticed Tony’s confusion and pulled him off to the side. Steve carried his plate off to the dining room table, frowning at it the entire way.

“He’s got a sort of… thing about food,” Bruce said, handing Tony a bowl of Paneer and peas.

Tony scooped himself a generous helping of the curry, spreading it his basmati rice, and tried not to think about the way Steve was sitting at the table patiently staring at his food while he waited for everyone else to sit down with him. “Define thing,” he said with a sigh, “because I know some of it, but I’m thinking I don’t enough.”

“He doesn’t eat more than what he thinks he’s allowed and he won’t come back for seconds,” Bruce said, handing Tony a bowl of spiced tandoori potatoes. “I’ve seen him staring at his empty plate during dinner on three separate occasions – it’s kind of hard to watch, actually. Some of the kids I saw in India struggling with starvation did the same thing.”

“You think he’s still hungry?”

“Sometimes. He admits to it, but he never lets anyone give him anything extra,” Bruce murmured. He hovered over Tony’s plate with a bowl of pakoras, dropping a few onto it without asking if Tony actually wanted them. “We’ve been working on a bartering system – we trade with him when the food on his plate runs low. He doesn’t like it most of the time, but I’m thinking he won’t react as badly if you’re the one doing the bartering.”

“I take it he likes pakoras?” Tony asked, smiling.

“I made them once on movie night,” Bruce said, “and it was the only thing he’d take more of after the popcorn ran out of his bowl.”

“I see,”

“I made Chicken Tikka for you, by the way,” Bruce said, holding up the plate of chicken. “Take extra. Feed him.”

“Sure,” Tony said, sweeping chicken onto his plate. “I’ll see what I can do.” He wandered away from the food, and picked a chair beside Steve, setting his plate down on the table. It was weird to eat at an actual table after lounging on the couch so frequently. He turned to Steve, leaning against the back of the chair. “You want something to drink?”

Steve blinked up at him. “I don’t know.”

“You know what, I think I know just the thing,” Tony said. He patted Steve on the head and went to the fridge, filling two tall glasses with milk. He brought them back and set one down in front of Steve. “Believe me,” he said when Steve looked skeptically up at him, “you’ll need the milk. It kills the burn.”

“It does?”

“Yep,” Tony said, sitting down. He picked up his fork and started eating, chewing as obnoxiously as possible. “You can eat too, you know,” he said through a mouthful of potatoes.

Steve wrinkled his nose. He picked up his fork and started prodding his food, taking little nibbles of everything. When he got to his piece of Chicken Tikka he nearly inhaled the entire thing bones and all; his lips were stained red, his cheeks bright pink from the combination of spicy and sweet foodstuffs. He looked up, sticking out his tongue. “It’s hot!”

“Drink the milk,” Tony said solemnly, taking a sip of his own.

Steve took a tentative sip; the look of startled surprise on his face made Tony laugh so hard he almost snorted his milk.

“I told you,” Tony rasped, thumping himself on the chest.

“It’s like magic!” Steve said, setting the glass down. He ate his way through the rest of the food on his plate, draining the milk as he got to the spicier parts.

Tony watched Steve out of the corner of his eye, diligently shoveling food into his mouth to cover his staring; the minute Steve ran out of food he slipped another chunk of Chicken Tikka onto Steve’s plate. The kid frowned at him like he had started making armpit-fart noises around debutants.

“It’s ok. I’m not hungry,” Steve said, licking his lips.

“I took too much,” Tony said with a shrug, working on his pile of rice and daal. “Help a guy out.”

Steve ate; for someone who claimed that they weren’t hungry, he sure finished his chicken fast. Tony slipped another piece of chicken onto Steve’s plate, smiling at him when the kid got with the program and wolfed it down this time without hesitation. They ate in silence, with Tony slipping chunks of food onto Steve’s plate every time Steve started looking antsy; Steve never asked what was going on. He did, however, look very startled when Tony decided to split a chunk of chocolate pie and ice cream with him later on in the evening; the look on his face was almost bordering on reverence, like Tony had done something impossible.

“What?” Tony chuckled, putting another scoop of pumpkin ice cream onto their plate.

“You’re really going to share that with me?” Steve asked, nibbling on his lower lip.

“Yep,” Tony said, taking the plate over to the table. Steve trailed after him, keeping so close Tony came close to stepping on him by accident. He settled in his chair again and waited for Steve to clamber up into his chair again while cutting up chunks of pie with his fork.

Bruce shot Tony a soft look from across the table; Tony smiled back at him.

Tony yawned into his hand. He hadn’t been this tired in a long time, but he needed to get things finished before the night was done. He couldn’t leave things half-finished – not with Steve’s life at stake. Rubbing his eyes, he tried to focus on the screens in front of him with little success. After dinner he had fled back to his workshop, explaining to Steve at least four times that he needed to get his work done. Of course, that hadn’t stopped Steve; the kid had followed Tony downstairs with a colouring book in hand and had settled onto Tony’s couch like it was the best place on earth, claiming that he was going to work too.

Tony looked over his shoulder. Steve was lying on the couch, half asleep amongst his crayons. He had a blanket inexpertly draped over his shoulder; Dummy was standing guard at Steve’s side like a faithful golden retriever, his hand pointed at Steve’s sleeping form as if he was waiting to reach out and fix the blanket.

“What time is it Jarvis?” Tony yawned into his arm, giving his head a shake. It felt like it was two, maybe three in the morning.

“It is ten p.m. sir,” Jarvis said, dimming the lights over Steve. “May I suggest carrying Steve upstairs so that he can sleep in a proper bed?”

“Ten? You’re shitting me. How is it only ten?” Tony staggered upright, rubbing a hand over his lower back.

“I believe time decided to not ‘fly’, sir.”

“Very funny,” Tony grumbled. He slunk over to the couch, peering down at the colouring book still lying open on the coffee table. Steve had coloured everything in using varying shades of red and gold. Huh. That was new. Somehow he had been expecting red, white and blue. He closed the colouring book and bent over Steve, wrapping the blankets around him. The kid stirred at his touch, but didn’t wake; he snorted loudly when Tony picked him up and curled forwards against Tony’s chest, holding on to the blanket where it was tucked under his chin.

“Lock up for me, will you Jarvis?” Tony whispered, sneaking towards the elevator.

“Shall I ready the elevator for Steve’s floor?”

“Yes please,” Tony said as the elevator doors snapped open in front of him.

He got off at Steve’s floor, carefully making his way past a now unconcious Thor and Clint; both were hanging off the couch, so deeply asleep they didn’t seem to notice that the television was still on; luckily, it was muted – probably Jarvis’ work – and he snuck past it without difficulty.

Tony weaved between discarded toys and stuffed animals, slipping into Steve’s bedroom with his precious cargo still snoring away like a tiny chainsaw. Steve’s bed was turned down already, the blankets folded neatly in place, and it was easy to slip Steve free from the blanket from the workshop couch into his clean bedding. Tony paused, hovering over Steve’s sleeping form. He smoothed Steve’s hair down, smiling softly at him. It was sweet to see the little guy all tuckered out; the look on his face made it clear there weren’t any nightmares for him to battle tonight.

Steve stirred, his eyelids fluttering, and yawned, curling against his pillow. He rolled over to face Tony and made as if to get up. Tony tucked him back in, sitting down on the edge of the bed to keep him from getting up. “Go to sleep, Steve,”

“Don’t wanna…” Steve murmured as his eyelids slowly drooped shut again.

“Sleep,” Tony murmured. He smoothed the blankets down around Steve’s shoulders.

“Did you hear about my Ma?” Steve asked, his voice muffled by his pillow.

“Yeah,” Tony sighed, “I heard about your Ma.” He hoped that they had made the story a good one.

“Clint says she’s probably really smart if she’s the one they picked for that mission,”

“I’d have to agree with him on that one,”

“Have you ever met her?”

“No,”

“You’ll like her. She doesn’t let anybody get away with anything,”

“She sounds like a special lady,”

“Where are your Ma and Pa? My Pa died when I was little,” Steve said, opening one eye so that he could peer sleepily up at Tony.

Tony tried not to groan aloud. “My parents died in a car accident when I was twenty one,” he said, making himself comfortable on Steve’s bed. This wasn’t exactly a good bedtime story, but if he was lucky, the kid would fall asleep before he could finish him everything. Tony leaned against the headboard, resting the back of his head against the wall. He let his eyes close. “But that was a long time ago. We weren’t very close.”

Steve unburied his hand, curling his fingers in Tony’s shirt; he gave it a gentle tug. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, buddy, I’m alright,”

“I don’t know what I’d do if my Ma died,” Steve said softly. “It must be really lonely without parents.”

Tony shrugged. “You get used to it after a while,” he said, supressing a yawn, “but it gets better. And besides – I’m not lonely. I’ve got you and all the other Avengers here with me. Why would I be lonely?”

“I’d be lonely,” Steve said, lifting his head. “If I didn’t have my Ma, and Bucky and you, I’d be lonely.”

Tony ruffled Steve’s hair, earning a scowl from Steve. “Well, I’m not lonely,” he said, easing himself up off of the bed. While it was tempting to stay sitting on Steve’s bed, his back didn’t like being in one position for too long when he had better things to do; his bed was calling his name for once, and he intended to make use of it. “Get some sleep, Steve,”

“I will,” Steve said, lowering his head back onto his pillow. “Sleep tight, Tony.”

“You too, Steve,” Tony said, tucking Steve in again just for the hell of it. He smoothed Steve’s hair down again, smiling to himself and left Steve to his dreams. He slipped from Steve’s apartment in silence, avoiding Thor and Clint just as easily as before.

He made his way up to the penthouse.

It was lonely, Tony thought as he stepped out into his empty living room. There was no noise up here – nothing except for the hum of electricity and the dull buzz of the fridge; there was no one snoring on his couch, or sprawled on his carpet. There was no one waiting in his bed either. If he had walked into the place without knowing it was his house, he might have though no one lived there at all. Everything was neatly in its place; there was no magazine left crooked, and no trash in sight. It felt almost clinical – sterile, even.

He padded his way into his bedroom, finding his bed still done up tight from when the maid service had come in to clean things up for him during his trip. He sighed, tugging the coverlet and blankets free. If things went right, some of Steve’s good luck would rub off on him and his dreams would be nightmare free too. He hoped he could be that lucky.

Tony groaned as he woke; the bed was shaking for some reason, and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why. He tried to roll over, thinking that it might help, but found that it just made things worse.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice was soft and close to Tony’s ear.

Tony pulled his pillow up over his head. “Noooooooooo……”

“Toooooony?” Steve hopped on the mattress and dropped down onto his knees, bouncing up and down as the springs settled.

“Steeeeeve?”

“Are you getting up yet?”

“No,”

“Really?”

Tony sighed, lifting the pillow up a fraction of an inch so he could see Steve’s face. “You’re up way too early for your age. You should be sleeping.”

“Nuh huh! I wake up at this time every day!” Steve said, his hands on his hips.

“Well, who taught you how do to that? They’re stupid,” Tony grunted, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ma goes to work early in the morning,” Steve said, cocking his head to the side. “Ma says that if I sleep all day I’ll get a sore back.”

“I see. But why do I have to get up?”

“Ms. Potts says you need to have a conversation,” Steve said, leaning down to peer into the crack between Tony’s pillow and the mattress. “Is that bad? It kind of sounds bad.”

“It sounds bad to me too,” Tony grumbled, sitting up. He hadn’t thought Pepper would find out about his plans so quickly; hell, they weren’t even finalized yet. He let his pillow drop behind him and scrubbed a hand through his hair, wondering if he could get away with seeing her without taking a shower first. He gave his armpit a cursory sniff and laughed when Steve wrinkled his nose at him. Yep. That was probably a no, then, if even the kid was giving him funny looks. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve said, flopping onto his side.

“Oh, like you’ve never smelled bad before in your life,” Tony teased. “Jarvis?” He rose, slipping free from his blankets even though all he wanted to do was curl back up in them. He cracked his back, going up on his toes to stretch himself out. Well, the upside of being awake was that he would get to drink some good coffee again, he mused, letting out a jaw cracking yawn. That, and if he was lucky he might get some pancakes if Bruce was feeling particularly energetic.

“Yes, sir?” Jarvis asked.

“Tell Pep I’m going to take a shower, alright?”

“Done, sir. May I recommend coming downstairs wearing clean clothing this time? I’ve heard it can make difficult conversations easier.”

“Smartass,” Tony grumbled. “Alright – I’m going to shower – go do whatever it is you do,” he said to Steve, before slipping into the bathroom. When he emerged twenty minutes later with a towel wrapped around his waist, smelling far more like pineapples and far less like burnt oil, he found Steve snoring loudly. The kid was tangled in the blankets like they had been trying to eat him and he had valiantly fought them off; Tony’s pillow was tucked under his body, keeping him comfortable. Tony chuckled at the sight and retrieved his clothing in silence before slipping back into the bathroom.

Steve rubbed his eyes sleepily as Tony hoisted him up. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Yep,” Tony said, letting Jarvis clear the way for him. He had thought about leaving Steve to sleep in his bed, but had decided it would be smarter to simply take the little guy with him; if there was one thing Pepper couldn’t resist, it was cute little kids, and he had a feeling he would need all the help he could get. He grinned to himself as they rounded the corner, knowing that things would be just fine.

The look on Pepper’s face had him sprinting back around the corner.

“Tony!” Pepper’s voice bordered on shrill. She had a file trapped in her hand; it was crumpled from the way she was holding on to it and looked like it had gone a few rounds with the paper shredder. Pepper’s clothing was crooked; the buttons weren’t quite done up right, and her make up looked a little off, like she had done it while running.

Shit.

He was definitely in trouble, and no amount of tiny, adorable Steves was going to change that.

Tony reluctantly walked back around the corner, slinking into his living room. “I can explain,” he said, holding Steve in front of him like a shield.

Pepper narrowed her eyes. “What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking that I need to keep the Captain safe, and this was the only way to do it,” Tony said, setting Steve down. He tried to shoo Steve towards the couch, but the kid refused to leave; he grabbed Tony by the hand, dragging him towards the couch instead of scampering off like most kids at the first sign of an Adult Argument.

“Tony,” Pepper sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Tony, what are you talking about?”

“This isn’t about my plans?” Tony lifted Steve up onto the couch and turned the television on, flipping to cartoons. He patted Steve on the head idly, trying to keep himself calm. “Sit. Watch TV. I’ll be back in a minute.”

“K’,” Steve said, hugging a pillow. He turned to watch Tony walk towards the kitchen. “Are you going to yell?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, turning around to face the couch again. “Why would we be yelling?”

“The couple that lived across the hall from Ma and I used to yell a lot,” Steve said, peeking over the back of the couch. “They used to throw things too.”

Pepper’s stern look softened. “Oh honey,” she said, sitting down on the couch beside Steve, “We’re not going to throw things or shout. Well,” she glowered at Tony, “I might yell a little, but it’s not because we’re fighting like that. Tony did something without telling me about it first and he caused a lot of trouble.”

“Oh,” Steve looked down at his hands and then at Tony. “It wasn’t my fault, was it?”

“No,” Tony said, sweeping forward to rest a hand on Steve’s head. “It’s definitely not your fault. It’s my fault, and I accept full responsibility – you’re not allowed to have any.” He smiled when Steve frowned at him. “I’ll be fine. We just need to talk about my road trip.”

“Your road trip?” Steve looked confused. “But you just got home!”

“I know. I’ll explain after, ok? Pep and I need to talk in private,” Tony said, nodding towards Pepper. She stood up and fixed Steve’s hair before following Tony into the kitchen with the mangled folder still in hand.

Pepper sat down at the table, letting out an irritated grumble when she realized she had sat down on a tablet. She lifted it up and set it and the folder on the table, crossing her arms over her chest. “Explain. Now.”

“Jarvis? Engage privacy buffer – tell me if Steve wants to come into the kitchen,” Tony said, heading towards the coffee pot. “You want any?”

“No thank you,” Pepper said, drumming her fingers on her arm, “I’d rather have an explanation instead.”

“As you already know, Hydra’s after Steve,”

Pepper shuddered. “Have they decided to make a move?”

“Yes,” Tony said, filling his mug with piping hot coffee. He dropped in a handful of sugar cubes and carried it over to the table, dropping into his seat across from Pepper. “They’ve got LMDs all over the place in the city, and SHIELD’s pretty sure they’re hoping for a snatch-and-dash. They want Steve – probably for reconditioning.”

“That’s awful,” Pepper said, her hands dropping into her lap. “I was just going to give you shit for giving me no notice about your trip – but this is insane! Do you really think they’d try something like that? Can’t we just keep him here in the tower? It’s safe here.”

“According to Coulson’s files, Hydra isn’t going to keep playing around for much longer. They’re getting more violent – It’s only a matter of time before they get frustrated and try an outright assault on the tower, and while I know we’d be able to hold it, I don’t want to take the risk of anyone else getting caught in the crossfire. Right now it looks like they’re testing the waters, sinking a few LMDs into our system to see what they can get past us. Their equipment is good, Pep,” Tony said, sipping his coffee. He gave her a grim scowl. “I’d be worried, but thankfully, SHIELD has me.”

“I’m sure that’s the word they used,” Pepper said dryly. “How long do you think you’re going to be gone for?”

“We’re hoping we’ll have things wrapped up within a month, but I’m not sure how long it’s going to take to be honest. They might stick around until Steve turns back,”

“And that’s when, exactly?”

“Still unknown, as far as I know,”

“Oh, Tony,” Pepper sighed. “Does he know?”

“Who?” Tony quirked an eyebrow.

“Steve,”

“Oh. God, no,” Tony said, setting his coffee down. “No. He doesn’t know anything. He thinks he’s here because his mom’s a time traveling spy working for SHIELD.”

“Oh god,” Pepper groaned. “This just gets better and better. That poor child.”

“Well, I mean, technically speaking it could be worse,” Tony shrugged. “At least we’re the ones that got to him first. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if he’d been hit by that beam when no one from the team was around. He might have still been wandering the streets like a lost puppy,”

“Or he might have been lured into the back of some creepy pervert’s van,” Pepper murmured. “I see what you mean by it being worse.” She looked down at the crumpled file, pursing her lips. “You’ve got it covered, haven’t you? Somehow I don’t think you’d let something happen to the little guy.”

“Oh?” Tony picked up his coffee again, needing something to hold. Talking about an attempted kidnapping reminded him a little too much of his own; over the years he had been snatched up seven different times, and it never got easier to deal with. People were such assholes when they wanted money or power.

Pepper smiled at him. “You like him,”

“Who?”

“Steve,”

“Who doesn’t like Steve?” Tony said, swirling the coffee in his mug.

“Alright,”

“Alright?”

“I’ll cover for you – again – while you’re busy playing house. But you need to promise me one thing,” Pepper said, pushing the file across the table towards Tony. He picked it up, flipping it open; he didn’t like what he saw. “You need to play it by the books this time – at least for a little while. I know you plan better than they do, but they’ve been doing the whole witness relocation slash protection thing for longer than you have. They may, god forbid, actually know what they’re doing.”

“Oh god,” he groaned, letting his head drop onto the table with a thud. “Come on. Do I have to?”

“Coulson asked me directly,” Pepper said, running her fingers through her bangs. “Frankly, I didn’t know what the hell he was talking about until you mentioned Hydra again. I thought you were just going to take Steve out to see the world – maybe fly him to Disney World.” She scowled at her bangs when she noticed that they were crooked and started fixing them, tugging her loose pony-tail free; her hair fell in front of her face in waves, shimmering under the kitchen lights. Tony pursed his lips and wondered for the fifth time that month why they had broken up. He sighed and looked back down at the folder so she wouldn’t catch him staring at her like a horny schoolboy.

“I get why Coulson wants to come along, because let’s face it, all my trips are awesome, but is there a reason why we can’t just have Thor or Bruce come with us instead?” Tony sighed wearily. “Don’t answer that. I know why. Thor attracts too much attention, and giant green rage monsters aren’t good with children. You know I had this all planned out – I didn’t need their help.”

“I know that – I told Phil the exact same thing, but he wasn’t convinced it was a good idea to leave Steve alone with you for that long without having someone around to trade off with. He thinks you’re too selfish to deal with children,” Pepper said, putting her hair back up. “We both know that’s a load of shit, but Phil claims he’s trying to cover all the bases.”

“Nice to know he thinks so highly of me,” Tony muttered. “I guess that’s what I get for being a good boy and sending them a goddamned preliminary briefing.”

“Yes, well, as you said, it could be worse.”

“Who else is butting in on my trip? I need to tweak the details – goddamn it! I was so close to being done!”

“Natasha says she’s going to tag along while the rest of the Avengers work on taking down Hydra from behind the scenes. She’ll tail you from a distance but you won’t see her. I guess she’s going to make her own arrangements so you probably don’t need to worry about booking more rooms,”

“Why did they decide to tell you about this first?” Tony said, setting his mug down on the table a little harder than he intended. His coffee shot up over the sides of the mug, dribbling onto the countertop, leaving behind a black puddle. “I’m too volatile to take the news? Too self-absorbed to handle being told what a childish ass I am?”

“I guess they thought I would break the news better – or maybe they figured that you wouldn’t have told me about it yet, so I’d be the perfect mouthpiece after they gave me a heads-up,” Pepper sighed, grabbing a piece of paper towel off the roll beside her. She handed it to Tony, and watched as he sopped up his mess. “I would have preferred to hear it from you first, but I have a feeling you were going to send me the finalized work instead of feeding me bits at a time, so I guess I jumped the gun a little.”

“Yeah,”

“For the record,” Pepper said as she stood up, walking over to stand beside Tony. She took his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “I believe that you’ll do an amazing job with Steve. I know you, Tony. You might be grumpy, and a little annoying, but you always do the right thing. You’d never let something happen to a kid, even if they weren’t a teammate.”

“Damn right,” Tony muttered, giving Pepper his grouchiest smile.

“You’re going to have to leave tonight, you know,” Pepper said, stroking Tony’s cheek. “They moved the timeline up while you were sleeping.”

“Good thing they told me that,”

“I told them I’d tell you,”

“I guess I can forgive you,” Tony said, wrapping his arms around Pepper’s waist. He leaned against her, resting his head against her stomach. “God I hope I don’t fuck this up.”

“You won’t,” Pepper said, stroking his hair. “You’ll be fine.”

“So are we telling Steve something, or am I just springing a crazy trip on the kid?” Tony said with a sigh.

“I apologize for interrupting,” Jarvis said, “but Agent Coulson is requesting that Ms. Potts bring Steve down to the common floor. He has asked me to tell you that you should finish packing, sir,”

“Great,” Tony reluctantly pulled away from Pepper. “I guess this is it then.”

“I guess so,” Pepper said with a rueful smile. “Have fun – and keep Steve safe.”

“Will do,” Tony said, pushing back his chair. “I think I need another coffee before I tackle my suitcase.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Alright. But don’t take too long.”

“I won’t,” Tony said, heading for the coffee pot. “This’ll just take a minute.”

The plan went off without a hitch, despite the fact that it had been rewritten earlier that morning; the Avengers escorted Tony and an LMD version of Steve to Tony’s private jet and then waited until take off before going their separate ways, slipping Steve away from prying eyes. Thor flew alongside the jet the entire way ‘guarding’ them, and then when they landed, he flew alongside Tony’s rental car until they arrived at their hotel.

No one approached Tony directly, but his sensors picked up seven different signals following him. He snorted to himself as he gathered up his bags and snuck out the back door of the hotel, LMD Steve safety following him like a faithful dog. They made it the exchange point easily, and were intercepted within a few minutes by a harassed looking Clint, who gave Tony the keys to a new vehicle and then made off with LMD Steve and Tony’s original car.

Hydra could have at least tried to stay hidden; even if he hadn’t had an LMD detector in his pocket the entire time, Tony could have spotted them from a mile away. They went off after Clint as soon as they saw him, and while they couldn’t keep up with him, they seemed determined to give chase as long as it took. They ignored Tony completely; he wasn’t sure whether he should be offended by that or not. Maybe they didn’t think he was capable of taking care of a little kid either. He tried not to be too bitter about it.

Tony drove off before they could come back and reconsider their decision; he swapped cars again, this time at a grocery store parking lot. The SHIELD agent who had left it for him was long gone, but they had done a good job picking out the shittiest truck he had ever seen. He was surprised the thing still ran; it was so rusty he thought the frame was going to give out. He changed clothing in a Starbucks bathroom and drove the rest of the way wearing a pair of worn jeans and a sweat stained t-shirt that read ‘I’m with Stupid’. It had a little arrow on it too, and as expected, it was pointing down. He was pretty sure Pepper wouldn’t have let him get within ten feet of her looking like this. The holographic display watch he had made was warping his facial features enough for him to be just another greasy hobo on the road.

He drove on, not bothering to stop for sleep until he could barely keep his eyes open; he found himself a dingy hotel, set up surveillance and slept like the dead. The team kept radio silence; he dreamed that Steve was in a Hydra camp and spent the next morning throwing up out his window every few feet until he had nothing left in his stomach.

Two more cars and three days later, Tony arrived at Silver Shell, a small tourist town with plenty of beach houses, sand and water; it hadn’t been Tony’s first choice, but it had two very important features that had bumped it to the top of the list. One – no one bothered to come here, even when it was in season and two – it was cheap as dirt, a place Tony Stark would never set foot in, unless of course he wanted to cut said foot off afterwards.

He stopped off at a pit stop to freshen up; this wasn’t the first time he had scrubbed himself down in the sink with a bar of complimentary soap he had swiped from a hotel room, but it was the first time he had done it with a different face. He had to turn the hologram off so that he didn’t accidentally slice his nose off when he shaved, but all in all it wasn’t so bad. Once finished, now blessedly stench free, he modified his hologram so that he looked respectable instead of sleazy before exchanging his old clothes for a pair of clean slacks and a button up shirt. He left the bathroom a changed man – literally.

He drove through town to Beach House Number Seven, a respectable-yet-dingy little shack on the north side of town that came complete with its own wharf; the paint was faded, and the wind chimes were a bit on the damaged side, but it would do.

Steve was on him the second he stepped out of the car; the kid moved fast, practically appearing out of nowhere. He was still wearing his own holographic display watch – one Tony had built specially for him – and at first Tony didn’t even realize who was manhandling him. Steve apparently hadn’t had the same problem figuring out who he was, because he wrapped himself around Tony’s shins before he even said hello; he looked like he was practically vibrating with pent-up energy.

“Tony!”

“Hey, Steve,” Tony said, relaxing for the first time in days. He looked around for Coulson, but couldn’t spot the agent anywhere; the television was on inside the Beach House, but other than that the place was lifeless – not that he was complaining. He bent down and scooped Steve up, telling his sore back to fuck off, and carried the kid inside before the sand could get a good look at them.

Coulson looked up as they walked in; he was sitting with his back to the door, his arm draped over the back of the couch as if his sweetheart had wandered off to the bathroom during the commercial break. He glanced from the television to Steve and back.

“Aren’t you supposed to be watching him?” Tony asked, locking the door behind him. He put his thumb to the security pad, checking himself into the system with Steve hanging off of his neck. He glared at Coulson. At least one of the security precautions was working.

“I am watching him,” Coulson said, gesturing to the television. Sure enough, it was streaming security feeds from the seventeen cameras SHIELD had put up around the beach house. Tony had known they were there, but a part of him didn’t quite trust them to work properly; it was SHIELD who had installed them after all, and they had been the ones to get Steve into trouble in the first place.

Tony set Steve down on the couch, looking around the room, surveying his new kingdom. He already knew the layout – had known it for days – but somehow it wasn’t quite like how he had pictured it. Sure, it had three bedrooms, a bathroom, kitchen and living room, but it looked a lot smaller than it should have. That and there was a lot more white washing and driftwood than he would have liked. Christ, someone had built the television stand out of driftwood too – and was that a shell glued to the wallpaper? Who the hell had designed this place? Had it been a mermaid? Because he was pretty sure a mermaid was the only one who would find the place appealing; he would have bulldozed the entire beach in a heartbeat to get away from that god-awful wallpaper.

“We’re safe,” Coulson said, noticing Tony’s frown. “I’ve done bug sweeps seventy six times already, and the cameras are being tested at regular intervals by Jarvis as well as our surveillance team.”

“Sure,”

“Natasha reported in sixteen minutes ago. She says everything is fine,” Coulson continued, patting Steve’s shoulder.

“Uh huh,” Tony muttered. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to do a few scans of my own.”

“Knock yourself out,” Coulson murmured, turning back to face the television.

Steve hopped off the couch, following along as Tony moved room by room, sweeping for bugs and traps; it was tedious work, but Steve was good company and eager to talk.

“We rode on a motorcycle,” Steve said, following Tony into the first bedroom. By the looks of it, this one was Coulson’s; you could have bounced a quarter off the sheets, they were so tightly pulled over the mattress. The room had the same hideous wallpaper; whoever ran the place had obviously gotten the stuff at a discount, because there was no other excuse for there being five different layers of the crap. He scanned the room three times before he was satisfied enough to leave.

“So you rode a motorcycle, huh,” Tony said as they walked into the next bedroom. Again, he was greeted by the same hideous wallpaper. It just seemed to get worse and worse. “I hope someone gave you a helmet.” This room was empty, waiting for an occupant; he recognized his bag sitting on the bed and let out a sigh. Ah, yes. This was his room. He gave it three scans and then checked in his bag to see what had made it through Natasha’s purge. There were a few pairs of jeans and shirts inside – a few pairs of underwear and socks too. It wasn’t much; nothing flashy or ostentatious, but then again he hadn’t picked anything like that to take with him. His Iron Man t-shirt had not made the cut, it seemed; he hoped it hadn’t ended up in a dumpster somewhere. Something else had taken its place. He scowled when he pulled out a very obnoxious pink mickey mouse t-shirt. He held it up, scrutinizing the label.

“Natasha let me buy that for you,” Steve said, shuffling in place.

Tony smiled softly at Steve, tucking the shirt into his bag. “It’s awesome. I can safely say I don’t have anything like it. Thanks,”

“You’re welcome,” Steve grinned. “How was your trip? Did you get to ride in a Quinjet too?”

“Nope,” Tony said, giving the room another scan just for the hell of it. “I had to drive here all by myself.” He shooed Steve out of the room and moved on to the last bedroom, mindful of the toys sitting in the doorway.

“This is my room,” Steve said, scrambling to clean up. He stuffed the teddy bears and foam dinosaurs into a bag against the wall, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I left it messy.”

“No worries little man,” Tony said, sidestepping a foam giraffe. “You’ve seen my workshop. This is neat and tidy compared to that,”

“Coulson said I shouldn’t leave stuff lying around,” Steve said. He picked up a ball-shaped toy and held it to his chest; it was red and gold and looked suspiciously like Iron Man. Tony squinted at the toy, trying to see what it was. Steve hugged it tighter, his cheeks going faintly pink. “What?”

“What’cha got there?” Tony asked, kneeling down so that he could get a better look at the toy. It looked mighty fine for a stuffed toy.

Steve reluctantly handed it over to Tony, looking down at his feet, a nervous smile on his face.

The toy was adorable; Tony was going to buy himself one the minute he got home – hell, he’d buy two or three. It really did look like Iron Man, but it was based on one of the older armor models. Its little arms were sewed to its front, but its stumpy little feet were free to move about. He ran his fingers over the Iron Man helmet stitched into the front of the ball, laughing at the tiny, perfectly round arc reactor. It didn’t quite match the real thing, but he didn’t think it made the toy any less charming. He handed the Iron Man ball back to Steve, patting it on the head. “That’s cute.”

“Pepper gave it to me,” Steve said, hugging the toy again.

“Oh yeah?” Tony straightened up, trying not to grin. “Pepper’s been holding out on me. We’re going to have to have words when I get back. How could I have not known of this majestic creature?”

“You like it?”

“I love it,” Tony said. “I’m going to ask her where she got it and get a few more.”

“Cool! I brought my bagel too. Natasha said we might be here for a really long time, and I didn’t want it to get lonely,” Steve said.

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Tony chuckled. The kid followed him out into the kitchen, shadowing him as he went about scanning every appliance he could find; when Tony was done, having gone so far as to poke around under the bathroom sink, Steve dragged Tony over to the kitchen table, looking mournfully at the fridge.

“When did you guys eat last?” Tony asked. He wasn’t hungry, strictly speaking, but the look on Steve’s face made it clear the kid was, and he was more than willing to help him out.

“We had lunch a few hours ago, but I guess it’s time for dinner,” Coulson said, getting up from the couch. He shouldered his way past Tony, sticking his head into the fridge while Tony scowled at his back. He pulled out a bunch of meat and condiments, setting everything up on the table in an orderly line.

“I take it you guys did your own shopping?” Tony snorted, eyeing the pitiful contents of the fridge; he had seen more food in dorm rooms. “I think there are people out there who dumpster-dive for a living who eat better.”

Coulson glared at him, clearly unimpressed by Tony’s candor. He picked up a loaf of wonder bread and started pulling out slices, setting them on plates. “We have to be careful here, Stark. We can’t run around buying five hundred dollars’ worth of groceries in one go,” he said, opening a jar of no-name-brand mayonnaise.

Tony cringed. “You do realize that real mayo isn’t that out of your budget, right?”

“This is real mayonnaise,” Coulson said, slathering margarine on the second slice of bread for all three sandwiches. “And if don’t like it, you can go get the groceries next time.”

“Right,” Tony said, leaning his hip against the table. He glanced at Steve, and saw that the kid was busy staring a hole in the back of Coulson’s shirt; Steve must have been hungry if no-name-brand mayonnaise and margarine was an appetizing combination. “Point me at the store and I’ll take care of it.”

“You can’t flash a lot of cash around here,” Coulson grumbled, looking up from his sandwiches. “This is a small town, Stark – they don’t get a lot of people here aside from tourists, and the ones who come here are the poor ones.”

“Thanks for the history lesson, but I did the reading, remember?” Tony sat down in the chair across from Steve. “I’m the one who picked the place.”

“Right,” Coulson said, thinly distributing ham onto each sandwich.

“You’re a bit of a miser, did you know that?” Tony asked, rolling his eyes.

“And you’re a bit of a whiny brat,” Coulson said, smiling over his shoulder. “Did you know that?”

“I did know that,” Tony said, with a shrug. “But what can you do?”

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” Coulson said. He turned back to his sandwiches and finished them off with a wafer of cheese, lettuce and tomato. The first plate, naturally, went to Steve – not that Tony was complaining; feeding Steve had been the whole point, after all. He was tempted, however, to ask if Coulson had spit in his food just to see how the guy would react.

Coulson handed Tony a plate and then started eating his own sandwich, his eyes trained on Steve the entire time; it was a little unnerving how he didn’t end up biting himself considering he wasn’t watching what he was doing.

Tony bit into his own sandwich with a sigh. He was going to have to go grocery shopping, and boy did he hate grocery shopping – there was a reason why he had things delivered directly to his house; it wasn’t that he didn’t know what he was doing. He had done his own shopping all the time at university. It was just that he couldn’t stand being trapped in lines anymore; milling around with people made him break out into cold sweats these days, and while he knew no one was going to recognize him in a store here in bumfuck-nowhere, he still couldn’t bring himself to feel any more chipper about it.

Steve took a big bite of his sandwich, happily chewing his way through his flimsy slice of tomato; Tony knew damn well the kid hated tomatoes, but there he was, eating it anyway. Steve must have been hungrier than he had first thought. Tony shook his head and nibbled at the side of sandwich. Ah hell. He tore his sandwich in half when he saw that Steve had already finished his and set the un-nibbled part down on Steve’s plate.

Steve looked up at him solemnly. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Tony said, smiling back. “Eat.”

Steve snatched up the sandwich half, devouring it before Tony could lean back into his chair. He looked like he was thinking about licking his plate clean. Tony chuckled, biting into his sandwich again. The kid was like a python; it was surprising the little guy hadn’t tried to unhinge his jaw and swallow the plate whole.

He sighed to himself, licking his fingers clean. There was no getting out of it now – he definitely needed to go grocery shopping tomorrow; growing boys needed to eat after all.

Chapter Text

Tony got up early the next morning, intending to hit the road as soon as he could figure out where Coulson had hidden the goddamned coffee machine. He nearly jumped out of his skin when the bastard cleared his throat directly behind him. He whirled around, his heart hammering in his chest, almost knocking his mug off the countertop. “Jesus – what the fuck is your problem?”

“Language,” Coulson said, giving Tony a look that promised pain and suffering in the near future. He reached around Tony and steadied his wobbling mug. “I’m getting ready to go to the store. I’m assuming that’s what you’re doing.”

Tony scowled. “Yeah – that’s what I’m doing.”

“Alright. I’ll wake Steve up when we’ve got breakfast ready,” Coulson said. He turned away and opened up the fridge, pulling out a yellow carton of eggs, humming to himself as he worked. “I’m sure your royal palate can handle a few more lowbrow meals.”

Tony sighed and went back to searching for the coffee maker; it wasn’t worth starting a fight – yet. Not when there was coffee hanging in the balance. He was extremely glad he had decided on a whim to pack a few bags of coffee beans, and a grinder with him; the can of decaf Maxwell House he had found in the cupboard made it clear that Coulson was indeed planning on killing him after a long drawn out bout of coffee-related torture. “Where’s the coffee machine?” he asked after spending another fruitless minute searching through the remaining cupboards.

“It’s under the sink,” Coulson said, cracking eggs into the middle of a frying pan. The bastard didn’t even drop any shells into it either. He set a pack of fatty maple bacon on a plate and waited patiently for the eggs to fry, tapping his flipper on the side of the pan as if this was something he had done every day of his life.

Tony wrestled the coffee machine free from under a pile of rags; he had known he was going to find a disaster there beneath the sink, but he hadn’t thought it was going to be this bad. He wanted to weep when he got a good look at it; the coffee maker looked like it had followed Steve through time. It was probably older than he was – hell, it didn’t even have a goddamned timer on it. Tony sighed, shaking his head. He could upgrade it, sure, but that would mean hitting up an electronics and or hardware store, and he knew for a fact that this place didn’t have either – that, and he was working with a budget, one that was meant for feeding a ravenous mini super soldier. He sighed and wiped the coffee maker down before plugging it in, putting a filter in before he forgot about it. “Oh thank god,” he said as it turned on without bursting into flames. At least it worked. He could deal with staring at it while it brewed – it wasn’t like he hadn’t made coffee in difficult places before. Hell, he had made it in a hub cap before; this was luxurious by comparison. He headed to his room to retrieve a bag of beans and his coffee grinder and wound up nearly tripping on a sleepy looking Steve.

“Jesus – sorry, I know, I know – no taking names in vain and all that. Jeeze,” Tony said, clutching the bag of coffee and grinder to his chest. “You scared me, buddy.”

Steve rubbed his eyes. He was wearing Iron Man pajamas; Tony had a hard time not cooing at him like he was some kind of fluffy animal. “Are we going somewhere? I thought we were done traveling?”

“We’re not traveling,” Tony said, slinking back into the kitchen with Steve dogging his heels. “Don’t worry. I’m just making coffee, because after breakfast we’re going to go grocery shopping.”

“Oh,” Steve murmured, stumbling to a halt at Tony’s side. He tugged on Tony’s sweatpants. “Are you ok? You look sad.”

“I’m just disappointed that the coffee maker is a dinosaur,” Tony sighed. He set his bag of down on the counter and then looked around for the outlet he knew was there. He found it easily enough but had to force himself to ignore the urge to strip the place down and rewire it in order to plug the grinder in.

“I don’t get it,” Steve said, his hands migrating to his hips. “Dinosaurs died a long time ago.”

“That’s the point,” Tony said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “It means that the coffee machine is very, very, very old.”

“Oh,”

“It’s sad but true. Maybe I should buy a new one – I think they have a crappy little store in town,” Tony mused, dumping a handful of beautifully roasted beans into the grinder. Even if the coffee maker was shit, the grinder would smooth things along; this, he mused to himself, was the closest he had ever been to camping.

“There’s a general store on Second Street that might have a coffee machine in stock if you’re lucky,” Coulson said, sliding his eggs from the pan and onto a plate. He cracked a few more into the pan, looking over his shoulder at Steve, giving the kid a smile. “Do you want some toast, sport?”

Steve shuffled closer to Tony. “No,”

Tony was fairly certain that for a second there, Coulson looked like he might start crying; the look vanished almost before Tony could figure out if he was hallucinating or not.

Tony turned the coffee grinder on so that it would drown out his chuckles, hoping it would help him to avoid getting clubbed in the head with a hot frying pan. “I’ll have some toast,” he half-yelled over the sound of the coffee grinder. He took a moment to pat Steve’s head as he watched the beans vanish into dust, trying not to snort when Couslon’s back went rigid at the sound of his voice. “I like toast. Toast is good, isn’t it Steve?”

“Yes. I like toast too,” Steve said solemnly, squinting up at the counter. “What are you doing?”

“I’m grinding up the coffee beans I brought with me,” Tony said. He opened up the coffee pot and showed Steve the filter nestled inside. “You put the coffee grounds in here, and then hot water goes through it to make coffee. I’m simplifying the steps of course because they’re boring, but you get what I mean, right?”

“Yes,” Steve said with a nod.

“I’ll make extra toast then I guess,” Coulson said, staring down at the bacon he was frying.

Tony smirked to himself.

He winced when Coulson ‘accidentally’ hit him in the shoulder with the greasy flipper.

Silver Shell was the kind of place people would take pictures of in order to make cheesy homemade postcards. It was a rustic sort of town, where the buildings were all white-washed and painted in varying shades of blue and green; there were anchors and seashells stenciled onto everything. The place had embraced the sea wholeheartedly, and that wasn’t likely to change any time soon. Hell, the streetlights were shaped like clam shells. The streets were still made out of cobblestones, and they were probably the same ones the town founders had used back when horses were the one and only mode of transportation; it was clean and all, but it still looked like one wrong step might send them back in time to the 1900’s.

They went to the general store first at Tony’s insistence; the place was called Beatie’s Boutique, and the first step through the front door made it clear that this was a place where things went to die. There wasn’t any dust on the boxes or shelves, but when Tony picked up a ceramic cat, there was a lovely circle of grime winking up at him. He pursed his lips. “Great.”

“Tony?” Steve called out from behind him. Tony turned around, setting the ceramic cat back down gingerly when he noticed the death glare the woman at the till was giving him.

“Yeah?”

“Can I go look at the books?”

“Sure buddy – just stay in sight, ok?”

“Ok,” Steve scampered off, scooting along a row of plates and spoons adorned with cheerful sunflowers.

Tony sighed, turning back to the task at hand. “Now where would I be if I was a coffee machine?” He kept an eye on Steve as he slipped down an aisle marked ‘breakfast nook goodies’, finding himself surrounded in egg beaters, flour sifters and serving platters – and there, at the end of the aisle, was a gorgeous looking coffee maker – with a timer and everything. Oh god – he was going to cry. It was new – from this century even. He shimmied closer, afraid of scare it off, and lifted it up, instantly relieved when he found out that it wasn’t just an empty box. “Hello beautiful!”

Coulson glanced around the store and then stalked through the aisle towards Tony, stopping a few inches away from him. “You left him alone?”

Tony wanted to bang his head on the nearest shelf; he probably would have if the lady at the till hadn’t been watching him like he was a ragged alley cat she was knew was going to start pissing on everything in range. “Phil, he’s fine. He’s looking at the books. I can see him from here.”

“He’s seven, Tony,” Coulson said softly, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s seven, and you just let him wander off alone.”

“He asked for permission and I gave it to him. He’s a smart kid – he’s not going to run off on us,” Tony said, wiggling his way past Coulson with the brand new coffee maker clutched to his chest like it was his first born child. “Let the kid live a little. It’s safe here. You said so yourself.”

Coulson shook his head. “I don’t see how you can be so nonchalant about this.”

“Phil,” Tony sighed, turning to face Coulson, “Calm down. He’s fine.” He walked the coffee maker over to the till and set it down, pulling out his wallet. “Steve? You done, buddy?”

“Coming!” Steve scampered towards the till, nimbly avoiding Coulson much to his apparent dismay. He held up a book, gnawing on his lower lip. “Can we get this too, please?”

“Sure,” Tony said with a smile. “Put it up on the counter.”

“’kay,” Steve went up on his tiptoes, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, and put the book beside the coffee maker; that particular copy wouldn’t have been Tony’s first choice considering it was kind of beat-up, but Steve seemed to have taken a liking to it, so he squashed down the urge to put it back.

The woman at the till smiled at Steve. “The Three Musketeers is an excellent choice sweetheart,” she said, ringing up the book and coffee maker. Steve grinned up at Tony, holding on to the edge of the counter with one hand, still standing on his tip-toes.

“Agreed,” Tony said. All in all the trip had only set him back sixty bucks, although judging by the frown on Coulson’s face that was sixty bucks too much. Man, he thought, someone needed to unclench for a while.

“Your son is adorable,” the woman said, putting the coffee maker into a plastic bag. She handed Steve the book, seemingly pleased by the way he leaned closer to Tony’s leg after accepting it. “You and your husband have done a great job with him.”

Tony spent a full three seconds wondering what the fuck she was talking about before he clued in; not missing a beat he grinned at her, nudging Coulson in the side with his elbow. “Oh, you know. We try, but I think it’s all him, really. He’s just a sweet kid.”

“Are you here on your honeymoon?” The woman asked, leaning against the counter; the cranky biddy from earlier was gone, replaced with a cheerful older lady that might have graced the covers of readers digest. “We get a lot of honeymooners here. It’s a very romantic town, isn’t it?”

Tony tried not to burst out laughing when Coulson started sputtering beside him. “That it is, but no, we’re just here on a family vacation. We both got some unexpected time off work and thought it would be a good idea to take our son out for some beach house living,” Tony said, resting a hand on Coulson’s shoulder.

The woman nodded in agreement, counting out Tony’s change. “Oh you’re right about that. The off season is the best time to get some privacy around here. There’s not much to do, granted, but it’s a great place to bring the family for a break. Your little guy will just love the beach – we’ve got a sale on sandcastle toys by the way,” she said, nodding towards an aisle across from them. “It’s 7.96 for a set.”

Steve looked up at Tony again, his eyes wide with wonder. “Can we?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Sure – go pick something out,”

Steve practically dove towards the toys, his book still clutched tightly in hand as he dug through the pile of colourful plastic shovels and buckets.

“You’re spoiling him, honey,” Coulson said, shaking his head at Tony.

“Oh relax, darling,” Tony said, fishing another ten out of his wallet. He put it on the counter. “At least we’ve got the chance to get him some extras now before we forget about them again.”

“I guess,”

The woman chuckled. She broke the ten and gave Tony back his change. “Believe me, they’re worth the investment. My granddaughter has some and she’s been building sand castles with them all year long. They’re good quality – they don’t break as easily as some of the other brands.”

Tony nodded, taking the coffee maker off the counter as Steve returned with his forage in hand; everything was nestled within a mesh bag, safely arranged for travel. The tools were a deep golden yellow and hot-rod red. Tony chuckled at the choice, wiping away an imaginary tear when Coulson caught his eye. “Let’s go put this stuff in the car, ok?”

“Ok,” Steve said, following Tony towards the door. He reached up as they got out onto the street, wrestling his things into his other hand and took Tony’s hand in his, holding it as they walked towards their rental car. Coulson followed after them, casually eyeballing the people on the street, his hands tucked in his pockets.

“So have you ever seen the beach before yesterday?” Tony asked, as he popped the trunk open. He juggled the coffee maker and stuffed it into the trunk with Steve’s things, packing everything away with ease.

Steve shook his head. “Ma doesn’t get a lot of time off. We were supposed to go to Coney Island on my birthday, but she had to cancel again because she had to work overtime. Bucky’s Ma offered to take me, but Ma wanted to us to do it together.” He looked sadly down at his feet. “Do you think she’d be mad at me for seeing it without her?”

Tony dropped to his knees, resting his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “No, honey, I don’t think she’d be mad. I think she’d be happy that you got to come all the way out here to see the beach with us. Sure, there’s no carnival rides around like on Coney Island, but you’ve got nice clean water to swim in,” Tony said, trying not to grimace at the thought of so much water waiting outside his bedroom.

“Really?”

“Really,” Tony said, letting Steve go. He dusted his hands off on his pant legs and stood up. “Let’s go get our groceries, alright? The sooner we get that done, the sooner we can go make some sandcastles, right?”

Steve grinned. “Right!”

“Alright, so let’s go!” Tony took Steve by the hand, slamming the trunk shut. He gave the security lock an extra press to double check that it was still on and led them across the street towards the town’s only grocery store.

Coulson trailed behind them like a stray dog.

Tony was mildly impressed; sure, the store was small, but it had quite the selection. He led Steve down the breakfast foods aisle and let the little guy pick out his favourite box of cereal before hitting up the instant coffee section. He was going to have to ration the good stuff – a few cans of crap wasn’t going to be too hard to swallow, at least not when he had an ample supply of sugar and cream at his disposal. He ignored the way Coulson frowned at everything he put into their basket and ushered Steve down the snack foods aisle, picking out crackers, cookies and everything else that looked even mildly appetizing. By the time they reached the bread aisle, Coulson was hunched over, clutching his head, looking a little like he was suffering through a migraine.

“Let’s get two loaves this time,” Tony said, picking the fluffiest white bread he could find. Sure, the stuff was nutrition free, but it was good for feeding the wildlife if it got a little crusty, and he had a feeling there were quite a few sea birds out there ready and waiting to be fed by a certain little boy.

“Did you really have to buy so much?” Coulson asked as they lugged their groceries back to the car. In hindsight, he had probably gone a little overboard on the groceries this time, Tony mused, but at least this way they would all have something to eat that didn’t taste like cardboard.

“Its fine, Phil,” Tony grunted, packing everything away with Steve’s help. “Besides, you and I both know you love ice cream. It’s not my fault we needed to buy three different flavors.”

Coulson sighed wearily, hanging his head. “Stark,”

“Nuh huh,” Tony said, prodding Coulson in the shoulder. “Husbands don’t call each other by their last names, remember?”

“Oh god,” Coulson groaned, putting his head in his hands.

“You know,” Tony said, opening the car door. He got Steve into his car seat, smirking the entire time. “I don’t know why I even married you. You’re such a grump,”

“I hate you,” Coulson said, getting into the driver’s seat.

“Aww,” Tony said, blowing him a kiss before he got into the passenger’s seat, “I love you too.”

Tony plopped himself down onto the beach chair he had found under the porch and watched idly as Steve gathered rocks for his sandcastle. He had a tablet resting on his knee, and a can of lemonade in hand; it was a good day, even though it was a little too bright for his taste. He sipped at his lemonade, flicking through schematics for a new archery training room, trying to ignore the way Coulson was lurking in the distance.

“You going to come over here at some point, Phil? Or are you going to keep leering at me from a distance?”

Coulson sat down in the sand beside Tony, frowning – as usual – when he saw what Steve was doing. “You’re letting him dig in the dirt?”

“He needs rocks,” Tony said with a shrug, not looking up from his tablet. “How the hell else is he supposed to get them if he doesn’t dig for them? Did you want him wandering out into the surf without water wings and a lifejacket?”

“No,”

“Then stop complaining,”

Coulson sighed, rubbing sand off of his cheek with his palm. “You know, out of the two of us, I didn’t expect you to be the one he bonded with,”

“Oh?” Tony fixed a line on the wireframe of a new bot with a flick of his thumb and gritting his teeth. He knew what was coming; he was surprised it had taken this long for Coulson to come out and say it.

“The Captain didn’t like you,”

Aaaaand there it was. Tony tried not to let it get to him. It didn’t work. “Yeah, I know that,” he growled, looking up sharply. “Does this have a point? Or is this just ‘tell Tony things he already knows’ day? Because I thought that was later in the year. I swear, Clint sent me a card and everything – I’m pretty sure I had Jarvis put it on my calendar and everything.”

Coulson snorted, digging a shell out of the sand. “That sounds like something he would do,”

Tony turned his attention back to his tablet. “Good. Then I’m assuming this conversation is over.”

“He really likes you,” Coulson grumbled, tossing the shell away. “I don’t get it.”

“No one gets it,” Tony muttered. He wondered if he could get away with putting in ear plugs. Pepper would have swatted him, but Pepper was in New York; she would have had to be psychic to figure it out from this distance.

“I mean, I talk to him all the time,” Coulson continued, watching Steve scoot along the coastline a few feet away dumping shells and pebbles into his plastic bucket. “We get along. So why doesn’t he like me?”

“Maybe you smell funny,” Tony said, glancing between Steve and his tablet. “Kids don’t like people sometimes. It happens – suck it up, Super Nanny. You’ve watched the shows – why are you even telling me about this shit?”

“I like kids.”

“That’s nice,”

“I mean, one day, I want to have one of my own,” Coulson said. “I want to get married - and you’re right. I don’t know why I’m telling you anything.” He stood up, heading towards the house and then to Tony’s surprise, he came stomping back, sitting down in the sand again. “It doesn’t even bother you that they think we’re a gay couple, does it?”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “And why would that bother me?”

“Because you’re into women,”

“I am. I’m also into men.”

“You are?” Coulson looked surprised; it was a strange expression, one Tony had never seen on the agent before. He wasn’t sure he liked the look of it.

“I’m amazed that Natasha didn’t spill the beans already,” Tony muttered, moving onto another file. He wasn’t going to be able to build anything for a few months, but he could at least stockpile blueprints for when he was done – anything to avoid a conversation with Phil Coulson about his sex life.

“If I didn’t know, she didn’t know,”

“Her mistake then,” Tony shrugged.

“She doesn’t make mistakes,”

“Well, then I guess I’m a bit more crafty than you give me credit for, aren’t I?” Tony set his tablet down on the chair behind him, getting up. “Hey,” he said as Steve returned, dragging his pail of goodies behind him. “You got enough stuff?”

“Uh huh,” Steve grunted, dumping the pail at Tony’s feet. “Can you help me build it?”

“Sure,” Tony said, dropping down to his knees. The sand was blissfully soft; his back only complained a little. “How big do you want to build it?”

“Big,” Steve said solemnly.

“Alright – let’s get cracking then,” Tony said with a grin. He picked up one of the plastic buckets and held it out, showing it to Steve. “So, first we pack the bucket with sand,”

“Ok,” Steve said, picking up another bucket. He started scooping sand with his finger, dumping handfuls in it, watching as Tony did the same with his bucket. “Like this?”

“Yep. Just like that,”

Steve grinned. “Now what?”

“Now we flatten a space out the sand where we want to build the castle – that way it stays standing longer,” Tony said.

Coulson smiled at Steve, inching closer across the sand until he was sitting beside Tony. “Can I help?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Tony’s helping me.”

Coulson sighed. He watched them work for a few minutes before getting up and dusting himself off. “I’m going to go make dinner,”

“Ok,” Tony said, helping Steve put up the first tower. “See you later,”

“Yeah,” Coulson said, heading towards the beach house, “see you later.”

Dinner was quiet; Tony hadn’t expected it to be that noisy to begin with considering how well behaved Steve was ninety percent of the time, but he had at least expected Coulson to ask a few questions about their sandcastle architecture. He eyed Coulson over the bowl of mashed potatoes, and received a tired stare in return.

Steve finished his last bite of meatloaf and set his fork down on his plate, looking around the table slowly before locking eyes with Tony.

“You can go play if you want,” Tony said, pushing his chair back so that he could stand up. He patted his stomach and decided to sit for a few more minutes; he hadn’t been this full in a long time. Maybe being fake-married to Coulson wasn’t such a bad thing.

“Can I help with dishes?” Steve asked, leaning against the table.

“You’re weird,” Tony said, sticking his tongue out at Steve.

Steve giggled. “I am not,”

“You are too,”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Coulson stood up, collecting their plates from the table without saying a word. He carried everything to the sink and started putting away the leftovers, separating everything into different containers so that nothing made of vegetables touched anything made of meat.

Tony heaved himself upright and pushed in his chair. “Why don’t you go colour for a bit, buddy? We can do the breakfast dishes together tomorrow morning. I need to have some adult time with Phil.”

Steve looked disappointed, but he nodded and wandered off to his bedroom, leaving Tony and Coulson alone.

Tony leaned his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “So I take it you’re mad,”

“I’m not mad,” Coulson said, slicing up the last of the meatloaf. He put his knife down and calmly put the perfectly divided meatloaf hunks into a plastic container, counting them as he went. “Why would I be mad?”

“I don’t know – why don’t you tell me?”

“I’m not mad. This is me, telling you, that I’m not mad,” Coulson snapped, stuffing the containers of leftovers into the fridge. “So, no. I’m not mad.”

“I’m hearing a lot of anger here, Phil,”

“Just quit it, Stark,” Coulson growled, turning on the water. He calmly rinsed his hands, scrubbing grease off of his fingernails.

“So you’re not mad at me?”

Coulson whirled, spraying Tony with lukewarm water. “I said I wasn’t mad, didn’t I?”

“So you’re mad at Clint then?”

Coulson’s mouth snapped shut. He turned around, grabbing the soap; he squeezed the bottle a little too hard, sending yellowy liquid all over the splash board. He stared at the mess, still clutching the soap bottle and then broke, putting his head in his hands. “He hadn’t checked in for over seven hours,”

“I know,” Tony said softly, picking up a dishcloth. He curled it in his hands, winding it around his fingers. “Jarvis already pinged me.”

“He’s got one of the LMD Steve’s,” Coulson muttered, staring into the sink. “He offered to take the fucking thing because he didn’t want to be here with me.”

“Lover’s spat?”

“I asked him if he wanted to marry me,”

“Oh,” Tony looked down at the floor. The last time he had seen Clint, the archer had looked a little like he had swallowed an entire bag of lemons. “Shit. Well I guess that explains everything,”

“Yeah, shit, I guess it does,”

Tony shook his head. He had known Clint and Coulson were close, but he hadn’t known they were dating; Clint had always been pretty flippant about what dating meant, and Coulson… well, Tony hadn’t really thought Coulson was interested in other humans that way. The guy liked paperwork far too much to be romantic, or so he had thought. “Is there anything I can do to help?” he asked, slowly unwinding the dish towel from his hand.

“There’s nothing you can do,” Coulson murmured, shutting off the water. “He’s off the grid. He has the panic button you made him – it’s his decision what happens next.” He picked up the first plate from the pile and started scrubbing at it with a scrub brush, tackling the caked on gravy and potatoes.

“I can turn it on remotely you know,” Tony murmured. “I mean, if you want…”

“No,” Coulson said, handing Tony the dripping wet plate. “I trust him. Turning it on means I don’t, and I won’t do that to him. He’s earned that.”

“You’re ok not knowing?” Tony cocked his head to the side. If it was him waiting on someone like that, he wasn’t so sure he’d have taken the same route. Not knowing was something he had never been very good at; he had spent far too much of his childhood not knowing what his father was thinking, not knowing where his mother was and not knowing if he was going to end up at the same school again the next year. He hated not knowing things.

“I’m not ok,” Coulson said, picking up the next plate, “But I respect him, and I’m going to keep my word. He didn’t want to be here, and there’s nothing I can do about that.”

“Oh my god,” Tony nearly dropped the plate he was trying to stuff into the cupboard one handed, “this was supposed to be you two, wasn’t it?” He looked down at the counter, staggered by the realization. He had wondered why he had been the one they had picked to go with Steve as part of his security entourage; he wasn’t exactly the guy he would have picked as a bodyguard if he had been the one needing one. Out of the suit, well, Steve had put it best – he was a big man in a suit of armor. Take that away and all you had was a bag of money with a bad ticker and questionable people skills. This had probably been Coulson’s idea of a trial family – getting Clint and Steve out here, seeing how things went. He could just see it now – Clint and Coulson holding hands while Steve splashed about in the water beside them.

Shit, he had ruined that without even realizing it.

“It would have been Clint, yes,” Coulson said slowly, scrubbing at the pot he had used to boil the potatoes, “but we had to factor in Steve’s decision too, you know.”

Tony snorted. “Steve would have thrown me into traffic before deciding to let me anywhere near his child-self.”

“I’m not so sure that’s true anymore,”

“Oh?” Tony plucked a plate out of the drying rack, glaring at it. “Somehow I think he would have approved of Natasha or Clint being here in my place. Me? I’m a flashy, boozing, selfish asshole. Hydra could probably take me out with a toothpick, and they’re incompetent.”

“To be fair,” Coulson said, smiling softly at Tony, “I could take you out with dental floss. Toothpicks are easy.”

“Oh, I feel so much better now,”

“Steve likes you,” Coulson set the pot down in soapy water to soak. “We gave him a choice of who to take with him, and he picked you, hands down. It was either you and me or you and someone else. Frankly, I came along just because I thought you were going to be awful at this, but I guess I read things wrong,”

“You don’t know that,” Tony snorted. “For all you know I could have a case of beer stashed in the trunk of my car. I could be drunk by morning – hell, I think I want to be drunk right now.”

“I’m serious,” Coulson said, putting a hand on Tony’s shoulder. It was wet and soapy, but firm – reassuring even. Tony wanted to shrug it off, not sure he could live up to what that grip meant.

“Look, I get that you’re trying to be nice,” Tony grumbled.

“I’m not. Frankly, I was an asshole. I know it – you know it – hell, Steve knows it and he’s only seven,” Coulson muttered, “but this is the way it worked out, and we’ve got to make the best of it. Besides, this way I get to be married, right? That’s once in a lifetime.”

Tony swallowed down a sarcastic quip, drowning it before it could reach air. “Right.”

“And now I can safely say I’ve actually told someone I’m gay,” Coulson chuckled, draining the sink and filling it with hot water again. “He’s going to be proud of me – assuming of course that he wants to get within ten feet of me when he gets back.”

“The fight was that bad?”

“Worse. He doesn’t think much of marriage – doesn’t believe people can love each other enough to stick together forever. I guess I jumped the gun a little. I just…” Coulson sighed wearily, picking up his scrub brush. “I wanted to see what the future would be like.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “God, I hope this isn’t the future. I’m far too beautiful to be married to your ugly ass,”

Coulson chuckled. “Oh please. We both know how good I look in a suit.”

“Pfft – as if. You’ve got the whole office worker chic thing going on, but I’m far more stylish. I look good in anything. You haven’t seen me in lingerie yet. I look good.”

“Keep telling yourself that, Stark,”

“I tell that to myself every night before I go to sleep,” Tony said, winking at Coulson. “Believe me, I know.”

Tony woke to the feeling of something warm and heavy lying on his chest. He got an eyeful of blonde hair when he tried to force himself to get up; he gave up after a few seconds of blindly patting the mattress, closing his eyes again. Oh well. Sleep it was. He dozed as he listened to the soft, raspy snores of the seven year old sleeping on him.

“Stark?” Coulson poked his head into Tony’s room, looking around. “Oh – there he is.”

“What, you lost him?” Tony mock gasped.

Steve continued to sleep, oblivious to the anxiety he had caused his caretakers.

Coulson rolled his eyes. “Of course not. I misplaced him. That’s totally different,”

“Right,”

“I guess he got scared during the night, huh?” Coulson lounged against the doorframe, eyeing Steve from a distance.

“Well,” Tony mumbled, sitting up slowly so that Steve didn’t wake, “I’m a walking night light. I’m not surprised he found his way here.” Steve slid down Tony’s chest, tangling in the blankets; Tony scooped him up and wrapped him up properly, tucking him in again before he could be woken by the change in temperature. The kid was smiling in his sleep; thankfully his bladder was more than willing to help make the decision to get up for him. When he remerged from the bathroom Steve was still sleeping peacefully where he had left him, although he was now burrowed underneath the blankets like a mole.

Tony chuckled to himself, taking that as his cue to go look for breakfast. He slipped out of his room and into the kitchen where he found Coulson standing in front of the stove wearing the frilliest apron he had seen in his entire life; Coulson was making chocolate chip and banana pancakes, and Tony was fairly certain this was what heaven was going to smell like.

Tony picked up a banana peel and dumped it into the compost bin by the sink, watching Coulson make ridiculously perfect circles out of pancake batter. “So, what are we doing today?” he asked, debating on whether it was a smart idea or not to lunge at the one finished pancake.

Coulson seemed to notice; he pushed the plate away from Tony’s hand and started flipping the rest of the pancakes as they turned a delightful shade of golden brown. “Hands off,”

“Meanie. You’re the worst husband ever,” Tony grumbled, still eyeing the pancakes.

Coulson snorted. “I’m making you pancakes. You’re the worst husband. All you do is eat me out of house and home.” He laughed when Tony raised an eyebrow at him. “A poor choice of words, yes, but you know what I mean.”

“Sure. We’ll pretend I do.”

“I was thinking of taking Steve down to the farmers market they’ve got running today,” Coulson said, setting a pancake down on top of the first. He prodded the third until he was happy with its placement in the pan. “They’ve got a bunch of kids stuff there – and I’ve gone through the itinerary with Natasha and Jarvis already. We’re clear – no one’s close, and she’ll have an eye on us the entire time.”

“Sounds good to me,” Tony messed up the forks Coulson had so neatly set out, casually placing them on the table before he could get swatted with the greasy flipper. “He’ll probably love the craft stands. I’ve heard they’ve got plenty of Popsicle sticks and glue. Children apparently like those,”

“You looked it up, didn’t you?” Coulson peered over his shoulder at Tony; he frowned when Tony flipped all of the forks upside down and stalked over, flipping them right side up.

“Of course I did,” Tony said with a shrug.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I guess,”

“Do you like him?”

“Who?” Tony said, absently, arranging glasses beside the plates. He looked over at the door to his bedroom, pursing his lips. He wondered if he could leave without being dragged back into the kitchen by his hair.

“Steve,”

“What about Steve?” Tony asked, sitting down.

“Do you like him?”

“I guess,” Tony said. “He’s a sweet kid.”

“No – I mean, Adult Steve,” Coulson said. He put the plate of pancakes on the table, fishing the margarine and syrup out of the fridge. He set them down on the table, fixing the positioning again and again until he was satisfied with it and then sat down in the chair beside Tony, clasping his hands in front of him on the table. “I know you guys didn’t get along, but did you like him?”

Tony frowned. “I guess. I never really thought about it. I mean, he was always mad at me – it was kind of hard to be chummy with the guy when he was busy screaming in my face.”

“That wasn’t entirely his fault though,”

“I guess not,” Tony grunted. He planted his elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. Their fights hadn’t been all Steve’s fault, even if he had been the one to start most of them; he was willing at admit that much. “Why does everyone keep asking me this shit? Am I missing something here?”

“I don’t know,” Coulson said, turning to look behind him at Tony’s bedroom door. “I suppose the real question isn’t if you liked him. It’s more, do you think he’ll remember any of this?”

“God I hope not,” Tony muttered, closing his eyes. The last thing he wanted was Steve being all noble about everything; he didn’t want to earn a friend because of pity – out of some kind of warped sense of duty. He had had quite enough people like that in his lifetime, thank-you-very-much. He didn’t need anyone else to pretend to be his friend; he could pay people to do that. “Let’s just get through today, alright? We can think about the epic disaster this is going to be later when we’re at home in the tower putting our feet up and drinking margaritas.”

“You’d better go wake him up then Mr. Popular,” Coulson said dryly, nodding towards Tony’s bedroom.

Tony sighed and stood up, pushing his chair back with a grimace. Today was going to be a long day.

The farmers market was nice; Steve had enjoyed it so much they had gone home to the beach house with a giant bag of Popsicle sticks and enough glue to appease his newfound need to build things. Tony hadn’t minded that part all too much. To be fair, he had been rubbing his hands together in glee ever since, but that was beside the point. He helped Steve build a replica of the Tower, and then they spent the afternoon building houses to go around it, making themselves a city all of their own design.

By the time night fell again, Tony was exhausted. He lay sprawled across the couch, staring up at the stucco ceiling, trying to work up the energy to get up and take Steve to bed; Steve was lying on his stomach on the floor with his head resting on a pillow Tony had wrestled free from the couch and stuffed under him. It didn’t look comfortable in the least, but the kid was out like a light, softly snoring into the shag carpeting.

Coulson yawned, stretching out in his chair. He closed the book he had been reading aloud to Steve, setting it down on the coffee table. “Stark? You awake?”

Tony grunted instead of responding, letting his eyelids droop shut again.

“What do you want to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t know,” Tony mumbled into the couch cushions. “You pick.”

“There’s a water park in town that’s supposed to be nice. Maybe we can go there – Natasha made sure Steve packed swimming trunks,”

“Ok,”

“You should probably get up,”

“Ok,”

“I should probably get up too,”

“Yep,”

Coulson yawned again, struggling upright after a few minutes of sleepy silence. “Alright,” he said, giving himself a bit of a shake. He tugged on Tony’s arm, forcing Tony to roll over and face him. “Carry him to bed, will you?”

“Yes dear,” Tony yawned.

Coulson smiled and flicked Tony in the ear. “Nice try,”

“Can’t blame a guy for sweet-talking his husband,” Tony muttered, cracking a grin. He stood up, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the couch behind in order to stoop down and pull Steve into his arms. The kid grumbled something unintelligible and curled closer to Tony’s chest, bumping his cheek against the arc reactor. He blinked awake as Tony carried him into his bedroom, rolling laxly into bed when Tony set him down.

“What’s that?” Steve asked, trying to point a finger at the arc reactor. It didn’t quite work, but he seemed satisfied with the results when Tony sat down on the edge of the bed beside him and lifted his shirt up, revealing the arc reactor; Tony had been wearing a dampener for a while now, hiding the light to keep suspicions at bay, but it hadn’t seemed necessary here with Steve and Coulson keeping him company. It occurred to him that this was the first time Steve had actively pointed the reactor out; he wondered why the kid hadn’t said anything. Most adults didn’t have a shining blue circle embedded in their chest after all – he had figured Steve would have, well, asked about it by now.

“It’s an arc reactor,” Tony said, picking his words carefully. Even with those sleepy eyes, he knew Steve was smart enough to figure things out on his own if giving the right information. “I built it to help with my heart trouble.”

Steve’s eyes snapped open. He sat upright so fast Tony was surprised the little guy hadn’t given himself whiplash. “You have heart trouble?”

Tony sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. Great. He was getting far too good at starting awkward conversations these days. “I was kidnapped a few years ago,” he started, wondering just how much he should say. He decided to shorten the story, to keep Steve as far away from nightmares as possible. “A bomb exploded when I was near it, and I got a chest full of shrapnel. Do you know what that means?”

“No,” Steve said, looking worried. He reached out and then hesitated, drawing his hand back quickly.

“Shrapnel is a collection of bits of metal – when something explodes, it turns into pieces, right? Well those pieces went into my chest and they’re trying to work their way into my heart. The reactor powers an electromagnet that keeps that from happening.”

“Are you going to die?” Steve’s lower lip quivered. His eyes watered. “I don’t want you to die.”

“No, no,” Tony said quickly, startled by the sudden tears. “I’m not going to die. I’m fine – as long as the reactor is working, I’m fine.”

“Do you promise?” Steve wiped his eyes on his sleeve. “Do you?”

“I promise,” Tony said, stroking Steve’s hair. He tapped the glass centre of the reactor. “It won’t break.”

“Are you sure?”

“I built it, remember? The stuff I build doesn’t break that easily,”

“Can I touch it?”

“Sure,” Tony smiled. Steve was so careful when he reached out and finally touched the reactor; it looked like he was trying to touch a butterfly’s wings rather than a manmade work of genius. It was weird. The kid’s fingers were so damned small. Steve’s entire hand could cover the centre of the arc reactor, but even then light still spilled free between his fingers. Did all little kids have fingers that small? Or was it just Steve? He sat still while Steve traced felt his way along skin and metal at the reactor’s edge.

“It’s pretty,” Steve said after a while, finally looking away from the reactor. He pulled his hand back and covered his mouth as he yawned, his eyes drooping momentarily shut.

Tony pulled his shirt back on and stood up, yawning into his hand. “I like it too. It’s a good night light.”

“Yeah,” Steve said, rubbing his eyes. “Do I have to go to sleep now?”

“Yep,”

“Do I have to?”

“Sadly, yes. Are you ok brushing your teeth alone?” Tony hovered in the doorway.

“I guess,” Steve sighed loudly, hanging his head.

“Alright,” Tony chuckled. “Go do that.”

“Will you tuck me in after?” Steve asked quietly, looking up to lock eyes with Tony.

Tony sighed dramatically. “If you insist,”

Steve grinned sleepily and heaved himself up off the bed. “I’ll be right back,”

“Alright. I’m going to go get into my pajamas,” Tony called out, stepping out of the room. He made his way to his bedroom and found his pajamas in a pile on his pillow, neatly folded. Damn Coulson. “The step stool is still in the bathroom, right?”

“Yes,” Steve yelled from the bathroom.

“Ok – remember to brush your teeth!” Tony yelled back.

“Can I use your toothpaste? Mine tastes yucky.”

“Sure,”

Tony changed into his pajamas, stretching out across his bed afterwards. It was nice here; he would give it that much. Yeah, they were in the middle of nowhere, and sure, there was shitty wi-fi for everyone else, but it wasn’t bad. He rolled over and sat up again, plucking his tablet off the bedside table. “Hey Jarvis, you up?”

“Always, sir,” Jarvis said. His voice was crystal clear, even though his main systems were miles and miles away.

“Do me a favor – check up on everyone for me, alright?”

“Who would you like me to start with, sir?”

“Your choice,”

“Miss Potts is currently in a meeting with shareholders, attempting to push forward your design for the newest phone search engine algorithm,” Jarvis said. “Colonel Rhodes is still unavailable due to being in radio silence, although he has left multiple messages for you.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony sighed. If Rhodey had left more than one message, he was probably pissed off; usually he just left the one and then texted relentlessly until Tony answered him. “I’ll listen to it later. What’s going on with the rest of the team? How’s Bruce holding up?”

“Doctor Banner reports that he is still safely hidden with his LMD model of Steve, sir. He says he hasn’t been approached yet, as Thor has been with him in the tower the entire time, but he believes that Hydra has been tracking his movements.”

“Unsurprising,”

“Indeed. However, I am afraid I have bad news regarding Mr. Barton,” Jarvis said. He paused before speaking again, likely running through information. “His LMD version of Steve was found a few minutes ago, but he was not with it. Hydra had it in their possession, and they weren’t pleased with it.”

“Shit,” Tony growled. His stomach twisted itself into one massive knot; he tried to steady his breathing, begging himself to keep calm. “What did they do to it?”

“They eviscerated it and hung it from a telephone pole, sir. I’m afraid Mr. Barton is nowhere to be seen. I have tried pinging his emergency beacon, but it appears to be either non-functional or non-existent. I have been unable to locate him using the CCTV cameras in his last known location and there has been no contact between himself and Ms. Romanoff. I’m afraid he’s simply gone, sir.”

Shit. Clint was missing? What the fuck was he supposed to tell Coulson?

Tony set the tablet down on the bedside table. He took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly, counting backwards from a thousand by sevens until his vision was no longer blurry. “The emergency beacon in his quiver isn’t working either?” He asked softly, running through scenarios again. They had all known this was a possibility when they had set out to hide Steve from Hydra – they had prepared for this, but that didn’t make it any easier to swallow down.

“It is no longer functional. I have been trying to turn it on for the past two hours sir, and there is no response,”

“Great,” Tony put his head in his hands. “So he’s dead?”

“Likely, but unconfirmed,” Jarvis said with a sigh. “Would you like me to inform Mr. Coulson for you?”

“Tony?” Steve called out, sounding confused.

Tony froze; he heard the soft sound of pattering feet and turned to face the door, smiling to keep himself from crying. Steve didn’t need to know yet; it wouldn’t be fair to burden him with something like this. “No, Jarvis,” he whispered. “No, I’ll tell him myself. I owe him that much.”

Steve peeked around the door frame. He was dressed in Captain America pajamas – ones that had been given to him by Coulson as a bribe to win him over again; there was a blob of toothpaste on his cheek, likely forgotten in his rush to get ready for bed. Tony forced himself to stand, moving mechanically towards Steve. He couldn’t help himself; he picked the kid up and hugged him tightly, images of the poor, mangled LMD flittering through his head.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you ok?”

“No, but I will be,” Tony murmured. He carried Steve into his bedroom, trying not to look into the living room where Coulson was still curled up in his chair; he knew he was going to have to say something– but for now he would bide his time and wait until Steve was asleep. The kid didn’t need the details; the fate of that poor LMD would be enough to put anyone off food for a few weeks. Hell, it was just an LMD and Tony was already having nightmares. He set Steve down on his bed and waited impatiently as Steve burrowed under his blankets, blissfully oblivious.

“Can you stay for a bit?” Steve asked. His blankets were tucked up under his chin, pulled so tight it almost looked uncomfortable.

Tony sat down on the edge of the bed. “Is this ok?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. He wiggled sideways and made room for Tony, lifting up the blankets so there was space for him to crawl in underneath them. “You can sleep here though.”

“What’s wrong? You scared?” Tony smiled softly when Steve nodded. “Alright, I’ll stay, but just for a little bit, ok?”

“Ok,” Steve said, his eyes already shut.

Tony dropped down onto the mattress and lay there quietly, staring up at the ceiling. He listened to the sound of Steve breathing, praying that he wouldn’t ever stop hearing it; he closed his eyes and told himself that he would get up in a minute. Just another minute, and then he would get up and tell Coulson what had happened.

Chapter Text

“Tony?”

Tony woke with a snort. He looked around wildly until he found the source of the voice looming over him; he melted back into the mattress marginally when he realized that Coulson wasn’t glaring at him. He rubbed his eyes, cursing himself for falling asleep. A glance down told him precisely where he had drifted off, although it hadn’t exactly been a mystery; Steve snored softly into Tony’s chest, his fingers tangled in Tony’s t-shirt like he had needed to anchor himself in his sleep. He wanted nothing more than to pull Steve’s blanket up over his head and go back to sleep – to avoid the entire conversation that was waiting for him – but it wasn’t to be. He could tell by the way Coulson was looking at him that the news had gotten out somehow, although it was clear that Jarvis hadn’t shared everything. He needed to get on with it before things got worse.

He forced himself to stay awake. There was a time and place for quality procrastination, and now was not that time. He stood up sluggishly, smoothly prying Steve’s fingers free from his shirt so that the kid wouldn’t be dragged across the mattress when he stood up. The little guy’s death grip was impressive, and it made Tony all the more aware of just how fragile Steve really was. The mere thought of someone hurting the kid made him sick to his stomach. He wondered idly if this was how parents felt; he wondered if his parents had ever felt this way with him when they had watched him sleep. Nah, it was probably just wishful thinking on his part. He took a minute to tuck Steve in again, gathering his thoughts as he smoothed Steve’s blanket down. He wished there was something he could do to make this disaster of a month go away; he would have given anything to wipe it off the face of the earth – well, to wipe most of it away, anyway. He was fairly certain he would enjoy the memories of Steve being friendly with him till the day he died.

“It’s about Clint, isn’t it?” Coulson’s voice was almost a whisper.

Tony hung his head. Damn secret agents and their secret agent training.

“Alright,” Coulson said, sounding defeated. He walked out of the room backwards, his hands fisted in his pockets.

Tony followed after him, trying to compose himself; he shut Steve’s door and crept into the living room, trying not to make too much noise. He cursed his creaking joints, hating that he was old enough to hear his goddamned knees pop. “Maybe we should do this somewhere else,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his beard.

“It’s that bad, huh?” Coulson murmured. He looked down at his feet, taking in a long, deep breath. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“We’re not sure,”

“So he’s gone off grid? No tracker? No contact?” Coulson walked over to the front door, pulling it open. He gestured for Tony to follow him out and then sat down on the stairs, looking up at the stars.

Tony stepped outside, closing the door carefully behind him; Jarvis would watch Steve, and for now there was nothing to worry about. He sat down on the top step beside Coulson, resting his elbows on his knees.

“Where’s the LMD?” Coulson asked after a while, as though drawn from a dream. He turned from the stars to the sea, his shoulders slumping.

“They took it. Killed it – you really don’t want to know what they did,” Tony said. “I wish I didn’t know.”

“I’m assuming that means they tore it to pieces,” Coulson said with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “We knew it was a likely to happen once they figured out what we were doing. They’re probably mad as hell now. That’s why they took Clint – they wanted vengence.”

“We don’t know if they took him, or if he escaped,” Tony muttered, wishing he had more details. “Barton’s good at what he does. You’re the one who’s always telling me that.”

“He is good,”

“He’s probably fine,”

“He’s probably dead,” Coulson said matter-of-factly. He put his head in his hands, hunching over. “He’s probably dead.”

“We don’t know that,” Tony said. He rested a hand on Coulson’s back, unsure of what else to do. He had nursed his fair share of grief, but he had never lost someone so close – not since Yinsen. It seemed worse this way, to have to sit and watch someone like Coulson break down; he hadn’t felt this useless in years – not since he had been a child. “He survived Loki’s mind control and a thousand other shitty things, Phil. They won’t take him down this easily,” he said instead of giving in to his own grief. “He’s strong.”

“I don’t know, Tony,” Coulson said, his voice low and gravely. There were tears dripping down his chin now, and while he wasn’t sobbing aloud, his shoulders were shaking from the stress of holding it all inside. “I don’t know anymore.”

“He’ll call in,” Tony said. It wasn’t a lie; at least, he hoped it wasn’t. He shifted closer, wrapping his arm around Coulson’s shoulder, pulling him into a loose hug. “He’ll be alright. It might take him a while to find his way back, but he’ll do it.”

“He’s the one who asked me out. Did you know that?”

“Oh yeah?”

Coulson leaned closer, his shoulder pressing against Tony’s ribs, and rested his head in his hands again. “He brought me a snickers bar from the vending machine – thought he could use it as bribery to get out of doing his paperwork and then when that didn’t work, he told me he’d take me out to dinner and show me a good time. I thought he was joking, but when I looked up,” Coulson sniffled, swallowing hard, “when I looked up he was so serious. He just stood there, waiting for me to say something.” He laughed, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “I turned him down flat. Told him I didn’t appreciate being made fun of.”

“How’d he react to that?”

“He left the office. I didn’t see him for another hour,” Coulson said, smiling crookedly. “I thought he was doing his paperwork. Silly me.” He stared down into his hands, seeming lost for words.

Tony squeezed Coulson’s shoulder; Coulson shook, his head hanging low. He let out a single, agony filled sob and then fell silent again, biting his hand to keep himself from making more noise.

“He brought me dinner,” Coulson whispered after getting control of himself again.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. He went to that Thai place near the Tower and came rushing back – skinned his knee on the sidewalk in his rush. It was raining,”

“Aww,”

Coulson’s smile turned painful. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I gave him an Iron Man Band-Aid and tried to send him on his way. He hit me with a bunch of napkins and called me a party pooper.”

“He’s clearly a romantic,”

“I know,” Coulson chuckled. “We were together six years – can you believe that?”

“You’re still together,” Tony murmured gently. “He’s not gone yet.”

“You don’t have to sugar coat it for me, Stark,” Coulson said, staring down at his hands again. “I’ve lost men before – this isn’t the first guy I’ve lost in the line of duty.” He straightened up, but didn’t push Tony’s arm away. “He wouldn’t want me to dwell. We have a job to do, and I know that he wouldn’t want me to break down and cry over him. If they wanted Steve – if they tried to take him, then we need to make sure they don’t get within a foot of the real him. Clint wouldn’t want his loss to be wasted,”

“Agreed,” Tony said with a grimace. He didn’t believe Clint was dead, but he knew that the archer wouldn’t appreciate anyone taking it easy – not after what Hydra had done to that poor LMD. When he got his chance, he was going to make sure they suffered for what they had done to it. It hadn’t deserved to be treated that way.

“I need to talk to Natasha,” Coulson said, standing up. He wiped his eyes again, giving the beach one last look before he stepped back inside, leaving the door open behind him. “We’re starting a rotating watch as of now,” he called out, heading into his room. “You’re up first. I’ll relieve you at dawn.”

Tony got up slowly, bracing himself against the railing. It was going to be a long night, he thought wearily. Well, at least he had gotten that nap.

Tony was exhausted by the time morning decided to show its ugly face. The exhaustion wasn’t anything he hadn’t experienced before, although usually it came after a few days of working in the lab, not after one night of sitting up watching security feeds. His entire body seemed to be aching when he finally crawled into bed, and there was a small part of him that was acutely satisfied with that feeling. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, pulling his blankets up over his head. He prayed that the curtains would be enough to keep the sun out. Two minutes later, his bedroom door creaked open, and Steve stumbled into the room still dressed in his pajamas. The kid clambered up onto the bed, ignoring the way Tony was groaning aloud in protest, and collapsed onto Tony’s back, sprawling like a lazy starfish.

“Are you getting up?”

“I just went to bed,”

“Why?”

“Go away,”

“Why?”

“Because I’m old, and I’m tired,”

“You’re not old,” Steve grumbled,

“I am! I’m old and tired and I want to sleep,” Tony whined. “Go away,”

Steve slid off of Tony’s back. “Really?” he asked in a small voice. He started crawling towards the edge of the bed, hanging his head. “I’m sorry,”

“No, no,” Tony grumbled, hating that Steve had thought he was being kicked out, “It’s ok. I’m not going to chase you off.” He reached out and snagged Steve’s ankle, giving it a gentle tug before letting it go. “You can sit with me for a bit if you want. I’m just really tired, so I’m not going to be a lot of fun,”

“Are you sure?” Steve asked, hovering on the edge of the bed. He rolled over when Tony started fake snoring into his pillow and curled up beside him, playing idly with the blankets. After a while he closed his eyes and wriggled closer, lifting Tony’s arm up so he could curl up underneath it. “Ok. I’m going to stay here,”

“Ok,” Tony yawned.

Tony wasn’t sure how long he was asleep but when he opened his eyes again, it felt like he had been asleep for days; he rubbed his eyes and moved to sit up, realizing slowly as his muscles started bitching about the movement, that he wasn’t alone in his bed. Steve was curled up beside him, still huddled under his arm, lying with his body turned towards Coulson who was sitting on the other side of the bed with his back to the wall, reading aloud. Tony hadn’t heard a word, but it must have been a good story, because Steve wasn’t quite asleep yet and by the looks of things they had been here for a while.

Coulson looked up when as he finished the page he had been working on. He peered at Tony over top of the book, and smiled, marking his place with his finger. “Hey, look who’s up,”

“Yep,” Tony yawned, stretching out. He was surprised how nice it was to not wake up alone; he hadn’t done this since he and Pepper had broken up, and even then she hadn’t been around every morning – not that he had been there all the time either.

Steve stirred, rolling over to get a good look at Tony’s face. He gave Tony a sleepy smile, his eyes just barely staying open. “We’re reading about Aramis and D’Artagnan,”

“I hope you didn’t finish the book while I was napping,” Tony said. He rubbed his eyes, managing to blink his way through a wave of sleepiness. “How long was I out?”

Coulson turned and looked over at the alarm clock sitting on the table beside him. “It’s been around five hours now,”

“Shit. Do we still have time to take him to the spray park?” Tony knew Steve had been looking forward to the trip, even if they had only just decided to go there on a whim; it was one of the only ways the kid could have fun in water without slipping and drowning, or so Clint had told him when they had still been in the Tower. Natasha had tried to take Steve into the pool on the common floor once and it had not ended well. Steve had never learned how to swim – his asthma hadn’t let him breathe with ease even on a good day, and one look at the pool had sent him running for the elevator like his ass had been on fire.

“Relax – it’s only one in the afternoon,” Coulson said, reaching behind him to find his bookmark, “We’ll take him in a bit. You need to take a shower and then we’ll all eat and go out for a few hours. There’s no rush,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled. He tried to pull his blanket up over his head and then realized belatedly that Steve was still lying on top of it. Sighing aloud, his plans foiled, he squeezed his eyes shut instead. “Just give me another minute and I’ll be good to go,”

Steve poked Tony in the forehead. “We’re going to make noodles,”

“Ok,” Tony grunted. “Go – make your noodles - shoo.” He lifted his arm to let Steve escape and laughed when Steve pulled his arm back down over top of him, refusing to be freed.

Coulson stood up, tucking the book under his arm. “Alright,” he said, patting Steve on the shoulder. “Let’s go, champ. We have to make food, remember? You’re going to cook for Tony, right?”

Steve pouted, but sat up. “Ok,” he said. When Tony patted him on the head he grinned and rolled across the bed towards Coulson, slipping down the side of the mattress. “It’s going to be really good,” Steve insisted, flying towards the door, “I promise!”

Coulson smiled and followed Steve out of the room; for a split second Tony was sure he saw sadness in Coulson’s eyes, but it vanished before he could say anything.

The ‘noodles’ Steve and Coulson whipped up weren’t exactly perfect considering Steve had been in charge of boiling them, but Tony ate them anyway, chewy bits and all; Steve’s humungous grin made it worth the sore jaw. After lunch they clambered into Tony’s car and drove downtown to the spray park. It turned out to be far bigger than Tony had expected, and the temperature was just right for frolicking; apparently they hadn’t been the only ones with this idea either, because instead of the handful of people he had been assumed would be hanging around, there was a whole crowd of kids waiting for their turn. There were at least fifteen kids scampering around underneath the water sprayers, and while most of the equipment wasn’t in the best of conditions, it did its job well enough to keep the kids thoroughly entertained.

Metal poles topped with flowers and buckets stood guard in centre of the water park; they towered above everyone, adult and child alike, catching Tony’s eye. A group of toddlers were gathered under the flowers waiting patiently, their eyes locked on the trickle of water filling up the bucket. They seemed to know what to look for because the moment the buckets flipped over, too heavy to manage their own weight anymore, the kids jumped out of the way, shrieking in glee as they avoided the blasts of water.

Tony had been around screaming, squealing children before, but the noise here was staggering. The little brats seemed to be everywhere; they ran around in brightly coloured swimming trunks and bathing suits shrieking when water shot up from the ground, weaving in and out of rainbow coloured half-circle sprayers and sprinkler poles.

A metal tugboat drew most of the attention, despite its odd placement in the park. It was sitting off to the side, almost serene looking until you realized that it had a water cannon attached to it; Tony wasn’t surprised that there were so many kids lined up to take turns on it. Why wouldn’t want to spray anything in range? Hell, he was tempted to take a few pot shot from it too. It looked a little bit like a disaster waiting to happen, but the kids didn’t seem to care who was spraying them so long as they ended up soaking wet.

It was a pleasant surprise to find that the spray park was floored with some kind of squishy plastic; when the kids went for an accidental tumble, they simply jumped back up and kept on going, in some cases still laughing at whatever they had been doing beforehand. Tony was pretty sure he and Coulson shared more than a few cringes as they watched Steve join in with the other brats as he went about chasing the spray in his orange water wings and bright blue swimming trunks.

Tony ducked out of the way as a sprayer turned on beside him. He retreated to a relatively solid looking bench and sat down, watching Steve wiggle his way through the spray. Part of him wanted to run into the water with the kid, but he knew it was probably a bad idea all things considered. Sure, there were a bunch of other parents around, but none of them seemed like they were that worried about their children being whisked away; he would stand out like a sore thumb, and the last thing he wanted was to draw unnecessary attention. Coulson seemed to feel the same way, because a few minutes later he joined Tony on the bench, lounging casually beside him with his eyes still trained in on Steve.

“I take it you’re trying not to helicopter parent too?” Tony asked, resting his arm on the back of the bench.

Coulson scowled. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

“Yep,”

“My mother used to call it being careful,”

“Understandable,” Tony said, with a yawn. He looked around the park, smiling when he spotted Steve playing in a puddle. He took out his phone and set it on his knee, watching Steve’s GPS marker move around on screen; thank god for that holographic display watch. It worked like a charm, even in water. “Well, at least we’re not sitting here blind. Jarvis has eyes on the entire area,”

“You’re sure?”

“Would we be here if I wasn’t?”

Coulson scowled. “I talked with Natasha earlier,”

“How’s she holding up?”

“I don’t really know,” Coulson murmured. He coughed and shifted closer on the bench, moving until his thigh was pressed up against Tony’s, leaving a space beside him on his other side. “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said as an elderly woman hobbled towards them. The woman gave them a toothy grin. She was short and stick thin, and while she only came up to Tony’s shoulder, she looked like she thought she could singlehandedly take down Thor. Her hair was cut short and curled delicately around her ears in a girlish bob. It was dyed a strange shade of whitish pink, likely the result of a botched home-done dye job. Obviously someone was trying to keep hip and cool despite her old age, although the gingham dress she was sporting wasn’t exactly the ‘coolest’ thing around. Her long and bony fingers were wrapped tightly around the straps of her gargantuan purse – Christ, the thing looked like it could have held a bowling ball. It was a miracle she was carrying the thing at all.

“Did you want to sit down?” Coulson asked.

“That would be lovely,” she said, plunking herself down on the bench beside him. She lifted her purse up onto her lap and started hunting around inside it; she came up with a red metal heart-shaped tin. She dropped the bag onto the floor beside her feet, laboriously prying the tin open one inch at a time. Tony almost offered to do it for her. It looked a little like her fingers might snap off from the stress of getting the damned thing open.

“Cookie?” She held the tin out over top of Coulson’s lap, smiling crookedly at Tony.

Tony reached out and took a cookie, trying to be polite. They didn’t look all that great. He took a bite; they didn’t taste any better than they looked, either.

Coulson stood up, patting Tony on the shoulder. “I’ll be right back, honey. I’m going to go help Steve with the water cannon,”

“Aww,” Tony grumbled, watching Coulson weave his way through water sprayers and unsupervised children, “I wanted to do that.” He bit into the cookie again and fought back a gag, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his grimace. Good god – what had the lady made them out of? Baking soda and flour? “This is lovely,” he coughed, forcing himself to swallow down the mouthful of bitter, ash flavored cookie. He looked around, trying to find a convenient place to ‘accidentally drop the cookie’ and then noticed that the woman had a very familiar watch strapped to her wrist. He groaned and threw the cookie into the bushes.

The old woman raised an eyebrow. “That’s not very nice,”

“You know, Nat, you didn’t have to go full-on grandmother,” Tony muttered, wiping cookie crumbs from his lower lip.

Natasha smiled grimly. “I needed to look the part, dear,” she said, closing the cookie container and putting it back into her purse, “They weren’t that bad, were they?”

Tony shuddered. “You didn’t try one first?”

“No,” she said with a frown, “I just put them into the container when they were done.”

Tony snorted. “Maybe you should stick with the store-bought variety from now on,” he said, idly brushing crumbs off of his thumb. He stared down at his phone when he couldn’t immediately spot Coulson and Steve. It wasn’t the one he normally used considering Hydra was tracking that one, but it did connect with his Stark Secure Servers without hassle, so it wasn’t completely useless. “Any news on Barton?” he asked on the off chance that something new had happened.

Natasha shook her head. She kept her gaze locked on Coulson, watching him as he lifted Steve up into the air to help him get a better angle with the spray cannon. There was an almost unhappy expression on her face and despite the holographic display watch’s help, it showed through. “We talked about it all last night,” she said, pursing her lips in displeasure when one of the other kids sprayed Coulson in the back with a water gun. “The details are too limited. I don’t really understand what happened – it came out of the blue. One second Clint was in contact, bitching about the fact that the hotel vending machine didn’t have any twizzlers and the next he was off the grid and his tracker was disabled. I doubt he knew what hit him,”

“Jesus,”

“I doubt Jesus had anything to do with it,” Natasha muttered darkly. “There’s no activity on his cards and nothing on the CCTV footage Jarvis was locked in on. It’s unlikely that he’s alive, but who knows? He’s survived worse.”

“You think Phil believes that?”

Natasha shook her head. “I highly doubt it. He’s a realist, Stark. If Clint was alive, he would have made contact by now – we’re running on a twenty four hour clock-in timer. If he’s alive, he knows he needs to check in.”

“Do you think he ok?” Tony asked, nodding towards Coulson. “I mean – obviously he’s not fine right now – but how was he on the phone?”

“He was… understandably unhappy,”

“Yeah, I knew that part. It’s just… he’s been all smiles today. He doesn’t really seem to be any different,” Tony sighed. “You know me. I’m not a model of perfect mental health, but even I know something’s off. It seems a little… funny to me.”

“I assume you’re asking me if I think he’s still stable,”

“I hate to ask, but yes,”

“You’re right to ask. I’m concerned about him too. He told me last night that he’s planning on keeping Steve unaware of what’s going on,” Natasha said, clasping her hands in her lap. “I’m assuming that’s why he’s all smiles,”

“I guess that makes sense,” Tony muttered. He wondered just how long Coulson’s fake smile was going to last; it was a whole lot easier to hide things from adults than it was from kids, even with the training he had gotten from his professional superspy friends. Kids like Steve were far too good at seeing the little things. One wrong word – one tired look – and Steve would be pointing it out faster than someone spotting a spider in the bathroom at midnight.

Natasha leaned closer, bumping her shoulder ever-so-slightly against Tony’s. “Stop frowning. He’s devoted to keeping the Captain safe,” she murmured under her breath, a smile fixed in place on her lips, “If he thought he couldn’t handle it, he would have passed it off to someone else. He’s a professional.”

“He was in love,” Tony murmured back out of the corner of his mouth. “He asked Clint to marry him before we brought Steve out here and Clint said no – I highly doubt he’s going to be able to handle it well enough to block that out,”

“He what?” Natasha turned around so sharply she nearly elbowed Tony in the chest.

“You didn’t know?”

“I knew they were dating,”

“He wanted marriage and a kid,” Tony said, smiling grimly. “This was going to be their trial run.”

“You’re kidding,” Natasha growled. She looked ready to eviscerate the next person who walked up to her.

“You’re going to scare the kids if you keep looking like that,” Tony grumbled, looking back down at his phone. “They’re going to go look for your gingerbread house and then we’ll all be in trouble.”

“You’re a real asshole sometimes, Stark,” Natasha snapped, standing up. She picked up her bag and then dropped it again, sitting down. “He really proposed?”

“He really did,”

Natasha let out a huffed sigh. “He said he was going to wait,”

“Well, apparently he couldn’t wait anymore,”

“He said he was going to tell me before he did it,” Natasha muttered. “I can’t believe he did it,”

“Maybe it just slipped out?”

Natasha tisked. “Nothing with Coulson ever ‘just slips out’. Shit. They’re coming back.”

Steve came charging across the spray park towards them with Coulson in tow; he threw himself onto Tony, roaring, dripping water all over Tony’s phone when he landed awkwardly in Tony’s lap. Tony grimaced and handed Natasha his phone before wrapping his arms around Steve to keep him from tumbling backwards onto the asphalt like a waterlogged piñata.

“Hey slugger,” Tony chuckled, wiping his wet hands on his pants. “Having fun?”

“We played with the cannon! Did you see?” Steve said. He turned around and grinned at Coulson, leaning into Tony’s arms. “We got that guy really good!”

“Oh?” Tony raised an eyebrow, looking at Coulson over Steve’s head. “I take it someone should have been put in the naughty corner,”

Coulson shrugged. “The kid was spraying people in the face. It seemed like getting hit with a few blasts a fitting punishment,”

“Well, in that case,” Tony said, ruffling Steve’s hair, “You two did good out there!”

“Yeah?” Steve giggled, wiping his hands on Tony’s shirt.

“Yeah,” Tony said, ruffling Steve’s soaked hair. “We’re going to need to get you a towel from the car. You’re like a little jellyfish now.”

“I am not!” Steve grumbled, still grinning.

“You are too,” Tony said, squeezing some of the water out of Steve’s hair.

“You’re so cruel, Stark,” Natasha chuckled.

“Who’s this?” Steve asked, leaning in Tony’s arms to get a better look at Natasha. He seemed ashamed by his behavior for a minute and then went oddly quiet, smiling politely at the stranger. “Hi, ma’am. I’m Steve,” he said, holding his hand out.

Natasha took it and shook it, smiling at Steve. “We’ve met,” she said, standing up. She picked up her bag, handing Tony his phone. “I’ll see you three later. You take care now,”

“See you later Natalie,” Tony said with a smirk.

Natasha turned around and glared at him. “You three boys behave, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve called out.

Coulson watched Natasha leave, smiling the entire time. He sat down on the bench when she was out of sight, slumping forwards with his elbows resting on his knees. “So,” he said, staring out at the children still splashing about in the water park, “I take it Natalie was here to check up on us?”

Tony shrugged. “Yes and no,” he said. “I think she just wanted to poison me with bad cookies because she knows I can’t say no to them.” He felt his phone buzz and lifted it up, grumbling while Steve squashed himself against his shoulder. “Ah,” he said, unlocking the phone after smearing a few blobs of water across the screen, “She says she’s planning to meet us for dinner at home.”

“Who is she?” Steve asked, peering down at the phone. “Do we know her?”

“We’ll explain it when we get home,” Coulson said, standing up. “Come on. Let’s go back to the car.”

Steve stared longingly at the spray park, his lower lip drooping. “Do we have to?”

“Yeah, kiddo,” Tony said, heaving himself upright. He threw Steve over his shoulder like the kid was a sack of potatoes, doing a slow circle as Steve giggled away. “You think we should get her anything?”

Coulson smiled stiffly. “Like what? Like real cookies?”

“Ooh,” Tony chuckled, “sassy. I like that.”

“You would,” Coulson snorted, starting towards the car. He stopped when he realized that Tony wasn’t speeding along after him and waited for him to catch up. “You want me to carry him?”

“Nah,” Tony grunted, “its fine. He’s like a fluffy little cloud,”

“Hey!” Steve said into Tony’s back.

“It’s true,” Tony grinned, shifting Steve over his shoulder again. “He’s a fluffy, fluffy cloud.”

“I’m not a cloud!” Steve grumbled, smacking Tony lightly on the back.

“Apparently he’s a grumpy, grumpy cloud,” Coulson murmured. He followed along at Tony’s pace for a while, keeping an eye on Steve and the car as though he was gauging how far they had to go; as they approached the car, he took Tony by the hand, leading him across the street towards the grocery store. “You know what – I think today calls for pie. Lots and lots of pie,”

“Oh?”

“And ice cream,” Coulson said, pulling open the door so Tony didn’t have to juggle Steve to get at it. “Lots and lots of ice cream.”

Tony forced himself to smile despite the horror he felt at the thought of Steve surrounded in sugary ice cream and treats; he hoped he wasn’t to regret this. “Good idea,”

Natasha showed up at six p.m., bringing a massive tray of deli meats and cheese with her; she clearly had no intention of cooking, and Tony felt extremely jealous when she threw herself into a chair and waited patiently while they assembled dinner. He missed the old days when he could get Jarvis to order something in. Cooking was work – and cooking for a relatively picky child was even more work. Luckily, they hadn’t had any problems getting their hands on Steve-approved food, so it hadn’t been too much of an issue so far. Still, a part of him wouldn’t have minded dumping the cooking duties off on someone else.

Natasha smirked at Tony while he started slicing up fresh bread and turned her holographic display watch off so that she was finally recognizable. She seemed relatively calm – almost too calm for Tony’s liking. After a few minutes of observing their culinary skills, she got up and gave the place a once over, peering into bedrooms and out windows while Tony and Coulson slaved away over the pile of cold cuts. While Steve didn’t seem particularly excited about seeing her again, he was polite enough to make her a sandwich; he even brought it to her after he was done, and while it was a little lopsided and a tad too dry for her taste, she ate it anyways.

After dinner they set Steve up at the dining room table with a pile of paper and a box of crayons and retreated to the living room, keeping their voices down while they got down to business. Natasha curled up on the end of the couch beside Tony, cradling a cup of piping hot tea in her hands. She watched, unamused, as Coulson devoured his third bowl of chocolate pecan ice cream.

“What?” Coulson growled through a mouthful of ice cream.

“Nothing,” Natasha said with a shrug. She took a sip of her tea, spinning the cup idly between her hands. “I want to fill you in on the latest reports.”

“We know the latest reports,” Coulson muttered, licking his spoon clean.

“You know most of it, yes,” Natasha said, “but you don’t know everything. Bruce sent in another progress report a few hours ago. I asked Jarvis to delay the delivery so we could talk before you found out about it.”

“Is this good news or bad news?” Tony asked, draining the last of his coffee. He set his mug down on the coffee table, debating on whether he should get a refill or not; he hoped they weren’t going to be here all damn night. He felt like he could pass out, and it wasn’t even that late.

“I would classify it as bad news,” Natasha said softly. “We had a ping from Clint,”

Coulson nearly dropped his bowl. “You what?”

“Before you get excited, it’s not current. It was a delayed message – one he put into the system before he was disconnected. Jarvis managed to extract the string and send it to us before it could get deleted by the system,” Natasha said.

Coulson’s face fell. He stood up and staggered into the kitchen, throwing open the freezer; he yanked out the bucket of Neapolitan ice cream, scooping himself a helping of strawberry and chocolate.

Natasha stared into her cup. “He’s going to finish that entire bucket before the night’s through,”

“Should we do something about that?” Tony asked, frowning. “Is this one of those things? Are we not supposed to feed agents after midnight or something?”

“Let’s just say I wouldn’t recommend trying to get between him and the ice cream right now,” Natasha murmured. “The last time someone tried to pry ice cream out of his hands after a bad mission it was Clint and well… let’s just say the only reason Clint wasn’t immediately stabbed was because they were dating.”

Tony winced. “Ouch,”

Coulson returned from the kitchen, sitting down in his chair again with the bowl cradled in his lap. “The string – what did it say?”

“It was filled with typos, but it mentioned someone called the Winter Soldier,” Natasha said.

“The Winter Soldier?” Coulson shoveled ice cream into his mouth again. “That sounds familiar.”

“It should. He’s an assassin the Soviets used back during the Cold War,” Natasha said with a grimace. She drained her tea and set her cup down beside Tony’s, leaning heavily against the back of the couch. “I knew him quite well. We trained together. He’s good at his job.”

“Ah yes,” Tony said, shaking his head, “I forgot you didn’t always work for dear old SHIELD.”

“Liar,” Natasha chuckled, slapping Tony across the knee a little more forcefully than necessary.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered, rubbing his knee. “So I take it this guy’s bad news bears?”

“He was the Red Room’s top assassin – aside from me – and stayed that way up until they were disbanded,” Natasha said. “He must have found a new backer.”

“Oh god,” Tony groaned, “He’s after Steve too, isn’t he?”

“We’re unsure,” Natasha murmured. “Clint’s message stated that he heard one of the Hydra agents mention a Winter Soldier earlier in the day. He was asking for clarification – trying to get Jarvis to give him a heads up if something was really wrong. Sadly, I’m not sure he got the information he needed.”

“So you’re saying this Winter Soldier guy could have been responsible for his – attack?” Tony asked. He didn’t like the idea of an assassin being on Hydra’s payroll, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. He wouldn’t have put it past them to hire an assassin to peg off for a little kid, either; they seemed like heartless bastards, alright. “It doesn’t make any sense though. They’re trying to snatch Steve up, not murder him. Why would they hire an assassin to go after him? Shouldn’t they have been looking for a world-class kidnapper instead?”

“They’re impatient,” Coulson said, setting his spoon down into the last blob of ice cream in his bowl. “I hate to say it, but I’d rather have this Winter Soldier working with them than with another unknown. From what I’ve read the guy has had ties with people far worse than Hydra, and all of them wouldn’t mind getting a piece of Steve.”

“I’m assuming you’re talking about AIM,” Tony grumbled.

“Likely,” Natasha shrugged. “He works with whoever hires him and like most of us, it isn’t the company that he cares about. He’s in it for the money – strictly for the money. He’s self-employed, and it’s the one thing he needs the most of if he wants to retire.”

“What about the Red Skull?” Coulson asked. “Could he be involved too?”

“I don’t know,” Natasha said. “I doubt the Skull would stoop so low as to hire an ex-communist, but you never know. He dislikes them just as much as he dislikes Steve, but he seems to enjoy breaking his own rules when it suits him. I think he would be far more interested in capturing Steve than killing him. It would be the perfect game to him – raising Captain America and turning him into a monster.”

Tony shuddered. “I thought the Skull was dead. Steve seemed to think he was,”

Natasha shook her head. “No, the Skull has been in hiding, but SHIELD has had at least five reports from field agents stating that Hydra grunts have been whispering about him. Madame Hydra hasn’t been happy about it, but there’s not much she can do if he reappears and steps in to reclaim his position. The Skull’s daughter Sin has been poking around too, although we’ve caught a break in that respect – she doesn’t seem to care about Steve all that much – at least not at the moment.”

Tony felt a little like he had been hit over the head with a frying pan. Jesus – Red Skull? AIM? Sin? Assassins and kidnappers? Why the fuck hadn’t SHIELD said anything about all of this? Had they thought they were doing them a favor by keeping it a big secret?

Natasha seemed to notice his shock; she patted Tony on the knee, rubbing her thumb in gentle circles over his kneecap. “Steve knew all about this, Tony. That’s the reason Agent 13 was sent away – this was what she was dealing with,”

“Agent 13?” Tony could recall hearing the name somewhere but he hadn’t really bothered to look it up. He regretted not poking his nose into things more while he had had the chance. He gritted his teeth, picking his tablet up off the back of the couch. This wasn’t fair – and he damn well wasn’t going to sit around waiting to be told about the ‘situation’ while everyone else knew all about it.

Natasha pulled the tablet out of Tony’s hand before he could so much as unlock the thing. She set it down on the coffee table, unimpressed by his rebellious glare. “Agent 13 is Sharon Carter. She’s Peggy Carter’s niece – she’s Steve’s girlfriend,”

Tony stiffened; his arm, still draped over the armrest, felt numb up to the elbow, like he had been sitting here for hours. Steve Rogers had a girlfriend? It had to be some kind of joke. Steve couldn’t have a girlfriend – a girlfriend would have rushed over when her boyfriend turned into a fucking seven year old. “Are you shitting me?”

“He’s been dating her on and off for the past two years,” Natasha said slowly, her eyes widening. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course I didn’t know,” Tony snapped, wrapping his arms around his chest. He didn’t know why the news stung, but it did and he didn’t like the way his heart seemed to be downright aching because of it. “Why the fuck would I have known? It wasn’t like we talked. The guy screamed in my face because I ate a piece of his fucking bagel – why the fuck would I have known anything about his fucking private life?”

Coulson grimaced. “Language!”

“Fuck off,”

“Look, he didn’t go around broadcasting it, if that’s what you’re thinking. The only reason the two of us know about it is because we walked in on them while they were making plans for a date,” Coulson said.

That didn’t make Tony feel any better. He snorted, furious that he had been left out of the loop again. Did they think he was some kind of gossip? Had they thought he was going to scream Steve’s secrets from the rooftops like some jealous ex-girlfriend? He found himself staring at Steve and had to look away, afraid the kid would see just how angry he was; it wasn’t the kid’s fault after all. It was Steve’s fault – adult Steve’s fault, and no one else’s. “So why isn’t she the one here with him?” he said, trying and failing to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“She’s on an away mission,” Coulson said quietly, peering at Steve to make sure the kid hadn’t heard anything. “We didn’t exactly tell her.”

“You didn’t tell her?” Tony snorted. “Well at least I’m not the only one in the dark then,”

“We couldn’t tell her. She’s imbedded with no way to withdraw her for another three months,” Coulson said. “I didn’t say we weren’t going to tell her eventually. It’s better this way – she doesn’t have to worry about him and she’s not going to compromise her mission.”

“Not that she would,” Natasha said, examining a fingernail. “She’s a professional. She understands that there are things she can’t change,”

“So is that it then? Meeting over?” Tony reached for his tablet. Natasha put her hand on his, stopping him from picking it up again.

“I know you’re mad,” she said, softly, “but it’s not your fault that he choose not to tell you. He’s the team leader, but that doesn’t mean he has to share his life with everyone. No one else knew about it. I think he did it because he didn’t wanted anyone to think that she was getting special treatment because they were dating,”

“Yeah, well – it would have been nice to get a heads up after he turned into a kid,” Tony muttered.

“And what would that have done?” Natasha quirked an eyebrow. “Would that have made you love him any less?”

Tony pursed his lips. “No.” It wasn’t love. He was just keeping the kid safe – keeping Steve safe. Love didn’t have anything to do with it.

“Then suck it up, Stark,” she said, flicking him in the ear. “It’s not like you’re never going to get the chance to be his friend. You’ll have plenty of chances to do that once he’s an adult again. Right now, he needs you to be yourself – to keep him company and watch out for him since he can’t do it himself.”

“I know that,” Tony grumbled, rubbing his ear. “I just…”

“Wish you had a second chance?” Coulson asked. He smiled sadly down at his empty ice cream bowl.

Tony fell silent; Natasha stilled beside him, seemingly frozen in place.

“You’re a lucky guy, Tony.” Coulson took his bowl to the sink and rinsed it out, setting it down on the counter. “I’d give anything for a second chance,” he said. He walked past Steve, patting him on the shoulder before he headed out to the front door, walking outside. “When you get it, don’t waste it.”

Natasha and Tony exchanged looks and then turned away from the door.

Tony’s gaze settling on Steve; the kid was still drawing serenely at the kitchen table, blessedly unaware of what had just happened. It was times like these that Tony was glad Steve was so good at tuning other people out while he was playing. He wished he could be like that; it would have made his life a hell of a lot easier. He cradled his head in his hands, letting out a long, pained sigh. This was something he couldn’t engineer his way out of. What the hell was he supposed to say to Coulson? Was he supposed to keep pretending that nothing was wrong? Should he drive out and get a few six packs of beer? That was how he usually handled things when they went to shit; he got hammered and tried to bleach the thoughts out of his mind through his liver. Somehow he didn’t think drinking himself blind was a good idea this time – at least not when Coulson and Steve were in the picture. “Should we go out there?” he asked Natasha, gnawing on his lower lip. He wished he could call Pepper. She would have known what to do.

“No,” Natasha murmured as she stood and gathered up their cups. “Leave him to his thoughts. He needs time alone to process his loss.”

“Are you heading home?”

“Yes,” Natasha said, setting the cups down in the sink. She braced herself on the counter, her shoulders slumping; her red hair hung limply around her face. “It’ll be better someday. I just hope for his sake that someday comes soon,”

“I hope you’re right,” Tony muttered. He dragged himself up from the couch, wandering over to the kitchen table. He pulled out a chair and sat down beside Steve, stealing away one of the kid’s crayons; it was a bright blue one, one that reminded him of Jarvis and his workshop holograms. He stared down at the crayon, feeling more homesick than ever.

Steve looked up at him, mildly confused by the sudden thievery. “Tony?”

“Can I draw too?” Tony asked, gesturing to the pile of papers in front of Steve.

Steve handed Tony a piece of paper from his pile. “Is Mr. Coulson alright?”

“I don’t know, kiddo,” Tony said, staring down at the blank sheet in front of him. He started drawing, aware dimly that Natasha was looking over his shoulder as he worked.

Tony put Steve to bed after reading aloud to him for a least an hour and a half longer than he had intended; Steve had kept giving him puppy dog eyes every time he tried to close The Three Musketeers, and he hadn’t been able to say no. The kid had obviously taken lessons from someone, and Tony had a sneaking suspicion that Clint had been responsible.

He wondered just how much Clint had taught the kid during their time together. It wasn’t exactly a surprise that Clint had been so involved with Steve’s life considering Steve had been trapped in the Tower, but it was a little depressing, really, realizing that the archer might not be around to teach Steve anything else. There were just some things that only an irritating uncle could teach a kid, after all, and Tony was a poor substitute for the prankster even if he had been good at terrorizing people in his youth. He waited until Steve was giving off those adorable snorts that he loved so much, before he left the room.

He gave the rest of the house a cursory glance before retreating to his bedroom with his tablet in hand. He set it to stream the security feeds, unwilling to sleep without having instant access to them; he crawled into bed, leaving the tablet propped up on the pillow beside him, and pulled the covers up to his chin despite the fact that it was still a little too warm for them. It wasn’t his night to stay up and keep watch, but somehow it felt like he might have to take the reins sometime soon, if only to give Coulson a break. It was better to get some sleep now in case he needed to be up again later. He closed his eyes, praying that he wouldn’t have to be the one to save them. He knew how bad that would probably go; he was no hero after all. Steve had said so himself. “Wake me up if anything strange happens,” he told Jarvis as he drifted off.

He woke with a snort a few hours later when Coulson crawled into bed with him. At first Tony’s brain didn’t process what was happening; it simply let him roll over and attempted to get him to go back to sleep instead of letting him ask just what the hell was going on. He rolled back over again when things finally caught up with him, feeling both concerned and confused. “What’s going on? Did something happen?” Please let nothing have happened, he thought, please let Steve be alright.

“I’m going to sit here while I do my shift, ok?” Coulson murmured, staring up at the ceiling. His normally dour frown was gone, replaced with a cold, almost dead stare of indifference. He set Tony’s tablet on his stomach and propped it up with a pillow, focusing on it instead of on Tony. “I just… I need to sit with someone. Is that alright?”

Tony nodded slowly in understanding. He relaxed against his pillow, forcing himself to unclench his fists. It was fine. They were still safe.

“He’s probably gone,” Coulson murmured, still gazing at the cameras.

Tony sighed. Oh god – and here was yet another conversation he didn’t want to have. Why did it always seem to be him who got the tough ones? Why couldn’t it be Natasha or Bruce? At least they knew how to talk to people without blowing up at them – although, he supposed idly, Bruce probably wasn’t the best at that particular skill now that he thought about it. “We don’t know he’s gone forever,”

“He would have come here if he was alive,”

“It’s only been a day,” Tony said, patting Coulson on the shoulder. “Realistically, there’s still a chance he can show up. There’s still hope.”

“He would have come here if he was alive,” Coulson said, shaking his head. “He always knows what to do. He wouldn’t stay out of contact unless he was dead.”

“If he’s still alive, he’ll find us,” Tony said. “I believe that.”

“If he’s still alive,”

Tony sighed. “Yes. If he’s still alive, he’ll come here. He knows where to go – we had it all planned out, remember? He has the emergency plan memorized. He’ll come find us somehow,”

“No, he won’t,” Coulson said, looking from camera to camera on the tablet, frowning when he noticed that nothing had changed. “He won’t. I have to accept that. We have to accept it.”

“We don’t need to accept it right this minute,” Tony growled. He tugged the blanket up higher, burrowing underneath it as a draft tried to creep in. “Look, I don’t know. Don’t listen to me – I don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about.” He rolled over to escape the glow coming off the tablet, wanting to stuff his head under his pillow. “Do what you need to do, Phil. You know what’s best,”

Coulson sighed. He rubbed his face, letting out a low groan. “I don’t know,” he hissed, dropping his hands onto the comforter. “I don’t know. Why did this have to happen? Why? Why couldn’t he have just said yes and come with me?”

Tony remained silent, unsure of what to say.

“Why did he have to say no? Did he hate me? Is that it? Was he just planning on letting me down easy?”

Tony rolled over; he took Coulson’s hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “Phil, he loves you. He doesn’t hate you. He probably panicked and said no when he didn’t mean it,”

“But he said no!” Coulson snapped, yanking his hand free. He stared down at it, his vision blurred by unshed tears, “he said no. Why would he do that unless he meant something by it?”

“Yeah, well – shit happens, Phil,” Tony growled. “He said no, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you. It means he wasn’t ready to get married – Christ, you’re making it seem like he hit you in the head with a fucking brick and ran off to Mexico. He told you he didn’t want to get married before you even got together, right?”

“Yes,” Coulson murmured, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“I know I’m being a complete jackass here – believe me – but you already knew he was going to say no, didn’t you?”

“I thought things were going to be different. We were together for so long,”

“Being with someone amazing doesn’t erase that fear of commitment, Phil, it doesn’t make it any less terrifying,” Tony said. “Pepper couldn’t make me any less afraid of the future, and believe me, she tried so hard it damn nearly drove her crazy. Clint and I, we’re cowards, – we’re fucking cowards when it comes to this shit, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you back. He just needs time to think things through,”

“But he’s dead, Tony. Don’t you get that?”

“He’s not fucking dead – he’s been gone for a day. Why are you guys so goddamned cynical about everything? We have no information, and yeah, he could be dead, but we don’t know for sure– so shut the fuck up, alright? Stop saying it,” Tony said hoarsely. He wiped at his eyes, surprised by his own tears. “He’s fine. He’s a stupid jackass, and he’s not dead. He’s fine – he’s just missing.”

“Ok, Tony,” Coulson said, sniffling. He took Tony’s hand in his, squeezing it tight. “Alright. I… alright.”

“I’m sorry,” Tony muttered, wiping his nose on the back of his free hand. God, he was such a jerk sometimes. Why the hell had he said all of that? Coulson was the one suffering – he was the one practically joined to the hip with Clint, and here he was, beaking off and making things worse. “I shouldn’t have – I shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“It’s not alright, but I forgive you,” Coulson said softly. He patted Tony’s hand, a tentative smile forming on his face. “Thanks,”

“For what?”

“For not letting me give up,” Coulson murmured. “I don’t know. Maybe I’ll figure it out tomorrow.”

“Well, wake me up when you do,” Tony grunted, burrowing deeper into his pillow. God, he was so done with feelings.

“Alright,” Coulson chuckled. “But you’re making breakfast tomorrow,”

“Fine,”

“And coffee,”

“Seems fair,”

“And you’re going to the store to get more ice cream,”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “It’s all gone?”

“Sadly, yes,”

“Alright,” Tony grumbled. “I’ll go buy more ice cream,”

“Good. Then you’re completely forgiven,” Coulson said, flicking through the security cameras again. “As long as you get something with peanut butter in it. Steve likes peanut butter.”

Tony smiled. “Sure.”  

Chapter Text

Tony was used to waking up with strangers in his bed, albeit it for different reasons, so it wasn’t too much of a shock to find out that Coulson was still there with him the next morning. He stretched out, cracking his back in a way that was absolutely sinful and tried to get up, figuring Coulson would appreciate having some space of his own after everything that had happened. What he hadn’t expected was to see Steve staring at him with his blanket held tightly in hand, standing in the doorway like a deer caught in headlights.

“Steve?” Tony tried not to let the frown on Steve’s face get to him. “What’s up, buddy?”

“I thought…” Steve looked from Tony to Coulson, clearly confused. “I thought only men and women slept together like that. Isn’t it… isn’t it wrong for two men to do that kind of stuff?”

Tony couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. He shook his head, patting the bed to get Steve to come closer. The kid approached slowly, eyeing Coulson as if he expected to be yelled at or something; Tony had no idea why the little guy was so skittish all of a sudden. Steve scrambled up onto the bed and sat down at Tony’s feet, wrapping his blanket around his shoulders.

“Coulson and I aren’t married for real, you know that – right?” Tony asked, carefully.

Steve nodded slowly.

“And while it’s ok for two guys to sleep together, we’re not sleeping together – like that,” Tony said, pausing to think. Well this was awkward. How much had Natasha and the others explained to him – and for that matter, when was it appropriate to get into an educational discussion about sex with a kid Steve’s age? Should he be saying anything at all? Then again – the kid had asked, and he did look kind of worried, so it couldn’t make anything worse. Tony sighed. Oh well. “When you were living with your Ma, did people talk about that kind of stuff?”

Steve pursed his lips, fiddling with his blanket. “I’ve never seen anyone like that before,” he said. “But Ma said everyone deserves respect, so I guess it’s not my business,”

“That’s true,” Tony said, smiling at Steve. “It’s a decision some men and women make, and it’s not really up to us if they choose to have consenting relationships with other adults of any gender, right?”

“Right,” Steve said.

“Right now, Coulson and I are just pretending to be a married couple – he and I are just friends, ok? It’s a disguise to keep the guys who are looking for us off the scent,” Tony said, hoping he had been clear enough. At least the kid had felt comfortable enough to ask about it instead of running away and hiding; he wasn’t so sure he would have had the balls to ask an adult those kinds of questions when he had been little.

“Oh!” Steve looked startled. “But why was is he sleeping in the same bed with you? He has a bed,”

“That I do,” Coulson said, sitting up. He threw the blankets off and handed Tony the tablet, yawning into his hand. “And I’m headed there right now. Tony was just keeping me company while he slept.” Coulson struggled free from the blankets, his movements sluggish and lazy. He paused to stretch out like a cat before shuffling across the floor towards the door. He turned and gave Tony a sleepy-yet-serious stare. “Don’t take him too far outside without me,”

“I’m assuming sitting on the beach outside is alright,” Tony said, picking up his tablet. He could tell by just looking at it that nothing much had changed since he had seen it the night before. That blip on the movement sensors from last night was still there, but it was probably just a bird – hopefully not a rat.

“The beach should be just fine as long as you stick to the property lines,” Coulson yawned. “Natasha’s watching that and the roads, so you can go outside if you feel like it. Just make sure you wake me up if that blip starts moving again,”

“Alright,” Tony chuckled. “Go get some sleep, Phil. I’m going to go make the brat breakfast.” He scooped Steve up and carried him into the kitchen, blanket and all, setting him down in a chair at the table.

Coulson stumbled out into the living room behind them. He slipped quietly into his bedroom, leaving the door open a crack and then pulled the door open again, poking his head out. “Give me a shout when it’s time for lunch,”

“Will do,” Tony said. He turned back to Steve, checking to make sure the kid didn’t still look like his head was going to explode. Steve looked a lot calmer – a lot less uncomfortable too. “So, did I answer all of your questions?” Tony asked, pulling a carton of eggs from the fridge. There weren’t that many left, which meant they were going to have to make another trip into town soon. Man, at the rate they were going through food – and ice cream – the grocery store clerks were going to know them by name.

“So if you’re not really Mr. Coulson’s husband, what would you do if someone tried to hit on him?” Steve asked, swinging his legs under the table.

Tony chuckled. “I don’t know, buddy. I guess I’d have to play along and chase the person off. We’re fake married after all – it would look a little suspicious if I didn’t.”

“Would you have to kiss him?”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his hands settling on his hip. “What? Like, if someone came up to me on the street and demanded I kiss Coulson or else?”

Steve blushed, staring at the tabletop. “Maybe?”

“I guess I’d have to kiss him then,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. He ruffled Steve’s hair. “What brought that on?”

“I don’t know. Can two men really get married?” Steve asked, tugging on the hem of Tony’s shirt.

“Yes they can. It’s legal in New York and a bunch of other places all over the world, but it isn’t legal everywhere,”

“Really?” Steve’s eyes lit up. “It’s really true? I saw it in the paper Uncle Bruce gave me, but I thought it was made up like that Onion thing Uncle Clint showed me,”

Tony chuckled, setting the eggs down on the counter. “Yep, it’s really, really true,” He popped a couple of slices of bread into their ancient-yet-still-functional toaster and started it up. “Do you want your eggs fried or scrambled?”

“Fried is ok,” Steve said, resting his elbows on the table. “Do you like that two men can get married?”

“I think it’s an awesome thing for any couple to be able to get married,” Tony said, cracking four eggs into the pan. He silently cheered when he didn’t end up with a handful of shell fragments everywhere.

“Do you like men?” The question wasn’t completely out of the blue, but it still made Tony drop his handful of eggshells into the sink by accident; he hadn’t expected Steve to just ask like that. Even reporters hadn’t outright asked him– at least not since he had been young, dumb and drunk sixty percent of the time.

“Uh, yeah,” Tony said, fishing the eggshells out of the drain. “I like men, but I like women too.”

Steve frowned. “Does that happen a lot to people?”

Tony set the eggs down on a used plate, washing his hands off with soapy water. “Yeah, buddy,” he said, drying his hands and turning back to his now hot frying pan, “It happens. Some people don’t uh, like it when you like more than one gender, but I don’t really think it’s an issue. People should be able to like whoever they want,”

Steve leaned against the table, his frown slowly vanishing. “So it’s ok to like men and women?”

“Yep,”

“Really?”

“Really,”

“You’re not just saying that?”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. What the hell had people been telling the kid? When Clint came back, he was going to have a few words with him for letting the kid watch so much Fox. “No, kiddo,” he said, still half-watching his eggs sizzle away, “I’m not just saying that. To me, that’s the way it is.”

“I like that,” Steve said brightly, doodling imaginary lines with his finger on the tabletop. “That’s a lot nicer than it used to be when I was still living with Ma.”

“Sure,” Tony said with a nod, setting the cooked eggs on a plate. Sometimes he forgot just how different Steve’s upbringing had been; it hadn’t been all that long since he had met Steve – child Steve, that was – but it felt like he had been around forever. Tony frowned. It was hard to imagine a world without Steve in it now that he thought about it. He wondered when that had happened – when Steve had started wedging himself into his life. Pepper was going to give him shit when he got back, he thought, smiling. All that complaining, and here he was having a civil discussion with Steve about being Bi. Adult Steve would have probably decked him if he’d even tried to bring that up, even jokingly. He fished the toast out of the toaster and set it on a plate in front of Steve. “You want to butter these yourself? Or do you want me to do it?”

“That’s ok, I can do it,” Steve said, shucking his blanket. He dropped down from his chair and heaved open the fridge, his arms pulled taut as he fought to get the door open. He found the margarine after hunting around behind the milk and carried it back to the table, pushing the door closed with his back so that he didn’t have to turn around again. “Can I have a butter knife please?” Tony handed him one and put a new set of toast into the toaster after dumping out all the crumbs; better that than end up with a fire. The thing was old enough for that to be an actual issue after all, and the last thing he wanted to do was burn the place down around them.

“So what did you want to do today?” Tony asked as he turned the stove off. Hopefully there wouldn’t be too much happening; he was starting to feel tired already, and he was the one who had gotten a few hours of decent sleep.

Steve stuck his tongue out of the corner of his mouth, wrestling with the lid on the margarine container, and shrugged. “I don’t know. We could go try and swim maybe? I’ve never done that before,”

Tony’s insides froze over; he managed to keep a smile on his face, but it was a very near thing. He could feel every hair on his body standing to attention at the very thought of stepping into a body of water larger than a puddle – oh god. Nope. He really didn’t want to go there – nope. Not now, not ever –

“Tony? Can we swim?”

Steve’s puppy dog eyes should have been illegal, Tony mused darkly. He squashed his growing dread, screaming internally for it to shut the hell up. If he could to this for Steve, he would. The kid deserved the chance to learn how to swim – he deserved all the good things in life, and if this was something Steve wanted, then he would just have to suffer through. “Alright. We can go swim. Let’s just eat breakfast first,” Tony said, keeping his smile plastered in place. He just hoped he could keep it together long enough for the kid to get bored, or else this was going to be a very, very bad day.

Tony walked out onto the porch first, mostly because he wanted to get a good look at the sea before Steve could see him staring at it like it was a bucket of nuclear waste; he knew he usually looked pretty bad when water came into the picture, but he wasn’t sure how bad it really was. Natasha had pointed it out on multiple occasions, and while he had always thought he had done a great job hiding it, he knew he wasn’t the best at keeping abject fear out of his eyes – at least not for long. So far it wasn’t all that bad, and yeah, he was only standing on the porch, but it was as good a start as any. He looked around for a spot to sit and found that he wasn’t alone; well, at least this explained why there had been a heat signature on the cameras the night before.

There, sitting on the cushioned bench in the biggest patch of sunlight, was an elderly looking Maine Coon with silvery hair; the cat lazily opened a yellow eye when it noticed he wasn’t going away. It stretched out, digging its claws into the cushion before sitting up a little, giving Tony the hairiest eyeball he had ever been given before in his life. Clearly, he wasn’t as respectable as he had thought, he chuckled to himself. He sat down on the bench beside the cat and held his hand out, wondering if he was going to have to rush off to the emergency room. The cat leaned forwards and butted its head against his hand, smearing its wet nose against his knuckles. Ah, well. Maybe he wasn’t so scummy looking after all.

“Tony? Should I wear a shirt?” Steve asked, hanging off of the doorway. He was dressed in his water wings and a pair of bright orange swim trunks. “Is that a cat?”

Tony stroked the cat’s head, working his fingers through its tangled silvery hair to get at its collar; there was a sturdy medallion-shaped nametag dangling from the leather collar around the cat’s neck, and thankfully the engraving on the medallion’s front was still nice and legible. “Her name is Mabel,” he said, rubbing his thumb over the crooked script. “Apparently she belongs to the lady who owns the beach houses.”

“Oh,” Steve said, creeping closer. He padded barefoot across the porch to the bench and knelt down in front of the cat, peering at her like she was some kind of alien creature. Tony would have been more amused if he hadn’t known that the kid had been plagued with allergies so severe he had almost died from them. Hell, this might have been the first cat Steve had been able to walk up to without keeling over from because of an asthma attack.

Mabel seemed unconcerned by Steve’s approach; she blinked at him and then looked away, more interested in finding out why Tony’s hand had stopped moving. She started cleaning her yellowing teeth on Tony’s thumb and made a funny noise – something like a cross between a grunt and a snort – before she started licking his knuckles with her sand-papery tongue, clearly pleased with the saltiness of his skin.

“Is it ok if I pet her too?” Steve asked, looking from the cat to Tony and back.

“Sure,” Tony said, rubbing the cat’s chin. “Just don’t touch her stomach and feet – and be gentle with her ears. Most cats don’t like that.”

Tony had seen kids petting animals before, but Steve was something else; the little guy was so tender, the cat looked like she was going to melt into a puddle right there on the cushions; she was that happy. Her purrs sounded a little like they were coming from a rusty chainsaw, and they grew louder and louder as he started scratching at her neck fur. Steve grinned up at Tony.

“I think she likes you,” Tony said, leaning back against the post behind him. He gave the beach a quick check to see if there was anyone around, and found the sand free of unexpected visitors. It was a shame, really. He would have appreciated the distraction.

“Can we keep her?” Steve asked. He started giggling when the cat stood up and rammed him in the chin with her face. She started licking his cheeks, cleaning off the margarine still on his chin.

“I think she’s got an owner already, kiddo,” Tony said, gesturing to the collar, “but I bet she’d like some food and water.”

“Yeah?” Steve stood up and dashed away into the house before Tony could ask what he was going to do. The kid returned carrying a bowl of water; Tony had no idea where he had found the bowl, because it wasn’t one he had seen before, but he wasn’t too concerned. At least this way Coulson wouldn’t shit a brick about animals eating off their dishes.

Steve set the water down in front of Mabel, watching carefully as she turned around in a circle five times before drinking it. He seemed mesmerized by the way she moved; he leaned closer to get a better look at her tongue.

“I take it this is your first cat?” Tony teased, watching Mabel dunk her furry chin in the water. She looked a bit like a swamp monster when she was finished, and to his surprise she didn’t seem too concerned about being wet. Steve snatched the bowl back and dashed back inside to refill it. Tony turned to the cat, who was still licking her wet whiskers. “You know, some days I don’t think anyone listens to me,”

Mabel gave him a grumpy look and went back to grooming herself.

Tony dipped his toes in the sea, trying to keep himself from flinching every time the water lapped at him. Mabel stood beside him, eyeing the water with a look of pure, unbridled boredom. “You’re a cat,” Tony grumbled, taking another step into the water, “shouldn’t you be running away from water?”

Mabel looked up at him and sneezed.

“Oh, well you’re saying that now,” Tony muttered, taking another step until his ankles were completely submerged, “but in ten minutes you’ll be running back to the porch with me.” He eyed Steve frolicking a few feet away with the water up to his hips, and wished he could be that carefree around water again. With a sigh, he took another step forwards, dimly aware that the cat was now wading through the water with him.

“Look at all the shells!” Steve ducked down, his hair just skimming the water, and dug around in the submerged sand. The sight made Tony want to hoist him up over his shoulder and sprint back for the porch; he managed to hang on to his self-control as Mabel did figure eights around his ankles, covering him in wet fur.

“That’s great, Steve,” Tony gritted out, forcing himself to keep still as the water rippled around Steve’s hand.

Oh dear god – stop it! You can do this – goddamn it, just let the kid have this one day – just this one –

“Tony?” Steve tugged at Tony’s hand. He looked up at him, his eyes wide and startled. “Are you ok? You look funny,”

“I’m ok,” Tony wheezed, swallowing down a scream. “I’m fine. I just don’t like water that much,”

“Oh,” Steve turned around, looking out over the horizon. “Do you want to go back onto the beach?”

The sea seemed endless from here, and while the cave in Afghanistan had never looked like this, Tony could almost see it lurking out there beyond the waves. He shuddered, swallowing down a mouthful of bile. Shit – no. He couldn’t do this here. He had Steve here – he needed to stick it out for Steve’s sake.

Steve slipped his hand into Tony’s. He tugged Tony along behind him, heading back to beach with a determined look on his face, one that was almost too old for him. He sat down, pulling Tony onto the beach beside him, and set his shells out in front of him on the sand. “It’s ok. We don’t have to go in the water anymore.”

They sat together, staring out at the water with Mabel doing laps in front of them, her tail swishing back and forth in the waves.

Tony let out a shuddered sigh, smiling weakly at Steve, his face red with embarrassment. “Sorry about that,”

“It’s ok,” Steve said, patting Tony’s knee. “I get scared sometimes too,”

Tony rested his elbows on his knees. He glared down at the sand stuck to his shins.

“Ma says that if I’m scared I’m supposed to think about good things,” Steve said, stacking his shells. “Can I go back in and get some more?”

Tony tensed. He didn’t want Steve going into the water alone; even if the kid didn’t go in past his hips, it didn’t feel safe. A voice in the back of his mind kept muttering about rogue waves and slippery seaweed and brain damage. Tony knew he was being irrational, but he couldn’t get the stupid nagging voice to shut up. “Give me a minute, ok? I’ll go back in with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve said, patting Tony’s knee.

“I know,” Tony sighed. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. God, if Rhodey could see him now he would laugh his ass off. Tony Stark, panicking on a beach with a little kid calming him down like it was nothing. He forced himself to stand. He could do this. It was just a few feet out – and it wasn’t like he was going to be going head first into the drink. It was just a little wading – that’s all. He laughed, and winced when he heard how hysterical it sounded.

Steve took his hand again, and led him towards the water. “It’s ok,”

It wasn’t so bad this time, really; it wasn’t good, but it wasn’t so bad. Tony kept close to Steve, making sure the kid wasn’t going to accidentally pitch into the water if he tripped on something. He felt along the sandy bottom with his toes for sharp rocks and shells as they walked, making it his duty to protect the kid’s soft soles. He even picked up a few shells, letting his face come dangerously close to the water he so despised. He was kind of proud of himself.

Steve was a sweetheart; he stuck to the shore and didn’t make a move for the deeper water, even though that was where all the good shells were. Mabel stuck close by too, swimming around as Steve collected handfuls of stones and colourful shells. She seemed as much at home here as she had on the porch; she was waterlogged and her fur made her look a bit like a watered down toupee, but she seemed to be enjoying herself. Tony was wondered who the hell had taught her to swim in the first place.

They sat down on the beach when they were done, letting the water trickle between their toes with each fresh wave. Tony grinned shakily at Steve. “I guess that was ok,” he said, patting Mabel’s rump with the flat of his hand. She purred loudly and crawled into his lap, lying across his pants like a beached jellyfish.

“That was fun!” Steve said as he counted his shells.

“Yeah,” Tony said, picking a chunk of seaweed out of Mabel’s fur. “It was fun.” He hadn’t expected to enjoy it as much as he had; sure, he was still shaking a little, and his heart was hammering in his chest a tad harder than normal, but he wasn’t panicking – at least not as badly. He licked his lips and could taste salt there – for once, it wasn’t brought on by sweat.

“Can we feed Mabel?” Steve asked, petting the cat’s head so gently she started pushing against his hand.

“We’re going to need to go to town to get her food,” Tony said, giving Mabel a pat. “Cats shouldn’t really eat people food – especially old lady cats,”

“Why’s that?”

“Well,” Tony said. “Some of them have weird dietary restrictions – you know, like when you’re allergic to stuff. You can’t eat it because it’ll make you sick.” Tony hadn’t actually had a cat before, but his roommate in MIT had brought his ancient brown and black tabby with him, so it had kind of felt like he had; he had heard all about its special food and toys, and while at the time it had been annoying as hell to hear the ‘cute’ stories about how the cat had gotten into their laundry hamper while he had been gone, he had learned a lot more about cat husbandry than he had expected. It had made him sad at the time. His parents had never thought pets were a good idea – not for a child prodigy like their son. Pets were for stupid children, Howard had said once when Tony had asked for one for Christmas. He had been five at the time, and he had never forgotten Howard’s sharp words. His mother hadn’t agreed with the decision, but she hadn’t exactly been willing to go against her husband’s wishes, so they had never gotten a cat, even when Tony had grown old enough to take care of one himself. The closest he had come to pet ownership was with that old, cranky tabby. He had liked that cat better than he had liked most people. “We’ll get her some senior cat food,” he said, flattening down a ridge of fur on Mabel’s back. “We can go after lunch.”

“Do you think she’ll still be here when we get back?” Steve asked, looking doubtful. He started rubbing the cat’s ears, still fretting. She turned her head sharply and bit him; he yelped and pulled his hand back, staring at it in confusion, looking a little like he had been betrayed.

Tony took Steve by the hand, looking at the bite; there was nothing there really, despite a little redness from where she had nipped him. Thank god for that. “You ok, buddy?”

“Yeah, Steve said, looking over his hand at Mabel. “Why’d she do that?”

“I guess she didn’t want you playing around with her ears,” Tony said. He let Steve’s hand drop when he was satisfied that the kid was fine. “Let’s go give it a wash just to be on the safe side, ok?”

“Ok,” Steve said, still side-eyeing the cat. “Do you think she’s mad at me?”

Only Steve would think an animal would get mad at him and blame himself for its behavior, Tony thought with a sigh. He shooed Mabel off his lap; she grumbled at him, and then bit his pant leg when he tried to stand up, holding on to it for dear life when he tried to move. “I think she’s just a cranky old lady,” he said, rolling his eyes at the cat. He helped Steve up and led them up onto the porch with Mabel trailing along behind him, her teeth still buried in his pant leg. He debated on shooing her out of the house when she followed them inside and but gave up when she started winding herself around Steve’s legs. “Cats,” he said, shaking his head. “And people think I’m crazy,”

Steve gave Mabel a tentative pat on the head. She bit him again, but it must not have been as hard this time, because he didn’t even flinch; she started licking his thumb when he tried to move his hand away. “She’s weird,”

“You can say that again,” Tony sighed, heading into the kitchen. He thought about grabbing a towel from the bathroom hamper to dry her off and decided against it; he liked his hand where they were, thanks. She didn’t seem like she would have enjoyed the activity any more than he would, and he had no intention of bleeding all over the floor.

Mabel meowed as Tony opened the fridge. She bumped against his leg, clawing at the fridge door. “What?” he asked, pulling out the box of lunch meat. She meowed at him again, digging her claws into his pant leg and proceeded to climb up his thigh. Cursing, he juggled the lunch meat and the cat, wobbling away from the fridge; his thighs stung bitterly as he moved. He set the box of lunch meat on the table and gingerly pried the cat’s claws out of his pant leg. “Hey – that’s not nice,”

Mabel stared at him, uninterested in his pain. She flicked her tail back and forth, staring at the box on the table as though willing him to give it to her.

“You can have some when we’re done making sandwiches,” Tony grumbled, turning back to the fridge. “Hey, Steve? What kind of bread do you want?”

“Anything’s ok,” Steve said, leaning against the table. “Should we get Mr. Coulson?”

“I guess,” Tony sighed, opening up the cupboard. “Do me a favor – go wake him up, ok? And don’t let her go in there with you – she’s a little stinky right now and I don’t think he’s going to appreciate having smelly cat-butt in his face.”

“Ok!” Steve neatly avoided Mabel, scooting around her, and launched himself at Coulson’s door, leaning against the door frame. “Mr. Coulson?”

Tony smiled softly. He opened the box of lunch meat and tore a chunk of ham free, tossing it to Mabel. “That’s our little secret,” he said. She sat on his foot and stared up at him, her yellow eyes still as bored as ever.

Tony heaved a sigh as Coulson and Steve looked over what seemed like thousands of cans of cat foot; it felt like he had been standing in the pet store for decades. He was surprised his hair hadn’t gone completely gray by now. He shifted his plastic shopping basket from hand to hand, letting the bag of senior cat food slide back and forth. He was glad the two were so excited, but it would have been nice if they had been able to make up their minds already. “Are you two done?”

“No,” Coulson said, peering from one label to the next, a frown on his face. “Do you think she needs low protein?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said with a sigh. “She’s not really my cat, and I’m not psychic,”

Coulson gave Tony a look that screamed a sudden willingness to commit murder; the agent had slept, but not well judging by the dark bags under his eyes, and he hadn’t exactly been thrilled to find that they had a new house guest to take care of in the first place. “You’re the one who wanted to feed her,”

“I know that,” Tony grumbled, nudging Coulson’s hip with the basket. “I just didn’t think it would take this long to get cat food. Christ, it’s like we’re shopping for vegans or something,” he said. He smiled at a shelf stocker when she walked past with a box of dog treats; she smiled back and continued on, disappearing down another aisle as they continued to browse amongst the different cans of wet cat food.

Steve pursed his lips, looking up from his can of chicken liver dinner. “What’s a vegan?”

“A vegan is someone who doesn’t eat anything made out of animal products or by-products,” Tony said. He took the can from Steve and put it in the basket.

“I thought that was a vegetarian,” Steve said, picking up a can of seafood medley.

“Vegetarians sometimes eat shellfish, eggs and dairy,” Tony said, stealing away Steve’s new can. “Vegans don’t touch any of that stuff. Look, as much as I enjoy comparative shopping, why don’t we just get a few different flavors and see what she likes? You know cats – they’re picky. She might not even eat the low protein ones,”

“True,” Coulson said with a sigh. “Do you want to get her a brush? Her hair’s pretty long,”

“I guess,” Tony murmured, looking around for the brushes. He plucked one from the shelf and put it into the basket, vaguely aware that it was probably the right kind of brush. “Do we want to get her a litter box?”

“Do we know if she’ll use one?”

“She’s owned by someone who had enough forethought to get her a collar,” Tony said, turning towards the litter aisle. “She’s probably house broken,”

“How much are we planning to spend here?” Coulson grumbled. He waited patiently for Steve to follow Tony, staying a few feet behind them as they changed aisles.

“I don’t know,” Tony said, pointing Steve towards the different kinds of litter boxes. “Litter boxes are where a cat goes to the bathroom,” he said, before Steve could ask.

Steve wrinkled his nose. “Really?”

“What?” Tony snorted, lifting up the plainest box he could find, wiggling it in Steve’s direction. “Everything poops, kiddo. It’s a fact of fact,”

“That’s gross,” Steve said, taking the litter box from Tony. He balanced it on his head, watching as Tony picked through the bags of kitty litter. “Do you think she’ll like it?”

“What?” Tony said, cocking an eyebrow, “pooping in a box? I guess she’ll like it, but I really don’t want to ask,”

“You’re weird,” Steve said, hobbling along behind Tony as he picked up a bag of kitty litter.

“You’re the one with the litter box on your head, buddy,” Tony chuckled, heading towards the till. He paused, hovering between aisles. “Do we need cat toys and treats?”

“It can’t hurt,” Coulson said, slipping down the toy aisle. “I think we’ll keep it small though. We don’t need cat toys cluttering the place up,”

Tony shooed Steve down the aisle ahead of him. “Go pick something out,” he said, lifting the litter box off of Steve’s head.

Steve grinned as he knelt down beside Coulson’s feet. “Do you think she’ll like these?” he asked, going through a pile of feathers on string.

“We won’t know until we try it out,” Tony said, slipping the litter box onto the basket as he set it down. The thing weighted a ton; he was starting to regret not bringing Thor with them. Say what you want about the guy’s stealth abilities, but it would have been nice to have someone with muscles around to do the heavy lifting. He slid the basket to the side of the aisle with his foot and dropped down to his knees to get a look at what Steve had picked out. “That’s a nice one,” he said, feeling the feather at the end of the string. It wasn’t the best toy in the world durability-wise, but for an elderly cat it would probably be just fine; of course, he could make something so much better, he thought with a shake of his head, but what could you do? Maybe he was going to have to start a line of cat toys at SI.

“How about we get these?” Coulson said, holding up a package of bouncy balls. Tony was happy to see that they weren’t the teeny-weenie ones; he was pretty sure he would break his ankle stepping on one. These balls were multi-coloured and about the size of a small baseball, made of soft foam – perfect for an animal with bad teeth. Coulson handed the pack to Steve, letting the kid look them over for himself.

“Can we get these too?” Steve asked, looking up at Tony.

“If Phil says its ok, then its ok with me,” Tony said, picking up a toy aptly named ‘the crinkle bag’. It was just a folded sleeve of fabric and plastic that made crinkling noises when moved; it was nothing special. It was kind of mesmerizing though; he spent a few minutes folding and squishing the thing until he finally decided to put it in their basket. Coulson gave him a look that clearly said he had lost his mind; he shrugged and went back to going through the toys, standing up to get a better look at a package of catnip mice.

“Tony?” Steve ducked his head, hugging Tony’s leg.

“What’s up?” Tony asked, instantly concerned. He looked around and spotted a balding fortysomething year old man standing off in the distance. The guy was clean shaven, but there was something greasy about him. He was wearing a hideous bright orange and red Hawaiian shirt, and despite the colourful clothing, he was scowling like someone had just stolen the last potato chip out from under his nose. He was also doing a pretty piss poor job of pretending not to stare at them, and Tony didn’t like that one bit. He wrapped an arm around Steve’s shoulder, tucking the kid against him, trying not to let the kid know how uncomfortable he was with the stranger’s presence. “Oh Phil,” he called out, keeping his voice cheerful, “do me a favor honey – come look at this?”

Coulson practically leapt across the aisle to get to them. He gave the toys in their aisle a cursory glance and then settled his gaze on the one in Tony’s hand, half-looking at it and the guy at the end of the aisle. “That’s very nice,” he said, just loud enough to be heard. He leaned closer and pretended to read the label. “How long has he been standing there?” he muttered under his breath, one hand buried in his pocket.

“I’m not sure,” Tony muttered back, still smiling. “He freaked Steve out though, so he’s been here long enough,”

“Agreed,” Coulson said, turning and giving the man in the Hawaiian shirt another look. He put the catnip mice into their basket, flashing Steve a smile, and lifted up the kitty litter bag. “Alright, I think we’ve got enough stuff now. Let’s blow this popsicle stand,”

“Oh wow,” Tony said, picking up their basket. “You’re really hip and cool there Phil,”

“Very funny,” Coulson said, putting a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “Let’s go to the till, buddy,”

They walked slowly to the till, pausing every once in a while to peer at something they passed as if it was actually interesting; Steve held Tony’s hand as they walked, refusing to move away as the man in the Hawaiian shirt trailed after them. Tony could feel the guy’s gaze on the back of his neck the entire time; it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

The man at the till looked a little like he was going to faint when Tony lifted up their basket and put it on the counter; the guy cheered up considerably when he pulled out a wad of cash to cover their bill. Tony had a feeling this was going to make the store’s year.

“You guys must really love your cat,” the cashier commented, packing their things into plastic bags. The shelf stocker walked up behind him and whispered something in his ear before dropping down to her knees behind the register; she pulled a tray of cat grass out from underneath the counter and carried it off to the front of the store, stepping outside.

“Oh yeah,” Tony said, leaning against the till as he counted his change and put it away. “We’re very attached to her. She’s a sweetheart alright.”

The man in the Hawaiian shirt walked past the till, giving their bags a glance before walking out the front door without buying anything. The cashier gave the guy’s back a glare. “I don’t know why people do shit like that – pardon my language,” he said, smiling sheepishly down at Steve. “It’s annoying having so many window shoppers these days,”

“Is that guy a regular or something?” Coulson asked, picking up the first of their bags.

“Nope,” the cashier said, handing Tony the bag of kitty litter. “I think he’s new to town – looks like another recent retiree. We get a lot of those here. They make their money, sweep in here and live as frugally as they can.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony chuckled. “That’s too bad.”

“Personally I prefer when we get new families in here – like you guys,” the cashier sighed. “He’s a real nightmare, alright. He came in earlier this morning looking like he was going to burn the place down. He was muttering at everything – he has a thick German accent, so I couldn’t tell what he was going on about, mind you, but I could tell he wasn’t saying anything nice,”

Tony nodded along, smiling sympathetically at the cashier. “That’s tough,”

The cashier shrugged. “It’s not as bad as it is in the city. At least here the eccentric rich guys are only in town every few weeks for food. They’re cheap mothers,” he finished bagging the last of the cat toys and slid the plastic bag across the counter to Tony. “I’d uh… I’d watch out around him though – if I was you,”

Coulson frowned. “Why’s that?”

“He’s not so open minded, judging by some of the shit he was saying – Julia – my shelf stocker – said that guy kept muttering something about people ‘marrying anyone these days’ – I mean, her German’s a little rusty because she took it in grade twelve, but she said he was looking at you guys when he said it so it can’t be too much of a stretch,”

“Thanks for the heads up,” Tony said, putting a twenty into the donation bin beside the register.

The cashier smiled. “Not a problem. You guys take care now,”

“You too,” Coulson said. He handed Steve the lightest of their bags and lead them out the door, taking point. When they hit the street he slowed down, making sure Steve was just a hair behind him the entire time, shielded from view by his body. “I’m not liking the German connection,”

“Me neither,” Tony muttered, heading towards their car. He stopped a few feet away from it and set his bags down, pulling out his phone. He pulled up the security cameras he had installed in the car and scrolled through the footage to make sure no one had tampered with it; the footage was blessedly clear of evildoing. Sure, Hawaiian shirt guy walked past the car and gave it a dirty look before wandering off, but that was about it.

“He didn’t touch it?” Coulson looked mildly surprised. “That’s unexpected,”

“Maybe he was saving the keying for later,” Tony grumbled, popping the trunk. He slipped his phone into his pocket. “Do we get groceries now or after we talk with Natasha?”

Coulson put their bags into the trunk with Steve’s help, mindful of the awkwardly shaped cat toys. He glanced around when they were done and shut the trunk once he was sure everything was packed away. “She just pinged me,” he said, pulling open the passengers door. “In you go, sport,” he said, helping Steve quickly into the car seat. “She wants to meet at the café three blocks over,”

“And we’re taking the car?” Tony said, raising an eyebrow.

“I want eyes on it,” Coulson shrugged. “Besides, she said she wants to see what we bought, and I don’t want to carry six bags of cat toys around with me. I look like a crazy cat lady on a good day – I don’t need people seeing me like that now,”

Natasha was already waiting for them when they walked into the Seaside Coffee Shack; she was dressed in a long sleeved striped dress, and while she looked alert, there was a tiredness to her gaze that hadn’t been there before. She motioned for them to sit and gave Steve a kiss on the forehead before returning to her seat. “The man you ran into in the store wasn’t one of ours as far as I could tell,” she said as soon as the barista finished taking their orders. She smiled pleasantly at the three of them, pushing her cookie tin across the table towards them. Tony was the only one brave enough to take one; he didn’t regret it this time. These were bakery cookies – and damn good ones.

“Did you get these in town?” Tony asked, savoring the marble cookie. The barista brought them over their drinks and scampered off to tend to the empty till as if there was a huge line waiting to be taken care of; Tony had a hard time not laughing.

Natasha smiled, sipping her tea. “Typical Tony. Bring him news, and he asks if the cookies are from around here,”

“Hey,” Tony said, handing a cookie to Steve, “It’s a valid question. We live here – we deserve good cookies,”

“Yeah!” Steve said, nibbling at his cookie.

Natasha ruffled Steve’s hair. “Fair enough,”

“Getting back to the strange angry German man,” Coulson said, clearing his throat.

“His name appears to be Hermann Weiss – assuming of course that it’s his real name,” Natasha said with a sigh. “He came into town this morning – rented out the beach house three doors down from yours.”

“I don’t like it,” Coulson said, shaking his head.

“Well, I’m afraid you’re going to have to put up with him until we’ve got more information. If he’s looking for Steve, then he’s going to be watching anyone with children – thankfully, this place is crawling with them, so it’s not as if he’ll be able to just pick you out of a crowd,” Natasha grunted. “More to the point, the beach house across from Weiss’ is due to be rented out soon. The guest registrar says the tenant will be arriving within a few hours, so we’ll have even more trouble to deal with.”

“Any information on that one?” Coulson asked, drumming his fingers on his arm.

“From the credit cards, the man appears clean. Works a simple job at a car wash – nothing fancy, nothing that would draw attention. He’s the one I’m more worried about, actually,” Natasha said, taking a cookie for herself. She bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. “He’s almost too clean. Weiss is a bull in a china shop by comparison,”

“The shelf stocker in the pet store claims she heard Weiss muttering something about him not liking gay marriage – she thinks he was talking about us,” Tony said, sipping his mocha. He handed it to Steve, who had been staring it, and laughed when Steve gagged after tasting it. “Its hot chocolate and coffee,” he said to Steve, pushing the kid’s milk towards him. “What did you expect?”

“I thought it would taste good,” Steve sighed, sipping his milk.

“It does taste good,” Tony said with a smirk. “You’re just too young to enjoy the fine flavor,”

“Natasha doesn’t like it either,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest, matching Coulson.

Natasha smiled softly. “I like it, I just don’t need the excess sugar while I’m working,” she said. She turned her attention to Coulson, as if daring him to say something about the cookie she had just finished eating.

“So what’s the plan?” Coulson said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do we leave now, or do we wait it out?”

“Waiting for more information is the best option,” Natasha said, picking up another cookie. “The cameras are still functional, the information is good and from what I can tell, there’s nothing to be concerned about – aside from the Mr. Weiss’ homophobic streak. You shouldn’t run into any trouble in town. Everyone here watches everyone else, and they like you. If something starts going funny, you’ll find out about it pretty damn fast,”

“That’s true,” Coulson said. He picked up his coffee and stared into it for a moment. “I have to ask,”

“No – Clint hasn’t checked in,” Natasha said softly. “If he had, I would have called you.”

“Alright,” Coulson murmured, turning to look out the window. “Look, let’s just get groceries and head home then. If you think we’re safe, then we’re safe,”

Natasha sighed, setting her cup down. “Let’s just take it one day at a time for now,” she said, clasping her hands in front of her. “I’ll check in with you around midnight. For now, let’s just play it safe – you’re here on vacation. Have some fun – smile. Do what you were doing before and keep the frowns to yourself, alright?” She kicked Tony lightly in the shin. “And Stark?”

“Yes?” Tony said sweetly, batting his eyelashes at her.

“Don’t panic,”

“What makes you think I’m going to panic?” Tony snorted, draining the last of his mocha.

“I know you,” Natasha said with a smile. “If you see anything – even if it’s just a little weird, phone it in,”

“Obviously,” Tony grumbled, snatching up another cookie before she could close the tin on his fingers. “You’re acting like this is my first rodeo,”

“It is,” Natasha said, standing up. She tucked the cookie tin back into her massive purse, adjusting her dress so it wasn’t bunched up at the front. “We were all scared on our first bodyguard missions – it’s different, though, when you’re guarding someone you love,” she said. She smoothed down Steve’s hair and slipped out of the café, leaving them to gather their thoughts.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you bought fifty cookies,” Coulson sighed, lifting his bakery box up to avoid beaming Steve in the head with it when the kid skipped in front of him.

“Hey,” Tony said, neatly avoiding a tree and Steve at the same time, “Steve and I like cookies – besides, I saw you eyeing those cinnamon sugar ones. I know you wanted them too.” He lifted his bag of fresh bread out of Steve’s reach when he tried to make a grab for it. “And yes,” Tony said, rolling his eyes at a now pouting Steve, “I know you want to carry the bread too, but you’ve got the cake already – the bread is mine.”

“But I can do it,” Steve grumbled, hugging his pink bakery box against his chest.

“Yeah, I know you can, but if I give you the bag of bread, then what am I supposed to carry?” Tony chuckled, leading them towards their car. Normally he would have been all for loading Steve up to see what the kid could handle, but right now he didn’t feel like messing around – at least not while they were still in town. He knew he was supposed to be playing it cool, pretending like nothing was wrong, but somehow he didn’t quite feel up to it. Knowing that a hired killed could be in town looking for Steve made his blood run cold; he was glad Steve was still mostly oblivious of the whole thing.

“You don’t need to carry anything,” Coulson said, snatching the bag of bread from Tony’s arm. He balanced it on top of his box, smiling softly when he spotted the scowl on Tony’s face. “You paid for everything, remember?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony grumbled, unlocking the trunk. He stepped off to the side, casually reviewing the security footage for the car on his phone before popping the lid. “But that’s my job, remember?”

“Uh, huh,” Coulson chuckled. He glanced at Tony’s phone before setting the cookie box and bread inside the trunk on top of the rest of their groceries. He was a damned efficient at packing, Tony would give him that much. They had crammed two weeks’ worth of groceries into the trunk; with any luck they wouldn’t have to come back out here for at least another week. Two weeks’ worth of food was never really two weeks when it came to Steve’s metabolism, after all.

Steve held up his cake box and waited on tip-toes as Coulson put it away, watching where it went as though trying to protect it from being squashed; he had picked the cake out himself, and had been holding the box ever since leaving the bakery, clinging to it for dear life every time someone walked by. Tony had thought it was funny at first, but after it had happened the first few times he had begun to worry that maybe there was something behind the strange behavior.

Coulson put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, easing him away from the trunk. “Alright, slugger, – let’s head home,” he said. He made sure Steve’s fingers were clear of the trunk before he closed it, glancing faux-casually around at the street before moving towards the car door. “I guess we’ve got everything we need.”

“Yep,” Tony said, stalking around the side of the car to the passenger’s seat. “You can drive today, sweetheart,” he said, giving Coulson a sultry wink. He threw open the back door and helped Steve into his car seat, making a show of buckling him up. Steve laughed at him, lifting his arms up so that Tony could get the seatbelt in place without trapping himself.

Coulson snorted, shaking his head as he got into the driver’s seat. “Oh gee, thanks, dear,”

“You’re very welcome,” Tony said, closing the door on Steve. He paused, giving the street one last look; it felt like someone was watching them, but he couldn’t see anyone suspicious. No one seemed the least bit interested in them. He got into the passenger’s seat and lifted his phone up, using the security camera to peer a little deeper into their surroundings. He gnawed nervously on his lower lip as the cameras panned, recording every face just in case they needed it. Just like he had thought, there was no one around outright leering at them – no one was out of place at least, and while the hairs on the back of his neck were standing stiffly to attention, there didn’t seem to be any danger. Everyone seemed to be happily going about their day; yet still, something felt off. He closed the door and locked it for good measure, glad to be finished with their shopping.

“Stop it,” Coulson grumbled, starting the car.

“Stop what?” Tony muttered, still staring into his phone.

“It’s fine. We’ll be home in a few minutes,” Coulson said, signaling to turn. “It’ll be fine.”

When they pulled up onto their driveway they found Mabel sitting on the porch waiting for them with a look of bland indifference on her face; at first Tony was worried that she was going to dart out in front of them and end up a furry pancake, but she didn’t even twitch an ear until Coulson turned the motor off and unlocked their doors; then she was up and moving at a speed Tony had only thought young cats used, greeting them with nips and purrs as they carried their things inside, trying – naturally – to trip them on every step. They sent Steve inside and set him up at the kitchen table with his colouring books and crayons before heading back outside to get the groceries. The kid wasn’t all that happy about being banished to the kitchen, but Tony felt much better now that he was safely tucked away out of sight.

“Do you see him?” Coulson asked, nodding slightly towards the beach house on the far left.

Tony stared blandly at Coulson. “Are you seriously asking me if I can see someone in that house? I can barely see the front door from here,”

“There’s a man standing on the porch,” Coulson said, shouldering a bag of potatoes. “He’s wearing that god awful Hawaiian shirt. You could see that thing from space,”

“Ah,” Tony said, picking up another bag. “I see. I take it that’s Angry German Guy?”

“Hermann Weiss – The one and the same,”

“Well, Natasha did say he moved in,” Tony said, trying to follow Coulson inside. Mabel wound around his feet and nearly sent him flying off the top step; he steadied himself on the banister, cursing. Trying to shoo her away with his foot ended badly; Mabel stared up at him, her teeth buried in his pant leg. “Really? You’re thinking this is a good idea, cat?” Tony grumbled, giving his leg a lazy shake.

“Clearly, you’re wrong,” Coulson said, plucking the bag from Tony’s hand, “She thinks it’s a great idea.”

“Very funny,” Tony muttered, starting down the steps to get another bag. The cat hung from his leg the entire way, detaching with a meow when he started across the driveway towards the car; she purred loudly, head-butting his leg as he leaned into the trunk to pick up the last of the bags. He was surprised she hadn’t tried to climb him; there was lunch meat in the bag he was holding, after all, and she seemed to know it judging by the way she was sniffing at him.

“You’re on for tonight’s watch duty,” Coulson said, stealing away one of Tony’s bags.

Tony closed the trunk with a sigh. “I’m well aware,”

“If you want you can get a nap in after dinner,”

Tony lifted his feet cautiously as Mabel reattached to his leg. “That sounds like a good plan,” he grunted, getting them both up the first step with an unsteady move that nearly had him falling over. “I’m assuming everything checked out,”

“It’s all clear,” Coulson said. He stole another bag from Tony’s arm, heading back into the house.

“Hey!” Tony raised his leg again, lifting Mabel up onto the next step. “I had that!”

“I’m sure you did,” Coulson said, reappearing. He swiped the last of Tony’s bags and disappeared inside again, moving too fast for Tony to grab.

“You’re an ass,” Tony called out, getting himself and Mabel up onto the top step; the cat glared at him when he stopped moving. He glared back at her. “This is your fault,” he muttered to the cat, giving his foot another slow shake. She sunk her teeth in deeper; he couldn’t really feel it, but he knew she meant business. “Alright, alright. I give up,” He sighed and hobbled towards the door.

When he made it inside he found Steve and Coulson sitting on the kitchen floor arranging cat toys and food into separate piles; Steve looked up when Tony got closer, grinning at the sight of him still encumbered by the clinging cat. “Can we feed her?”

“I guess,” Tony said, dragging his foot across the floor. Mabel slid a few feet with him and then detached sluggishly from his leg, stretching out her entire body before wandering over to Steve. She sniffed his knee and climbed up into his lap, knocking over Coulson’s tower of cat food with her tail.

Coulson sighed and set the cans back upright without even looking at them, his gaze still trained on a bag of catnip. “Are you sure this was a good idea?” he asked, holding the bag up. Mabel snapped to attention, her tail going rigid, her body tensing.

Tony picked up the cans of cat food, putting them on the counter before they could get knocked over for a second time. “Well, I wouldn’t say it was a good idea,” he said with a grin. Mabel wiggled her back end and flung herself through the air at the bag of catnip, hitting Coulson square in the chest. “I’d say it was a great one.”

Tony knew he was being punished. It was kind of hard not to know considering the delightful song ringing out of the speakers beside him; it wasn’t that the song was bad, because it wasn’t – Banana Phone was far easy to easy to sing along with once you’d heard it once or twice. The problem was that Coulson had had the damn song on repeat for the past hour and a half, and while Tony was fine with listening to obnoxious music for hours on end if it meant staying awake, it was kind of hard to focus with it looping over and over and over. He was faintly aware that his brain had melted half an hour ago, and he wasn’t so sure what time it was anymore. He did know that dinner was long since over, and Steve was curled up on the couch beside him, playing with his stuffed bagel as he sang along with the music, but that was pretty much it.

“He’s staring at us,” Coulson muttered. He was leaning against the living room window frame, staring out into the darkness with a pair of night vision binoculars he had found god-knows-where; Tony was glad he had put window tinting into their security system, because it would have been very obvious to the neighbors that they were spying on them if he hadn’t.

Tony sighed, rubbing his forehead as Banana Phone started up again for the umpteenth time. “Maybe he’s bored,”

“He’s staring right into the living room window,”

“And all he’s seeing a whole lot of curtains,” Tony grunted, leaning back against the cushions. “I don’t see how this a problem – we’ve got cameras all over the place out there. He’s not getting in here unless he drives a tank through the front door, and I highly doubt he’s got the money for a tank.”

“I don’t like it,” Coulson said, setting his binoculars down.

“Neither do I, but there’s nothing we can do about it unless you want to get charged with beating some guy to death in his own house,”

Coulson shot Tony a dark look.

“Sorry – sorry, I’m just kidding,” Tony sighed, closing his eyes. They had agreed not to tell Steve anything extra about their new neighbor unless it was absolutely necessary; Tony hadn’t completely agreed to keep Steve in the dark, but he knew the reasoning was sound even if it did feel a bit cruel to hide things from the kid. Casually mentioning they might have to beat someone to death was probably a bit too vicious now that he thought about it. He really hoped they weren’t going to have to approach the guy. Sure, he could take someone down without the suit, but that didn’t mean he wanted to murder anyone with his bare hands – even if the guy was probably a psychopath. “Look, I’ll keep an eye on his house when you guys are sleeping,” he promised, closing his eyes. “I’ve already got Jarvis working on it – and I’m sure Natasha’s spying on him right now.”

“I don’t like the look of him,” Coulson grunted, casting another glance at the house.

“So you’ve mentioned,” Tony murmured. “Wake me up when you’re going to sleep and I’ll take over the watch,”

“Fine,”

Tony sat bolt upright on the couch, his eyes wide and panicked. Coulson leaned over the back of the couch and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Hey – it’s just me,”

Tony gave himself a shake. The images from his nightmare were still playing in his mind; he could see Steve’s terrified face shimmering there amidst a sea of Hawaiian shirts and banana shaped phones. “Jesus – remind me never to fall asleep listening to children’s music again,” he muttered, carding his fingers through his sweat-slick hair.

“Uh huh,” Coulson chuckled. He dropped Tony’s tablet into his lap. “I’m going to sleep now. Steve’s already tucked in – Mabel’s with him. She’s decided to sleep in the house,”

“Has she now,” Tony muttered, flipping through the security footage. “I’m assuming we’re still good security wise if you’re handing things off to me.”

“I would have woken you up sooner if there was a problem,” Coulson murmured. “Just keep it down, alright? Steve had a hard time falling asleep.”

“Oh?” Tony sat up a little straighter, flicking through the cameras until he could see Steve. The kid was sleeping bundled up under a massive pile of blankets; Tony could see his blankets there, too, bundled up with one of Coulson’s. Apparently someone had decided to build a blanket fort without him; Tony was a little offended that he hadn’t been asked to help out.

“He’s having nightmares about airplanes and ice,” Coulson said, leaning against the back of the couch.

Tony winced. “Shit,”

“Agreed,” Coulson murmured. “He woke up an hour ago and came out to complain about it being freezing cold in his room.”

“Are the blankets helping?”

“I don’t know. I guess so, because he hasn’t come back out again.”

“He doesn’t look all that asleep to me,” Tony said, staring down at the tablet. He watched as Steve rolled over, burying his face under the blankets before the air in the room could get at him. “You going to go in there?”

“I think I’ll leave that up to you,” Coulson said, heading towards his room. “I trust you.” He gave Tony a nod and headed inside, closing the door behind him.

Tony scrubbed a hand over his face. Great. Did this mean Steve was remembering things? Could the spell be weakening? He sighed and heaved himself upright, tucking the tablet under his arm. He wished he had more information about what had happened in the first place. No one had thought about the possibility of the spell breaking down gradually; everyone had just assumed it was going to be a one shot sort of deal.

He knocked on Steve’s door and then pulled it open, slipping inside. “Hey,” he said, approaching Steve’s bed. It was hotter than hell in the kid’s room. With the window closed, there was no air flow, and while the building wasn’t all that insulated, it seemed to be doing a pretty good job of keeping the heat in. He perched on the edge of Steve’s bed, praying that he wouldn’t melt into a puddle of ooze and poked Steve in the shoulder through the blankets. “Coulson said you were cold,”

“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice slightly muffled. “I had a bad dream,”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No,”

Tony cleared some space on Steve’s bed, making himself comfortable against the headboard. He propped the tablet up on his knee and waited, idly watching the beach through the security cameras. It didn’t take long for Mabel to crawl out from under the blankets. Her hair was standing up, wild with static, and she didn’t look pleased by the interruption in her Steve-time. She crawled onto Tony’s stomach and bit him on the chin. “Meanie,” he grumbled, rubbing the abused patch of skin where she had bit him. Mabel nipped his hand and then circled slowly, settling down on his stomach with her body pulled into a tight ball.

“I’m not mean,” Steve said, rolling over again.

“Not you,” Tony chuckled, prodding Steve again. “The cat’s the meanie,”

“Oh,”

Tony flicked through the cameras again, searching for the Hermann Weiss’ house amidst the plethora of feeds. Thankfully their neighbor had decided to leave every goddamned light in his house on so he wasn’t that hard to spot. Tony zoomed in on the living room window, finding that as expected, the guy was sitting on his couch glaring angrily at his television like it had said something rude about his mother. He couldn’t quite see what the guy was watching from this angle, but it must have been something delightfully liberal.

“Tony?” Steve lifted the blankets up, wiggling forwards until his head was free from the pile.

“Yep?”

“Are you going to sit here all night?”

Tony looked from the tablet. “Uh, do you want me to go?”

“No,” Steve said with a shake of his head. He wiggled across the mattress until his head was next to Tony’s hip, closed his eyes, and pulled the blankets back in place over top of him. “I’m going to go back to sleep now,”

“Ok,” Tony said, patting the blanketed lump beside him. “You do that. Good night, kiddo,”

“Night,” Steve mumbled.

Hermann Weiss was the most boring man alive, Tony decided with a low groan. He had been watching the man for almost three hours now, and he hadn’t really moved from the couch except to presumably go to the bathroom when nature called. He was starting to think the guy was permanently grouchy; there didn’t seem to be any explanation for the behavior. Everything seemed to piss the guy off – it didn’t seem to matter what he did. The TV seemed to make him angry – the bathroom seemed to make him angry. Tony was pretty sure the couch made him angry too, because the guy wouldn’t stop glaring down at it. After a while he started scanning Hermann’s feeds once every fifteen minutes; there didn’t seem like much of a point to keep looking at them. Sure, the guy got up and stared out the window every once in a while, but he didn’t really do anything. It would have been nice if he had done something interesting, but hey, why complain? At least he didn’t have to worry about waking Coulson up or rushing off into the night with Hydra trying to beat down their door. Better yet, Steve was quiet; he didn’t move the entire night, sleeping so soundly Tony ended up checking in on him to make sure he hadn’t smothered himself under the blankets. It was a good night, and yet Tony would have been happier sleeping.

He entertained himself as the night dragged on by prodding Mabel’s back feet every twenty minutes to see if he could get her to crawl off of him. It didn’t work; he got nipped more often than not, and by the time Coulson came to relieve him in the morning, Tony was pretty sure his chin was covered in pink bite marks. He made it back to his bed, slothful and exhausted and collapsed there in the middle of the mattress with a sheet pulled up over him.

“Stark, you’d better get your ass up,”

Tony groaned and tried to burrow underneath his pillow. “No,”

“I need you to sit on the beach with me while Steve plays in the sand,” Coulson said, giving Tony’s foot a tug. “Up, up, up,”

“You’re a cruel man,” Tony muttered, forcing himself upright. He slid majestically out of bed, nearly slipping in his blankets and looked around the room blearily, trying to find the light switch so that he could get rid of the glowing ball of light coming in through the window; someone had unkindly opened his curtains.

“That’s the sun, Stark,” Coulson commented dryly.

“Oh,” Tony grunted, rubbing his eyes. “Well turn it off,”

“Go get cleaned up,” Coulson chuckled. He pointed Tony towards the bathroom and waited patiently in the hallway until he staggered back out before steering him towards the front door. He walked Tony out onto the beach and settled him in a padded beach chair with a cup of coffee and a plate of toast. “Eat,” he commanded, sitting down in a chair beside Tony’s.

Steve plopped himself down in the sand beside Tony with his plastic shovel in hand. “Are you still tired?”

“That depends,” Tony said, sipping his scalding hot coffee. He grimaced and set the cup down in the sand beside him, gnawing on the piece of blessedly over-buttered toast until it was gone. “What times is it?”

“Nine,”

“A.M.?” Tony nearly choked on the last bite of his toast. “That’s – I was only asleep for three hours?”

“You can sleep again later,” Coulson said, leaning back in his chair. He had a pair of binoculars tucked in his pocket, and looked like he was itching to use them.

“You’re a cruel man Phil Coulson,” Tony grumbled. He set the plate down in the sand and picked up his coffee, nursing it. “You’re lucky you made my coffee the right way or I’d be really cranky right about now,”

“He came up to the house,”

Tony nearly upended his cup into his lap. “What?”

“Herman Weiss – he came up to the front door. He knocked and just stood there, staring at me like he was going to skin me alive,” Coulson said, one arm crossed over his hip. Tony could just make out the faint shape of a blade hidden underneath his shirt; he wondered idly what else Coulson had hidden away. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the agent had a bit of piano wire in his pocket.

“What happened?” Tony asked, setting his cup down on his knee. He braced himself for bad news.

“Nothing,”

“Nothing?”

“Nothing. He literally stood there, stared at me, turned around and walked off without saying a single word,”

“You’re shitting me,”

“No,” Coulson chuckled darkly. “I’m not.”

“What the hell does that even mean?” Tony grunted. “I’m assuming he didn’t come back with a shotgun in hand, or we wouldn’t be sitting out here,”

“Correct,” Coulson said, turning to face Hermann’s house. “He’s been sitting on his porch drinking coffee ever since he came over,”

“Seriously?”

“Natasha says he ate a breakfast burrito and spent twenty minutes staring at his hands,” Coulson shrugged. “I don’t know what the hell that was about – could be he’s just a grumpy, lonely old man looking for companionship,”

“Let’s hope that’s what it is,” Tony sighed, turning back to his coffee. Sadly there wasn’t much left. He drained the last drops and put the cup down on his plate, wishing he knew telekinesis so he could bring the coffee pot to him without having to do any actual work. He turned and stared forlornly back at the house.

Coulson rolled his eyes and stood up, plucking Tony’s plate and cup from the sand. “I’m not your maid, you know,”

“I know. You’re our Super Nanny,” Tony said with a smirk, leaning back into his chair.

“Keep that up and you’re going to the naughty corner,” Coulson muttered, heading back up to the house.

“What’s a naughty corner?” Steve asked with a frown. He flipped his bucket of sand upside down and started filling it up again.

“It’s a punishment from this show that teaches people how to properly parent their children. They send kids to the naughty corner when they do bad things. Think of it as a time out,”

“Oh,” Steve patted the sand flat. “Do we have a naughty corner?”

“I think you’d have to be naughty first for that to happen,” Tony chuckled. He closed his eyes. A few minutes of rest wouldn’t hurt.

“Hallo,” an unfamiliar voice murmured from above.

Tony nearly jumped clean out of his chair. Hermann Weiss stared down at him, his lips curled in a surly grimace. He was wearing the same fuck-ugly Hawaiian shirt and khaki pants he had been wearing when they had seen him the day before in the pet shop, and while he looked clean, there was a distinctly greasy sheen to his skin making it seem like he hadn’t showered in a few weeks.

“Uh… hello?” Tony said, standing up. He looked around for Coulson but he was nowhere to be found; he stepped in front of Steve, trying to block him from sight. He patted his pockets, wishing he had though to bring a weapon with him.

Hermann glowered at him. “Meine Uhr ist kaputt,”

Tony stared at Hermann, confused. “Uh… What? Your watch is broken?” He had taken German language courses at Pepper’s request years ago, but he hadn’t stuck with them for long. Most of what he could say dealt with ‘this is where to turn left,’ and ‘where is the bathroom’; he hoped the guy wasn’t looking for a long, deep, conversation, because then things would be very, very bad.

“Ja! Meine Uhr ist kaputt! Bitte helft mir,” Herman said, gesturing wildly.

“I don’t get it – you want me to fix your watch? Why – Look, are we having a problem here?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow. He felt sweat trickle down the back of his neck. He looked at Hermann’s wrist and pasted a smile on, trying not to be confrontational. “Uh, Buddy? You’re not even wearing a watch,”

“Nein! Ich bin's! Sie ist hier!” Hermann said, shoving his arm under Tony’s nose. “Kannst du sie nicht sehen? Bist du dumm?”

Tony stared blandly at the guy’s wrist, fairly certain he had just been insulted. “I can see your wrist, buddy – it’s a very nice watch. Very nice. Maybe you need to sit down – drink less? I don’t know – stop smoking whatever it is you’ve been smoking?”

“Bierficker!” Hermann snapped, pointing at his wrist. “Saftsack!” He glared at his wrist as though he wanted to tear it off with his own teeth.  

“Look – maybe I can help,” Tony said, raising his hands in front of himself. “Let’s just calm down, alright? Let’s just calm down and –”

Hermann grabbed his belt and started undoing it.

Tony gaped at him. “Whoa – buddy – there’s a kid here,” Tony hissed, taking a step backwards. “Steve – get behind me. Don’t look at him – Listen – Hermann? Can I call you Hermann? Please don’t – hey – look stop that –”

Before Tony could so much as move, Hermann had yanked his pants down around his ankles; Tony caught sight of panties – white with little red hearts on them – and froze.

He knew those panties.

Where the hell had he seen them before?

“Oh my fucking god,” Tony muttered, staring at the pair of pants around the man’s ankles. He looked up, following the line of the man’s legs. He knew he had seen skin there, if only for the briefest second – but now there was nothing but fabric. Hermann was still perfectly dressed, only he now he was wearing what appeared to be two pairs of pants; one was still buttoned up, while the other lay pooled in the sand around his ankles. Tony recognized the hologram – recognized the way the fabric hung and moved. This could only be one person. “Clint?”

Hermann’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Tony Ich kann nicht Englisch sprechen,” he said, gesturing to his wrist. “Meine Uhr ist kaputt,”

“Shit – your watch – oh!” Tony grabbed Clint by the wrist and felt around. Sure enough, there, lurking beneath the hologram was the holographic display watch he had given Clint before they had parted ways. Tony’s touch made Clint hiss in pain; he yanking his arm back, and gave Tony a dirty look, clutching his arm to his chest. “Arschloch,”

“It’s bad?” Tony asked. He gingerly took Clint by the wrist again, turning his arm over to get a better look at where he knew the holographic display watch was clasped in place. He pressed at it with his thumb and jerked his hand back when the watch zapped him. “Fuck!”

“What the hell is going on here?” Coulson roared. He came charging across the down the beach house steps, still holding the cup of hot coffee and the plate of toast he had gone inside to get. He tensed as he looked between Tony and Clint, his hand raised, ready to brain the stranger with the coffee cup.

“Relax – I need you to sit down, Phil,” Tony said, pointing to the chair behind him. He grabbed ‘Hermann’s’ wrist and pressed his thumb down harder against the back of the holographic display watch, grimacing through the pain as electricity coursed through them both. There was a shriek – metal grinding against metal – and then a soft, warped electronic chirp sang aloud. The holographic display watch materialized so fast it looked a bit like it had teleported there onto Clint’s wrist; the damage to it was incredible, as was bruising on Clint’s skin. It looked like the archer’s entire arm had been soaked in purple dye. It was a miracle Clint could move his hand at all.

Coulson swayed for a split second before dropping unceremoniously into Tony’s vacated chair; Steve nimbly dived out of the way as the cup of coffee and plate with toast hit the sand beside him with a dull thud.

“Clint?” Coulson’s voice was hoarse.

Clint grinned weakly. His face was pale and bruises of purple and green were wrapped around his throat; there was a thin red line running along his chin where the skin had been stitched up in a crooked line. He had likely done the work himself with a needle and thread; all the SHIELD agents had field medicine training, but Tony had never seen it first hand before – at least not when Clint was in the picture. Usually the archer was too careful – too good at his job to get anything more than a cursory scrape or scratch. Clint waited, shifting in the sand impatiently while Tony worked the watch free from his wrist. He all out dove onto Coulson, wrapping his arms around him so tightly they both grimaced in discomfort. The chair creaked angrily and flipped over, sending them both sprawling backwards into the sand.

Coulson’s laugh bordered on hysterical. “You goddamned asshole!”

“I’m sorry,” Clint giggled, burying his face in the crook of Coulson’s neck. “I’m so, so sorry,”

“Don’t be sorry,” Coulson murmured, stroking Clint’s hair. “Don’t ever be sorry – you came back,”

“I had to,”

“I thought you were dead,” Coulson said, his voice finally breaking. He dug his fingers into Clint’s tie-dyed t-shirt. “I thought you were dead!”

Tony looked down at Steve, trying to hide the way his eye were tearing up. Damn allergies. “Maybe we should let them have some alone time, ok, sport?”

Steve scooted towards Tony, stooping to pick up the plate and cup, ever the little gentleman. Tony took him by the hand, leading him towards the porch where Mabel was sunning herself on a cushion; she looked up, giving them a cursory sniff and then went back to ignoring them, wiggling her toes at Tony.

“Well at least someone’s going to get some sleep today,” Tony muttered. He took the plate and cup from Steve, setting the dishes down on the railing and sat, patting the bench beside him. Steve sat down beside him, not quite able to touch the floor.

“Are they ok?” Steve asked, turning to glance at Coulson and Clint, lying together on the beach. Clint’s lower legs were still caught in his pants; he had his face buried in Coulson’s shirt, so Tony couldn’t tell for sure but he was had a feeling that both of them were crying.

“They’re ok,” Tony said, ruffling Steve’s hair. He smiled, turning his attention back to the holographic display watch in his hand. He sighed, inspecting the damage further, turning the watch over to get a better look at the circuitry; it was a lot easier than looking at the two lovers hugging on the beach – that was for sure. The holographic voice and image components were still functional, but the main motherboard had suffered crush damage somehow – that was likely the reason Clint had been stuck speaking German and glaring at everyone with Hermann Weiss’ face. He was going to have to take it apart with his tool kit and hook it up directly to his tablet to get all the details, but he was pretty sure he knew what he was going to find even without the extensive examination. The damn board was corrupted, which was probably why it was pulling up and locking in imagery it had found in the database Tony had made for it – and it had been using those features without permission, he might add. He had no idea where the watch had found a goddamned Hawaiian shirt that ugly; he sure as hell hadn’t put it in there. Maybe it had been Jarvis’ doing – although the AI wasn’t particularly fond of Hawaiian shirts either. Shit – speaking of Jarvis, there was someone else they needed to tell about Clint’s masterful reappearance – assuming of course that she hadn’t already seen it through the cameras.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, calling Natasha without looking away from the watch. She answered almost before he could think of what to say.

“Did you phone to gloat or is this more than just a social call?” Natasha drawled over the line. She sounded bored; Tony wondered if it was a ruse or not. She always had been hard to read over the phone – not that she was any easier to read in person.

“Did you want to come over and talk to big bird?” Tony said, setting the watch down on the cushion beside him.

“I’d rather not get in the way of the happy reunion,” Natasha said with a sigh. “They’re probably going to be at it for a while.”

“Yeah,” Tony said, casting another glance at the beach. “Looks like it.”

“Tell them they can head back to Clint’s house and enjoy a free day,” Natasha said.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. This way, they get it out of their system and you don’t have to listen to them knocking boots,”

“That’s… no. I didn’t need that mental imagery,” Tony muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m assuming you’re punishing me for something now,”

“You phoned to tell me something I already knew,” Natasha chuckled. “I have the cameras open in front of me, you know. I saw the entire thing as it happened.”

“And you really don’t want to come down here and talk to him? No lectures? No hugs?”

“I can do all of that later. Let them have their day. You are capable of being up all day, aren’t you?” Natasha asked with a hum. “You’re looking a little unsteady there, Stark,”

“I’m tired,” Tony grumbled, glaring at the broken watch. “But I’ll be fine. I’ve gone longer without sleep – you know that,”

“But you haven’t had to entertain a small child at the same time before,”

“Steve’s a good kid,” Tony said with a snort. He cracked a smile, meeting Steve’s gaze. “He’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I’ll let them know when they come back from frolicking on the beach,”

“You’re going to repair the watch, aren’t you?”

Tony sighed. “I’m going to have to – if they see Clint anywhere near us they’re going to come running. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I’m pretty sure they’re looking for him. I don’t know if they think he’s dead or not,” Tony said. He tucked Steve under his arm, wishing he could do something to block out the rest of the conversation so that Steve didn’t have to overhear anything unpleasant. “But they obviously tried. He’s pretty battered,”

“So I saw,” Natasha sighed. “Do you think he needs medical attention?”

“Well, let me see. He looks like he got run over by a bus a half-dozen times – he probably got choked out too judging by the bruises on his throat and his face looks like it was stitched together by a blind guy with shaky hands,” Tony grumbled, “He should have been in a hospital a few days ago. Right now he looks like he’s handling it, but who knows? You’re going to have to ask Coulson,”

“I’m sure I’ll get the full report,” Natasha said, dryly.

“Yeah,” Tony chuckled. “Sure. You keep believing that.”

“You think he’s going to hide something from Coulson?” Natasha sounded amused.

“I think he’s going to avoid some of the messier details unless they’re something we need to know,” Tony sighed. “I would know – I’m the same way according to Pepper,”

“Well she’s right, you know,”

“Obviously – speaking of her,”

“She’s fine. She and Happy are busy planning their wedding like every other couple not concerned about murder plots and crazed Hydra agents lurking in the streets. She told me to tell you to keep out of trouble or she’d stomp on your Captain America trading cards,”

“She wouldn’t,” Tony said, narrowing his eyes. “I’m saving those,”

“For who?”

“Who do you think?”

“I think he’ll cry when you give them to him,” Natasha chuckled. “It better be on his wedding night, or Coulson’s going to leave Clint at the altar,”

“Ha Ha,”

“He loves that stuff – he’d sell his first born to replace the set Fury ruined,”

“And that’s why the cards are sitting in my vault at home,” Tony chuckled. “So tell Pepper to leave them alone,”

Natasha sighed. “What are we going to do now?” It was the first time Tony had ever heard Natasha sound uncertain; even when they had been in the thick of things, battling robots with bombs and nuclear weapons, she had never sounded so hesitant.

“I guess I’m going to rebuild his watch, and we go from there,” he said after a minute of silent contemplating and planning. He knew what Clint needed – the decision wasn’t a pleasant one, but it was something that needed to be done.

“And what are you going to do with the kid?”

Tony looked down at Steve; the kid looked up at him, confused by the sudden attention. “I’ll think of something.”

Tony was glad he had brought a box of spare parts with him in case of emergencies; it would have been damn near impossible to get the holographic display watch running again without them. His toolkit he could have worked without; the parts were irreplaceable, as was the tablet hook-up that let him tap into the watch’s core coding. With the tablet’s help, it took him mere minutes to unlock the frozen system, forcing it once more to change languages and appearances at the press of a button. That said, it still took him far longer than he would have liked to get the watch back in pristine condition. With Clint and Coulson ‘honeymooning’ in Clint’s rented beach house, it was just him and Steve and while the kid was well behaved there wasn’t much Tony could do to keep them both working for long – that, and he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open for more than an hour at a time. God he felt old. He was pretty sure Steve thought it was funny, but the little guy was way too polite to point out when he was nodding off every time he sat down.

When he was done with the watch, having pounded all the dents out of the casing with a chisel and rubber mallet, he took his watch off and put the repaired one on, doing what he hoped was the only trial run it would need. The watch instantly pulled up the late Hermann Weiss, surly scowl and all, painting the man’s image on Tony’s body, masking him completely. Tony toggled through, moving from hologram to hologram until he was satisfied that the watch was running flawlessly. He took the watch off and put it down on the table, putting his back on; better to be safe than sorry, he thought with a yawn as he clipped his watch back in place. Even if Natasha was watching everything, he didn’t want to get caught with his proverbial pants down. He leaned back, intending to phone Natasha to tell her the good news and promptly fell asleep.

“Tony?”

Coulson’s hand was warm on the side of Tony’s neck. Tony mumbled a hello and tried to go back to sleep, sliding against the side of the couch until he crashed into a snoring Steve. He shook himself awake, rubbing the heels of his hand against his eyes; Steve gave a little snort, but kept on sleeping.

“Oh god, did I fall asleep again?” Tony moaned in despair.

“Damn right you did,” Clint snorted, flicking Tony in the ear. “You’re really bad at this, Stark,”

“He’s exhausted,” Coulson grumbled, giving Clint a dirty look. “Give him a break,”

“Oh please,” Clint said, shaking his head. “Steve’s the one I almost get murdered for, and Stark’s in here taking a nap.”

“Knock it off,” Coulson said, softly, his expression pained. He gestured to the kitchen, taking off his jacket and throwing it over the back of the couch. “I made meatloaf,” he said, “Steve’s already eaten, so don’t worry about waking him.”

Tony heaved himself upright; he was just about ready to murder the crick in his neck. He frowned when he noticed the way Clint seemed to almost be glaring at him and stumbled to the kitchen table where there was a plate of meatloaf, potatoes, green beans and gravy waiting for him. It was still piping hot, he realized, as he dug in. It probably hadn’t been there for long. “Ooh! Meatloaf,”

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Coulson said, sitting down in the chair across from Tony. “We were, uh…”

Tony waved the question away. “Don’t worry about it. If I was in your position, I would have done the same thing,”

Coulson smiled crookedly. “I’m sure,”

Clint grabbed the chair Steve usually used and spun it around, sitting down beside Coulson, resting his chin on the back so that he could peer across the table at Tony. “So, you two are fake married, huh?”

Tony winced. Well this was a conversation he had been hoping to avoid. Why did people always ask him the awkward questions? “Something like that, yeah,”

“Well, you’re divorced as of now,” Clint said, eyeing his fingernails over the back of the chair.

“I guess so,” Tony said, swallowing down his mouthful of meatloaf. God it tasted good; he was going to miss this. “I have to say – this was probably the best marriage I’ve ever had,” he said, nodding to Coulson.

Coulson chuckled. “It’s the only marriage you’ve ever had,”

Tony shrugged. “Still counts,”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Whatever,”

“What’s wrong Barton? Bitter much?” Tony chuckled.

Clint flushed an unpleasant shade of red. “Shut up,”

“Whatever,” Tony said, spearing a green bean with his fork. “So uh, I guess I’m going to be switching places with you, huh?”

“Excuse me?” Coulson said, frowning.

“I can switch places with Clint – All I need to do is switch the holograms and I can be Herr Crankypants and he can be your doting husband – no fuss, no muss,” Tony said. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way or anything. I mean, it would look kind of awkward if there were three guys in here,”

“That’s true,” Clint said with a grin. “People might talk,”

“Yep,” Tony said, scooping up the rest of his meatloaf. “The last thing we need is more attention on us, and if the town thinks you’re cheating on me, well, it’ll probably get ugly,”

“It’s a nice thought,” Coulson said with a sigh, “but it’s not going to happen.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“What are you talking about?” Clint sounded hurt. “I’m not good enough to be your fake husband or something?”

“It’s not about you,” Coulson said softly, putting a hand on Clint’s shoulder. “It’s about what Steve wants,”

“Fuck what he wants,” Clint growled, shrugging Coulson’s hand off of his shoulder. “He’s seven – he can put up with a few days without Stark hanging around like his goddamned mother. I want to stay here with you,”

“Clint,” Coulson murmured, “I know what you mean, and believe me, I want it too, but it’s not a good idea right now,”

“We don’t have to make this thing full time you know. We can trade off or something if you want,” Tony said, pushing his plate away. “Two days him, two days me? That evens it out a bit,”

“I don’t know. We’ll have to talk with Steve about it,” Coulson said, trying once more to put his hand on Clint’s shoulder. “I’m not going to make a decision like this while he’s sleeping and doesn’t have a say. He’s just a little kid honey – he’s uncomfortable enough without his mother around. I don’t want to traumatize him or make things worse by taking away one of the only people he trusts,”

“Oh, but it’s ok to make things worse for me?” Clint said, standing up. “What the fuck happened when I was gone, huh? Did you guys really get married?” He spun his chair around pushed it in, storming into the living room. Tony was glad Steve slept like the dead, because if he hadn’t the little guy would have woken up already.

“What the fuck, Barton,” Tony growled, standing up. “What’s your problem?”

“My problem,” Clint hissed, grabbing his holographic display watch off of the coffee table where Tony had left it, “is none of your business,”

“When you start yelling, you make it my business,” Tony snapped. He picked up his plate and carried it to the sink, scraping the dregs of his meal into the garbage can to keep from going after Clint. He knew what it felt like to be separated from somebody he cared about – from his family and friends – so he couldn’t exactly blame Clint for the rude behavior; it hurt, but he could take it. “He said his priority was to keep Steve comfortable. How, exactly, is that something bad?”

“You don’t have a fucking clue, do you,” Clint snorted. “You’re just walking around here in a blissful haze,”

“Hey!” Tony said whirling around.

“It’s true,” Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’d have to be blind not to see it,”

“Fuck off,”

“Can we not argue about this?” Coulson huffed. “Steve’s sleeping – you’re going to wake him up,”

“Yeah, that’s right – worry about mini-Steve’s beauty sleep,” Clint snapped. He put the watch on and dialed through the holograms until he had Hermann Weiss pulled up; his face, this time, matched the unpleasant tone to his words. “I’m out of here. This is bullshit,”

“I’m not chasing after you,” Coulson said, shaking his head.

Clint froze. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll talk to you in the morning. Right now you need to cool off,”

“You’re – I can’t believe you,” Clint said, his hands falling to his sides. “All I wanted was one goddamned night and you’re turning this into a fucking nightmare,”

“No, Clint – I’m not,” Coulson said, standing up. “I love you – I really, really love you, but this isn’t about love and it’s not about us. This is about the mission – and that means I have to put my feelings for you to the side. I want to sleep with you again – I love waking up with you,” Coulson said, moving closer, “but I can’t let it compromise the mission. It might get Steve killed,”

“He’s not going to get killed! He has you and me and Stark and Natasha looking after him – the fucking Winter Soldier isn’t going to get anywhere near him,” Clint retorted.

“He’s out there and we don’t even know what he really looks like. That’s dangerous enough,” Coulson said. “I can’t risk it. I won’t risk it.”

“You’re a fucking moron,”

“Stop swearing at me,” Coulson said, crossing his arms over his chest. “People who love each other don’t talk to each other that,”

“Well, I’m mad,” Clint snarled, heading to the door. “I can say whatever I want,”

“That’s right,” Coulson snorted. “Go ahead. Leave. It’s not going to change my decision. We’re still talking in the morning,”

“Whatever,” Clint said, throwing open the door. He was decent enough at least to not slam it behind him as he left.

Coulson sat down in his chair at the table again, slumping forwards. He looked far more tired than he had before; it was as if he had aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. His hand was shaking, the tremor so fine Tony might not have noticed it if he hadn’t been watching him.

Tony sighed. “So much for your happy reunion,”

“You can say that again,”

“I wonder what crawled up his ass and died.”

Coulson chuckled darkly. “Tactful as always, Tony,”

“I try,”

Coulson let out a heavy sigh. “I knew it was coming,”

“You did?”

“He’s been moody all afternoon,”

“Oh?”

“He got angry when I made meatloaf,” Coulson muttered, resting his elbows on the table. “He hates my meatloaf, although I don’t know why,”

“So why did you make it?”

“I made it because you and Steve like it,”

“Ah,” Tony said, setting the plate down on the counter with the rest of the dirty dishes. “Well, at least you know what the problem is,”

“Yeah,” Coulson said, shaking his head. “I guess I do,”

Tony yawned into his arm; he grinned sheepishly to Coulson, trying to force himself to stay awake. The damned meatloaf was working far faster than he had expected. He felt like an ass when he dropped into his chair and rested his head on the table.

“You should get some sleep,” Coulson murmured.

“Yeah,” Tony mumbled. “I’ll get up in a minute,”

“I’ll put Steve in bed,” Coulson said, softly. He carded his fingers through Tony’s hair. “I’ll take the watch today and tomorrow,”

“You don’t need to do that,” Tony yawned into the table. He blinked sleepily up at Coulson. “Hey, look. I’m sorry things turned out like shit,”

Coulson shrugged. “It could be worse. He could still be dead,”

“True enough,” Tony sighed. He stood up, slowly pushing his chair in. “It’ll be alright. He’ll get over whatever it is that’s bothering him,”

“I know,” Coulson said.

“Alright,” Tony yawned, staggering towards his room. “See you tomorrow morning,”

“Yeah – see you tomorrow,”

Tony stumbled into his bedroom; he wobbled and decided to hit the bathroom before passing out. He liked his sheets clean and dry, after all. He was pretty sure he fell asleep on the toilet twice before he managed to get himself back to his bed. He hoped to god Natasha wasn’t watching him.  

Chapter Text

Tony yawned into his arm as he poured a measured handful of coffee beans into the grinder; being awake just wouldn’t be worth it until he had his coffee ready and he was going to have to make it himself today. He had taken the liberty of putting Coulson to bed the minute he had woken up and had hit the kitchen shortly after, breaking out the eggs and bacon as soon as the grinder had finished its good work. Today was going to be a goddamned disaster no matter what they ate, but it was worth trying to start things out right. Pepper had said that a lot to him when they were dating; it had always struck him as odd when she had said that in the mornings, half-awake, sitting with a cup of tea clutched in hand but then again, their relationship always had been a bit odd.

Steve stumbled into the kitchen when the coffee was percolating, looking a little bit like he had been wrestling with his blankets; his hair was sticking up in places, and there were faint lines from his pillow on his cheek. “Good morning,”

“Morning, buddy,” Tony said, flipping the bacon. He gestured to the kid’s hair, trying not to laugh at the sight of it. Adult Steve wouldn’t have left his bedroom with hair like that, even if you had offered him a thousand bucks; the guy was obsessed with maintaining military standards, and he always seemed to need to be clean shaven and groomed even when he was only throwing on a pair of sweats and one of those overly-tight white shirts of his in order to spend a day at home lying on his couch. Tony tried not to feel guilty about knowing that particular part of Steve’s daily routine; it wasn’t like he got his rocks off by spying on Steve’s apartment, after all. He just happened to keep tabs on everyone; it was what he did. It made him feel better to know that they were all taken care of. He cleared his throat. “I see you’ve got a massive case of bedhead today,”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Steve said, shuffling closer to Tony. He leaned against Tony’s leg, his cheek pressed up against Tony’s jeans. “Is Clint going to come back? Or is he still mad at me?”

Tony resisted the urge to call Clint an asshole in front of the kid; he sighed aloud instead, resting his hand on the top of Steve’s head. “It’s not your fault he’s mad,” he said, smoothing down Steve’s bedhead. “He’s just grumpy because he wanted to stay here last night.”

“Is he not allowed to stay?” Steve asked, his voice wavering. “Why isn’t he allowed to stay?”

Tony dropped his hand onto Steve’s shoulder. “It’s not that he’s not allowed to stay – we just need to decide how we’re to arrange everyone. We’ve got three people living here already, and if people see another guy randomly moving into our house they’re going to ask questions,”

“Does that mean someone’s going to have to leave?” Steve’s voice went from unsteady to small.

“It might,” Tony said, turning the burner off. “It’s alright though. They won’t be that far away,”

“Really?”

“Really,” Tony said, leading Steve towards the kitchen table. He hoisted the kid up and put him in his chair. “Look,” he said, kneeling down in front of Steve, “you need to hear this, ok? None of the fighting that’s happening is your fault, ok?”

Steve nodded his head, although he didn’t look like he was really agreeing with anything Tony had said. Kids, Tony thought with a sigh, were far too good at blaming themselves for things that weren’t their fault. “Steve,” Tony said, squeezing Steve’s foot. “Listen, Clint and Coulson are going to have to work this out themselves. They’re the ones responsible for the fight – not you. It will never, ever, be your fault. It might sound like it, but you have to remember that it’s just a lot of angry words, ok? They both care about you, and they’re worried about what’s going to happen in the future,”

“Can’t Clint stay here though? Why does he have to go away?” Steve asked, hugging himself.

“He doesn’t have to go away,” Tony said, standing up. He went back to the stove and plated Steve some food, setting it down in front of him. “We’ll probably trade off. He’ll stay here a couple of nights looking like me, and I’ll go to his place looking like him,”

When Tony turned around, Steve was crying. “Hey,” he said. He sat down and scooting his chair closer so he was bumping knees with the kid. “What’s wrong?”

Steve put his face in his hands. “I don’t want you to leave,”

Tony scooped Steve up, hugging him close. “I’m not going to leave forever. It’s just going to be for a day or two – and I’ll be right here, really. You’ve seen the house Clint was in, right?”

“Yes,” Steve sniffled, burying his nose in Tony’s neck.

“I’ll be right there. We can see each other, and I can come over and play with you during the day. I just won’t be in the house at night,”

“But what if I have a nightmare?”

“Tell you what,” Tony said, rubbing gentle circles on Steve’s back, “You can phone me whenever you want. It’ll be like when I had to go to Japan, remember?”

“Do you have to go?”

“We need to talk with Clint and Coulson before we decide,” Tony said. He lifted Steve up, gently untangling himself from the kid’s vice-like grip and set him down on his chair again. “Eat your breakfast, ok? We can –”

The doorbell rang; it rang again and again and again until Tony unlocked the door and threw it open.

Hermann Weiss’ face scowled at Tony as Clint crossed his arms over his chest. “Took you long enough,”

“You do realize the doors aren’t automatic here,” Tony growled. He stepped out of the way just in time to avoid being elbowed in the face; Clint shoved past him, heading towards Coulson’s room. “And take off your goddamned shoes,”

Clint’s loafers hit Tony in the back.

“Jackass,” Tony muttered as Coulson’s door opened and closed with a creak.

Steve stared at Tony, his fork held aloft above his bacon. “Did we do something wrong?”

“No,” Tony sighed, kicking Clint’s loafers over to the pile of shoes by the front door. “He’s just being a jerk.” He walked over to Coulson’s door and banged on it. “You two better not be doing what I think you’re doing!”

“Fuck off Stark!” Clint growled.

“Can you take Steve outside?” Coulson rasped through the door.

Tony scowled. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No,” Coulson squeaked. He pulled the door open a crack and peered out; it didn’t take a genius to spot the hickeys on his neck. “Just – can you take him out onto the beach for breakfast? We’ll be out later,”

Tony rolled his eyes and pulled the door shut. “Assholes,” he muttered. He stalked over to the table and scooped up his breakfast, tucking his fork under his plate. “Let’s go outside, buddy,”

“But I’m still in my pajamas,” Steve protested, picking up his plate. He followed Tony to the front door, peering curiously at Coulson’s bedroom door. “Is someone screaming?”

Tony grabbed Steve’s shoulder and shuttled him towards their shoes. “Nope. You didn’t hear anything – give me your plate and take our shoes outside, alright?”

“Alright,” Steve said, offering Tony his plate. He dug his shoes and Tony’s out from under the pile, holding on to them like they were made of porcelain and he was afraid of breaking them. He followed Tony out onto the porch after they wrangled the door open, stopping to look back only once when something heavy hit the wall in Coulson’s bedroom.

Tony was getting sick and tired of finding sand in his underwear; he pulled his socks off in lieu of going for what was really bothering him and gave them a shake, ridding himself of even more sand. He never had been very fond of sand, and he was starting to like it even less now that it wouldn’t leave him the hell alone. He was going to have to invent a better vacuum cleaner, because the old nineteen seventies piece of crap he had found in the closet wasn’t going to be able to handle things for long. Thankfully, he was the only one internally screaming because of the sand. Steve was happy digging holes and filling them back up again; he had been doing it for the past two hours and didn’t seem to be ready to stop any time soon. Tony leaned back in his beach chair, phone in hand, and wondered if he should call Natasha to check in with her. He tensed when a jeep drove up the road towards them.

Who the hell was this? He checked the security cameras, but they weren’t much help aside from stating the obvious; he took solace from the fact that Natasha wasn’t pinging him and forced himself to relax when the stranger – a tall man in his mid-thirties – got out of his jeep and walked over to them. The guy was dressed in a pair of board shorts and a baggy blue shirt that looked like it had seen better days; his brown hair hung lazily against his chin, just as greasy and unwashed as the rest of him. His left arm was bandaged up, wrapped in a dull crème coloured cotton. Ah, Tony thought, pursing his lips, this was probably their new neighbor. Mr. Carwash. Fantastic.

The man grinned and walked up to them, gracefully avoiding a bunch of splintered driftwood as he made his way closer to Tony. “Hey,” he said, gesturing to the piece of paper he had brought with him. “Can you point out where my place is, pal?” He handed the paper to Tony and waited patiently while Tony looked it over.

“Uh, it looks like you’re over there,” Tony said, pointing at the house beside Hermann Weiss’. If this guy couldn’t even figure out door numbers, it was probably a miracle that he knew how to use the brakes on his jeep. Jesus. “So you’re our new neighbor, huh?”

The guy grinned widely. “Yep, looks like it.” There was a hint of a Brooklyn accent to his voice, although it seemed faded. The guy probably hadn’t been home in a while.

“Nice to meet you, pal,” Tony said, holding out a hand.

Steve dropped his bucket; it tumbled to the sand, rolling towards Tony’s foot. His eyes widened as he looked the stranger over. “Bucky?”

Their new neighbor cocked a smile at Steve, giving Tony’s hand a firm shake. “Who’s Bucky? Somebody I should know, kiddo?”

Steve’s mouth snapped shut. He stood up slowly, inching closer to Tony until he was almost cowering beside him. He tugged frantically at Tony’s shirt, his cheeks going as white as milk. “Can we go inside now? I have to pee,” he whispered.

“Alright,” Tony said, letting their neighbor’s hand drop. Steve’s fingers remained trapped in Tony’s shirt; Tony hid his confusion, eyeing the stranger again to see if he had missed something. Was Steve seeing things? Or were his adult memories seeping through somehow? The kid couldn’t know what Bucky Barnes would look like as an adult – at least not for certain – but it sure seemed like something was up. Tony made sure he cracked a smile at the stranger. “Sorry about that. You know how it is with kids. They don’t really have filters. I’m Richard Bell, by the way – this is my son Timmy,” he said, gesturing to Steve. “We’re here on vacation with my husband Carl,”

The man looked amused. “Oh, uh – nice to meet you. I’m John Tanner,”

“Sorry to talk and run, John,” Tony said, scooping up Steve’s shovel and bucket. He handed them to Steve and hoisted the kid up into his arms. “Nature calls, and all that,”

Steve stared over Tony’s shoulder at John as they walked away, gnawing feverishly on his lower lip. “Are you sure you’re not Bucky?”

John flashed Steve a smile. “Pretty sure. I think you’re mistaking me for someone else, kiddo,” he said with a laugh. He headed back towards his jeep, whistling as he went, his map tucked under his arm.

Tony got them into the house in record time; he shut the door behind them, locking it tightly and leaned against it, letting out a slow breath. He was starting to think his life – hell, the lives of all the Avengers – was cursed. It was just their luck this guy looked like Bucky – and he did, too, if you got past the long hobo hair and the whole I’m-a-dead-beat grin. Tony had seen more than enough pictures of James Buchanan Barnes from his time during the war to know what he had looked like; they had been in the briefing folder Coulson had given him, and while he hadn’t been too happy to leaf through them he had done it because it had felt like the right thing to do at the time. After he was done, he had tucked them carefully out of sight in case Steve had come upon them. It would have been too hard to explain why Bucky had been wearing army clothes – why Steve himself had been standing there beside him.

Tony set Steve down on the floor and peeked through the curtains out the front window, watching as John Tanner or whatever his name was, got back into his jeep and drove over to the right house this time. The guy must have been pretty pathetic if he hadn’t even been able to read a goddamned map. Hell, the woman who rented the cabins out had given them a tour before they had settled in just to make sure they knew their way around, so what the hell was this guy’s problem? Had they missed something?

“Tony?”

Steve looked like he was on the verge of crying again, so Tony bent down and gave him a hug. “You did a good job out there, squirt,” Tony said, petting Steve’s hair for lack of anything better to do. “You knew something was wrong, and you let me know about it.”

“He looks just like Bucky,” Steve whispered into Tony’s ear.

“I know, buddy,” Tony sighed, “I know.”

“But Bucky’s with my mother, right? So it can’t be Bucky,” Steve mumbled.

“Yeah,” Tony said, wishing the twist in his gut would just fuck off, “He’s with your mother.” Truth be told, Bucky Barnes’ body had never been recovered, and Sarah Rogers was buried in a cemetery somewhere in New York; unless there was a heaven or something out there, it wasn’t likely they were anywhere near each other. Thankfully, only Adult Steve knew about that particular ‘open secret’.

Tony scooped Steve up again, carrying him into the kitchen; his back groaned in protest and he reminded himself for the umpteenth time that hauling around a seven year old was a bad idea. He glared at Coulson’s closed door, gritting his teeth as he set Steve down in a chair the kitchen table. “You two love birds done in there?”

“No!” Clint yelled.

“Yes,” Coulson growled, heaving the door to his bedroom open. He was perfectly coifed when he emerged, although the scowl on his face made it clear that he had done it only because had to. He walked into the kitchen and turned on the kettle, pulling a box of tea out of the cupboard.

“Gee,” Tony said, trying not to laugh when Clint strode out into the living room wearing nothing but a sheet, “Let me guess what you two were up to,”

“Now is not the time, Stark,” Coulson growled, slamming a teabag into his mug.

“No,” Tony said, his hands migrating to his hips in a way that would have made Pepper laugh at him, “Now is the perfect time. We just met our new neighbor, and I have to say, I’m not very happy,”

Coulson’s shoulders slumped. “What happened now?”

“The guy looks like Bucky Barnes,”

Coulson turned slowly, looking at Steve as though he was surprised the see the kid still there. “You’re kidding,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“I’m not kidding,” Tony grunted. “Did we know about this?”

“No. We did not. The picture doesn’t match the one we had on record,” Coulson sighed, reaching into his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out, dialing Natasha’s number as he poured water into his mug. Clearly, their conversation was over. “Natasha? Right. Yes, he just told me,”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Great. I’ll just be over here, staring at the table like an idiot,”

Coulson waved at Tony, his gaze on his tea. “Yes, Natasha. I saw – or rather, Stark saw. Is this a problem?”

Tony sat down in a chair at the table, dragging it over so that he could sit beside Steve. “You ok, buddy?” he asked, patting Steve’s shoulder.

“I guess,” Steve said, staring down at his hands. He wiggled his thumbs, pursing his lips, and looked up at Tony through watery eyes. “Does this mean we can’t go outside anymore?”

Tony rested his chin on his palm. It would have been nice to have an answer for that question, but it wasn’t like he was the one with the tactical stealth training; judging by the way Coulson was still talking on the phone, he wasn’t the only one without a clue, so he tried not to feel too bad about it. “I have no idea, buddy,” he said. “I guess we’ll find out when Coulson gets off the phone,”

Steve sighed and looked back down at the table. “I wish I hadn’t said anything,”

“I know,” Tony said with a soft smile. He smoothed Steve’s hair down with the flat of his hand. “But you did the right thing saying something.”

“I guess,”

“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out – we always do,” Tony chuckled. “Why don’t you go get your colouring book or something – we can mess around with that until Coulson’s done,”

“Ok,” Steve said, his dour mood immediately brightening. He hopped down from his chair and ran off into his room, nearly braining himself on the door in his haste.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Dude, you are so whipped,”

Tony scowled. “Shut up,”

“Loser,”

“Nudist,”

“Children,” Coulson growled, picking up his cup. “I’m on the phone. Cut it out.” He walked over to the kitchen table and sat down, sipping while still listening to whatever it was Natasha was saying to him. “Yes, I understand. So what do you think? Leave or stay?” He cocked his head to the side, frowning. “Alright, I guess we can manage that,”

“What?” Tony murmured, leaning closer.

Coulson rolled his eyes and pushed Tony gently away from the phone. “Alright. We’ll see you tomorrow morning. Good bye, Natasha,” he said, hanging up. He sipped his tea again, frowning at his phone until its screen had gone black.

“So?” Tony asked. He was tempted to grab Coulson by the shoulders and shake the information out of him.

“We’re staying. Natasha says she’s pretty sure the guy is harmless, although she was surprised that his face didn’t match the ID and credit card he paid with. She’s been watching his house, but he hasn’t done anything other than eat a bag of Cheetos and turn on the television. She’s pretty sure he’s ok, but she says to keep on guard just in case.”

“Oh, of course,” Tony nodded, trying not to laugh. “Seems like he’s a swell guy. He’s probably committing identify fraud as we speak.”

“I don’t know about that. He’s probably not smart enough to pull something like that off. His hotel room was covered in garbage when he checked out, and they’re looking for an address to bill him, so I highly doubt he’s walking around conning people out of their identities.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think that?”

“Fury had some SHIELD Agents step in and look the place over once he cleared out. They didn’t find anything strange – although they did say they found a bunch of bandages soaked in some kind of fluid in the sink. We’re waiting on lab results for that, but they don’t think it’s anything serious. He had roller blades in his trunk, so he probably scraped himself up or something.”

“Right,” Tony sighed. “So do we take the kid outside or keep out of sight?”

“At this point,” Coulson said, setting his cup down, “I think we’ve got to head outside again sometime soon. Your bathroom break line would look pretty obvious if you didn’t show up outside again,”

“Oh, thanks – I appreciated the help this morning, by the way.”

Coulson at least had the decency to look abashed. “Look – I didn’t – I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,”

“Yeah, well – I assume you two have though about what Clint stepping out the front door is going to look like?” Tony snorted. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “How are we going to deal with that little gem, by the way? Am I switching with him, or what?”

“We’re sticking with the original plan,” Coulson said, eyeing Clint over the top of his cup. “And it would be nice if you put on some clothing,”

Clint flipped him off and pulled his sheet up higher, batting his eyelashes at Coulson. “It’s not my fault you’re can’t stand seeing man-nipples in the living room.”

“Clint,” Coulson sighed wearily, “For Pete’s sake, stop it. Just get dressed and put your watch back on. It’s bad enough you’re naked in the living room – Steve’s going to be back any second,”

“Whatever,” Clint grumbled, getting up. He sauntered back to Coulson’s room with the sheet wrapped around him like an elaborate wedding dress and slammed the door behind him.

“He’s a real peach,” Tony grumbled.

Coulson chuckled darkly. “You haven’t seen anything yet,”

“I don’t think I want to,” Tony grunted as Steve flew back into the room, crayons and colouring book in hand. “Hey – what are we going to colour in today?” He pulled out Steve’s chair and made room for him on the table, smiling as Steve spread out his colouring book; it was the Avengers one Thor had bought the kid at the airport. Steve had already coloured in half of it, and seemed to have a real thing for Captain America. Go figure.

Steve arranged his crayons on the table, setting them up by shade. “Can we colour this one?” he said, pointing to a park scene where Captain America and Iron Man were busy beating up a bunch of block-shaped robots.

Tony grinned. “Sure.”

Dinner went over well, aside from the slight temper tantrum Clint threw when Coulson reheated some of the meatloaf. It was almost like being at home again – well, aside from the fact that Clint was going to have to go back to his beach house for the night. Tony curled up in his chair and watched idly as Steve drove his plastic cars around the coffee table while Coulson and Clint talked quietly on the couch. Tony thumbed through the security camera feeds, searching lazily for excitement, but couldn’t find anything more interesting than Mabel approaching. He got up to let her in before she could claw her way through the front door. She trotted up to Steve and head-butted him in the shin before slinking off to Tony’s bedroom to take a nap.

“It’s almost eight,” Coulson commented, his arm draped over Clint’s shoulder.

Tony yawned into the back of his hand. It was his night to keep watch, and he wasn’t looking forward to it. There was only so much of the feeds he could watch, and while he was all for keeping an eye on everything, he would have loved to dump the task on Jarvis. He wouldn’t really do that, of course, but it was a nice thing to daydream about.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Clint grumbled, stretching out. He planted a kiss on Coulson’s lips and stood up, straightening out his sweater. “Unless you guys want to walk me over?”

Steve looked up from his cars, glancing at Tony. “Can we?”

“Alright,” Coulson said, getting up. “But you’re going to bed right after, mister,”

Steve put his cars down with a sad sigh, hanging his head. “Ok,”

Tony chuckled and stretched his stiff muscles, dragging himself out of his warm, comfy chair. If he was lucky, when they got back he could catch a nap before Coulson went to sleep for the night. He stooped down and picked up Steve’s cars before Clint could step on them and set them in a neat row on the coffee table; the left wheel on the thunderbird was looking a bit shaky, and he was itching to break out his screwdrivers and tonight would be the perfect time for fiddling.

They made it out the door in record time, even with Clint dogging it like a master procrastinator. The walk across the beach was a bit more brisk than usual, but the company more than made up for it. Clint’s beach house seemed far too close, all things considered; they were on the steps before they knew it.

Tony pulled Steve off to the side and let Coulson walk Clint the rest of the way inside; he didn’t really feel the need to watch more happy smooching tonight, even if he was happy the two had worked things out. He led Steve off towards the surf and watched as the kid played with a bit of broken driftwood shaped like a hockey stick; he snapped a few pictures with his phone, laughing when Steve almost fell over when the chunk of drift wood got stuck in the wet sand. He added the images to his folder of Steve pictures and sent it off to Jarvis to make sure he wouldn’t lose anything. And of course that was when Steve all out shrieked in horror. Tony looked up from his phone, tensing – readying himself for battle – and saw Steve pointing at something human-shaped, lying sprawled in the sand a few feet away. It was surprising they had missed him, really, considering the way he was singing aloud, his voice slurred, his words incoherent; that part was probably for the best, because even if Steve couldn’t understand the gist of the song, Tony sure could and it wasn’t even remotely child friendly. He was tempted to slap his hands over Steve’s ears.

“Hello,” Tony called out, sticking his phone into his pocket quickly to free up his hands. He approached the drunken man cautiously, aware that he could be walking into a trap. When he got closer he was able to make out who the guy was; he couldn’t say it surprised him. John Tanner, it seemed, had brought himself a few bottles of whiskey and was drinking himself into a stupor as the tide inched closer to his bare feet.

“Hey, pal,” John said, saluting Tony with his empty bottle.

Tony wrinkled his nose; he could smell the guy already, and he wasn’t even that close to him. He had been in breweries that smelled better. There was a very distinct hint of Cheetos mixed in with the scent of whiskey and body odor too. “Hey to yourself,” Tony said, eyeing John and the rising tide. “Out for a swim or something?”

John shrugged, letting his bottle fall to the sand beside him. “Nah, man,” he said, flopping backwards into the sand, his hair spreading our around him in a grubby halo, “I’m just here for the stars,”

“Right,” Tony said. He heaved a sigh. “I’m assuming you’re aware that the tide is coming in,”

“Oh man,” John slurred, lifting his head so he could squint at his feet. “So that’s why my toes are wet. Nasty,”

“That’s one word for it,” Tony muttered under his breath. “Maybe you should get up and go pass out on your porch or something. Seems like a better option than drowning.” And it was, Tony thought with a shudder. He would know.

John flopped pitifully. “No can do, pal,” he said after a minute, his hand slapping against the soupy sand. “I think I’m stuck,”

“Great,” Tony grumbled. He looked around the beach but couldn’t spot Coulson. The bastard was probably still inside stealing kisses. He sighed aloud, motioning for Steve to back up. “Alright. How about I give you a hand there, big man,”

“Much appreciated,” John slurred, raising his arms.

Tony grasped him by the forearm and bent at the knees, heaving John into a seated position. The guy looked around, dazed, and then turned back to Tony with a look of pure admiration on his face.

“Man – that’s awesome,” John said, grinning crookedly.

“Yeah,” Tony grunted, giving John’s arm another tug, “being upright’s a real treat,”

John managed to get to his feet after one more pull, but he couldn’t quite walk in a straight line; Tony wasn’t surprised. The way the guy’s eyes were glazed over, it was a miracle he had managed to get upright without throwing up all over himself. He didn’t really want to have to escort the guy to his house, but the way John was staggering made it clear he wasn’t going to make it back home without help. Reluctantly, Tony pulled John’s arm over his shoulder and wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him from falling over. “Alrighty then,” Tony said with a grimace, nodding for Steve to follow along behind them, “Let’s go for a little walk,”

John staggered along easily, still grinning, as they traipsed their way through the sand towards his house. “I love you guys,” he said, rubbing his forehead against Tony’s chin. He was blessedly free of coordination, so the sloppy kiss he tried next fell short of the mark, getting Tony on the collar bone instead of the lips. Tony gritted his teeth and kept moving. This was all Clint’s fault. The archer was going to pay for this.

Thankfully their trip didn’t take long. When they hit the first step of John’s beach house, he pulled free and took a staggered step forward, trying to catch the railing. He didn’t seem to mind when he went face first onto his porch; he just lifted one arm and gave Tony a backwards thumbs up. “Thanks, pal,”

“You sure you’re going to be alright up there?”

“Yeah,” John said, his voice muffled by the porch. He rolled over onto his side and curled up, yawning into his arm. “I’m good. See you later, man,”

“Uh huh,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. He turned back to Steve and let the kid lead him back down to the beach. He pulled his phone out of his pocket the moment they got out of range and scrolled through the security footage to make sure he hadn’t been played for a fool; sure enough, three hours previous there was John, staggering out into the darkness, the bottle of whiskey in hand. Tony scowled at the video. He hadn’t seen it happen, but he knew Natasha probably had. He dialed her number, casting a glance over his shoulder at John’s house. He could still make out John’s feet sticking off the edge of the porch.

“Stark?” Natasha’s voice was weary. “What do you want?”

“Why didn’t you say anything about Tanner getting wasted on the beach?” Tony asked, nudging Steve towards a pile of shells. “Go, frolic,”

“I’m assuming you’re saying that to Steve, and not me,” Natasha murmured.

“Uh huh,”

“I didn’t think he was a problem. He was drinking in his house before he came outside. I’m surprised he made it as far as the beach,”

“Well, he did,” Tony growled into the phone. “I don’t think I’m going to be very happy if we find him dead in the sand tomorrow,”

“Oh?” Natasha laughed. “I don’t think you have much of a choice in the matter. He seems to like drinking, and unless you’re planning on sitting up with him all night, holding his hair while he throws up, he’s on his own,”

“You know what I mean,”

“Yes, yes,” Natasha muttered. “Fine. I’ll keep an eye on the idiot. If he drowns himself in vomit or water – or whatever – I’ll give you a heads up,”

“Thank you,” Tony said. He chuckled when Steve started stacking shells in neat piles, sorting through the new bits brought in by the tide. “So how are things going?”

“They’re going,” Natasha said.

“Nothing new to report?”

“Nothing of interest. Your cat is busy getting hair all over your pillow,”

“That’s not news,”

“That’s all I have to offer,” Natasha chuckled. “Tell Clint to keep it in his pants,”

“I’ve already tried that,” Tony said with a huff.

“Then try harder,” Natasha said. “I’ve seen enough of his bare ass for the month.” She hung up on him before he could agree with her. He sighed and turned back to Steve, still diligently playing with his shells. This was going to be a long week.

The night was long and hot; Tony spent most of it sitting on Steve’s bed while the kid shivered away under every blanket in the house. Coulson checked in on them every few hours but there was never anything to report, and no change to Steve’s condition. In the morning, Coulson took his place and Tony trudged off to bed to fall into a peaceful sleep with Mabel wrapped around his head like a furry hat.

When he woke up, it was nearing one in the afternoon and the house was quiet. It took him a minute to figure out that there really was no one around; he couldn’t even find Mabel, and usually she was too lazy to get up unless someone chased her off. He heaved himself upright, grabbing his phone as he went and staggered through the house, peering in rooms, wondering where everyone had gone. He made it to the kitchen table and found a note sitting there, waiting for him. Went for ice cream was written there in Clint’s familiar blocky script. He scowled, crumping the note up, and threw it into the garbage can under the sink. He took out his phone and pulled up the surveillance, double checking to make sure nothing was off. Sure, the note looked like it was Clint’s, but for all he knew it had been written at gunpoint – not that he thought Coulson and Clint could be taken down so easily. He sighed to himself as he watched Coulson and Clint play with Steve, pushing away a wave of irrational jealousy. It was fine; he was being crazy. What were they supposed to do? Wait around twiddling their thumbs while he slept? He shut down the surveillance feeds, stepping into the kitchen to find his coffee bean stash. If he was up, he might as well make himself some coffee.

Tony threw himself down onto a beach chair and set his scorching hot coffee cup on his knee. He ran his fingers through his hair and realized belatedly that he hadn’t even bothered to clean up that morning; he hadn’t brushed his teeth or hair, and while he knew he was supposed to feel bad about it, he couldn’t bring himself to care all that much. It wasn’t like anyone could tell, after all. Holographic display watches were good for that kind of thing. He took a sip of his coffee, grimacing at the bitter taste. There hadn’t been any sugar left in the bowl or milk in the fridge. Clint had to have finished it all, because Tony knew for a fact there had been enough the night before; unfortunately he hadn’t thought to check if it was still there before he had brewed up his coffee, and with no way to turn back time, he was forced to drink the bitter brew as he had no intention of wasting it.

“Hey, pal,”

Tony swung his head to the left, internally grumbling when he saw who was talking to him. John Tanner smirked at Tony; he was lying in the sand a few feet away, holding a bottle of cola to his chest like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Hello, John,” Tony grunted. He swung his legs over the side of the beach chair and sat sideways, eyeing John over his cup of coffee. The guy looked a lot better than he had the night before, but that wasn’t saying much; he still looked like he needed a few thousand showers. “How’s the day treating you?”

“Good so far,” John said, shrugging. He took a sip from his bottle, letting out a belch loud enough for Tony to hear. “Where’s your brood, man?”

“My brood?” Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Oh,” he chuckled. “They’re off gallivanting in town. They went out for ice cream,”

“And you didn’t go?” John looked startled. “What’s up with that?”

Tony snorted. “I slept in,” he said, trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice, “I guess I got what I deserved.”

“That’s harsh,” John said, sipping his cola again. “It’s weird that your hubby took that creepy guy with them though,”

Creepy guy? Oh – Clint. Right. “Ah yeah – well, Hermann’s a friend of the family,”

“Pal,” John said, looking around carefully as though he expected someone to walk up behind him, “You might want to watch out for him. I think he’s hitting on your man,”

“You’re kidding,” Tony said, completely deadpan. He had a hard time not laughing in John’s face.

The guy looked a little bit like he had been kicked in the nuts with a steel toed boot; he sat up straighter, hunching over his bottle of cola with a dour look on his face, locking eyes with Tony despite the awkward angle and the distance between them. “I think he’s cheating on you,”

Tony feigned surprise. “He wouldn’t,”

“He totally is,”

“What do you mean?” Tony asked, curious. He had known someone was going to say something once Clint started touring town with Coulson and Steve at his side, but he had assumed it would take a wee bit longer for the chatter to start up.

“You should have seen the look in your guy’s eyes,” John said, whistling. “Looked like he was going to melt into a puddle of goo,”

Tony shook his head sadly. Well, it had been a good run all things considered. It was kind of hard to dispute the lovey-dovey aura floating around Clint and Coulson; it would have been nice if they had been able to tone it down a bit – at least for a little while, but apparently it was a little too late now. If the drunken car wash attendant in front of him could see it, damn near everyone could. He wondered if he could get away with chewing them out for it. Nah, he thought, taking a sip of cooling coffee. Natasha would probably rip his balls off if he tried to say anything to them, even jokingly. She and Clint gossiped like old ladies, and he knew whose side she would take. “That’s… I don’t know what to say to that,”

John shrugged again, tipping his bottle so that he could drain the last of the soda. He belched again, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and tossed the bottle away from him; he didn’t even seem to notice the scowl on Tony’s face. “I don’t know, pal,” John said, sounding almost breathless. He nodded towards Tony’s beach house, leaning back until he was comfortable in the sand again. “I feel for you. My wife dumped me the same way,”

“What makes you think my guy’s going to do that?” Tony grunted, finishing his coffee. He put the cup down on his knee, grimacing at the bitter taste in his mouth. It was weird; he kind of felt offended on Coulson’s behalf, and they weren’t even married for real.

“That’s what they do, pal,” John said with a snort, closing his eyes. “You trust them, and then they dump your ass the moment someone better comes along,”

Tony bit his lip to keep from agreeing outright. It wasn’t like he had ever had anyone stick around long enough for him to really know for sure if he had been really, truly, in love but he knew what it felt like to be dumped for someone better. That was life, after all – that was old hat for him these days. Sure, he played games sometimes and slept around, but he had always lost more than he had gained doing that; it would have been nice, though, to have gotten something out of it for a bit. It would have been nice to have some stick around – even if it ended badly. Any love was better than nothing – even if it was fake.

God, he was losing his mind.

Why was he thinking about Steve, now?

He was supposed to be talking about his ‘marriage’ to Coulson and here he was, thinking about Steve Rogers.

Stupid Steve. Why did he always butt into everything?

It wasn’t like Tony had asked to be here. It had just sort of happened and yeah – ok – sure, he would probably enjoy teasing the super soldier when this was all over and done with; it wasn’t like they were going to end up friends. Steve was like Coulson. He had things to do – a life to live, and Tony wasn’t really a part of that even if they were on the same team. When Steve was back to normal, he was going to get up, shake Tony’s hand and wander off home like a good little soldier. Tony blocked out images of Adult Steve and Sharon Carter walking down the street hand in hand; something twisted in his chest. It was stupid. He barely knew Steve – Steve barely knew him. So why did it feel like he was mourning a loss he had never had? He looked down into his cup, intending to get up and leave without saying anything. Goddamn it, he had just wanted to drink his fucking coffee in peace, and now he was feeling like shit all over again.

John started snoring wetly like a beached elephant seal.

Tony got up and stalked back inside, cup clutched tightly in hand. He dumped the coffee cup in the sink and crawled back into bed, pulling the covers up over his head.

Chapter Text

Tony didn’t really fall asleep; it would have been easier if he had. Instead, he lay curled up in a ball under his blankets, trying to work out how he was going to swap out with Clint without making Steve start bawling. It would be better to cut ties now before it got any harder to say no to the kid, he reasoned with the uncomfortable twist in his gut. He pulled his phone out from under the covers and his speed dial 1. He regretted it almost immediately and quickly mashed the end call button, but it was too late. The call had gone through, even though she hadn’t picked up.

Shit.

Pepper phoned back before he had a chance to text her an ‘oops’. He swallowed down his bitterness and answered cheerfully, setting the phone on his pillow beside his head. “Hi, Pepper,”

“Tony,” Pepper sounded breathless. “Is something wrong? Did something happen?”

“No, no – it’s fine. I butt dialed you, that’s all,” Tony said, the lie coming out easily.

“Tony,”

“Seriously, it was an accident. I’m sorry I freaked you out. I should have let it go through, but I thought I caught it in time, that’s all,”

“It’s alright,” Pepper said, her voice turning soft. “How are you doing? I was hoping you were going to check in at some point, but Natasha said you guys were pretty busy,”

“They’re out right now,” Tony said, closing his eyes. It was good to hear Pepper’s voice again; maybe this hadn’t been a mistake after all. “They took Steve out for ice cream,”

“They?” Pepper sounded amused. “Who’s they?”

“Coulson and Clint,”

“Ah,” Pepper murmured. “I guess that means they made up then?”

“Seems like it,”

“You’re feeling like the third wheel, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” Tony muttered, his fake cheerfulness finally drained away. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, honey,”

“It’s not that bad,”

“Tony,”

“It’s not! I swear,”

“You can talk to Phil about it, you know,”

Tony tensed. He dug his fingers into the sheets beneath him. “I know,”

“Do you want to come home?”

The question was simple, and Tony knew the answer even without having to think about it. “Yes,” he said. He buried his face in his pillow, shamefaced. He wanted to go home more than anything. He missed his bots, and his work – he missed being able to design things. He missed being useful. “But I can’t. What do you think I should do?” Tony asked, softly. “I don’t know what to do with him. I think I like him, and it’s just…”

“Did you not want to like him?” Pepper sounded amused. “You like being around him, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Tony muttered. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hands. “I just want it to the feeling to stick around for a while, you know? It’d be nice to actually get along with him when he isn’t seven years old,”

“You think he’s going to forget about everything you’ve done for him?”

“With my luck, he’s probably going to turn back into an adult and give me shit again for stealing his fucking bagel,” Tony muttered. He could just see it now; Steve would probably scream himself blue in the face, and no stuffed bagel would ever appease him. He curled in on himself, moving closer to the phone. “I don’t know what to do Pep – just tell me what to do,”

Pepper was silent for so long, Tony was afraid they had been cut off. He lifted the phone to check if they still had signal and nearly dropped it when she started speaking again.

“You’re a good man, Tony,” Pepper murmured. She sniffled, taking a moment to get her voice back. “Listen to me. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t remember anything you did for him. We remember – your friends remember. We’ll tell him – and if he’s too stubborn to listen to Rhodey, or the rest of the Avengers, then I’ll just have to come down there and hit him with my heaviest pair of Jimmy Choos until he gets it,”

Tony started laughing. It wasn’t the best laugh; it hurt, and the sound that came out was bordering on hysterical, but it felt good after lying there for so long brooding about the future.

“I’m assuming that means you’re feeling a bit better now,” Pepper said with a dry chuckle.

“Sure,” Tony wheezed, wiping at his eyes. Visions of Steve being chased around by an angry Pepper wielding her shoes like a mace were still dancing around in his head and he loved every second of it; if he had been able to record things in his mind, he would have sent that one to his private server to watch whenever he felt a down. Maybe that was something he was going to need to look in to in the future. “God – that’s good,”

“Uh huh. I had a feeling you would like it,”

“So how are things going with you and Happy?” Tony asked, trying to be casual about it. It was still a teensy bit weird to hear details about her impending wedding, but he really did want to know all the details; he had been meaning to ask her about it before he had left to meet Coulson, but he hadn’t been able to catch her in time. When they had been dating, it hadn’t been her buying the wedding magazines; he had been the one with the drawer full of fabric samples and the binder filled with pictures of wedding dresses, place settings, tuxedos and flower arrangements. At the time he had argued that it was just good planning on his part. He needed to test the structural integrity of everything – no one wanted a hole in their pants or a tear in their dress on their wedding day, after all. She had kindly smiled at him, and told him he was thinking too far ahead. He had a feeling she didn’t quite see things the same way anymore, not now that she was in it for the long haul with Happy. He knew all about her little red binder, the one she had put together when she and Happy had first started dating, and it had been teasing her about it – at least for a day or two. After that he had gotten serious and offered to help her out any way possible. Hell, he had been the one supplying all the wedding dress pictures; he had ripped them out of his binder and given them to her. It had seemed like such a waste to keep them hidden away in his considering no one would ever see them except for him.

“Oh – oh! I need to tell you about the dress,” Pepper said, her voice turning dreamy.

“You finally picked one?”

“Oh god, yes, and it’s beautiful,” Pepper said, practically squealing. “I have to send you a picture. Hold on,”

Normally she didn’t get this excited even if he gave her a whole cartload of shoes, Tony mused, so this had to be good. Tony smirked. “Is it one I know?”

“Maybe,”

Tony rubbed his hands together. “Which one? Is it the Mermaid? Tell me it’s the mermaid,”

“You’ll see when you get the picture,” Pepper said, primly. “There. I sent it.”

Tony’s phone buzzed. He rolled over and held it up above him, using his knees to keep the blanket up. There, immortalized in crisp pixels was Pepper wearing a strapless white wedding dress; the edges of the dress were trimmed with soft floral lace which tapered off into a smooth white bust line. The dress accentuated her hips and then flowed out like a mermaid’s tail as it made its way to the ground, ending in a flourish of detailed lace flowers. He wanted to hug her tightly and never let go; the smile on her face was breathtaking and even though she wasn’t actually done up for the wedding yet, she looked gorgeous. She always did, of course. She could have been smeared in muck and wearing a barrel held up by suspenders and she would have been gorgeous to him, but right now she looked like she was ready to light up the entire world. His heart clenched a little with the realization that this was final. She was gone from the market for good – not that he had made the mistake of thinking that there was anything left between them other than friendship. He was happy for her; he was happy for Happy too, the lucky bastard.

“You picked the dress I gave you,” Tony said, his voice cracking.

“I know,” Pepper said, softly. “I’m sorry. It was too perfect to pass up,”

“What colour are the bridesmaids dresses?” Tony asked, clearing his throat before she could figure out that he had started crying. He saved the picture to his private server and changed the phone’s settings to speaker phone, propping it up against his knee so he could still see it through his tear-filled eyes.

“They’re sea foam green,”

“Natasha’s going to look like the little mermaid,” Tony chuckled, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

“I know. She’s going to murder me, but they were just so adorable and they were all in stock and on sale,”

“Hey,” Tony muttered, frowning at the phone. “I said I’d pay for everything,”

“You’re walking me down the aisle, Tony,” Pepper said with a snort. “You don’t need to pay for anything. Besides – if you did, you’d make Happy cry,”

“He would not,”

“He would too. You know how he is about that kind of stuff. He thinks it’s bad enough that I still let you buy me shoes all the time,”

“Oh, please. Your shoes aren’t that expensive. I spend more a month on my suits. I wanted to buy the dress for you,”

“While I appreciate the thought, I think Happy feels like he’s supposed to be the big man in this relationship, so that means no butting in and paying for everything like usual. If you do that then we’ll both be in for it, and I for one am not going to be talking him out of the bathroom on my wedding day because he found the bill and figured out that you paid for it all without telling anyone.”

“You’re wearing the dress right now, aren’t you?” Tony asked, deliberately ignoring what she had said. He was going to find a way to help her pay for the wedding somehow, and if that meant sneaking money into her bank account or stuffing a bunch of it into an envelope and hiding it in her apartment, so be it.

“Jealous, Mr. Stark?”

“Happy’s going to catch an eyeful if you’re not careful,”

“Jarvis is watching out for me,”

“Lucky,”

“What? Am I lucky because I can wear the dress, or am I lucky because I’m not going to get caught?” Pepper teased.

“You know the answer,”

“Tell you what,” Pepper drawled, “You can pick one out for yourself and when the wedding’s done, we’ll wear our dresses and have a night in together. It’ll be great. Happy will pout, but he’ll just have to suck it up,”

Tony chuckled. “Sounds like fun. Let me know when you’re getting hitched and we’ll make plans,”

“Alright,”

“Hey, can I show Phil the dress?”

“What’s this about a dress?” Coulson said, opening Tony’s door.

Tony grumbled and pulled his blankets down, lifting his phone out from under them. “Don’t you know how to knock?”

“Of course I know how to knock,” Coulson said, smiling, “I just figured I didn’t have to.” He walked around the bed and leaned over to get a look at Tony’s phone. “Oh! Is that Pepper’s wedding dress?” He put his knee up onto the mattress and stared at the picture, going a little starry eyed. “She looks beautiful,”

“Thank you Phil,” Pepper said through the phone. “Tony found it for me.”

Coulson sat down on the edge of the bed, balancing himself precariously with one hand pressed into the mattress. “It’s a very impressive find,”

Tony shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. “It was something I had lying around,”

Coulson smiled. “Why am I not surprised?”

“So how was your trip out for ice cream?” Pepper asked.

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m sure it was fine,”

Coulson patted Tony on the shoulder. “It was pretty boring, actually. We decided to bring home dinner because no one wanted to cook,”

“I’m not surprised. I think I saw Clint glaring at the stove once,”

“I’ve seen him do it too,” Coulson chuckled. “He hates anything that takes longer than thirty minutes to cook,”

“Aww – poor baby,” Tony sniffed, glaring at the phone. Everyone gave him shit for not cooking his own food half the time, but when Barton did it, it was cute. Gee – Thanks. Assholes.

“I’ll let you boys get to dinner then,” Pepper said with a laugh. “Take care of yourselves, alright? Don’t make me come down there to knock some sense into you,”

“We’ll behave,” Coulson said solemnly. “I promise. I’ll tell Steve you said hi,”

“You do that – and Tony?” Pepper’s voice turned soft again. “Remember what I said, alright?”

“I will,” Tony said with a stiff nod. “It’ll be fine.”

“Talk to you guys later,” Pepper said. “And don’t do anything too stupid,”

“Don’t worry, I’ll keep him on task,” Coulson said.

“You can try,” Tony muttered as the phone went dead. He moved to pull the blankets up over him again and was shocked when Coulson plucked them out of his hand. “Hey!”

“I think you’ve slept enough for today,” Coulson said, dryly, stealing away Tony’s phone. He pulled his leg off of the bed and folded the blankets in half, putting them well out of Tony’s reach.

“Look, I’m still kind of tired,” Tony muttered, crossing his arms over his chest to recover some of his lost blanket-warmth. “Why don’t you go feed them or something?”

“I meant what I said earlier,” Coulson sighed. “I’m sorry we didn’t wake you up to go get ice cream. I thought we would be back faster than we were, but by the time we got out there the place had a line halfway down the road. Steve was pretty upset about it,”

“What? Why?”

“He wanted to bring you back an ice cream cone, but by the time we got to the car again the damn thing had melted,”

“Oh,” Tony said, dropping his arms. He smiled, touched that Steve had thought about him. At least someone had.

“Don’t give me that look,” Coulson grumbled, prodding Tony in the chest. “We went back and bought you a tub of their homemade gelato to make up for it.”

Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Oh really?” Well, maybe Steve hadn’t been the only one thinking about him after all. He knew there had been a reason he had liked Coulson.

“Steve picked it out,”

Tony couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “I guess I could eat,”

Coulson rolled his eyes. “Come on,” he said, heading out the door. “The food’s getting cold,”

Tony threw himself down onto the living room floor and groaned in despair, squeezing his eyes shut. “Stupid food,” he muttered. He really shouldn’t have eaten that last burger, but it had called out to him, its intoxicating aroma wafting towards him, and he hadn’t been able to resist the temptation to devour it. Now he felt like he had swallowed a baby, and there was no way he was going to be getting up soon unless someone brought in a forklift. He groaned again, covering his eyes with the back of his arm and tried to get comfortable.

He squinted up at the couch trying to see if there was anything soft close enough to grab; there, sitting perched on the edge of the couch was the most beautiful pillow Tony had ever seen. It was sparkling like it had been placed there by the gods – on second thought, that part was probably a hallucination. He made grabby hands, trying to get a hold of it, but he just couldn’t reach it. Clint looked down at him and pulled the pillow closer to himself, rolling on top of it with a sly grin.

“Bastard,” Tony growled.

“First come first serve, Stark,” Clint chuckled.

“You’ll pay for this, Barton,” Tony muttered.

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that,” Clint said. He yawned and stretched out, curling around the pillow until he was almost completely blocking it from sight. “Wake me up when Natasha gets here,” he called out to Coulson. He closed his eyes and snuggled close to the captured pillow, letting out a contented sigh.

Steve sat down beside Tony, unknowingly putting a stop to Tony’s vengeful machinations before the engineer could even think them up. He leaned against Tony’s side as he shifted his cars from the coffee table to the floor. “Hey!” he said, looking from his Thunderbird to Tony with something akin to awe in his eyes. “You fixed it,”

“Of course I did,” Tony grumbled, squirming along the floor to find a better patch of hardwood to lounge on. Sadly, the move couldn’t do anything to make it any less uncomfortable. He gave up, shooting Clint a scowl, and dropped his arms onto the floor again.

Steve flipped the car over, marveling at the now ruler-straight screws. The undercarriage had been a real mess before Tony had gotten his hands on it – not that it had been Steve’s fault. The damned thing had come that way straight out of the box, and Tony hadn’t had the heart to make Steve return it so they could get something better; there hadn’t been an identical replacement for the Thunderbird at the time, and the kid had been really taken with it despite the damage, so Tony had figured what the hell; it wasn’t like he couldn’t fix it himself. It hadn’t taken much effort on his part to get the toy in working condition again. It had been kind of fun, actually. The model he had bought Steve from Japan was still waiting for them in its box at home, and he couldn’t wait to get back to it.

“Thanks!” Steve said, grinning from ear to ear.

“Not a problem, little guy,”

“Do you want to play race track with me?” Steve asked, setting the Thunderbird down on the floor. He picked up his pink Viper, and set it down on Tony’s stomach, using him like he was a parking lot.

“Nope,” Tony whined, shaking his head.

Steve pouted and rolled the Thunderbird up and down Tony’s stomach. “Really?”

“Really,” Tony grunted, shifting until the Thunderbird was no longer rolling over his gut-fat like it was a makeshift speed bump. Oh god. He was pretty sure he had just narrowly avoided throwing up. Well wasn’t that lovely. Stupid gelato. Stupid, delicious, gelato. “Seriously – let me digest a bit and I’ll be right with you, buddy,” he said, flopping his arms weakly against the floor.

“Ok,”

Steve left the Thunderbird where it lay on Tony’s stomach and picked up his Viper again turning his attention back to the living room. He crawled across the floor over to the end of the coffee table, his brows furrowed in concentration, and started driving the Viper around in circles, meandering his way around the coffee table legs like a professional driver; Tony was impressed. The kid didn’t hit his head on the coffee table once, even though he wasn’t looking up.

Coulson stepped over Tony’s bloated belly and sat down on the couch beside Clint, lifting Clint’s legs out of the way so he could get a couch cushion of his very own; Clint begrudgingly made room before pushing his feet into Coulson’s lap with a yawn, reclaiming his stolen space. Coulson grumbled and set a mug of tea down on the coffee table, scowling at Clint’s feet. He pulled his book out from where it had ended up under Clint’s hip, smoothing the cover down with the flat of his hand. “So,” he said, turning to the page he had marked, “How was your day, Tony?”

“He slept through most of it,” Clint scoffed, worming his feet further across Coulson’s lap.

“I made coffee and went – oh. By the way, you owe me cream and sugar, Clint,” Tony said. He tried to grab Clint by the foot and missed; he let his arm drop down to the floor again, too tired to make a second attempt.

“We can go get some more tomorrow,” Coulson said, flipping pages. “And stop that.”

“Our neighbor thinks you’re cheating on me,” Tony grunted, his fingers easily finding Coulson’s pant leg despite the fact that he was busy staring at the insides of his eyelids. “I think he was worried about my honor or something,”

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “He thinks I’m cheating on you? And why is that, exactly?”

“We’re still married, remember?” Tony asked, flashing Coulson a cheeky smile.

Coulson bumped his foot against Tony’s ear. “Of course I remember,”

“Well, everyone else knows it too, so it would probably be a good idea if stop the whole cutesy I’m-in-love thing you do when your boy-toy is around. Maybe tone it down a little,” Tony said. Coulson nudged him in the ear with his big toe; Tony swatted his foot away. “Seriously, our drunk of a neighbor figured out you two were knocking boots in one day. If he could see it, everyone can see it – trust me.”

Coulson sighed, gingerly setting his bookmark back in place. “I see what you mean,”

Clint sat up, glowering down at Tony with his pillow clutched in his hand so hard his knuckles were white. “You’re a real piece of work, Stark. You can’t blame him for this,”

“Shut up,” Tony snapped, opening his eyes so he could glare up at Clint. He was getting tired of Clint’s bullshit. “I’m not just pulling this out of my ass – I went outside to sit down and drink my coffee – minding my own goddamned business – and there he was sitting out there on the beach. He started the conversation! It’s not like I went out there and started asking him what he thought about my sham of a marriage!”

“You could have told him to fuck off! You’re the husband – you could have told him you’re in an open relationship or something,” Clint growled.

“Yeah, and that would go over well. You want me to go out there and antagonize the drunk by telling him to fuck off because I’m sleeping with two different guys while under the same roof as a little kid? I’m sure that’ll work to our advantage,” Tony snorted. “OH! That sounds like a great idea!” He lifted himself up on his elbows so he could lock eyes with Clint. “Look, I get it. You seem to be under the impression that I’m dumb as a stump, Barton, so I’m only going to say this once. I have looked at the battle plans – hell, I have memorized them, and I know what will and could go wrong at any given point in time. I may not be a superspy like you – or a goddamned super soldier, but I know how easy it is to fuck up if you don’t stick to the plan.”

“Oh please,” Clint snorted. “Like you ever stick to the plans Cap makes. You do what you want – why do you think he yells at you?”

Tony bristled. “I listen to his goddamned plans,” he said. He was just about ready to wind up and sock Clint in the jaw. “I always listen. Yeah – sometimes I edit them on the fly, but I always listen!”

“Out of curiosity, what makes you think we’re not sticking to the plan, Tony?” Coulson asked with a sigh.

“You’re going out together with Steve, Phil. It draws a lot of unwanted attention. Clint was seen in town glaring at us like we were pond scum and now the three of us are besties? That’s a little hard to take, even for me,”

“Oh, I get it,” Clint growled, standing up. “You’re jealous because you didn’t get to spend time with the kid today,”

“For fuck’s sake,” Tony hissed, wanting to tear out his hair, “this has nothing to do with jealousy! This has to do with safety! It’s not safe having Steve out there if we’re drawing attention to ourselves! We may as well paint a target on his back and give people handguns!”

“Language,” Coulson said, prodding Tony in the hand with his toe.

Tony scowled at him, pushing his foot away.

“You’re the one calling attention to us,” Clint said, throwing the pillow onto the couch behind him. “If you had just agreed to switch places with me, we wouldn’t be in this mess,”

“Who the hell said I didn’t agree to switch places with you?” Tony roared.

“Well I didn’t see you getting up off your fat ass and going over to my house last night – I could have been walking around looking like you today, but no, you had a hissy fit!” Clint snorted.

“I did not! When did I say no?” Tony sat up so fast his knee clipped the edge of the coffee table; it hurt so much, he barely managed to bite off the mouthful of swear words that came bubbling up. “I never said that – you’re hearing things, Barton,” he hissed through clenched teeth, rubbing his knee. “Maybe we need to get your hearing checked, because you’re losing what’s left of it if you think I said anything like that.”

“Alright. I’ve had enough,” Coulson snapped. “Tony didn’t say anything about not wanting to trade places.” He threw his book down on the couch, bending some of the pages by accident. “I’m the one who decided you weren’t going to be walking around looking like Tony, remember?”

Clint looked away, his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. “Well, I’m done here,” he muttered, struggling upright.

“Clint,”

“No – no. You’re right. I’m blowing things out of proportion. I should be getting back to my place,” Clint sniffed, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Look, you two do what you want – you’re the team leaders after all. I’ve had enough of this,”

“Natasha’s going to be here in a few minutes,” Coulson said with a huff. “You need to be here for the meeting.”

“No,” Clint said, jamming his feet into his shoes. “I don’t. I really don’t. You guys make your plans – fill me in later, or don’t. Whatever. I don’t care.” He threw open the door and nearly walked face-first into Natasha. She grabbed him by the nose and walked him backwards into the house, calmly shutting the door behind her as he whimpered in agony.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing sharply to the couch.

Clint nearly ended up in Coulson’s lap in his haste to plunk himself down on the couch; he rubbed his nose, wincing. “What the fuck was that for?”

Natasha crossed her arms over her chest. She was dressed in a green and brown tweed pantsuit that looked like it had crawled out of adult Steve’s closet; while it was a little on the tacky side, she made it work. The glare on her face, however, made it clear she wasn’t here to play games. It was a miracle Steve hadn’t burst into tears when he had laid eyes on her. “I’ve had enough of your whining,” she said, looking around the room.

Tony averted his gaze. He had expected a chewing out, but he hadn’t though she was going to do it in front of everyone. Fantastic. A great end to an even greater day.

“That means all of you,” Natasha growled. “Sit up, Stark, before I drag you up off the floor myself,”

Tony sat up, muttering under his breath.

“I’m sick and tired of hearing this shit over the comms. If you have personal problems, deal with it on your own time – we are here on a mission. This is not a vacation – this is not a break, and this is not a game. If you can’t understand that, then I suggest you pack up and go home before you get someone killed,” Natasha said. She drummed her fingers on her arm, looking at each of them until everyone was equally unable to meet her gaze. “Frankly, I think the Captain would be ashamed to be seen working with us. There is a reason why we are not supposed to have chatter over the comms. It’s one thing to fool around when you’re getting along, but you are clearly not getting along. Let me remind you that you’re on the security cameras – you think it’s all fun and games, but that footage is going back to the tower and while Pepper and the rest of the team are the only ones watching right now, they’re not the only ones able to press play. Let me remind you, that this is a professional operation – not a two-bit bait-and-switch.”

“We understand that,” Coulson said, clearing his throat. “And I’m sorry we’ve been causing problems.”

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Natasha snapped. She turned to Clint, hiking her thumb over her shoulder. “You’re not allowed to be here unless you can keep your hands and thoughts to yourself. This is a mission, not a brothel.”

“Tasha,” Clint murmured, his cheeks turning red, “Come on! Be reasonable,”

“I am being reasonable. You are out of control, and I’ve had enough. If Phil can’t get you to behave, then I’m afraid I’m going to have to step in and do it for him. Out.” She gestured to the door. “You’re banned from this house until further notice.”

Clint stood up slowly, the tips of his ears turning an ugly shade of crimson. He opened his mouth to argue and then shut his mouth, his teeth clicking audibly as he made eye contact with Natasha; what he saw there must not have been something pleasant. He looked down at his feet and then headed to the door, slouching as he went. “Sorry,” he said. He opened the door, giving Coulson a mournful look over his shoulder and then disappeared, letting the door close behind him with a soft click.

Coulson rested his face in his hands. “I’m sorry you had to step in,” he said. His shoulders slumped. “It won’t happen again,”

“It better not,” Natasha said. She stalked forwards and prodded Tony in the stomach. He groaned and tried to roll away from her. “And Stark? I get that you’re trying to be nice and all, but this isn’t about being a good friend. This is about Steve, and if what’s happening here is going to cause a problem, then you need to step up and point it out,”

“I did,” Tony grumbled, rubbing his stomach. “Why the hell do you think I was yelling?”

Natasha sighed. She sat down on the couch, taking Clint’s vacated spot beside Coulson. “He’s had his day here. That’s all he’s getting,”

Coulson picked up his book and closed it book, mindful of the bent pages. “Agreed.”

“Frankly, he’s lucky he had that day,” Natasha grumbled. “He wasn’t supposed to be here at all.”

“I know,” Coulson said, quietly.

“I don’t blame you,” Natasha said, leaning back against the couch. She put a hand on the back of Coulson’s neck. “You tried – you always try, but sometimes trying isn’t good enough when it comes to Clint,”

Coulson sank deeper into the couch, hanging his head.

“He should never have come here – I get that he wanted to see family after what happened, but he knew the risks and he ignored them. There is a reason why we agreed to have only two people with Steve at a time. Clint was supposed to relieve me on surveillance when he was ready, and that’s what he’s going to do now. He’s been too busy fuming to get his job done,” Natasha said. “He’s a professional, and he needs to start remembering that.”

“So what do we do now?” Tony asked, fiddling with the Thunderbird’s plastic wheels. It was bad enough being yelled at, but somehow he was getting second-hand guilt all because Clint had been sent away. Steve seemed to feel the same way, because he was inching closer and closer to Tony, his cars forgotten under the coffee table. The kid looked up at Tony with wide, almost frightened eyes. Suddenly the guilt wasn’t so second-hand anymore. He sighed. He shouldn’t have been yelling at Clint, even if it had felt good; they had probably scared the shit out of the kid the way they had been carrying on. Natasha was right. Adult Steve would have been ashamed of their behavior.

“All we can do now is wait,” Natasha said, rubbing her thumb against Coulson’s cheek. Her gaze softened until it was almost peaceable. “We wait, and we watch. There’s nothing else to do until Hydra or the Winter Soldier show up. Tonight, I’m go back to my place, and tomorrow we’re going to talk again when everyone is calm and rational,”

“Right,” Tony muttered. He doubted that one night was going to cool Clint off, but it was a start at least. He ruffled Steve’s hair when the kid sat down next to him, hoping to chase away the terror in Steve’s eyes. “How about we get you to bed, squirt?”

Steve looked sheepishly towards the door.

Ah. Tony chuckled softly. “You want to go run around on the beach again, don’t you?”

Steve nodded.

“Alright, alright,” Tony said, forcing himself upright. “What do you say? Want to head outside for a bit of fresh air?”

“You two can take him out,” Natasha said with a smile. She stood up and tugged Coulson to his feet. “I’m going to head on home again. I’ll come visit tomorrow morning,”

“Sounds like a plan,” Coulson murmured. He gave Natasha a weak smile. “Getting some air would be nice right about now,”

Steve must have been excited, because he beat Tony to the front door and waited patiently beside him as he tugged on his shoes. The patience only lasted a few minutes, because once everyone had their shoes on, he was out the door like a bat out of hell, running down the sand towards the water. Tony charged off after him, giving the place a once-over to make sure no one was lurking in the shadows. He spotted John Tanner lying on the sand in his usual spot with a bottle of whiskey within arm’s reach and relaxed, jogging up to Steve as Natasha disappeared from sight.

“Remember what we said about running?” Tony gasped, pretending to be exhausted from the short sprint. He dropped to his knees, landing in the sand with an audible oomph. His stomach wasn’t all that pleased with the sudden exercise, but it stayed calm enough to keep him from puking his dinner up all over the sand.

Steve grinned bashfully, shifting his weight from foot to foot. “Sorry. I just wanted to go for a run,”

“Uh, huh,” Tony said, dusting his shirt off. Maybe kneeling hadn’t been the best idea. He made to stand up and noticed something shiny out of the corner of his eye. He turned, frowning past Coulson, noting shaggy brown hair before the agent dropped to the sand like a bag of rocks. At first he didn’t quite realize what was happening. Then Coulson started convulsing where he lay the sand, his body going tense and he knew what had happened. Tony stared up at John Tanner, all too aware that water was leeching into the sand around Coulson’s unconscious body. He had a Taser – the fucker had a Taser –

“Hello, Mr. Stark,” John said, cracking a smile as he crushed the Taser with his bandaged hand. He turned and looked at Steve, a thick hunting knife clutched in other hand. “And hello to you too, Steve Rogers.”

“And you would be?” Tony gritted out, his eyes still on the knife in front of him. It couldn’t be – this couldn’t be him –

“I would be the Winter Soldier,” John said, his face turning impassive. “And you would be dead,”    

Chapter Text

Tony nearly avoided the first blow; he could feel the way the blade skimmed across his ribs, slicing through fabric as though it was made out of tissue paper and knew at once that he had been lucky. This was bad – very, very bad. He dropped to the sand and rolled on his side, hitting the sand by the edge of the water with a dull thud. He scrambled up as the Winter Soldier came charging after him, his fingers covered in a thin skin of sand, and darted along the beach. He had been kidnapped and smacked around enough times in his life to know that he was up shit creek without a paddle; he was used to the sudden spike of adrenaline at the sight of danger, but this felt different.

It was the look on the Winter Soldier’s face – that was what really made it terrifying. The guy was robotic, like this was something he did every evening after dinner – a mandatory task he felt compelled to do. He could have been out walking his dog, or feeding pigeons; he didn’t look like he was in much of a hurry, and it would have been impossible to tell what he was thinking or doing, unless of course, you caught a glimpse of his very, very, sharp knife. Or looked at his eyes; Tony had seen eyes like those on a dead fish before. They were emotionless and empty – creepy looking at best. There was nothing of the drunkard left behind here; the guy still smelled like a mixture of body odor and whiskey, but he was quite obviously sober. The drinking had probably been a ruse to get him to let his guard down. Fuck!

Tony heard Steve scream and instinctively turned to get closer him, lurching in the sand. Coulson was still lying, unmoving, a few yards away; Tony couldn’t tell if he was down for good, but it was pretty damn clear that Coulson wasn’t going to be getting up any time soon. At least the fucker wasn’t using that Taser anymore.

There was no one left standing between the Winter Soldier and Steve Rogers except for him; Tony couldn’t think of anything more terrifying. He prepared himself for battle, limbering up. He wasn’t going to let that fucker touch even a piece of lint on Steve’s shoulder. He shifted, seeing the Winter Soldier’s blade flash in the low light, and side stepped another blow, ducking under it to twist and punch the Winter Soldier in the face. The assassin staggered, but didn’t drop his knife.

Tony turned back to Steve. The kid was frozen in place near the water, his hands held rigidly at his sides, his face as white as a glass of milk.

Shit.

Why wasn’t he moving?

He was supposed to be sticking to the plan!

Maybe he just needed a reminder.

“Plan A!” Tony yelled, hoping Steve knew what the fuck he was talking about. He and Coulson had drilled Steve on the emergency plans at least once a day, but with kids it was hard to tell what they would do when the proverbial bullets were flying; Steve had nodded along in all the right places, and he had seemed eager enough when they had talked but now Tony wasn’t so sure the kid had understood what all the fuss had been about. He hoped that Steve’s eagerness to please would be enough to get them through the night.

Tony turned back to face the Winter Soldier, praying that Steve would run for the house like they had planned. It had been a mistake to look away, even for only a few seconds, and he paid for it. He managed to dodge another strike, but the one that came after struck him in his right shoulder; the knife tore through his shirt and sliced into his flesh, there and gone before Tony could even process what had happened.

The Winter Soldier smiled thinly. “You know, I thought they were messing with me when they said you’d be one of the people on the team guarding the brat,” he said, nodding towards Steve.

The kid cringed at the attention, taking an awkward step backwards towards the water.

“Yeah, well – I’m stronger than I look,” Tony grunted, pressing his hand to the wound on his shoulder. He couldn’t tell how badly he was injured, but he knew that it would be dangerous to keep running around with blood running down his arm.

“You’re really not,” the Winter Soldier chuckled.

“Steve – Plan A, kid,” Tony muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Plan A!”

Steve took another step backwards, his eyes locked on the Winter Soldier’s. His lower lip trembled. “Bucky? What are you doing?”

The Winter Soldier sighed, giving his head a great shake, his greasy locks slapping against his cheeks. “For the last time – I’m not Bucky. I don’t know who the hell this Bucky guy is, but it’s not me,”

“Steve – move – come on, kid,” Tony hissed, pushing himself into the Winter Soldier’s space. He knew he was going to regret it, but he needed the assassin focused on him – not Steve. “So, what – they picked you because you’re the best at murdering little kids?” he said, hoping he could taunt his way out of trouble.

The Winter Soldier didn’t even frown at him. He didn’t seem to care. He continued to smile, twirling his knife in his hand. “They hired me because I’m good at killing everything, Mr. Stark. I get that you’re not a soldier, but even you should know that much. Didn’t they give you my file? SHIELD can’t be that inept.”

Tony shrugged, realizing belatedly that the move was going to tug at his injured shoulder. “You came up in conversation, yeah,”

The Winter Soldier sighed. “Look – let’s do this the easy way, alright? Hand the kid over, and we’ll get this over with – no fuss, no muss,”

“Fuck you,” Tony growled.

“No thanks,” The Winter Soldier snorted. “I know where you’ve been.”

“I highly doubt that,”

“You really want to do this, Stark?” The Winter Soldier smiled harder, his eyes still vacant of emotion.

“I really do,” Tony gritted out. He slammed his fist into the Winter Soldier’s bandaged arm as hard as he could, wanting to take advantage of the instant pain the blow would cause; hopefully there was enough of an injury underneath the bandages to make the hit worthwhile. They were a lovely shade of blood-shit-brown in spots, so they had to have been hiding something big damage-wise.

Tony’s first connected easily. He grinned for a split second before realizing the horrible mistake he had made. When he had thought about causing pain, he hadn’t expected that the pain would be his.

Tony’s hand and arm went numb; sensation returned slowly, bringing with it a stinging, throbbing, twinge of pain that made his vision blur. His eyes watered; he barely managed to muffle his scream.

The Winter Soldier started laughing; it was an ugly sound, one that seemed to echo across the sand and water. He rubbed his bandaged arm, mock wincing in sympathy, pulling at the bandages until they tore free in a shower of filthy strands. Underneath, The Winter Soldier’s arm wasn’t even remotely made of flesh. It had been modeled and built to spec like it was a real arm, but it was mechanical, made from some sort of silver alloy. There was a red star on the shoulder acting as a tattoo of sorts. It wasn’t surprising that the Winter Soldier had been hiding it under bandages; there was no way in hell the thing would have done anything other than draw attention. Tony would have appreciated the technology more he had been able to think straight.

“You should see the look on your face,” The Winter Soldier said, letting the last of the bandages drop to the sand. “Want to take another swing, big man?”

Tony grimaced, resisting the urge to rub life back into his crippled arm. “I think I’m good,”

“You know, out of all the morons you brought with you to guard the brat, I was pretty sure you would have been the one to figure out about my arm. I guess I was wrong,” The Winter Soldier chuckled.

“You’re a murderer. Who cares what you think?” Tony snapped. He looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of Natasha and Clint coming to his rescue, but the beach was empty – no one else was coming. Dread crept cold and sharp up Tony’s spine; he hadn’t felt like this in years – not since Afghanistan.

Shit.

Was this it?

Was he really the only one left?

How the fuck had this happened? They had been so careful!

He stepped in front of Steve, shielding him from sight. “Steve – honey, you need to run now,” he said, not caring if the Winter Soldier heard. He needed Steve gone, or else this was going to be so much worse. He could take anything the bastard threw at him as long as Steve made it out alright. He knew he could take it.

Steve looked from Tony to the Winter Soldier, his eyes still wide and frightened as he shuffled in place, unsure of what to do. “Ok,” he whispered. He moved before Tony could yell at him again and darted across the sand, zipping past the Winter Soldier.

The assassin clutched his knife tighter and lunged at the kid. Tony staggered to the left, throwing himself in the way.

Everything hurt.

Tony was happy that the kid hadn’t even turn around at the sound of his cry of pain; the hit was heavier than before, but thankfully there was no knife blade digging into his flesh this time. This he could take. This was easy; it hurt, but it was easy. He shoved the Winter Soldier back, leaving a bloody handprint on the man’s silver arm. “Fuck you!”

The Winter Soldier snarled; the desolation in his eyes was gone, replace with a glint of unbridled rage. “You piece of shit,”

“Oh yeah?” Tony sneered, silently cheering at the sound of a door slamming shut behind him, “What are you going to do about it?” He couldn’t hear the lock’s click, but he knew it had happened. Good job Steve, he thought to himself, trying to ignore the dizziness creeping closer. Good job, kid.

“I don’t know what you’re so happy about,” the Winter Soldier growled, glaring over Tony’s shoulder. “Your little friends are busy taking dirt naps. You’re not going to be able to wait this out, Stark,”

Tony blinked through another wave of pain. “You don’t know shit about me, pal,”

The Winter Soldier shook his head, glancing towards the beach house, his look turning thoughtful. “Well, at least this way he’s all wrapped up,”

Tony frowned. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

The Winter Soldier nodded towards the beach house. “Where the hell do you think he’s going to go? He’s locked up in there, isn’t he?”

Tony winced.

The Winter Soldier smirked. “He’s trapped in there – and you’re the idiots who locked him in. Sure, he’s got some doors between me and him – for now – but once you’re smeared across the sand, it’s not going to matter. I’ll tear every last door down. He’s screwed, and it’s your fault, Stark,”

“You’re pathetic,” Tony grunted.

The Winter Soldier moved so fast Tony almost didn’t see him; Tony had known the guy was fast, but he hadn’t thought he was this fast. He grabbed Tony by the shirt and shoved him towards the water. He watched as Tony stumbled like he was a baby deer taking its first steps. “It’s cute,” The Winter Soldier said, softly, “You think you’re going to live through this.”

Tony regained his balance and took a step backwards, trying not to slip in the wet sand. He tensed when water sloshed up over his toes as the waves crept up the shore. Fuck off, water, he wanted to scream. Fuck off. You’re not going to stop me this time. This wasn’t over – not by a long shot.

“If you think I left that kid unprotected in there, you’ve got another thing coming,” Tony said, aware that he was shaking.

“Really?” The Winter Soldier tossed his knife from hand to hand, graceful in his movements; Tony couldn’t help but watch him. “What makes you think that?”

“He’ll be fine,” Tony said, tearing his gaze away from the knife. He forced himself not to stare at the beach house, focusing on the Winter Soldier instead. “You’re not going to hurt him,”

“I like that you think that,” The Winter Soldier chuckled, stepping forward. He tossed his knife from hand to hand, his eyes locked on Tony’s.

Tony took a step backwards; the water was frigid as it seeped through his shoes. He tried to slink towards the beach but it was no use. The Winter Soldier slashed at him, the move angled just enough to keep Tony from gaining ground. He was trapped.

“Who hired you?” Tony asked, trying to calm himself while he looked for another way back to the sand. He knew he was screwed if he didn’t move; the tide was coming in, and the strength he had was waning. He ran the numbers and wished they were wrong.

Shit.

It was already too late.

He was too close to the Winter Soldier to dart out of the way now and too far into the water to get out of its touch. Every wave felt like an icy hand wrapping around his ankles; he shuddered. He could taste bile in the back of his throat. The scent of burning metal was in the air; he had thought he had chased it away years ago, but here it was, back in full force. Realistically, he knew it wasn’t really there – it couldn’t be, it had to be a hallucination – but the smell was strong enough to make him doubt himself. Fire couldn’t just grow out of sand, he chanted to himself. It can’t, it can’t, it can’t. There wasn’t a forge around here for miles. The truth didn’t make the taste or smell any less real. He could see the cave in the back of his mind, a dark shape taking form with each glance he took towards the shore – he could hear those bastards laughing at him, telling him to hold his breath unless he wanted to drown like the sloppy little cunt he was – he shook his head hard, focusing on the Winter Soldier’s voice, using it to draw him back into reality. Those men were dead. He wasn’t and he wanted to stay that way.

The Winter Soldier cocked his head to the side, eyeing Tony, the knife hanging loosely in hand. “So it’s true then,” he said, lips curling in disgust. “You really are fucked up, aren’t you, Stark?”

It took everything in Tony to not cringe. He puffed himself up, drawing in every last drop of bravado he had left and flashed a toothy smile at the assassin. “You’re the one who’s fucked up,”

The Winter Soldier moved unhurriedly, his knife held at the ready. “I’m not just here for the brat, Stark,” he said, moving closer as Tony splashed his way backwards.

“Oh?” Tony shivered as his pants soaked clean through at the knees. Goosebumps broke out across his skin; he gagged at the water’s touch, staggering backwards as the Winter Soldier took another methodical step forward.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The Winter Soldier asked, slashing at Tony – forcing him to take yet another hard step backwards into deeper water. “Don’t you like water?”

“Fuck you,” Tony seethed, shaking his head to clear away the black shapes leeching into his vision. His body felt like it was being pulled down; he clenched his fists, swaying where he stood, cursing under his breath. He never had been good at estimating blood loss. He took a blind step backwards and slid in the slick sand, landing sideways on one knee. Water splashed at his face; he could taste salt on his lips – he could feel it dripping down his ears and neck – oh god they were here – they were going to dunk him again – not again. He looked up, horrified, waiting for the hands he knew were coming and froze, staring up into the Winter Soldier’s eyes.

Wait – this wasn’t the cave.

This was the beach.

“You’re pathetic, Stark,” The Winter Soldier murmured. He loomed over Tony like a giant torn from a fairy tale, too tall to be real. He shoved Tony hard in his injured shoulder and Tony went down, slumping backwards. For a minute Tony was underwater, fully submerged and then he was up and kicking at the surf, throwing himself at the Winter Soldier with everything he had. Somehow in the struggle, the knife went missing; he trusted that it was true when he couldn’t feel it tearing into his flesh over and over again. He wanted to cheer, but the water going up his nose and into his eyes made it hard to get out a sound.

The knife was gone, yet the Winter Soldier wasn’t any weaker. The assassin seized Tony by the throat with his metal arm, laughing at him as he thrashed around. He pushed Tony down onto his knees as if he was manhandling a toy. “What’s wrong? Is it the water?”

Tony coughed, spitting a mouthful of salt water into the Winter Soldier’s face.

“You just don’t know when to quit,” the Winter Soldier muttered.

Tony clawed at the Winter Soldier’s arms, tearing his nails on the man’s metal arm. It was too much; he couldn’t fight against the arm any more than he could against the man. He knew what was coming. He took in a deep breath, feeling his throat close off. He tried not to panic as the Winter Soldier flipped him onto his back, sending him under the water again.

The assassin laughed, straddling Tony’s chest, pinning him to the ground. “What’s wrong, Stark? Feeling a little tired?” There was no way to fight back – no way to kick at him.

The Winter Soldier was heavy on Tony’s chest, his knees bracketing Tony’s armpits, and he was solid – oh-so-solid.

The tide dropped as a new batch of waves broke loose behind them; Tony took in a gulp of air. He found himself gurgling when the Winter Soldier’s grip tightened, but he kept his precious air safely inside.

“Aldrich Killian’s people send their regards, by the way,” The Winter Soldier murmured, smiling down at Tony. His hair was hanging around his face in brown, wet tendrils, but Tony could still make out his dead eyes.

Tony gaped up at the assassin, his eyes bulging in their sockets. The water came back in, crashing down over his face, shooting up his nose and he struggled, thrashing uselessly against the Winter Soldier’s grasp. His lungs screamed in protest.

“They made a mistake leaving you in charge, Stark, you know that, don’t you?” The Winter Soldier said when the waves went out again, “It’s your fault. Everything that happens after this is on you. They’re going to rip that kid apart to get at the serum. It doesn’t matter what I do to him – it’ll be like a tea party compared to what they’re going to do – and you condemned him to it,”

The waves went over Tony again; the arc reactor’s glow tore through the water, bent and blue and broken as it painted itself across the Winter Soldier’s pale face. Tony clutched at the assassin’s shirt, his fingers digging into wet fabric; he was too weak to do much more than hang on. He could see the men in the cave again; they were sneering down at him over the Winter Soldier’s shoulder, telling him to give up – telling him to give them what they wanted. He opened his mouth as the waves went away and gasped, his voice nothing more than a dull croak, breaking at long last, “I’ll do whatever you want, please,”

“You’re already doing what I want,” The Winter Soldier said, patting Tony’s cheek with his flesh-and-blood hand.

Tony didn’t get the chance to take another breath in. The water crashed over his head again; it burbled, slipping into his ears and up his nose, sneaking inside of him as he struggled for breath.

He heard a dull thud as the water finally, blessedly, went away.

The Winter Soldier went sideways, toppling off of Tony into the drink, sagging against the soupy sand in a heap. Tony found himself grabbed at by small hands. He pushed himself up, gasping for air as his lungs screamed at him to breath – breath you stupid bastard, you gave them what they wanted – oh god – oh god they were going to pull him under again and he couldn’t – he couldn’t do it again.

“Tony!” Steve’s voice was loud, booming into Tony’s ear as though he were speaking through a megaphone. He grabbed Tony by the shoulders, tugging at him, trying to get him to stand but Tony couldn’t move. His body didn’t want to do anything; the cold was back, tearing at his flesh, numbing every last part of him, and he was fine with that. He stared forlornly at Steve, his fingers uselessly brushing against the kid’s cheek.

“I told you to stay inside,” Tony rasped, blinking through tears and salt water.

“You need to get up,” Steve said, tugging at Tony’s shirt. “Get up,”

“Ok,” Tony whispered. He tried to push himself up onto his knees, but his arms felt like they were encased in concrete. He tipped backwards into the water; he couldn’t work up the air to scream as he went under again.

The water went out.

He gasped, sucking in a new breath, dimly aware that Steve was trying to pull him out of the water.

No. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let that bastard get Steve.

He forced himself up, ignoring the way his muscles were threatening to kill him, and managed to crawl towards the shore, letting Steve guide him.

The Winter Soldier sat up, rubbing the side of his head. “You little bastard,”

Steve tensed, grabbing for something under the water. Tony couldn’t help but laugh when he caught sight of Coulson’s favourite frying pan clutched in the kid’s hands.

“Leave him alone!” Steve said, his voice shrill. He lifted the frying pan up, ready to take another swing at the Winter Soldier’s head. “Stop it Bucky! You’re not like this – something’s wrong with you,”

The Winter Soldier scowled. He pushed himself upright, his metal hand gouging marks in the sand and snatched the frying pan clean out of Steve’s hands. He spun it around as he leaned over Steve; blood trickled down the side of his face, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I can’t believe you managed to sneak up on me,” he growled.

Steve stepped backwards, putting himself in between Tony and the assassin. “Stop it! You’re a good person, Bucky. Don’t do this,”

“I’m not Bucky,” the Winter Soldier snarled, hurling the frying pan away across the beach. It landed in the sand beside the porch, lodging itself in a pile of broken shells and the remains of Steve’s sand castle equipment. “I’ve never been called Bucky – I’m not Bucky! Don’t you get that?”

Steve’s brow furrowed. He put his hands on his hips, standing his ground. “What’s wrong with you? You’re supposed to be my friend,”

“I’m not Bucky!”

“Steve,” Tony moaned, his voice barely above a whisper. “Run – get out of here,”

“I can’t just leave you,” Steve protested, shaking his head. “I can’t!”

The Winter Soldier grabbed Steve by the throat; it seemed like he moved in slow motion. His metal arm glinted in the low light as he lifted the kid up in the air. “You are a fucking pain in the ass,” he said, glaring at Steve as he struggled to break free. He turned, shaking his head at Tony. “Kids these days,” he said as he hurled the kid through the air, sending Steve headfirst into deep water. “I’ll deal with the brat later,” he muttered as Steve thrashed in the waves, trying to keep afloat.

Tony turned his body over, pushing himself upright and into the water. He hated the feel of it, but he couldn’t lose Steve – not like this. “He can’t swim,” he said, his voice breaking. “He can’t – he can’t swim,”

The Winter Soldier seized Tony by the hair. “Just where do you think you’re going, hm?” He looked over Tony’s shoulder and winced, rubbing at the side of his head. “Jesus – the little guy’s got a killer swing,” he muttered, blinking his eyes rapidly.

“Tony!” Steve shrieked. He struggled in the water, trying desperately to stay afloat. “Tony!” His head appeared above water and then he was gone, pulled under.

Tony twisted in the Winter Soldier’s grasp, pushing himself back into the water; he lost a handful of hair, but he barely felt it. The cave flared up around him again, filling his thoughts with the men and their loud voices, but he tuned them out, hearing only Steve’s terrified screams. He paddled weakly, pushing his body through the waves, barely keeping his head above water. “Steve! Hold on, Steve,”

“Steve?” The Winter Soldier sounded aghast. “What the fuck are you – what’s going on?” he snarled. He pressed his hands to his head, dropping to his knees. “What the fuck did you do to my head?”

Tony pushed on. For a second, he couldn’t see Steve, couldn’t find him amidst the waves – but then he was there, small and shivering and safe. He pulled the kid against him, adrenaline thrumming in his veins. “I’ve got you,” he croaked, lifting Steve’s head above the water. He turned them around and held on tight to the kid as the waves threatened to suck them back in, stumbling on the rocks in the sandy ground below him. The waves dunked them both; he heaved them back up above water, panting for breath, his eyes locked on the beach. “I’ve got you,”

“Steve?” The Winter Soldier stood up. His face drained of colour. “It can’t be. He’s – he’s not – that’s – it can’t be him,” he muttered, shaking his head. He squinted at them, and then staggered and threw himself into the water, gliding effortlessly towards them. “Oh god – it’s real. Oh god – Steve,”

No, Tony thought. No. Not now – he needed to keep the kid safe, and he couldn’t – it wasn’t fair – why wasn’t he able to keep anyone safe? He closed his eyes and braced for impact, praying he could keep Steve afloat long enough for it to matter. The world seemed to be moving backwards; he felt the Winter Soldier’s fingers dig into the back of his shirt, and wheezed as he was hauled bodily through the water back to shore, limp and exhausted. He lost track of Steve in the tumble he took, focusing on the cold and pain spreading through his body; his shoulder hit a rock as he landed in the sand and he screamed hoarsely.

Steve started crying.

Tony tried to get up; he ordered himself to rise, but there was nothing left in him to give. He reached out for Steve, lying sprawled in the sand. The kid was being held almost tenderly in the Winter Soldier’s arms – but that couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be. The guy had just been drowning him –

The Winter Soldier jerked and fell over; he twitched and fell still.

Steve rolled free from the assassin’s grasp, scrambling to his feet in a flurry of sand.

Natasha walked closer, her purse hanging loosely from her hand. She narrowed her eyes as she peered down at the Winter Soldier, stooping to check for a pulse. “Are you alright?” she asked, turning to Steve once she was satisfied. The question was so quiet Tony almost couldn’t hear it.

“I’m ok,” Steve said, grabbing Tony by the shirt. “Tony?”

Tony closed his eyes and let the darkness claim him; Steve would be alright. He was safe now. They were safe.

The blankets felt like they were tied down to the bed; Tony wanted to scream for help, but when he tried, he found he couldn’t make a sound. He pried open his eyes, unable to do much more than that and looked around, trying to get his bearings. It was dark as usual – maybe night, maybe day. It was hard to tell in the cave. He took in a sharp breath through his nose, waiting for someone to kick the bed to get him up and stiffened when he realized that something was lying on him – or rather, someone. He let out a soft sigh when he recognized the blonde hair and the slender frame.

It was just Steve.

But that couldn’t be right, because Steve had never been in the cave with him. It had been Yinsen with him – Yinsen, who had pulled him from his rickety cot every morning before the guards came so that he wouldn’t wake up from his nightmares to even more terror. He looked around again marveling as the cave melted away; it wasn’t all that bad here really, despite the pain. The wallpaper was a little ugly, but it wasn’t awful. But then again, that was probably because this wasn’t a cave. He vaguely recognized the room, but he couldn’t place it, still too caught up in the weight of the blankets and the stabbing pain in his shoulder. Steve moved, snuggling closer in his sleep; he was pale and the skin around his eyes was puffy and reddened, but he looked alright.

He was safe.

Steve was safe.

Tony closed his eyes and drifted off to an easy sleep.

When Tony woke next, he found it easier to figure out where he was; he recognized his bedroom in the beach house, and while he still hated the decor, it didn’t look quite so horrible. The blankets didn’t feel like they were made of lead anymore either. They were almost comfortable. He was propped up with practically every pillow in the house, and that didn’t feel like it was enough. His shoulder was still aching, but the pain was a little duller now, a little less sharp and itchy. Maybe he was medicated, he mused; wouldn’t that be nice? He couldn’t be sure, but at least this time his vision was clear and the room actually looked like a room.

Steve was lying next to him still, his head resting gently on Tony’s good shoulder. The kid scrambled upright when he noticed that Tony had woken up, his eyes wide and excited. “Tony?”

“Steve?” Tony’s voice squeaked. He coughed into his arm and scrubbed a hand over his face. Getting up would have been nice right about now, but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be doing that for a long time. He tried to smile at Steve, but his face didn’t seem to want to work properly.

Steve picked Tony’s hand up, holding it tightly between his. “Coulson says you’re going to be ok,”

Coulson? Tony coughed again.

His mouth tasted like salt.

He shuddered, remembering waves crashing over his head and closed his eyes. No. They were here to get him to build for him. They wanted him to build the Jericho. Oh god. It had been a joke – a dream – and he had fallen for it again.

“Tony?”

“Don’t,” Tony rasped, shrinking into his pillows. “I’ll do what you want – I swear,”

“Tony?” Steve tugged at Tony’s hand. “Tony? What’s wrong?”

“I promise,” Tony pleaded, trying to pull his hand away from his captor. He was too weak – too tired and sore to put up much of a fight. The tears came easily, dragged out with his words. “I promise – I’ll do whatever you want, just don’t do it again – please don’t do it again,”

He felt something wet hit his cheek and shuddered.

Oh god.

They were going to piss on him again, weren’t they?

He held his breath, ready for the stream of urine and trembled as another droplet hit him just below his eye.

He held his breath until he couldn’t hold it anymore.

The hand holding his was gone, but he couldn’t remember when they had let him go.

Gasping, he opened his eyes, expecting to get a glimpse of the bastard’s shit-eating grin and saw that there was no one around – only Steve, his mind helpfully provided. It was just Steve. There was no one else here – no one from the cave. Only Steve. Those were dead men – the men in the cave were dead –

Steve was crying; his sobs were unbearably loud. He put his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking. “I’m sorry,”

Tony reached up, gingerly taking Steve by the hand. “No, no, no. You didn’t do anything. It’s ok,” he said. He wanted to sit up – to wrap his arms around the kid and never let go, but even the simple act of lifting his arm was draining. He tried to smile, but his face still wasn’t working properly. He settled for tugging Steve closer and tucked the kid against his chest, wrapping his arms around him as best he could. “It’s ok. It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault – you didn’t do anything wrong,”

Steve continued to cry, unconvinced of his innocence.

Tony sighed, resting his chin on the top of Steve’s head. His eyes felt raw, but they still managed to muster up a few more tears for him. “Are you alright?”

“No,” Steve sobbed, his fingers tangling in Tony’s shirt. “Bucky hurt you, and it’s all my fault,”

Tony stiffened. The kid was blaming himself? For this? Jesus – Get it together, Stark, he roared to himself. Get it together. You’re supposed to be the adult. You’re not supposed to make him cry. You’re supposed to be strong – you’re supposed to be stronger than this! “Bucky hurting me was not your fault,” he growled, wishing he could take the last few minutes back so he could burn them from Steve’s memories. The kid shouldn’t have had to see this. Oh god – this was his fault. He should have just shut up and waited for them to kill him – and they weren’t even there! Christ, what was wrong with him? He was screaming at shadows again! He had gotten over this – why the fuck hadn’t he gotten over this?

“No one said it, but I know it was my fault,” Steve sniffled, pressing himself closer to Tony. He huddled under Tony’s arm, still crying, but he wasn’t sobbing as loud now. His tears dribbled down Tony’s throat, but this time there was no mistaking them for anything other than tears. “They’re mad at me,”

“They’re not mad at you,” Tony insisted, stroking Steve’s hair. “Why would they be mad at you? You saved me, remember?” It wasn’t just empty words; it was true. He could still hear the sound of that frying pan hitting the Winter Soldier in the head, and nothing would ever make that sound less than wonderful. Tony used the last of his strength to hug Steve as tightly as possible. He sagged against the pillows; he wished he was stronger than this. “No more crying, alright, kiddo?” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “I’m the one that fucked up, not you,”

“You didn’t,” Steve mumbled, wiping his eyes on his arm. “You saved me – I almost –“

The bedroom door slid open, the move almost silent. A man stepped inside. He was carrying a tray with a mug and a bowl of something Tony couldn’t quite see. He closed the door behind him, stepping closer, telegraphing his every move. Tony stiffened as he warily watched the stranger. He wished he had the ability to pull Steve behind him. He wanted to smack himself when he realized that it wasn’t one of the men from the cave. It was Coulson – not one of them. Shit. It hadn’t been this bad in years.

“Hey, Tony,” Coulson said softly, gesturing with the tray towards a metal TV tray beside the bed. “I wanted to bring you something to eat. It’s me – Phil. You recognize me, right?”

“Yes,” Tony muttered, giving his head a shake. “I know who you are.” Tony gritted his teeth. His stomach whined when he caught sight of the mug and bowl; he had to force himself to not glare down at it in case Steve misinterpreted the look. “I see you’re still alive,” he rasped, concentrating on Coulson’s face.

Coulson set the tray down, mindful of the TV tray’s weak legs; he looked a little shaky – like he should have been in bed too, but he seemed to have soldiered on. There were bruises on the side of his neck from where the Taser had gotten him, and his skin was an unhealthy shade of white. “If you hadn’t been there, I probably wouldn’t be standing here right about now,” Coulson said. “Thank you,”

Tony’s discomfort slipped away. He sank into the pile of pillows behind him again, eyeing Coulson over the top of Steve’s head, his muscles burning from the brief exertion. “You’re full of shit, but I like that. Fluff my ego more,” he said, trying to crack a smile again. It came out this time, but it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as usual. His cheeks felt like they were broken.

“He knocked Clint out and tied him up in his living room,” Coulson said, pushing the bowl towards Tony. It wasn’t filled with soup like Tony had expected. Instead, it was filled to the brim with banana flavored pudding – the artificial shit Tony always pretended he hated but secretly loved. It looked awful but at the same time, it smelled like a heaven. Tony’s mouth watered; he choked down a mouthful of saliva, too weak to reach out and take the bowl from the tray.

Coulson sighed. He looked down at the TV tray, lips pursed, and then lifted the bowl up, holding it out to Steve. “Do me a favor, kiddo,” he said, tactfully ignoring the way the Steve’s sniffles and the way his face was red and blotchy, “Help him eat this, ok? We need to get some food into him,”

“Ok,” Steve said, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He took the spoon Coulson handed him and scooted backwards across the mattress, scooping up a spoonful of pudding. He held it out, his arm unsteady, and aimed for Tony’s mouth.

Tony almost choked on the first mouthful, it was so good. He swallowed the pudding down, trying to wipe at his chin with the back of his hand before he could drool all over himself. He wondered idly if this was what it felt like to be elderly.

When Coulson touched his face with a napkin, Tony shrank away, pulling himself into the pillows again, startled out of his thoughts. “Don’t,”

Coulson smiled sadly. “Sorry,” he said, lowering his hand and the napkin. “I’ll give it to Steve, ok?”

Tony nodded sluggishly, licking the last of the pudding and spit from his dry lips. He stilled as Steve wiped his face, his eyes still locked on Coulson’s.

“I had a feeling this would happen,” Coulson said, pushing the mug of water closer to Steve.

“What?” Tony asked, only half listening. He eyed the mug, wondering if there was water in it.

“Never mind. We’ll talk about it later, alright?” Coulson said. He stood up, making sure to settle the TV tray before it could tip over. “I’ll come get the dishes later,”

“Everyone made it, right?” Tony asked, watching Coulson head to the door.

Coulson turned, pulling the door open. “They’re fine, Tony. You did a good job out there. You held him off long enough for Natasha to break free and take him out,”

“She hit him in the head with her purse,” Tony said, seeing the memory play out in the back of his mind. He shivered, remembering the taste of salt water in the back of his throat. No. He wasn’t going to go there. Not now. Not when Steve was around to see it. He turned his attention back to the pudding Steve was offering, letting the kid spoon the stuff into his mouth.

“Yeah,” Coulson said as he shut the door. “She sure did. We’ll talk about it more later, when you’re feeling better,”

Steve spooned up another helping of pudding. He smiled at Tony. Tony smiled back awkwardly, praying that he didn’t look crazy.

Chapter Text

It was two days before Tony could even sit up in bed without someone helping him; he hated every minute of it. Being propped up like a newborn wasn’t even the worst part. He could have let it go if it had just been them propping him up and leaving him to his thoughts, but no. They wouldn’t leave him alone for more than a few minutes at a time. Clint was around every waking minute, hovering at Tony’s bedside like he was expecting Tony to spontaneously combust; Tony wasn’t surprised, really, but it still hurt that they didn’t seem to trust that he was completely capable of surviving without constant supervision. All he wanted to do was sleep without someone’s eyes on him all the time. The nightmares were bad enough and they were made all the worse by having to wake up in a room with someone looming over him in the darkness.

It was hard enough to stay calm on a good day, let alone to keep sane with their constant hovering. He didn’t want anyone close – aside from Steve, of course – yet there they were.

They weren’t that great at being babysitters either. In those first few days, they all made mistakes, some of them more harmful than others. He was hoisted up off of his mattress more than a few times without seeing it coming; every time they did it, he ended up cringing and screaming until they put him down again. It was embarrassing as hell; he was living in a perpetual panic attack, and there was no peace – no way out. He hadn’t thought that it could get much worse, but it did.

Needing help for everything meant that trips to the bathroom were a nightmare. He was given a chaperone every time, and every step made him shake so badly, he almost couldn’t keep himself upright, even when he was sitting on the toilet.

He hated himself; he hated being afraid of everything.

He hated looking around and seeing faces that he couldn’t recognize at first sight. He knew that the people he saw were his friends – that it would get better, because everyone here was his friend – of course they were – but sometimes it was hard to remember who they really were at first glance. He had to force himself to stop flinching and strategically retreating to the corner of his bed when they came into his room.

It was bad.

He hadn’t been able to bring himself to look out the window; the sounds coming in from outside grated on his frayed nerves.

He dreamed of drowning almost every night and spent every waking moment trying to get the taste of salt water out of the back of his throat.

He knew what was happening was bothering Steve. The kid hadn’t said anything, but Tony could tell it was making him nervous. Steve watched out for him; he sat in Tony’s bedroom, settled there on the edge of Tony’s bed with his crayons and his colouring book spread out in front of him. When Steve was there, things were better.

And then one day Steve started coughing.

“Are you ok?” Tony croaked. He was propped up amidst his pile of pillows, and had been drifting in and out of sleep; he was wide awake now. His body was sore all over from lying in bed all day. He couldn’t even distract himself with work, because he couldn’t hold his tablet properly. The hand he had smashed the Winter Soldier with was bruised, and his wrist was sprained badly; he was lucky that it wasn’t broken. Natasha had splinted it for him just to be on the safe side, and it felt stiff and heavy when he tried to move it. He hated not being able to move his body now more than ever. He wanted to grab Steve and hold the kid close.

“It’s just a tickle,” Steve said, not looking up from his colouring book.

“Just a tickle, huh?” Tony let his eyelids droop again. The pain meds Natasha had him on were the good ones, and thankfully they were starting to kick in again. “Maybe you should get someone to bring you a glass of water or something,”

“It’s ok,” Steve said, shrugging his shoulders. “My throat was scratchy all day yesterday too,”

“All the more reason to get some water,” Tony yawned. He nudged Steve with his foot and smiled softly when the kid poked him back.

“Are you ok?” Steve asked. His voice was a little quieter than usual, like he was afraid someone might overhear their conversation and punish him for it.

Tony sighed. “No, honey,” he said, not wanting to lie to the kid. “I’m not ok. But I will be,”

“Do you want me to close the curtains?”

Tony opened one eye. He caught sight of the blue sky even though Clint and Coulson had already moved his bed to face away from the window and winced. His chest tightened up; he let out a long, hissed breath and closed his eyes tightly, counting in his head until the blue went away. He loathed not being able to look at the goddamned sky without thinking about what had happened that night on the beach. It was the same colour as the sky he had seen after his convoy had been attacked in Afghanistan too; maybe that was part of the problem. He had seen it every night for months in his dreams; he knew it too well to push it away. This was bad, he thought miserably, trying to relax as Steve closed the curtains. He was going to get in the way if he couldn’t get handle on things soon. If he couldn’t even look at the sky, how was he going to be useful again?

Steve settled back down on Tony’s bed. He coughed again, his head hanging down as though he was looking at his books; his body shook violently with each new cough. “I don’t feel so good,” he managed to wheeze out. He tipped forwards, seemingly in slow motion, crashing into his colouring books. His face was pasty white – far lighter than it had been the night before, and there was a bright stain of pink on his cheeks. Tony moved as fast as he could, gathering Steve up before he could roll off the side of the bed.

“Steve?” Tony cradled the kid against his chest, horrified by Steve’s sudden stillness. They had just been talking – Steve had been fine. What was going on? He brushed Steve’s hair back from his forehead. Panic bubbled up, pushing away all logic.

They had been good today – they had been behaving themselves. This shouldn’t have happened – they shouldn’t have been punished. It wasn’t fair – it wasn’t fair – it wasn’t fair.

“Steve!” He screamed Steve’s name again and again, trying to attract the guards. He screamed even though his throat was raw from shouting himself hoarse in his sleep; he ignored the pain and kept going. He couldn’t breathe – he couldn’t lose Steve. They had to save Steve – they had to!

A woman came bursting through the door. She flew towards the bed with a knife drawn, ready to attack; she looked around the room, her keen eyes darting from wall to wall. When she was satisfied that there was no one threatening around, she turned her attention to Steve, lying limp in Tony’s arms. She rested the back of her hand on Steve’s forehead and then let out a relieved sigh, her shoulders slumping. “It’s ok,” she murmured, moving her hand cautiously onto Tony’s shoulder. “It’s me, Natasha – remember? Steve caught a bit of a cold a few days ago – he’s ok, Tony,”

“And you know this, how, exactly?” Tony growled, unable able to resist the urge to pull Steve closer to his chest.

“He started talking about having a scratchy throat after you fought the Winter Soldier,” she said, keeping her voice smooth and calm. “I called Bruce and checked in with him to make sure it wasn’t anything dangerous. It’s ok, Tony,”

“It’s not ok!” Tony hissed, anxiously stroking Steve’s hair. He knew the kid probably couldn’t even feel it, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“We didn’t tell you because we knew it was going to make you – uncomfortable,” Natasha said, picking her words carefully. She straightened up and snatched a blanket up off the corner of the bed, draping it over Steve’s lower body. “He’ll be alright. He probably passed out because he hasn’t been sleeping all that well.”

“You keep saying he’s alright, but where’s your proof? I’ve never been around a sick kid before – what the fuck are we supposed to do?”

“Tony,” Natasha said, squeezing his shoulder. “It’s just a cold,”

“Is it viral? Bacterial? Is it because of the serum? Is it something I did?” Tony fidgeted, shifting Steve until the kid was resting comfortably on the mattress instead of lying like a lump in his lap. He brushed back Steve’s hair and felt his forehead like Natasha had, frowning down at the unconscious child. “This is bad. This has to be bad,” he muttered. At least it wasn’t a punishment though – that much was clear now.

“It’s likely just a cold brought on by stress,” Natasha said, smiling fondly down at Steve. “Little kids get sick. It’s a fact of life, and yes, it’s scary as hell, but we’ll deal with it together and we’ll be fine. I’m going to go get the thermometer and we’ll see what his temperature is, ok?” She stood up, patiently disentangling herself from the blankets. She hesitated and then reached out and ran her fingers through Tony’s hair, smoothing down his bedhead. The touch was a lot more comforting than he had expected; he leaned into it, closing his eyes.

“You’re going to be fine too, you know that, right?” she said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered, refusing to look away from Steve. “Hurry up and get the thermometer, will you?”

Natasha flicked him in the ear. “I’ll be right back.” She slipped from the room, closing the door behind her so quietly, it was hard to tell she had done anything at all. She had been doing that a lot the past few days; everyone had, now that he thought about it. He was grateful for it; he couldn’t stand the sound of locks clicking at the moment. But at the same time he wondered if there was a reason why they were being so quiet. He waited irritably for her to come back, wondering if he could get away with grilling her for information once Steve was taken care of. He didn’t like not knowing what was going on.

It seemed like she was gone forever and then bam – there she was, opening up the door. He was pretty sure he hadn’t even seen her turn the door handle this time; he should have been impressed, but instead it made him wary. If she could creep into his room, anyone could. He shivered, pulling his blankets up over his back. He wanted to go home. He was tired of being here – tired of waking up with the goddamned blue sky out there beyond the window. He wanted it gone. He wanted to be back in his workshop where it was safe. He could keep Steve safe there too. No one could get into his workshop.

Natasha kindly pretended not to notice the way Tony had huddled himself under his blankets. She shook the thermometer as she sat down beside Steve on the edge of the mattress, idly thumbing at her phone.

“What are you doing?” Tony asked, wishing his voice didn’t sound like he had been eating gravel. He cleared his throat to try and fix the sound; the squeak that came out was so loud he was pretty sure people in town had heard him. He clamped down on his terror by digging his fingers into the sheets beneath him when Steve didn’t even stir. “What are you doing?” he asked again through gritted teeth. “What’s going on?”

“I’m texting Bruce,” Natasha murmured. She looked down at the phone, double checking something and then lifted Steve up a little in order to get the thermometer under the kid’s tongue. She prodded her phone again when it chimed. “Bruce says if his temperature is too high we can either give him a cold bath or put some cold washcloths on his forehead.”

Tony fidgeted while the thermometer did its work. “Alright,”

Natasha pulled the thermometer free from Steve’s mouth. She stared at it for a few seconds, frowning, and then looked back to her phone when it chimed again.

“What?” Tony asked, swallowing hard. It had to be bad. It had to be.

“His temperature is a little high, but it’s not dangerous. Bruce is recommending we use the wet washcloth method. He says that if that doesn’t bring Steve’s temperature down enough, we should fill up the bathtub and soak him in cold water,”

“So we’re using washcloths,” Tony said, clearing his throat nervously. He looked away as Natasha rose and left the room again. He wanted to help, but he wasn’t so sure he could handle being near the bathtub; he had been near it every time he had gone to the bathroom, of course, but he hadn’t been able to bring himself to look at except by accident.

Natasha returned with a wet washcloth. She grumbled when Mabel snuck into the room, squeezing in between her legs but didn’t chase the cat out; she shut the door behind her and sat down on the bed, trying not to get the washcloth covered in cat hair when Mabel launched herself up onto the bed under her arm. She draped the washcloth over Steve’s forehead, carefully smoothing it down. “Go bother someone else,” she said, pushing the cat away as Mabel tried to go face first into Steve’s forehead.

Mabel growled at her and made another half-hearted attempt to lick the dribbles of water sliding down Steve’s face. She gave up when Natasha pushed her face away again, and sat down beside Steve’s shoulder, staring grumpily up at Natasha as though that would help the situation somehow.

“And now we wait,” Natasha said, locking eyes with the cat. “And you stay away from his face, you little beggar,”

Mabel meowed and turned around, showing Natasha her furry behind.

Natasha snorted. “Figures,”

Tony calmed as Mabel crawled into his lap; she circled five times before deciding to settle down with her head resting on his knee. She started purring when he touched her. “You guys have been feeding her, right?” he asked, running his fingers through the cat’s tangled fur.

Natasha scowled. “Yes. Steve and Coulson have made it impossible to forget about it,”

Tony grinned. “That’s good,”

“The way she eats, we’re going to need to take a trip into town to get groceries,” Natasha said, with a hum. She looked up from Steve, setting her gaze on Tony instead. “I’m going to borrow the hologram you use,”

Tony tensed. “Yeah, sure – it’s fine,” he lied. He didn’t like that she was leaving, but if that was what needed to happen, then there was nothing he could do about it. Coulson and Clint would still be here, he reminded himself feverishly, so they wouldn’t be undefended this time; at least, he hoped not. A part of him didn’t really trust that they would be able to keep the peace without Natasha watching over their shoulders. He knew she would be able to get things done quickly in town, so if someone attacked – oh, hell, it hadn’t even happened yet, and here he was panicking already.

“It’s not fine,” Natasha said, her eyes still locked on Tony’s. “But I promise, you, everyone will be safe. Clint’s going to be right here – and so is Coulson. We’ll lock the door and windows and Jarvis will be monitoring the cameras the entire time I’m gone. The only reason the Winter Soldier got at us before was because we were distracted. We were fighting amongst ourselves – we won’t make the same mistakes this time.”

“Great,” Tony grumbled, unconvinced despite the conviction he heard in her voice. He rested the back of his hand against Steve’s cheek, trying to will the kid’s fever away.

Steve stirred under Tony’s touch, and rolling towards him; the kid’s cheek was still warmer than it should have been, but it hadn’t gotten any worse.

Still, Tony remained cautious, unwilling to accept things as safe.

Could they really fix this?

Could he fix himself?

It was hard to think about the future; just plain thinking was hard enough. His mind seemed like it was slowing down; his body followed suit. It felt like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He rubbed his eyes, and wondered if Steve wasn’t the only one who had gotten sick.

“Do you think you’ll be alright if I leave now?” Natasha asked, pushing Mabel’s head gently away from Steve’s washcloth again. She scowled at the cat; Mabel narrowed her eyes and hissed at her.

“I don’t know,” Tony said, feeling lost. He scrubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the coarseness of his beard; it was overgrown now, but he didn’t trust himself to use a razor to fix the mess. He wouldn’t have minded a shower or three too, but the thought of being immersed in water – hot or otherwise – made his skin crawl and his stomach roil. “I guess if you have to go now, do it sooner rather than later.”

“Is there anything else I should pick up, aside from the usual groceries?”

“Get some ginger ale and crackers,” Tony mumbled. “The kid’s probably going to puke his guts up,”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Natasha said, softly. “I’ll get some over the counter cold medicine too. Do you think we should stock up on cough syrup?”

“That’s probably a good idea,”

“Alright,” Natasha said. She stood up and then flipped Steve’s washcloth over, smoothing it down again. “Do you want some help getting to the bathroom before I go?”

Tony scowled down at his lap. He wished he didn’t have to say yes.

Natasha smiled, all knowingly. “Come on,” she said, stepping alongside the bed. She helped Tony get his feet down onto the floor and then shooed the cat off of Tony’s leg so he could get up without losing half of his thigh to her sharp claws. She folded his blanket up as he stood up and set it down on his pillow, waiting patiently for him to take his mandatory four unaided steps; once he had given up the attempt at walking, she stepped closer so that she could swoop in and save him from crashing face-first into the floor. “Men,” she grumbled, pulling his arm over her shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony muttered, letting himself be steered towards the door. He staggered, leaning heavily against her as she pulled it open, and averted his gaze from the living room window so that he didn’t have to see the outside world. “Let’s just make it fast, huh?”

“Clint,” Natasha called out, half-dragging Tony into the bathroom. “Go watch Steve,”

“Yes ma’am,” Clint said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. He put a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder, straightening out the neckline of Tony’s shirt. “He’ll be alright. Go do your business,”

“That’s delightful,” Tony grunted, not looking Clint in the eye. “Can’t I just go to the bathroom in peace?”

“Nope,” Clint said, heading towards Tony’s room. “Have fun you two. Try not to make a mess,”

“Asshole,” Tony muttered.

Natasha closed the bathroom door behind them. She helped Tony to the toilet and then tugged his sweatpants and underwear down, ignoring the embarrassed flush on his face. “What?” she said, stepping back so he could sit down without her staring right at his junk. “You think this is something new? I hate to break it to you, but I’ve seen penises before, Stark. Once you’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all,”

Tony stared down at the floor. “Can you at least – I don’t know – back up or something?”

“Alright, but it’s not like I haven’t seen you completely naked already,” she chuckled. She turned around, drawing the shower curtain around the bathtub to block it from view. Someone had thoughtfully put a towel over top of the bathroom mirror too, Tony noted, trying to void his bladder as quickly as possible.

“Do I really want to know when that happened?”

“You don’t remember?” Natasha turned as he flushed the toilet, eyeing him curiously. “I’m not surprised,” she said, helping him stand. She tugged his pants and underwear back up with ease, her eyes locked on his the entire time.

“Was I drunk?” Tony asked, wearily. “I’m betting I was drunk.”

“Oh, you were drunk alright,” Natasha chuckled, ferrying Tony towards the sink so he could wash his hands. She rubbed her thumb over the back of his neck when he turned the water on. “You were so drunk, Pepper didn’t think you’d be able to stand,” she said, watching Tony rinse the soap off of his hands. She steadied him when the water splashed up his wrist. “It’s alright,”

“It’s not alright,” Tony said, his voice hoarse. He jammed his shaking hand under the water despite the taste of bile in the back of his throat, forcing himself to wait until every last goddamned soap bubble was gone. He turned the tap off with a vicious twist and leaned against the counter, trying to catch his breath. He was shaking all over, and his wrists and knees felt like they were made out of jelly; his sprained wrist was stiff. He shuddered, drawing in a deep, slow, breath. Oh god. The bandages against his skin were wet –

Natasha rested her hand on the back of his neck again; he sagged into it, letting his eyes shut.

“It’ll take time,”

“I know,”

“Then don’t beat yourself up about it,” she said, pinching his earlobe.

He yelped and shot her a dirty look; it turned into a lopsided smile as her hands wrapped around his waist. The hug was unexpected, but much appreciated. “You’re really nice sometimes – did you know that?”

Natasha’s face went blank. “Don’t tell anyone – Coulson will make me rewrite my file and you know how much I hate paperwork,” she said, lifting Tony’s arm up over her shoulder again. “Let’s get you back to Steve, ok?”

“Alright,” Tony said, letting go of the counter. He was amazed he couldn’t see finger marks etched there in the wood when he let go.

They walked back one step at a time, making their way through the living room with Tony’s gaze firmly locked on the wall. Clint opened the door as they arrived, holding it open while they shuffled their way back inside. “The kid woke up. I’m going to go get him a bucket before does his best impression of a human sprinkler,” he said, stepping out and closing the door behind him.

Steve blinked blearily up at Tony as they got closer to the bed. “Tony?” He shifted under his blanket, trying to reach out for Tony, frowning when the damp washcloth slid off of his forehead. He rubbed at the droplets of water still stuck to his skin, his eyes barely open. “What happened?”

“You passed out because you have a fever,” Tony grunted, letting Natasha slide him back onto the bed. He expected her to move away after that, but she didn’t; instead of leaving, she picked up his folded blanket and started shaking it out as though the thing could have accumulated dust somehow in the ten minutes they had been gone. He tried to squirm out from under her arm when she pounced on him with the blanket but failed to dislodge her and ended up having to sit still while she wrapped it around him. He sighed aloud as she adjusted the pile of pillows behind him, scowling at her so she wouldn’t think he liked her too much. She didn’t seem to notice; she didn’t stop her ministrations until she had the blankets arranged the way she wanted them. She moved away once she was done, putting Steve’s washcloth back on his forehead, pausing only to check his temperature with the back of her hand again.

Steve closed his eyes, letting out a soft whimper. “My stomach hurts,”

Tony tried to wiggle his way out of his blankets. He grumbled when Natasha knocked him backwards onto his pile of pillows and stared forlornly up at the ceiling.

“It’s alright,” Natasha said, sitting down beside Steve. She rubbed gentle circles on the kid’s stomach. “Does this feel better?”

“A little,” Steve admitted, his eyes still squeezed tightly shut.

“I’m going to go get you some medicine, alright? Clint’s going to come back in here and sit with you and Tony in a minute,” she said, still rubbing Steve’s stomach. “I promise it will feel better soon, little one,”

The door creaked as it opened; Clint stepped in, carrying an ice cream pail held over his head like it was the Holy Grail. “Hey guys,” he said, plopping himself down on the other side of the mattress beside Tony. He put the pail on the blankets beside Steve, eyeing it dubiously as though it might not be big enough. “You know, I didn’t sign up to deal with vomit,”

Natasha flicked Clint in the ear. “I think you’ll learn how to deal with it,”

Clint scowled at her, idly rubbing his wounded ear. He turned to Tony, leaning back against the pillows. “Can you believe this? She’s been flicking ears all damn day,”

Tony let his eyes droop shut. “Can you watch him for a bit?” he asked.

“Yeah – go ahead. Get some sleep,” Clint said, patting Tony on the stomach. “I’ll watch the rug rat.”

“You’re a jerk, Barton,” Tony murmured fondly as he fell asleep. He was pretty sure Clint told him to fuck off, but he couldn’t be sure.

Tony woke with a start, gasping for breath; he spent a few minutes panicking before he realized he was lying flat on his back on his bed and not in the wet sand.

The door squealed and Clint wandered into the room carrying the plastic ice cream pail with him; it was wet. His nose wrinkled in disgust.

There was a faint odor of vomit hanging in the air, Tony realized as he gulped for breath. He was surprised he had slept through the chaos. “Is he ok?” he asked, squinting over his knees to get a look at the bed. The blanket Natasha had put on Steve was lying where Steve had been, but there was no sign of the kid. Tony struggled to get upright, unable to fight the urge to search for Steve. He swore loudly when Clint shoved him onto his back before he could even lift the blankets off of his legs.

“Relax, champ. Steve’s getting cleaned up in the bathroom with Phil. The little guy threw up all over himself,” Clint said, dropping down onto the bed. He made himself comfortable, propping himself up against the headboard. “It’s fine. We took care of it,”

“It’s not fine,” Tony grunted, peeling the blankets off of his arm. His injured wrist throbbed in protest; he tried to hide his whimper, but Clint heard him anyway and rolled over to get a look at what he had done.

Clint gingerly lifted up Tony’s injured arm, looking it over. He set it down on top of the blankets. “Take it easy, huh?” he said, untangling Tony’s other arm. “Did you hear me?” He poked at the Tony’s bandaged knuckles until Tony hissed at him and then went back to lounging against the headboard, his eyes half closed.

“How long was I out?” Tony asked, sagging reluctantly back into his mound of pillows. His body still felt heavy all over; he wondered idly if his pain medication was kicking in or if it was wearing off.

“You were asleep for a whole fourty minutes,” Clint said, lifting his arm so he could check his watch. He whistled, letting his arm drop back onto the bed. “That’s got to be a new record.”

“Very funny,” Tony snapped, letting his eyes close again. He tried to force himself to stay awake by conjuring up memories of his workshop and the many projects he had waiting for him, but it was no use. He felt himself drifting off to sleep again before he could even start counting Pi.

Tony woke up screaming. He should have been used to it by now, but somehow it still managed to creep up on him. He fought with his blankets, trying to get free of them, convinced that someone was strangling him. He burst into tears when his wrist got trapped underneath him. The pain was excruciating; he was pretty sure he blacked out for a second before his brain told him what to do. He needed to beg, and fast. “I’ll do whatever you want,” he cried out, squeezing his eyes shut, sure that his captors were going to shove his head under the water again. “Just don’t do it again – please,”

When a hand dropped onto the back of his neck, Tony nearly started screaming all over again. The touch was gentle and warm this time – nothing like their hands had been – so he stilled, letting himself believe that things could be alright. He sobbed until he ran out of breath and then lay there, panting, clutching his arm to his chest.

“You’re ok,” Clint murmured into Tony’s ear. He rolled Tony onto his back so he wasn’t lying on his injured arm and draped the blankets over Tony’s shivering form, patting them down until Tony’s breathing evened out. “You were dreaming,”

“Are you sure?” Tony asked, wrenching open his eyes. The room was dark, and even though the curtains were closed, there were stars peeking through the fabric. He wanted to tell Clint to let him see them, but couldn’t bring himself to beg again.

“I’m sure,” Clint said, slipping off the bed. He padded around the mattress and kneeled down beside Tony. “Hey – Natasha got back a few minutes after you fell asleep,”

“Yeah?” Tony said, wiping tears from his eyes, trying to mop them up with his blankets before Clint could figure out what had happened.

“Yeah,” Clint said, rubbing his hand up and down Tony’s arm. It was clear that Clint was trying to be comforting but didn’t feel that way. It felt more like he was clawing at Tony’s sore skin instead of stroking it. Tony knew it wasn’t Clint’s fault – it was his mind playing tricks on him – but it was hard to ignore the phantom pain. He wanted nothing more than to pull away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Tony curled in on himself, pulling his arm against his chest. “Don’t,” he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut.

Clint let his hand drop. “We took Steve back to his room for now. He’s still kind of out of it. He keeps waking up all the time muttering about marbles and paper airplanes and shit. His fever’s going down though, so Bruce says he’ll be alright,”

Tony let out a stuttered sob. “I’m supposed to be taking care of him,” he whispered, putting his head in his hands. “Shit,”

“And you are,” Clint said, quickly, resting his hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You need to take care of yourself first, remember? You need to be able to walk around in order to take care of him, so just concentrate on doing that, ok?”

“Ok,” Tony said. He opened his eyes, lowering his hands, almost lulled to sleep by the warmth of Clint’s hand on his shoulder. The touch didn’t hurt anymore; he was glad for the reprieve. He hoped it would last longer this time.

Sadly, his bladder didn’t feel like letting him rest. “I have to pee,” he whispered after a minute, trying to hide the flush of shame peppering his cheeks with his arm. God, this was like being a little kid all over again – only this time, there was no Jarvis to help him out. It would have been easier if he had been drunk – at least then he could make it into a joke. He felt Clint’s hand leave his shoulder and wanted to cry from the loss even though he knew Clint wasn’t going anywhere without him. Pull yourself together, Stark, he screamed in his head. Stop being so goddamned weak!

“Let’s go,” Clint said, rolling the blankets down Tony’s legs. After they were worked free, he turned to the sheets, peeling them away until he could get at Tony’s feet. “Can you sit up for me?”

Tony gritted his teeth and pushed his hands into the mattress until he could heave himself mostly upright. His arms shook; he managed to keep himself up until Clint could wrap his arms around his middle. He let Clint put him in a seated position, finding it easier when he didn’t have to do it all by himself.

“That’s good,” Clint said, smoothing Tony’s shirt down so it wasn’t riding up around his armpits anymore. “You’re doing really good, buddy,”

“I’m not an invalid,” Tony muttered, batting at Clint’s arm.

Clint smirked at him. “Obviously. Invalids are nicer,”

“Jerk,” Tony muttered, scooting forwards across the bed so that Clint could help him stand. He braced himself against the archer until his knees locked, and let out a shaky breath, pleased by their success. He thought about trying to take a few steps towards the door on his own, but the nightmares were still tugging at him and he couldn’t bring himself to move without instruction. He hated that he got like that sometimes. He didn’t like that their voices still had power over him; he wished they would just shut the hell up and leave him alone.

Clint wrapped an arm around Tony’s middle, manoeuvering them towards the door in the dark. “Alright. We’ll take this one step at a time,”

“Ok,” Tony murmured, staring down at his bare feet.

There was sand on the floor.

He could still feel sand between his toes. Oh god –

He pitched forwards, gagging, and was surprised to find himself still trapped in Clint’s strong grasp.

“Shit, Stark,” Clint grumbled, his fingers digging into Tony’s hip. “Warn me the next time you’re going to do that,”

Tony gagged again. He managed to keep himself from throwing up, but it was a very near thing. He leaned against Clint, resting his face against Clint’s throat, breathing raggedly. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,”

“It’s alright,” Clint said, leaning his cheek against Tony’s head. “It was a dream, remember? It was just a dream.”

“A dream,” Tony repeated dully, taking in a deep breath through his nose. He could still taste salt in the back of his throat, but it was easier to ignore now. He chanced a look at his feet again and saw that there was no sand there. It had probably never been there to begin with. “Yeah. You’re right. It was just a dream.” He sagged against Clint for a minute while he got his bearings again and then straightened up. Well, at least he hadn’t pissed himself in fear. There was always that.

“We’re going to walk to the bathroom,” Clint said, moving them forwards.

“Ok,”

They reached the bedroom door; Clint wrestled it open and helped Tony out into the hall, slowing down as they rounded the corner so that Tony didn’t trip as the floor dipped. Tony raised his head, glancing around lethargically. The living room was dark except for the soft glow of a lone lamp in the corner of the room. Natasha was sitting beside it with her tablet balanced on her knees. The curtains were all drawn together, blocking out the starlight here too. She looked up, raising an eyebrow at him and then went back to staring at the tablet as though she hadn’t seen anything.

They made their way down the hall, pausing at Steve’s door. Clint pushed it open wide enough for Tony to catch a glimpse of Steve being tucked into bed and then marched Tony down the hallway to the bathroom before the kid could figure out who had poked their head in.

“He needs to sleep,” Clint said, nudging the bathroom door open with his elbow. He turned the light on, wincing in sympathy when Tony recoiled at the sudden change in light. “Do you want me to turn it off?”

“No,” Tony said, shaking his head. The only thing worse than having to go to the bathroom with the help of a friend would be having to do it in the dark.

Clint led Tony inside and then, to Tony’s dismay, he tugged Tony’s pants and underwear down for him. “Don’t look at me like that,” Clint grumbled, maneuvering Tony backwards so that he could sit down without ending up in the toilet bowl instead of sitting on the toilet seat. “Everyone gets injured and needs a hand sometimes,”

“Yeah, well I bet you wouldn’t let Coulson help you take a piss,” Tony muttered, looking away.

Clint perched himself on the counter. “Oh please,” he snorted, looking at his fingernails. “Phil’s seen me do much, much worse things over the years. Taking a leak in front of him is probably the classiest thing I could do at this point,”

“Sure,” Tony muttered, trying to focus on the hideous circle of shag carpet sitting on the floor in front of the tub instead of on Clint. “I’m sure he’d be real happy about that,”

“No one is happy about having to have someone wipe their ass, Stark,” Clint chuckled darkly. “But it happens,”

“Oh my god,” Tony groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I hate you,”

“Cheer up,” Clint said, “at least you’re not in diapers.”

“You’re not helping,”

“I am so helping,” Clint laughed. “Believe me – wait until you’re old. You’ll be begging a young guy to pull your pants down for you. Mind you, you’ll be hiking them back up to your armpits once you’re done, but I’ve heard that’s all the rage with old-timers like you,”

“I hate you so very much,” Tony said, wearily, resting his elbows on his knees.

“You say that now, but I helped you pee,” Clint said, solemnly. “You owe me,”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

“Probably, but it’s not like I’m taking pictures so I can blackmail you. Besides – it’s not like I haven’t seen your junk before,”

Tony groaned, hanging his head. “Has everyone seen me naked?”

“I don’t know about everyone, but I know most of us have. Who do you think helped Natasha drag your sorry ass up to bed that time?”

Tony sighed. “Wonderful,”

“Well,” Clint said, with a shrug, “It could be worse. At least you don’t have to worry about pictures of your giant green –”

“Are you two done in there?” Coulson’s voice boomed through the bathroom door. He rapped his knuckles on the frame. “Hello?”

“Occupado,” Clint called out cheerfully, slipping off the counter. He glided towards the door, pulling it open just wide enough so that he could stick his head through the gap. “Tony’s busy. We’re having a private meeting,”

“Yes,” Coulson grumbled, rolling his eyes. “I got that. Can you two hurry it up? I think Steve has to go again,”

“Did the train stop at Vomit Town again?”

“Yes,”

“Anything I can do about it?” Clint asked, leaning against the door knob.

“Unless you’re made out of ginger ale and crackers, I don’t think there’s much you can do,” Coulson said with a sigh. “Just hurry it up, ok? There’s only so much room in the bucket I left him with,”

Clint shuddered. “That’s some beautiful imagery there, honey. Thanks,”

“At least you didn’t get to watch it happen,” Coulson grumbled. “Look, just hurry it up.”

“Alrighty,” Clint said. He pulled the door closed and crept back over to Tony, resting a hand on the counter so that he didn’t startle him. “Hey, you done?”

Tony flushed the toilet. “Did I tell you how much I hate you yet? Or was I saving that for later?”

“You told me already,” Clint said, helping Tony up. He made short work of Tony’s underwear and sweat pants, tugging them back into place. “You know, we should probably just keep the undies off. It would make things so much easier,”

“I’m not walking around in a house with Steve if I’m not wearing underwear,” Tony muttered, bracing himself against the counter. “Adult Steve – sure. He could use a shock or two. Child Steve – no way in hell.” He washed his hands quickly, not looking away from the water until it ran clean and then shut the tap off, proud that his breathing was only a little rougher than normal. He grabbed the hand towel Clint offered him and wiped his hands. “I hate this,”

“So I noticed,” Clint said, taking the hand towel back. He hung it neatly on the towel bar and then wrapped an arm around Tony’s waist, throwing Tony’s good arm over his shoulder. “You know, I always wondered what dance lessons would be like,” he said as he opened the door, leading Tony out into the hallway.

“How is this even close to dance lessons?” Tony asked, baffled. He caught sight of Steve as the kid was whisked past them by a hassled looking Coulson and winced when the bathroom door shut loudly behind them.

“I don’t know. We’re holding hands, aren’t we? Well, technically we’re not but I think this kind of counts.” Clint got Tony back to bed; he guided him down onto the mattress, casually fluffing Tony’s pillows until Tony was ready to lay down.

“You’re a freak, Barton,” Tony said, closing his eyes. He pulled his blankets up to his chin.

Clint flopped down onto the bed beside him and made himself comfortable, worming his way under Tony’s blanket; his toes were cold against Tony’s leg, but his toenails weren’t sharp. At least he wasn’t living up to his namesake.

Tony sighed, trying to ignore the way his body seemed to be enjoying Clint’s ambient warmth.

Maybe tomorrow would be better. If he was lucky, everyone would be feeling stronger.

Tony woke up with a splitting headache and a hankering for bacon. He took the bacon craving as a sign that he was getting better and let Clint help him out of bed and into the bathroom without complaining once. After they were done, morning ablutions complete, he hobbled into the living room with Clint’s help, planning on sitting down at the kitchen table so he could demand breakfast. He had no idea who was going to make it, but he wanted his bacon extra crispy and he wanted it now.

He took one look around the living room where morning light was just slipping through the curtains and hobbled back to bed at double speed with Clint attached to his arm. It was too blue out here – too sandy and far too bright. His urge for bacon was gone.

At least today it was easier to get in and out of bed. Tony even managed to get under the covers again without Clint having to help him. He would have cheered aloud if he hadn’t been shaking like a leaf.

“I’d say that was pretty good, all things considered,” Clint said, stretching out lazily beside Tony. He fumbled with the blankets until he had built a half-nest out of them and then closed his eyes, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn. “Wake me up when breakfast is ready,”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, snuggling under his side of the blankets. “I’ll get right on that.” He tried going back to sleep, but couldn’t get comfortable. There was a funny coughing noise coming through the wall and – oh.

Steve!

Tony looked over and saw, to his disbelief, that Clint was fast asleep already. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered, lifting the blankets off of his hip. They hadn’t even been back in bed for more than fifteen minutes, and that rat bastard was already dreaming! He thought about waking Clint up just to stick it to him and then decided against it. He needed to know what he could do alone, and this would be the perfect time to test things out. He slid his legs out from under the blankets and sat up.

So far so good.

His back wasn’t aching horribly, and his head didn’t feel like it was stuffed with cotton anymore; the headache had receded for the most part. Everything seemed to be behaving. He put his foot down on the floor and wiggled his toes. There was no sand here, he told himself, aware that he could still feel it there on his skin. There was no sand, and there was no water; there was only floor and carpet and Steve.

Steve needed him; he couldn’t sit around forever.

He stood up.

It wasn’t so bad, actually. Sure, his knees still felt like mush, and he was a little wobbly, but he could stand on his own. He would just have to put up with the itchy feeling on the soles of his feet until it went away for good. He made his way towards the door, trying not to grin at the discovery of new strength. Of course two seconds later he tripped on his own feet and went down on his hands and knees with a hoarse cry.

Fantastic.

Clint was up and at Tony’s side in an instant. He felt at Tony’s knees and arms, trying to see if there was any damage, scowling the entire time.

Tony batted his hands away. “I’m fine,” he said with a grimace. “I can do it,”

“Uh huh,” Clint said, checking Tony’s bandaged wrist. “Didn’t we just have a conversation about this?”

“You were asleep,” Tony grumbled, standing up. “I think you dreamed that part.” He caught a hold of Clint’s shoulder and held on as his arms and legs started shaking anew. “I don’t get this,” he said, glaring down at his traitorous legs. “I don’t – it wasn’t like he smashed my head into the…” Tony froze. He caught a flash of the Winter Soldier’s face; those eyes had been so cold – so empty – so deadly.

Clint wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulder and turned them both around, ignoring Tony’s feeble protests. “It’s not a problem with your body – believe me. I’ve been there. It’s all in your head. Just give it time, Stark,” he murmured, wrestling Tony back into bed. He smoothed the blankets down over Tony’s stomach. “It’s not forever,” he said, his voice turning soft, “It’ll be alright,”

“What if it doesn’t get better this time?” Tony asked, quietly, staring down into his hands. He could see water and sand there still; he wanted to scrub at his fingers until they were clean, but there was no way to managed it – no way to keep the sand away. Even if he was back at the tower, he was pretty sure it would come with him. He looked up, hoping to see the answer in Clint’s eyes.

Clint’s smile was sad. “If it happens,” he said, sitting down on the edge of the bed, “we’ll deal with it.”

“That’s it?” Tony snorted. “That’s your nugget of wisdom? We’ll deal with it when it happens?”

Clint’s smile turned into a glare for a split second; he schooled his expression and stood up. “That’s life, Stark,” he said, heading towards the door. “I’m going to get breakfast going since our slaves hadn’t done it for us. Try not to concuss yourself on the floor while I’m gone, alright?”

“Asshole,” Tony muttered.

Despite the setback, things did in fact get better; it didn’t even take that long, either. Within a day Tony was up and about, shambling around without help just like in the good old days. He still avoided looking out the windows if he could help it, but at least now he could move away from them when they snuck into view.

It was nice to be able to walk around again; being bedridden had always been a challenge and even though he hadn’t been there for months on end, he was glad that he wasn’t going to be trapped there anymore. He had done more than enough staring up at his ceiling, and he was looking forward to playing with Steve again. Unfortunately, the kid was still sick as a dog, so they weren’t going to be doing that any time soon.

Steve had spent most of his time bedridden too; he hadn’t gotten a change in scenery in a long time. Natasha had consulted with Bruce a handful of times already, but Tony wasn’t sure he agreed with the good Doctor’s ‘wait-and-see’ approach. It seemed a little creepy to him, but since he didn’t have a medical degree, he kept his thoughts to himself. He had a job to do, after all. He was ready to lend a hand now that he was mobile again, even if it was only to watch the security cameras on his tablet. He sought Clint out in the living room, wanting to get back to work, turning his body carefully away from the living room window. He leaned against the couch instead of sitting on it, enjoying his upright position.

“You’re lurking,” Clint said, not looking up from his tablet. He had been on surveillance duty ever since Natasha had declared she needed a break from it that morning; he had been surprisingly happy about it. It was probably because he was tired of carrying buckets of puke out of Steve’s room.

“I’m not lurking,” Tony grumbled, leaning harder against the couch. He had been lurking in Steve’s room, but Coulson had chased him out when he had started fussing over the kid’s blankets. It wasn’t like he was still lurking.

“I get that you want to be in there reading him stories and helping him colour, but he’s sick,” Clint said. “Let him rest.”

“He’s throwing up all the time,”

“He’s throwing up because he has the stomach flu. He’s not going to die,”

“He hasn’t been eating,”

“He has been eating. He just hasn’t been doing it in front of you,” Clint grunted. He lowered the tablet, peering over top of it at Tony. “Look. You’re worried. I get it. You want to mother-hen the kid – we all do – but there is nothing you can do about it.”

“I should be in there,” Tony muttered, trying not to stare a hole in Steve’s bedroom door.

“You can be in there when you can walk around without tipping over from one good push,” Clint said, shaking his head.

“I’m fine,”

“You’re saying that now, but when you’re hip deep in vomit, you’ll be singing another tune,”

“I don’t even want to think about that,” Tony sighed. He let go of the couch and started towards the kitchen. Coffee would be nice, right about now. If he was lucky there might even be some cream and sugar waiting for him. He got to the cupboard and was just about to open it up when Clint waved at him from the couch.

“Hey – before you get all coffee-absorbed, can you do Coulson a favor? Steve puked all over his sheets again. He needs some new ones,”

Tony shuffled away from the kitchen. “I love how that’s what you’re doing with your security camera privileges,”

“Hey,” Clint said, his gaze fixed once again on the tablet, “it works for me. Besides – what did I tell you about the whole being hip deep in vomit thing?”

“I hate you,” Tony muttered, grabbing the closet door.

Clint looked up sharply. “Wait – hold up. They’re not in there anymore,”

Tony pulled the door open, rolling his eyes. “And why wouldn’t they be in here? It’s a closet.” He stared inside the closet for a full three seconds, taking in the sight of the Winter Soldier in the dim light; the man stared right back at him, although his gaze wasn’t steady. The assassin was duct taped to a chair that had been crammed into the very back of the closet. He wasn’t going anywhere – at least not for now. The chair was nailed to the ground. In hindsight, Tony thought as he slowly closed the door and backed away from it, he should have guessed that something like this had happened.

Dear god – how long had that bastard been here?

Oh – oh – the fucker had been here the entire time, hadn’t he?

He had been here the entire time – he had been here – he had been near Steve –

“Tony?”

Tony continued to move backwards until his legs hit the back of the couch. He stood frozen in place, bracing himself against the back of the couch, his eyes locked on the closet door. His breath caught in his chest.

“Oh shit – are you ok?” Clint dropped the tablet onto the coffee table and moved around the couch, catching Tony before he could topple onto the floor. “Hey – you’re fine. We’re all fine,”

“How long?” Tony asked, hoarsely, his heart hammering in his chest.

“He’s been here since Natasha knocked him out,” Clint said, “but we’ve been watching him the entire time – I swear. It’s fine.”

“What else aren’t you telling me?” Tony squashed down a wave of nausea. His vision blurred around the edges; he was vaguely aware that he was close to hyperventilating, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“We were going to tell you when you were feeling better,” Clint grumbled, getting Tony settled comfortably on the floor. He snatched the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over Tony’s shoulders. “Keeping him tied up in his place was too dangerous. We couldn’t risk spreading ourselves out after what happened – you were babbling away and I wasn’t much help with my concussion,”

“So you left me – you left him in the house?” Tony stared wide-eyed at Clint. “You left him near Steve? You left him conscious?”

“He’s heavily sedated,” Clint grumbled, glancing over his shoulder at the closet door. “Believe me. I didn’t like it either, but we needed to know how much he knew about us. We couldn’t just kill him,”

“Why not?” Tony said, thickly. He wiped at his eyes, trying to ignore the images of water and the Winter Soldier’s cold eyes as they tore through his mind with every blink; his fight proved futile. He could hear the bastard’s words in his head. He couldn’t drown anything out no matter how hard he tried. The words got louder and louder, blending together until all he could hear was the sound of the waves sloshing into his ears. He shuddered, clutching feebly at the blanket.

“He claims he’s Bucky Barnes,” Clint murmured. “Shit – just hold on a sec, ok?” He stood up and sprinted down the hall, picking up a sheet from the pile of laundry lying beside Coulson’s bedroom door; the rest of the clean laundry hit the floor in a flood of fabric, but he ignored it.

Steve’s bedroom door opened with a snap.

Clint thrust sheet into a surprised Coulson’s arms and then turned back to Tony, his hands migrating to his hips. “He found our guest,” Clint said, speaking just loud enough so that Tony and Coulson could hear him.

Coulson sighed aloud. “Alright. We’ll talk when I’m done cleaning Steve up. We’ve put this off long enough,”

“I’ll take Tony back to his room,” Clint said, nodding in Tony’s direction. He moved slower now, as if approaching an easily spooked animal; he knelt down in front of Tony and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around Tony’s middle in a half-hug. “It’s alright,”

“It’s not safe having him here,” Tony mumbled into Clint’s ear. He forced himself to stand, resisting the urge to crumple up in a ball on the floor. He let himself be lead back to his bedroom with Clint’s help, worrying at his lower lip the entire time. The trip felt like it took forever; every step felt like agony, but not because he was in pain. He kept seeing the beach in his peripheral vision, kept smelling salt and the faint stink of stale alcohol. Thankfully there were no screams this time – not even his own. He moved easily, settling down on his mattress, barely aware of where he was.

His bedroom was dark by the time he opened his eyes again. He looked around, feeling dizzy, and noticed after a minute of watching the world spin that Clint was sitting on the bed beside him, watching him. He squinted at Clint.

“Don’t give me that look,” Clint muttered, resting his head in his hands. “I voted on your side,”

“I’m don’t know what that means,” Tony growled, giving his head a shake. He wondered how long it had taken them to make their little plans. A few hours? A few minutes? They obviously hadn’t been concerned with bringing him into the equation. He had thought they were a team.

“We couldn’t get anything lucid out of you – at least not enough to do any good,” Clint said, straightening up. “That first night, you were a mess. We didn’t want to make it worse by talking to you about it. Every time someone came close you ducked and flinched away.”

“Yeah,” Tony gritted out. He kept his voice low only because Steve was trying to rest in the other room. “That seems like a good decision. Keep me in the dark, because it’s so much easier to understand when I have to stumble onto the guy when I’m looking for clean sheets,”

Clint looked away sheepishly. “Look – I’ll admit I didn’t make the best call, but it’s not like we had anywhere else to keep him. There aren’t any basements around for convenient creep dumping. It was the closet or nothing,”

“You could have told me about it,” Tony snapped. “I was a little off – I wasn’t insane,”

“I had a conversation with you about thumbscrews and car batteries,” Clint said, quietly, still not looking at Tony. “I didn’t think you were ready to think about your new torturer,”

Tony fell silent. He looked down at his hands, picking at his wrapped up wrist. Clint was probably right. Would he have been able to handle knowing that the Winter Soldier was there, stashed away in the closet the entire time? He had barely been mobile before, and now he felt like he was crippled all over again. He wanted to be angry, but somehow the anger he had been cultivating had deserted him, fleeing in the face of new knowledge. He could hear the Winter Soldier’s words clearly, even though the images of him had long since faded. It was as if he was sitting behind him, whispering in Tony’s ear.

You’re pathetic, Stark.

They made a mistake leaving you in charge, Stark, you know that, don’t you?

It’s your fault.

Everything that happens after this is on you.

They’re going to rip that kid apart to get at the serum. It doesn’t matter what I do to him – it’ll be like a tea party compared to what they’re going to do – and you condemned him to it.

“Tony!” Clint’s voice was sharp, cutting through Tony’s thoughts. “Tony, you need to stop letting him into your head,”

Tony looked up from his hands. He could feel fresh tears on his cheeks, although he had no idea how long they had been there for. He sniffled, wanting to bury his face in his hands; he didn’t. He needed to be strong now.

“What’s done is done,” Clint murmured, pulling Tony against him. “You did a good job. You did the best you could with what you had, and there is nothing for you to be ashamed about. I don’t know what he said to you, but I do know this. You held him off single-handed. You didn’t have a gun – you didn’t have your suit – you had your bare hands and you still held him off. There is nothing weak about being beaten by a trained assassin. Lesser men would have died,”

Tony wiped at his eyes, smearing his tears across his bandaged wrist. “I know that,”

Clint chuckled. “You know how he took me down?”

“No,”

“He hit me in the head with a fucking bottle of wild turkey bourbon. At least you got to punch him,”

“I nearly broke my arm,” Tony murmured, ruefully. “I don’t think that counts as getting even with him,”

“Don’t even try that shit with me,” Clint said, patting Tony on the back. “It still counts. How were you supposed to know the fucker had a robot arm? We all thought he was a drunken bum,”

“Speaking of that,” Tony said, frowning. “How did you disable it?” He didn’t want to think about the Winter Soldier anymore, but he needed to know what they had done. Tech was his domain and he was damned if he was going to let something like a robotic arm get the better of them. This time they would be prepared; this he could handle. He shucked the blanket from his shoulders.

“We popped the thing off when he was unconscious,” Clint said with a devilish grin. “It came off real easy – well, once I got a screwdriver in there,”

Tony winced. He didn’t like the Winter Soldier, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be sympathetic. Judging by the arm’s movement speed, the thing had to have been wired into the guy’s neural pathways somehow; ripping it off must have hurt like hell.

“Can it work when it’s detached?” Tony asked, drumming his finger on his lower lip. He had been thinking about getting Stark International involved in replacement limb technology for a while now; the plans flowed easily into his mind. The stuff he had worked on his workshop was far more advanced – far cleaner and sleeker than what the assassin had used. The Winter Soldier’s arm hadn’t been as responsive as it could have been, that was for sure. If Tony had been the one to build it, it would have been far better at doing its job – but he hadn’t been the one to build it.

So who had?

There had to be identifiers tagged on machinery, something coded in so that it was recognizable for parts replacement. Whoever had engineered it wouldn’t have left something like that to chance. The parts would have to be somewhere with easy access, and it had to have been built by someone who had money. These things didn’t come cheap, after all. Was AIM directly involved with it? Could it be Hydra pulling strings? Or was it another group entirely? There were too many variables – too many players they didn’t know enough about. Something had to be there – he just needed to find it. Even with the information they had had at their disposal, they hadn’t been able to see the Winter Soldier coming. So what was missing? What had they forgotten in their haste to get Steve to safety?

“His arm’s lying in the crisper right now,” Clint said, “so no. I don’t think it’s functional now that it’s not attached to him,”

“You stashed his robotic arm in the fridge?” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Whose bright idea was that?”

“Hey,” Clint said, crossing his arms over his chest, “We wanted to keep it somewhere he wouldn’t look,”

Tony snorted. “So you expected him to escape?”

“No,” Clint grunted. “It was a contingency plan.”

This was too good. Tony’s lip twitched.

“What if he escapes and gets a hankering for fresh fruit?” Tony asked, trying not to laugh.

Oh god.

That felt good.

He wrinkled his nose, holding in the giggles threatening to consume him. The Winter Soldier, prized assassin working for Hydra and AIM and god knows who else, was tied up in their linen closet; his arm was sitting in their crisper like it was one of the apples Coulson had picked up from the grocery store.

Clint smiled. “There’s the old Tony,”

Tony smirked. “You guys are crazy – did you know that?”

“We know. That’s why Fury hired us – well, that and we all know how to count without taking our shoes off,”

Tony ran his good hand through his hair. “So what’s happening now? Are Natasha and Coulson coming in to debrief me or what?”

“I have no idea, man,” Clint said, with a shrug. “Nat’s outside checking the perimeter again, and Coulson’s swabbing up puke. I’m thinking it might take a while,”

“Great,” Tony grumbled. He stood up, shoving the blanket away before it could get dragged along after him. “Look, can we talk about this later? I want to go check on Steve,”

“Tony,”

“No – look. I get it. I’m unstable right now. I get that part – believe me, I do. I just want to see if he’s ok,” Tony said, heading towards the door.

“Alright, alright – we’ll go see the kid, and then we’ll come back here and debrief, ok?” Clint muttered. He jumped up off the bed and pushed his way in front of Tony, putting himself in the middle of the doorframe so he couldn’t sneak out. “But look,” Clint sighed. “If the kid asks about Bucky, don’t say anything, ok?”

“Steve doesn’t know he’s in the closet?”

“He knows,” Clint said, leading them out into the living room. “We just don’t want to get his hopes up about it really being Barnes. For all we know, the guy’s playing with us,”

“You think it’s a sympathy tactic?” Tony asked, cocking an eyebrow. He had tried to avoid thinking about the words the Winter Soldier had used when he had been cradling Steve against his chest. He wasn’t entirely sure he could trust his memories from that night, truth be told, but those last words had seemed almost… sincere. There was no way to be sure though. Too much of the rest of the night was garbled, mixed in with his memories of the cave and Afghanistan. He had an eidetic memory, but it didn’t help much with understanding what he had stored in his head. He was going to have to get a notebook to write it all down in. Maybe that would help make things clearer.

“Well, we’ll figure it all out when the lab results get back,” Clint said.

“You took blood samples?”

“Surprisingly, he didn’t put up much of a fight. He seemed to want us to take it,” Clint said, heading down the hall.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Tony asked, with a scowl.

“It means we’re back to our original plan. We wait and see,”

When they got to Steve’s room, Clint stepped to the side; Coulson smiled at Tony as he headed out the door. “He’s doing a lot better right now. If you can get him to sip a bit of water and eat a few crackers, you’ll be my hero,”

Tony nodded, letting the door close behind him.

Steve’s room was dimly lit, but it wasn’t as dark as Tony’s. The curtains were drawn up till the edge of the open window so that fresh air could circulate the room, but even with the window open, there was still a faint odor of vomit in the air. Tony moved unhurriedly, navigating the room with a hand resting on the backs of the chairs sitting out around the bed. There were four of them, all in varying states of use; he recognized most of them from the kitchen. He had wondered where they had disappeared to.

He hadn’t been in here since the Winter Soldier had attacked, and while he recognized the room, bits of it had changed. There was a wooden TV tray sitting beside the night stand now. It had a bottle of water and a box of saltines sitting on it, along with a small stack of used Kleenex boxes. The colouring books that had been on Steve’s dresser day and night were gone, replaced with stacks of fresh washcloths and paper towel for quick mop ups. If this was Steve ‘doing better’, Tony was a little afraid to find out what it had been like before. They had been hiding this from him too, it seemed. There were far too many unanswered questions now. The others were going to get an earful as soon as he got out of here.

Steve opened his eyes bit by bit as he heard Tony approach.

“Hey,” Tony said, wrestling a chair against the bed so he could sit close by without making the bed move. The last thing he wanted was to make the kid puke because the bed dipped when he sat down. “How are you feeling?”

“Bad,” Steve said, rolling onto his side so he could get a better look at Tony. “How are you?”

Tony shrugged. “I’ve been worse,”

Steve’s face scrunched up; he looked ready to cry.

Tony reached out and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair. “It’s ok, kiddo. I’m a lot better now. I’m walking around and everything,”

Steve smiled shyly, leaning into Tony’s touch. His skin was sticky with sweat and something that smelled faintly sweet and while the kid was still pale, he didn’t look like he was going to ralph all over the place anytime soon. The kid could use a bath or two – not that Tony was one to talk – but other than that he looked almost normal.

“I’m hungry,” Steve said, sighing morosely. He looked at the box of crackers, licking his dry lips.

“Afraid you can’t keep it down?” Tony asked, retrieving the box.

Steve nodded, sitting up. “I threw up,” he said, his face flushing. “It was really gross,”

“Yeah,” Tony chuckled, pulling out a handful of crackers. “I know the feeling.” He handed a cracker to Steve and snatched the bottle of water off of the TV stand, twisting the lid off; it was a little awkward considering he couldn’t really move his dominant hand all that easily, but it wasn’t as painful as it could have been. On the plus side, water even stayed in the bottle and didn’t end up in his lap. He was more than happy with that part. He handed the bottle to Steve, steadying it so the kid didn’t accidentally dump it all the place. He watched as Steve nibbled away at the cracker and couldn’t help but smile at him.

When Steve was finished with the first cracker, he licked the salt and cracker crumbs off his fingers. “Thanks,”

“Not a problem,” Tony said. The little guy was obviously hungry. That had to be a good sign. He handed the kid another cracker and leaned back in his chair, nibbling at a cracker of his own, enjoying the distraction. He missed sitting around with Steve; they were just eating crackers, but it felt like Christmas morning somehow. He sighed, reaching for the cracker box again.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” Steve asked, taking a careful sip of water.

“I’m just enjoying the quiet,” Tony said. He fished out another cracker and handed it to Steve, wiggling it in front of Steve’s face when the kid didn’t take it immediately.

“Can you read to me again?” Steve asked, taking the cracker and breaking it in half.

“Sure,” Tony said.

Coulson knocked on the door. “Tony? We’re ready to start now,”

Tony sighed aloud, setting the cracker box down on the TV tray.

Great.

Time for the disaster debriefing.

He could hardly wait.

He got up, giving Steve another cracker and ruffled his hair before heading towards the door. “I’ll be back in a bit, ok? We’re having a meeting,”

“Oh,” Steve said, taking a long draught of water. “Ok. You’re coming back after, right?”

“Yep,” Tony said, pulling open the door. He flashed Steve a smile. He wasn’t looking forward to the debriefing, but at least now he had something to do when it finished.       

Chapter Text

Tony slipped back into his room without a word, remerging with his trusty toolkit tucked under his arm; he made his way into the kitchen, deliberately ignoring the way everyone was looking at him as though they expected him to start screaming at any moment. He was in control this time; his fear wasn’t going to get to him. He set the toolkit down on the table, threw open the fridge and pulled the Winter Soldier’s mechanical arm out of the crisper as quickly as possible. It really was a beautiful piece of machinery – once you got past the whole ‘it nearly drowned me’ thing, he thought with a grimace.

“Are you sure you should be touching that in your condition?” Clint asked, cocking his head to the side. He set Tony’s tablet down on the table and pulled a chair out so Tony could have somewhere to sit. He perched himself on the counter beside the sink, and sat there, swinging his legs idly, his attention on the mechanical arm.

Tony scowled at him, but sat down in the proffered chair, pulling his tablet and tools closer. “What condition? Do I look like I’m nine months pregnant to you? I think I’m offended,”

“You’re offended by what? The fact that you’re not pregnant?” Clint asked, grinning.

“If I was, I wouldn’t tell you,” Tony muttered, opening up his toolkit. He fished out a screwdriver without looking, knowing the size through touch alone and started taking apart the mechanical arm. “You’re mean – that goes for all of you,” he said, gesturing to each of them in turn with the screwdriver.

“We did what had to be done,” Natasha said, her hands settling on her hips. “What did you expect us to do? Wait until you were ready to talk about it?”

“I expected to be part of the team,” Tony said, looking up sharply. “I get that I’m not going to be going out there singing and dancing on parade like usual, but I deserved to know that you were keeping a homicidal maniac locked up in the goddamned closet,”

“Alright,” Natasha said, pulling up a chair and sitting down. “I agree that we should have said something sooner,”

“Agreed,” Coulson said, stalking further into the kitchen. He leaned his hip against the counter and took his place beside Clint. “I hate to do this, but I think we need to move on for now.”

Tony sighed, trying not to dwell on the fact that no one had apologized for what they had done; he hadn’t really expected it, but it would have been nice. He filed the hurt away for future use, focusing on work. “Fine,” he said, searching for the hidden screws within the mechanical arm’s metal plating. The arm was far more interesting than he had expected. What he could see so far made him very, very unhappy; it wasn’t that the workmanship was bad – it was more that it was almost too good. The system wasn’t advanced, but that didn’t make it any less powerful. He could tell at first glance that it hadn’t been designed all at once; there was no one design, no one architect. Some of the arm was using work that he recognized, and that was what made it all the more terrifying. This was tech he knew had been hidden away with well-timed deals and payouts – stuff that shouldn’t have been out in public. His father had been responsible for some of those deals, but he had inherited the task of hiding the rest. He had thought he had gotten all of it, but apparently some of it had slipped through his fingers and if he was right, there was something in here that was a lot more dangerous than any of them had expected.

“So Doctor Banner sent back the test results,” Coulson said. “They’re positive that the man we have is, in fact, James Buchannan ‘Bucky’ Barnes,”

Tony nearly dropped his screwdriver. “You’re shitting me,”

“Sadly, I’m not. We sent in three separate vials of blood to be sure, because we didn’t believe it either. Both Jarvis and Doctor Banner have confirmed it through DNA analysis. I don’t know how they got the DNA they compared it to, but if they say it’s a match, I’m inclined to think they’re telling the truth,” Coulson said. “I don’t think anyone knew about him before now. Bucky Barnes was lost in combat during World War Two – he died while out with the Captain.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, fiddling with the next chunk of paneling in his way, “Shit happens. I don’t think any of us had any way of knowing who he was,”

Natasha glared at Tony, but didn’t say anything, clearly expecting a jibe.

“Don’t worry, Nat,” Tony said, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he got at the last sealing pin with his screwdriver, “If it’s any consolation and this is what I think it is, the Red Room was a lot more technologically advanced than we knew,”

Natasha stood up and moved closer, peering over Tony’s shoulder as he worked. “What did you find?”

“Well,” Tony said, setting the mechanical arm down on the table. He held up a chip that, while new, didn’t look all that impressive. “I can confirm that they’ve got cloaking technology,” he said, setting the chip down on his tablet so it could be scanned, the data sent into his private server.

“Cloaking?” Coulson looked shocked. “That’s not possible. We have their files – they weren’t working on anything that complicated,”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Phil, but you’re wrong. It’s been done,” Tony said, taking the chip off of the tablet. He scrolled through the results of the scan, pausing to frown at the readings. “It’s not perfect – far from it – but it works. Personally, I would have gone another route entirely, but you know – not everyone can be me. Some of what’s here is a little sloppy, but I guess they did good work with what they had,”

“Meaning?” Coulson grumbled.

“Meaning it doesn’t work with everything,” Tony said, turning back to the mostly-cannibalized arm, “The arm has cloaking in it that can mess with security cameras, and that’s pretty much it. It makes a sort of bubble around him so that all you ever see is a bunch of pre-programmed images. It’s pretty funny, actually, because the frame rate it works with would make it chug like a motherfucker,”

“Lovely,” Coulson sighed. “Is there anything else we should know?”

Tony rolled his shoulders. “Well, for one thing, the image display doesn’t work if someone sees him in person. Its heavy work – graphic intensive and inefficient as hell, too. The chip’s connections are practically burnt out from all the work its had to do to keep him cloaked while he was under surveillance, so I don’t think it’s going to keep working for long,”

“Can you fix it?” Natasha asked.

“The question isn’t if I can fix it – it’s why would I want to?” Tony said, diving back into the arm. It was all familiar circuitry here, although most of it had been retired for years after better designs had come along. It was a little eerie, to be honest; it was a little like rooting through an open grave. He could recognize at least five different designs working within the arm now that he was deeper inside it; he wasn’t surprised that it had found its way into a robotic arm. Even if it was a mishmash of tech, everything was necessary for it to function. The real question was who had worked it all together. Most of the men and women who had contributed to these designs had been working in robotics and early neuroscience when Howard Stark had been the King of the Engineering world; the Red Room had been around then, hidden, of course, so it stood to reason that it had probably leeched the information when it had still been fresh. Now things were getting tricky. Most of the people involved were probably dead or nearly there, and if SHIELD hadn’t picked up on it, then it obviously hadn’t been computerized; paper was much easier to hide. There would be no easy way to track most of the work now – unless they used a séance. Tony scowled, pushing a wire out of the way to get at a new screw. This was going to be a pain in the ass.

“If he’s on our side now – like he claims,” Natasha said, still leaning over Tony’s shoulder, “Then his arm needs to be in fully functional in case of emergencies,”

Tony quirked an eyebrow. “What?”

“Can you fix it?”

“Of course I can,”

“So do it. Make it useful again,”

“I’m sorry, but do you have a death wish?”

“I’ve seen him in the field,” Natasha sighed, setting her hand on Tony’s shoulder. “He’s dangerous, but if he’s really who he says he is, I think we can trust him to help us,”

Tony’s stomach felt like it had frozen over. He swallowed down a mouthful of bile and focused on putting the arm back together again. “You’re assuming we can trust him,” he said, reconnecting the wires under his thumb. “He might not be the real Barnes – mentally, at least. He got hit in the head a few times – that does not make him any less of a psychopath.”

“Hey,” Clint said, looking hurt.

“No offence,” Tony said. “You were under a different kind of mind control,”

Clint tensed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, offense taken,”

Coulson put his hand on Clint’s knee, gently squeezing it. “He’s right. This isn’t quite the same,”

Clint scowled at Coulson. “Yeah, well,”

“I think he’s an asset we should use,” Natasha said with a growl. “But I don’t mean we have to use him right now,”

Tony scowled down at the arm in his lap. “Yeah, Nat, I get that,”

“No one is saying you have to like it,” Natasha said. She patted Tony’s shoulder and stepped back, walking around the kitchen table towards the fridge, pausing there with her hand on the door handle. “He hasn’t eaten in a while,”

“I see,” Tony gritted out, wishing he could be knee deep in his armor. At least it wouldn’t be giving him shit. He snapped the cloaking chip back in place inside the arm and started folding the wires back in, all the while wondering if he could get away with sabotaging the thing. Maybe he could slip a self-destruct code into the arm’s core programming for safety’s sake; he hadn’t hooked the thing up to a console directly yet, but he knew he could manage to put in some new code even with his tablet’s somewhat meager extensions. He would enjoy playing ‘stop hitting yourself’ with the Winter Soldier – he was pretty sure about that. It wouldn’t even take that much code, either.

“Are you going to be alright if I bring him out here?” Natasha asked, turning on her heels to get a better look at Tony’s face.

Tony stabbed himself in the thumb by accident as his screwdriver slipped over the arm’s metal plating; he cursed, sticking his injured thumb in his mouth, and glared at Natasha, blaming her for everything. He didn’t bother saying anything out loud; she knew.

“I take it that’s a no,” Natasha chuckled. She pulled open the fridge and started taking things out, tossing everything onto the counter beside Clint. “I think sandwiches will work,”

“Probably,” Clint said, picking up the jar of pickles after she set them down beside him. He twisted the lid open and stole one before Coulson could take it away from him. He chewed the ends off and spit them out, dumping them in the garbage can before devouring the rest. “He can’t stab you with a sandwich, that’s for sure,”

“I’m assuming we’re going to wean him off the sedatives now that we know who he really is,” Natasha murmured, closing the fridge with her hip.

“You’re kidding, right?” Tony turned to Coulson, horrified. “Tell me you’re kidding,”

Coulson looked from Natasha to Tony with a pinched expression on his face. “I think we need more information before we let him have full control of himself again,” he said, shaking his head. “I know we want to get this over with, but it still feels like he’s hiding something,”

“We’ve had him in our closet for a week,” Natasha said with an annoyed huff. “He’s told us everything he knows,”

“Such as? Let me remind you that I’m still waiting to be filled in,” Tony growled, pushing the last screw back in place. He set the reassembled mechanical arm down on the table, reluctantly putting his screwdriver away. He looked around for something new to fiddle with, but couldn’t find anything within reach.

Coulson sighed, and pushed the pickle jar away from Clint and towards Natasha’s elbow. “I guess we should start with a recap, then,”

“I would appreciate that,” Tony grunted. “So you took vials of the Winter Soldier’s blood and sent them in for testing after he told you that he knows Steve because he was Bucky Barnes and they were besties,”

“Correct,” Coulson said, taking a loaf of bread out of the breadbox. He divided the slices up into pairs, setting out enough for everyone, including their prisoner.

“And then what?” Tony asked, turning to Natasha. “You stuffed him in the closet and waited for proof to arrive via carrier pigeon? Email? Phone call?”

“Not exactly,” Clint said, looking sheepish.

“What did you do?” Tony sighed.

“Well, he was drugged out of his gourd for the most part, so you’re not entirely wrong about him being stuffed into the closet,” Coulson admitted.

“We interrogated him before we stuffed him in there,” Clint said, nodding towards the closet. “His arm came off first – then he started talking,”

“You ripped his arm off and told him to talk?” Tony rested his hands on his knees, bracing himself. “So you tortured him,” he said, trying to ignore the way his stomach was now roiling in displeasure.

Clint shrugged. “I guess you could call it that,”

Tony wrapped an arm around his middle, trying to stay calm as flashes of water and light tore through his thoughts. He had known that SHIELD didn’t operate the same way a normal police agency would; they did whatever it was they needed to do to get information out of a target, and illegal didn’t quite mean the same thing to them as it did to everyone else. He didn’t like that they tortured people, but it wasn’t exactly as if he hadn’t known they were capable of it. All of the agents were trained to kill, after all. Torture wasn’t that far out of the way once death came into the picture.

“Don’t worry,” Clint said, seeming to sense Tony’s unease. “It’s not like we burned him with cigarettes or electrocuted his balls or something,”

Tony flinched.

“Shit – sorry,” Clint said, hopping off the counter. He sat down on the kitchen table, ignoring the dirty look Coulson gave him and wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulder, reeling him in so that they were side by side. “Look. I’ll avoid the details about that part – but I’m telling you, what we did wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He gave us the information we needed – we barely had to ask,”

Tony shrugged his shoulders, pushing Clint’s arm away. “I still don’t like it,”

“I know you don’t like it. That’s why you weren’t out in the living room while it was happening. Why do you think we had the door closed the entire time you were recovering?” Clint grumbled.

Tony looked down at his socks, trying to keep calm. He had sensed that something was off, but he hadn’t been able to figure out what it had been; they were good actors – far too good. He closed his eyes, taking in slow, measured breaths.

He knew them; they were his friends.

He knew they weren’t the kind of people to hurt someone without a damned good reason – they weren’t monsters; they weren’t the men from the cave.

He opened his eyes gradually, looking up despite the way his mind was telling him to cringe and cower. He watched Natasha as she assembled sandwiches on the counter a few feet away; it all looked normal. She didn’t look like she was preparing to feed a captive. She looked like she was making lunch for them, and yeah, while that was a little out of character for her, he had seen her do it before – it wasn’t strange, just unlikely. The Winter Soldier wouldn’t have treated them so kindly if things had gone in his favor, Tony reminded himself. The assassin wouldn’t have thrown them into a closet and locked them up; he wouldn’t have fed them sandwiches. Tony had sensed that much that night on the beach. They had been lucky the Winter Soldier had taken those blows to the head, or else they would all be dead.

Tony knew he couldn’t do what they had done – he couldn’t torture people for information. Natasha could though; she had probably done it frequently, judging by the way she had been so nonchalant about it. She was part of that world. Hell, she had been a part of the Winter Soldier’s life, even if it had only been for a short while. There was probably a lot he didn’t know about what SHIELD agents did; he wondered if he should be afraid of her. Being afraid seemed like a smart idea, all things considered.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Natasha said, softly. “You’re right to be scared of me. I know what you see in him. I was trained the same way – we’re the same, he and I, but I’m on your side, Tony. You have to believe that,”

“I do believe it,” Tony mumbled. “I do. It’s just,”

“Just what?” Natasha asked, setting a finished sandwich on a chopping board beside her. She moved on to the next one, slicing through cheese and tomatoes with ease.

“Do you trust him?” Tony asked.

Natasha stilled.

“You worked with him. You know him – at least, you know him better than we do. Do you think he’s really on our side?” Tony shifted nervously in his chair. He tensed when Natasha’s hand moved to set a slice of cheese on the next set of bread.

“I trust him,” Natasha said after a minute, setting her knife down. “I know what the programing is like and I know that he didn’t want it any more than I did. He didn’t have a choice,” she said, assembling the last sandwich. “No one did, back then. But he has the choice now, and I don’t think he’s going to waste it. I know I didn’t,”

“Alright,” Tony said. He wasn’t so sure he could trust the Winter Soldier – Bucky Barnes, he reminded himself – but he knew he could trust Natasha and her judgement. She was terrifying at times, but she had never betrayed him before and he didn’t think she would anytime soon. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I guess we’re going to have to take him off the drugs,”

Clint squeezed Tony’s shoulder, digging his fingers into the knotted muscles he found there. “You sure you’re ok with this?”

“I’m sure,” Tony said, relaxing under Clint’s touch. “But I do have one condition.”

“Shoot,” Clint said.

“I want all the information you have – every last thing you got from him – before you do it. You can do whatever you want afterwards, but I want to know everything,”

“It’s already on your tablet,” Coulson said, picking up a sandwich and putting it on a plate. He carried the plate over, setting it down beside Tony, and slid Tony’s tablet closer, tapping on it until he found the files he was looking for; he lifted it up and put it tablet in Tony’s hands. “We didn’t hide anything. We just wanted to make sure you were ready when you found it,”

Tony swallowed hard. “Thanks,”

“Don’t thank me,” Coulson said, flashing Tony a gentle smile. “That’s what friends are for,”

The files were short, but they were packed with information. Tony had finished reading through them all by the time the others had finished eating their sandwiches; he wasn’t entirely satisfied with what they had gleaned from the Winter Soldier and his operation, but he could tell that there were some things the Winter Soldier just didn’t know about his employer. The assassin had been hired by someone called John Smith. It was a fake name – a very obvious one at that – but that hadn’t been all that important to the Winter Soldier. The assassin had taken on the contract as soon as it had been offered to him; when things were finished, he would have waked away with a clean two million, which would have been more than enough for him to use to vanish again. There were details missing here, though, things that Tony found himself needing to know.

Why had John Smith helped out AIM by targeting him?

Did that mean that Aldrich Killian was alive and well? Or had someone else taken over the organization after his death like they had suspected?

Tony frowned, skimming through the files again even though he didn’t need to physically search them; he had memorized them already, but he didn’t want to give up the soothing feeling that came with seeing the words in front of him. He paused, his finger hovering over the AIM logo. It made sense for AIM to be hunting Steve, now that he thought about it. They had been the ones building Extremis Enhanciles under Maya Hansen’s instructions, and practically everyone wanted their own pet Super Soldiers these days. Steve’s blood would be the easy way to get what they wanted – assuming they could crack Erskine’s formula. It wasn’t hard to see how much money that would get them.

“Have you read everything now?” Coulson asked, gathering their plates together. He frowned at Tony’s plate and bumped it into Tony’s forearm to get his attention. “You haven’t touched your food. Finish eating,”

“I think you mean start,” Clint drawled, plucking the tablet from Tony’s hands. Tony glared at him, before picking up the sandwich, taking large, exaggerated, bites out of it before he could be pestered about it again.

“What?” Tony asked, barely resisting the urge to give the agent a view of his mouthful of half-chewed food. “You don’t like see-food?”

“That’s disgusting,” Coulson grumbled as he picked up Bucky’s robotic arm. He took it back to the fridge and stuffed it into the crisper, burying it under a bag of carrots. “I think you’ve been spending too much time with Steve,”

“Steve doesn’t like see-food either,” Clint said, stealing a chunk of ham still lying on Tony’s plate. He ate it before Tony could swipe it back. “I’m pretty sure he learned that one from me,”

“Why am I not surprised?” Coulson sighed. He pulled a jug of fruit juice out of the fridge and shut the door, carrying the bottle over to the kitchen table. He plucked a mug from the drying rack and filled it to the brim with juice, handing it to Tony, his expression making it clear that there was no getting out of it. “Drink this,”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, mother,”

Coulson smiled thinly. “I’m not touching that with a ten foot pole,”

“Spoilsport,” Tony muttered, taking a sip of his juice.

Coulson hovered beside the table, looking the kitchen over; he picked up an errant fork and put it in the sink, stashing everything sharp out of sight. Tony knew it was a crapshoot at best. A guy like the Winter Soldier could kill someone with his bare hands; just because he didn’t have access to the butter knives didn’t make him safe.

Tony watched idly as Coulson fretted over the placemats and chairs, trying to finish his sandwich without swallowing the rest of it down whole like a snake devouring a rabbit. He picked up his mug, swishing the juice around as if it was fine wine instead of organic carrot and strawberry juice.

Did he really want to be here when the Winter Soldier came out to eat?

Did he want to be around Bucky Barnes?

No.

He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to have to lay eyes on the bastard again, but he knew he couldn’t slip away this time. He had to see what had happened for himself; he needed to see what the Winter Soldier – what Bucky Barnes was really like.

He dragged his chair across the room until he found himself a good spot at the very back of the kitchen near the wall, and sat down, watching the kitchen table from his corner of the room. He didn’t feel safe here but that didn’t really mean all that much; he didn’t feel safe anywhere these days.

Coulson finished his sweep of the room with a sigh; he walked over to Tony, choosing to stand between Tony and the kitchen table. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Tony?”

Tony shrugged. “If we wait for me to be ready, he’ll starve to death,”

Coulson nodded curtly. “Alright.” He turned to Clint, pursing his lips in displeasure. “We’re good to go over here,”

“Roger that,” Clint said. He took Tony’s tablet into the living room and set it down on one of the couch cushions where it couldn’t be seen. “You can bring him out now, Nat,” he called out. He surveyed the kitchen from his post, his hand resting near his belt. Tony knew a gun was resting there, waiting to be used if necessary.

Tony stiffened as Bucky Barnes was marched into the room; it was hard to take his eyes off of their guest. Bucky’s gait made it clear that he had been dragged unceremoniously from his makeshift prison. He was limping slightly, and while he was still tall and imposing, his lack of an arm made him seem less threatening. Bucky looked around haltingly, his movements lethargic and loose. His good arm hung at his side as he walked, swinging with each step he took. He stumbled when he got to the chair Coulson had left out for him and sat down in it without prompting, rubbing at his shoulder where his mechanical arm would have been if it had still been connected to him.

“So are you guys going to kill me this time, or what?” Bucky drawled. His voice was hoarse from lack of use and a little slurred from the cocktail of drugs Natasha had given him. He turned in the chair, noting where each of them was standing and squinted at Tony, seeming surprised to see him. “What the fuck do you want?”

Tony tensed, but didn’t react otherwise; he didn’t want to give the Winter Soldier, if he was still in there, the satisfaction of seeing him react. He took another sip of his juice to steady himself, wishing it was something stronger, like whiskey.

Natasha set a plate with an egg salad sandwich on it in front of Bucky. “Eat and don’t ask stupid questions,”

Bucky didn’t have to be told twice. He picked the sandwich up and wrestled with it, eager for food. It was hard to eat one handed, it seemed, but he did the best he could even when the sandwich didn’t want to cooperate. The bread slid apart; the egg salad filling spilled out at the sides of the bread, dropping onto the plate with a sad plop. Bucky ignored the mess for a moment and wolfed down what was left in the bread as though he expected the food to be yanked out of his hand. Once he was done he turned to the crumbs and blobs of egg salad that had slipped free; he licked his fingers and used them to scoop up every last morsel.

Tony sighed softly. He had expected to see something like this, but seeing it was still a shock. Russian winters were cold, sure, but this was ingrained behavior, learned from long days spent hungry. This had to be the real Bucky Barnes. No one else ate like that – no one, except for Steve Rogers.

Bucky’s eyes darted from his meal to Tony. He cleared his throat, his hand still hovering over the now spotless plate. “You got a problem, buddy?”

Tony snorted and took another sip of his juice.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and pushed the plate away. “So when does the dog and pony show start, huh?” He turned in his chair, resting his hand on the table beside the plate; Natasha took it away before he could so much as wiggle a finger at it. He scowled at her. “You know I used to think you were a nice dame,” he said, staring at her as she set the plate in the sink.

Natasha scowled at him. “You don’t know me,” she said, resting her hand on her hip.

“I did,” Bucky grunted. He swiped his thumb over his lower lip, licking at it. “I guess you’ve changed too, huh?”

“So it would seem,” Natasha drawled. She nodded towards Tony, her gaze never leaving Bucky’s face. “He’s my friend – we’re all friends here,”

“Yeah,” Bucky muttered, glowering at Natasha. “I kind of figured.”

“You tried to kill them,” Natasha said softly, slinking closer. She reached out and grabbed Bucky by the ear, tugging so roughly he nearly fell out of his seat. “You do it again and I’m going to cut your balls off and feed them to you, understand?”

“Understood,” Bucky snapped, ducking down to get out of her grasp.

Natasha stepped back, frowning at him. “The lab says that you’re who you say you are,” she said, eyeing him curiously. “Do you remember the Captain?”

Bucky’s jerked upright in his chair. “Of course I do! What did you do with him?” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “If you hurt him –”

“He’s fine,” Tony said, draining the last of his juice. He kept the cup in his hands so he had something to hold as Bucky turned his attention to him; the look was far too intense for Tony’s liking. “He’s our friend, remember? We’re the ones looking out for him,”

Bucky shifted in his chair, glancing around the room again. “So he’s alright?”

Tony nodded. “He’s got the flu, but he’s alright,”

Bucky locked eyes with Tony; there was a hint of fear in his gaze now, lurking there behind his anger. “He’s a kid,”

“No shit,” Tony growled, clutching his cup tighter.

“Then he’s not going to be alright,” Bucky said, bolting upright. He took a step towards the living room and grunted when Natasha shoved him back into his chair, her fingers digging dangerously into the sides of his neck. He struggled against her, but couldn’t break free one-armed – not with his lower body still pressed tightly against the chair. He turned back to Tony, his gaze turning murderous. “He nearly died when he was five – he caught a goddamned cold and he nearly died and you’re telling me he’s going to be ok? Fuck you!”

“Calm down. He’s over the worst of it,” Coulson said, stepping closer to Tony, his hand settling on the grip of his Taser. “We were with Steve the entire time he was sick, Mr. Barnes, and I can assure you he’s going to be fine. Steve Rogers is someone we deeply care for. We’re not going to let something happen to him,”

Bucky gnashed his teeth. “If he was so cared for, why isn’t he out here? He’s fine right? So why can’t I see him? He’s my friend,”

“And you’re the piece of shit who tried to kidnap him for a bunch of scientists who want to drain his blood and build themselves a Super Soldier,” Tony said, jumping up. He glared at Bucky, unable to hold in his rage. “You’re acting like we’re the psychopaths here, but you don’t see us drowning people with our bare hands –” Tony said, his voice going shrill. He was shaking by the time Coulson turned around and eased him back onto his chair. It felt good getting the words out, and yet the heavy knot in his gut hadn’t loosened even a little bit. He lowered his gaze, biting down on his lower lip as memories of water crashing over his head came flooding back. It wasn’t as bad as before, but he could still taste salt on his lips with each new wave. He forced down a gag and made himself breath.

Bucky snorted. “You think I don’t know that?”

Tony lifted his head slowly. It was hard to keep his breath from coming out in gasps, but he managed it somehow. “We all know what you did,”

Bucky rested forehead in his hand. “Look – I get it. You think I don’t care about what I was going to do,” he growled. “But I do. I almost killed Steve,”

“So you just don’t care about the rest of it, huh?” Tony chuckled darkly, running his fingers through his hair. “That’s great,”

Bucky glared at Tony. “You bastards had me locked up in a fucking closet. What do you want me to do? Beg?” He sneered at Tony. “You’re not in charge here, pal. Even I can tell that much. I recognize your face from the papers, though. You’re Tony Stark – billionaire stud out to take over the world on the backs of everyone else.”

“Yeah?” Tony growled. “Is that who I am?”

“Steve hates guys like you,” Bucky snarled.

The words felt like a slap in the face; maybe it was because it wasn’t a lie. If anyone would know Steve Roger’s mind, it would be the guy who had grown up with him.

“What’s wrong, rich boy? You got a problem?” Bucky sneered.

It was fine, Tony thought wearily. He could take it– he knew he could. It wasn’t like he had been given shit for being rich before. “You’re right,” he said with a shrug. “He doesn’t like me.” He could admit it now. Maybe it was better to hear it said out loud. Now it would be just another loss he would learn to get over. When the time came, and Steve was himself again, Tony knew what he would do. He would make sure they could work together and function as part of a team – that was only fair – but he would back off.

They would never be friends.

That would be just fine with him.

Once this was over, Steve would go back to his real friends – to them and the bastard sitting there at the kitchen table – and it would be fine; he would deal with it.

Tony stood up and made his way along the wall; he didn’t look back. He was aware that all eyes were on him, but he didn’t stop moving, afraid that if he did he might not be able to get going again.

He paused in front of Steve’s door.

He had promised the kid he would come back after the debriefing, but he wasn’t sure he could deal with the honest smile Steve would give him; he needed time to think.

It would be better if he didn’t go in.

He walked away, heading back to his room. He cast a mournful glance at the kitchen when he reached the safety of his bedroom door. Natasha was glaring at Bucky; she had his ear pinched tightly between her fingers.

Bucky yelped.

Tony couldn’t even bring himself to smile.

The next morning came quickly, bringing with it a calm Tony wasn’t so sure he could trust. The nightmares hadn’t come the previous night, and what had slipped into his dreams had been soft and blue; it had been all encompassing, like someone had tucked a comforter around him in his sleep. He wondered briefly if he could get away with simply staying in bed forever waiting for that dream to come back. He heaved himself upright with a sigh, rubbing at his sleep-sticky eyes; he was sore all over, and it wasn’t going to get any better if he kept lying around.

He had spent the entire night locked away in his room, and he didn’t feel like spending any more time here even if it was comfortable; still, he wasn’t in a rush to leave. He got dressed lethargically, pulling on a pair of sweat pants and a clean baggy t-shirt, and headed for the door, ready to start the day. He might not have read to Steve last night like he had promised, but he wasn’t going to keep disappointing the kid. It was probably inevitable that he would disappoint Adult Steve one way or another, but that wouldn’t be for a while; at least right now he could make it up to the little guy. There were plenty of books left to read, after all, and it wasn’t like he had anything to do today anyway.

He stepped into the living room and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes drawn to the kitchen table; it felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs when he realized just what he was seeing. There, sitting beside Steve, casually eating pancakes, was Bucky Barnes. The Ex-Winter Soldier didn’t have his mechanical arm back, thankfully, but that didn’t seem to be bothering him. And why would it, when Steve was feeding him pancakes off of his own fork?

Tony’s hands clenched into fists. He gritted his teeth and schooled his expression. He hadn’t been noticed yet. Maybe he could just slip away and go back to bed.

“Hey, Tony,” Clint said, waving a fork in Tony’s direction. “Phil made pancakes,”

Tony forced a pleasant smile onto his face.

Damn Clint and his stupid perfect vision.

Tony shuffled towards the kitchen table, avoiding direct line of sight with the living room window. “Morning,” he said, not looking at Steve or Bucky. He sat down in the empty chair beside Clint, and leaned back, feigning a yawn. “I take it Natasha’s on duty?”

“She’s still watching the cameras,” Coulson said, setting a plate of pancakes down in front of Tony. He slid the syrup and margarine across the table closer to Tony’s plate, turning back to a second frying pan where he had eggs cooking. “Eat up,”

“Yeah, sure,” Tony said, picking up his fork. He was tempted to pick up his plate and head into the living room so he could eat off the coffee table, but of course, Clint noticed, so that plan went out the window before it really even formed.

“Steve’s feeling better today,” Clint said, elbowing Tony in the side as though he wasn’t paying attention. “He didn’t throw up once,”

Tony grunted and stuffed a forkful of pancakes in his mouth. He chewed quickly. If there were no pancakes keeping him at the table, then he could leave without looking like a complete asshole. He swallowed down the mouthful and went in for the next, praying that Clint would go back to eating in silence.

Sadly, Clint was in a chatty mood.

“Bucky’s going to help out around the place,” Clint said, cutting his pancakes into perfect diamonds. “He’s going to do the babysitting for us,”

Tony pressed down too hard and clinked his fork against the plate. “Great,” he said, lifting his fork up, surprised that he hadn’t broken the damn plate in half. He stabbed at another piece of pancake, imagining that it was Bucky Barnes’ face. “I’m sure he’ll have fun,”

Clint sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re not sidelining you – you know that, right?”

“I didn’t say you were,” Tony said, flashing Clint another smile. “I’m sure the kid will enjoy the change,”

“What change?” Steve said, handing Bucky back his fork. He looked from Bucky to Tony, clearly confused.

“It’s nothing, kiddo,” Tony said, popping another piece of pancake into his mouth. It wouldn’t take too much longer to clear his plate at this rate. “How was your night, Steve?”

Steve shrugged. “It was ok. Bucky read me some stuff from the Wind in the Willows,”

Tony’s lower lip twitched at the side. “Oh?” Great, he thought. The motherfucker was reading to the kid now too. Could this day get any better?

“Yeah,” Steve said, turning back to Bucky. The look on his face could only be described as admiration. He beamed up at Bucky, wiggling closer to him even though it put him dangerously close to the edge of the seat. “He’s old now,”

Tony chuckled darkly. He pushed his plate away and dusted off his hands. “Well, I’m done,” he said. He nearly jumped out of his skin when Coulson set a cup of coffee in front of him. “Jesus – don’t do that!”

Coulson slipped an egg onto Tony’s plate, looking distinctly unimpressed. “Breakfast isn’t done yet,”

Tony scowled at the egg. “I didn’t say I was that hungry,”

“But you are,” Coulson said, putting another egg onto Tony’s plate.

Tony took a sip of coffee to cover his irritation. It was the good stuff from his stash. Coulson had even used cream and sugar. He wanted to cry.

“You’re welcome,” Coulson said, turning back to the stove. “I expect the eggs to be gone by the time I turn around again,”

Bucky picked up his fork and prodded the hunk of pancake left on his plate. “You guys aren’t what I was expecting,” he said, turning to face Steve.

“Good,” Tony said, chugging his coffee. He set the cup down a bit harder than necessary and attacked his eggs, smearing yolk all over the plate as he sliced them up. He shoveled them into his mouth, cursing the fact that they tasted fantastic.

“So what’s happening today?” Bucky asked, feeding Steve a chunk of pancake. He looked over his shoulder at Coulson. “I’m assuming you’re going to tell me at some point, right?”

“Assume away,” Tony said, finishing his last bite of egg. He ferried his cup and plate over to the sink, setting them in a neat stack beside the rest of the dirty breakfast dishes and slunk off, heading towards his room. “Thanks for breakfast, Phil,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“Hey,” Clint called after him, “Aren’t you going to stick around?”

“Nope,” Tony said as he stepped into his room. He closed the door behind him, sighing to himself. Well, so much for it being a great day. Why had he woken up again? He had been cheated out of his good mood. It was like Bucky had known what he had been planning in advance.

Tony crawled onto his bed and pulled his tablet off of the dresser, balancing it precariously on his knee. He had known that Bucky wasn’t going to stay in the closet forever, but he hadn’t expected the guy to be freed this fast. He was pretty sure Natasha had been responsible for that little surprise; maybe that was why she had been mysteriously absent. He knew how much she loved Coulson’s pancakes.

He flipped through the camera feeds, and found Natasha with ease. She was sitting on the roof, just below one of cameras, using her holographic watch to blend herself in with the shingles; she had a pair of binoculars and a thermos with her, all of it sitting within arm’s reach. He glared at the feeds, noting her position as she changed the angles of some of the cameras so that they covered more ground. At least she was doing something useful. He supposed he could forgive her.

Tony put his head in his hands.

A rap on Tony’s bedroom door made him knock the tablet with his elbow by accident; he caught it before it tumbled onto the bed beside him, holding it flush against his leg. “Come in,” he said, hoping it was Steve.

It wasn’t Steve.

Well – it was Steve, but the kid was accompanied by Bucky so it wasn’t exactly the same. The expression on Bucky’s face was, at least, satisfying to say the least; the guy looked a little bit like he had just had all of the hair on his balls plucked off with a rusty pair of tweezers. Bucky leaned against the door frame and coughed into his hand, trying to casually draw Tony’s attention. It was a pathetic attempt, but at least he hadn’t done anything worse.

“What’s up?” Tony said, ignoring the spike of fear Bucky’s presence had brought with it. He looked towards his pillow for a split second, glad that he had thought ahead enough to plant weaponry nearby; the stun gun he had stashed under his pillow made him feel calmer, all things considered. He was pretty sure he was going to distinctly enjoy using it on Bucky if the bastard ever stepped out of line.

Bucky cleared his throat and glanced down at Steve; the kid crossed his arms over his chest and gave Bucky a grumpy look.

Bucky sighed and turned to face Tony. “I’m supposed to… apologize,”

Tony frowned. “What?” He hadn’t been expecting anything like this. A rude comment yes – an apology, no.

“I almost drowned you,” Bucky said, turning to shoot a grumpy look at Steve. “Steve says I should say I’m sorry,”

Steve smiled brightly, his arms dropping to his sides, and nodded.

Tony stared unblinking at Bucky. “You’re… sorry?” The tablet slid down Tony’s leg; he ignored it in favor of analysing the words he had heard. “You’re sorry…” He gave his head a shake and slowed the tablet’s descent, setting it down on the sheets beside him. “I don’t get it.”

Bucky scowled, putting his hand on his hip. “Look. I tried to kill you. I owe you an apology,”

“An apology,” Tony repeated, dully, looking from Steve to Bucky. The kid seemed happy with what had just happened; he certainly looked more chipper than he had before.

“Yes,” Bucky grumbled, narrowing his eyes. “This is me,” he said, pointing at Tony, “apologizing to you. So I’ve done it. I’ve apologized,”

“You’re apologizing,” Tony repeated.

Was he hearing things right? He had to be, because Bucky was still standing there, staring at him, waiting impatiently for a response. Tony snickered and looked down at his tablet, scooping it back up. “Alright,” he said, unsure of what else to say.

Bucky frowned. “Alright?”

“Yeah. Alright,” Tony said. It most definitely wasn’t alright, but there wasn’t much else he was willing to say with Steve still in the room; he had some dignity left, and he wasn’t going to waste the last of it by snapping in front of Steve like some kind of rabid animal. He reigned in his emotions, controlling the hurt bubbling within him, and smiled at Bucky, trying to look at pleasant as possible. “Are we done?”

Bucky stared at Tony, frowning. “Yeah, I guess we are,”

“Well, ok then,” Tony said, glancing down at his tablet. He prayed his smile would hold; he could feel it cracking at the corners. It wouldn’t be long now – not long at all. “You two have fun,” he said, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. He could do this. All he had to do was keep it together.

Steve snagged Bucky by the arm, tugging on it. “Come on,” he said, turning them both around in a smooth circle, “We can go colour!”

Tony got up slowly, creeping to the door. He watched as Steve dragged Bucky off into the living room, where his colouring books and crayons lay spread out on the table, waiting for attention.

Great.

So much for making it up to Steve. Apparently he didn’t need to do anything at all. The kid was happier without him. He peered around the door frame, and then pulled his head back inside his room before Clint could catch his eye. He felt like he was in boarding school all over again; he half expected his dorm advisor to walk by at any minute. He closed the door with a soft click, and sat down beside his tablet, going back to spying through the cameras. He pulled up the feeds for the living room and sighed, watching as Steve and Bucky started working on a picture of the Hulk crushing a tank.

They looked so happy together.

It wasn’t fair.

Tony turned the feeds off as Bucky picked up a red crayon and leaned back against his pillows, closing his eyes. He could hear Howard’s voice in the back of his head, just like when he had been a child. Stark men don’t cry!

He wondered if that was really true, or just another lie.

“I think I want to spend some time alone,” Tony said.

Clint looked up from his tablet, a noodle hanging from his mouth; his late night snack would have been more appetizing if it hadn’t smelled like feet. “What?”

It was midnight now; the rest of the house was quiet aside from the soft snores coming from Steve’s room. Everyone was in place, following orders. Bucky and Steve were bunked together, with Coulson sitting beside them keeping watch. Natasha was keeping an eye on everything from her tablet, but she was nowhere to be seen. Tony was pretty sure she was up on the roof again. Maybe she was hunting a snack of her own up amidst the shingles.

“Your house is set up security-wise, right?” Tony asked, sitting down at the table. He set his tablet down on the tabletop beside Clint’s and tried not to flinch every time the archer slurped up a new noodle. “The cameras are up and running?”

“Yeah,” Clint said, setting his bowl down. He wiped his hand on the back of his mouth. “We fixed it up two nights ago. It’s good to go,”

“Alright. I guess I’ll head over there then,” Tony said, moving to pick up his tablet. He wasn’t sure why he had put it down in the first place. Oh wait – that was probably because his hands were shaking. He had almost forgotten that part.

“Are you alright?” Clint pushed his bowl away and pushed Tony’s hand away from the tablet. “Look – I get that Bucky’s not the nicest guy, but you can’t let him get to you,”

“I know that,” Tony growled. He rested his chin in the palm of his hand. “I just don’t think I’m useful here,” he said, glancing down at his tablet where the feed from Steve’s bedroom was still playing. “It would be better for all of us if you guys only had two people to look after. With me in the mix, you’ve got too many things to worry about. It’s distracting, and we need to be focused on Steve – not me,”

“Tony,”

“No, hear me out, ok?” Tony sighed. “I can’t think here. I’ve been trying, you know? I keep pulling out that fucking notebook and writing things down, but I can’t concentrate. I need quiet – I need time to think by myself without constantly worrying that I’m going to run face first into him when I try to go to the fucking bathroom,”

“Ok, I think I see what you’re getting at,” Clint grunted. “You know, we could always just put him back in the closet,”

Tony snorted. He smiled at Clint; sometimes the guy really was great. “I don’t think Steve would appreciate that,”

Clint shrugged. “Not my problem,”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Ok, well let’s just say Phil wouldn’t appreciate it,”

“Fair enough,” Clint muttered. He stretched out in his chair, idly spinning his empty soup bowl in circles with his finger. “I’m assuming you need an escort,”

Tony glared down at his tablet, refusing to look up.

“Relax,” Clint said, spinning the bowl a little faster. “I’m not judging you. I’m just asking if you need someone to walk you over to the place,”

“I’d appreciate it,” Tony muttered, still looking at the tablet.

“I’m assuming that mean you want to go now, huh?” Clint scooped his bowl up and rose, dumping it beside the sink. “I guess I’ve got some free time,”

“Thanks,” Tony said, standing up. He put his tablet to sleep and tucked it under his arm, hoping that Clint couldn’t see how badly his arms were shaking. “Give me a second and I’ll go get my bag,”

Clint rubbed at his face, wiping up a piece of dried out green onion. “Just make it snappy, alright? Natasha’s due for a break, and I don’t want to lose a nut if I’m not back by the time she’s ready,”

Tony opened his door, mindful of the way the floorboards creaked. He found his bag sitting where he had left it on his bed and relaxed as little as he stuffed his tablet inside; he wasn’t so sure he would be able to hold onto it without breaking it while out on the beach. He glanced around the room, checking for the fiftieth time to make sure he hadn’t left anything important behind. It was alright. Everything was packed up. He hadn’t missed a thing.

“You coming?” Clint grumbled, strutting into Tony’s room. He eyed Tony’s bag. “You’re taking everything?”

“Yeah,” Tony said, trying to be casual. “I didn’t bring all that much, and I’ll need it when I’m over there. I don’t want to make extra trips,”

“Steve’s going to freak out,”

Tony zipped his bag up. “I’m not going to be that far away. Besides, Bucky’s here keeping him company. He probably won’t even realize I’m gone,” he said, shouldering his bag. “Let’s get this over with,”

“I told Phil already. We can go whenever,” Clint said. He picked up his keys and led them to the front door, casually glancing back over his shoulder every few feet to make sure Tony was still following him. He paused in the doorway, giving Tony a funny look – one Tony couldn’t quite place. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Tony wanted to say no. He had been dreading this moment all day; it had taken everything in him to walk out into the living room to even ask Clint to help him leave. He had packed his bag over and over again in order to keep himself calm; nothing he had done had helped, but he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. It would be better to cut the cord now, before he got any more attached than he already was; it was better to do it before anyone got hurt. He clutched at the handles of his bag, aware that it wasn’t just his hands shaking now. “I’m ready,” he said.

Clint opened the door.

They walked outside.

Chapter Text

Tony put his bag up on his shoulder; he couldn’t avoid the first glimpse of water as he made his way down the steps, but it wasn’t as shocking as it had been days before. The bag was wide enough to keep him from seeing more of it as he turned and followed Clint across the sand. Hermann’s Beach House, as they had come to call it, wasn’t that far away, but it felt like he was trekking across the arctic just to get to the front step. Tony kept his gaze on Clint’s back as he walked, forcing each foot to move through the sand, keeping his thoughts on the wrinkle on the collar of Clint’s shirt. The sound of the water lapping against the shore made him cringe each time he noticed it. He wanted to slap his hands over his ears to block it out, but there was no way to do that unless he wanted to drop his bag, and there was no way in hell he was going to do that.

Something grabbed his foot; Tony stumbled, stopping in mid-step. Pain tore through his ankle as something sharp tore through his socks. This was it, he thought, as sweat trickled down the side of his face. This was it. He was going to die here and it was going to be in the goddamned sand –

He looked down, expecting to see a bear trap or something else with teeth. To be fair, what he saw did indeed have teeth, although they were far less likely to strip the meat from his bones. Mabel looked up at him, her eyes wide and glowing in the dark. She meowed and tugged on his pant leg twice with her paw before plunking herself down on his shoe; her purrs were so loud, they drowned out the crashing waves behind her. Tony let out a hissed breath through his teeth. “Jesus Christ, cat,” he said, wiping the beads of sweat off of his lower lip. “You couldn’t wait until morning to do that?”

“Tony?” Clint called out from further along the beach. The jackass had made it halfway to Hermann’s Beach House already; he hadn’t even slowed down to see what was taking Tony so long.

“It’s ok,” Tony yelled back, his voice hoarse. “It’s just the cat,”

Clint made good time as he stalked back across the sand; it didn’t seem to bother him at all. He kneeled in front of Tony and gave Mabel’s neck fur a scratch. “I was wondering where she was,”

“She was missing?”

“She was around, but she wasn’t wandering as much as usual. The little lady doesn’t like strangers,” Clint said, trying to ease the cat back onto the sand. Mabel stared up at him with bland indifference and primly stepped off of Tony’s shoe in order to give Clint’s hand a swat. He poked her in the flank and grinned, flashing teeth, when she took a swipe at him, her claws out this time. He stuck his tongue out at her; she hissed at him. “She’s very particular about who she lets in the house. She attacks Bucky every time he walks near her,” Clint said with a chuckle.

Tony couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. “Oh yeah?”

Clint stretched out and stood up. “Yeah. She’s got a bit of a temper.” He took Tony by the wrist and started leading him across the sand towards Hermann’s Beach House. He stopped and looked over his shoulder when he noticed that Mabel wasn’t following them. “Are you coming? Or what?” he asked, in exasperation.

Mabel sneezed at him and slunk her way across the sand, her tail swishing behind her as she hurried to catch up.

Clint waited for her to get closer and then started walking again. “I guess I’m not your only honor guard tonight,” he hummed to himself, stepping over a cracked and twisted piece of driftwood.

Mabel crouched down, her behind wiggling. Tony would have warned him, but by the time he opened his mouth, the cat had already launched herself through the air and attached herself to Clint’s leg. Clint howled, neatly tipping over when his cat-free foot sunk into a soupy patch of sand; he caught himself on Tony’s shoulder and took a moment to regain his balance before continuing on as if nothing had happened. “So yeah,” Clint said, gingerly lifting his leg higher up off the ground so he wouldn’t step on Mabel’s fluffy tail as he walked, “Phil started feeding her outside on the porch because she was biting people’s legs,”

“I’m not surprised,” Tony grumbled, avoiding a mixed blob of sand and broken shells. “She didn’t attack Steve, did she?”

“No,” Clint grunted. “Of course not. The cat loves him. Get the door, will you?”

Tony was startled to see that they were already at Hermann’s Beach House; it hadn’t taken as long as he had expected to traverse the sand. He straightened up, smirking to himself. That hadn’t been so hard. He had barely noticed the water! Damn, he was good! He took a moment to grin as he looked around and then turned back to the Beach House before his stomach could try and leap out of his mouth at the sight of open water.

The lights were already on in the Beach House’s living room; they cast a dull yellow glow on the front steps, so it wasn’t hard to spot the lock, even in the dark. It would almost have been a pleasant sight, if Tony hadn’t known that there was no one waiting inside for him.

“As you can see,” Clint said with a grunt, “we’ve got the lights running on timers right now.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Tony said, starting up the steps.

“Alright, Mr. Smarty Pants. Laugh it up.”

“Oh, I will,”

“Asshole,”

“I’m assuming the place is fully stocked?” Tony sighed, patting his pockets for the keys. Keys, keys – where were the keys?

“There’s some food in the cupboards,” Clint grumbled, fishing his keys out of his pocket. He handed them off to Tony. “Do me a favor and open her up,” he said. He gave his foot a gentle shake, trying to get Mabel to let go of him. “Do you mind, cat?”

A glob of slimy sand flew off of Clint’s boot, hitting Tony in the leg. “Oops,”

Tony took in a breath in through his nose, letting it out slowly as he stuck the key in the lock. It was fine. He would be inside in a few seconds; there was nothing to worry about. No one was going to jump out at him. He had Jarvis and Natasha watching his back through the cameras. He would be fine. The key slid into the lock with ease; he relaxed as he turned it, willing himself to stay calm. Behind him, something heavy hit the porch with a crash.

Tony yanked at the door handle and let himself in, throwing himself over the threshold and away from the sand. Whirling, he hurled his bag into the hall and held his hand out palm first, squinting to see through the darkness at the bottom step.

Clint scowled up at him. He had slipped on the first step and landed on his knees, but he didn’t look hurt.

Tony’s heart hammered in his chest; he let out a shaky breath and lowered his arm, wishing for the thousandth time that he had brought the suit along. He missed the days when he had easy access to a repulsor, although in his case it was probably better that he hadn’t had one. Clint probably liked being scorch-free.

Clint sighed and picked himself up, dusting off his bruised knees. “I’m fine – I slipped on the cat. Thanks for asking,” he muttered. He gave his foot another gentle shake, and hung his head in defeat when Mabel didn’t budge an inch. He attached himself to the railing and heaved his foot and the cat up onto the first step. “Fucking cat,”

Tony sagged against the wall beside his bag. He was safe – it was fine. He looked around, taking in the living room as his heart continued trying to claw its way out of his chest with each frenzied beat. The place wasn’t a complete disaster, but the decorator still should have been taken outside and shot. He had never enjoyed wallpaper; it had been the one thing he and his mother had had in common growing up. Maria Stark would have fainted dead away if she had been around to see this place. Clearly someone had liked wallpaper a little too much. It was everywhere. Tony hadn’t thought he would ever see swans wearing rubber boots, but he could now say he had seen more than his fair share of them. They seemed to have taken over, like moss spreading across a shady rock. There were even matching ceramic swans sitting on the bookshelf by the ancient television. He half expected to find a massive swan sitting on the coffee table, but to his surprise the decorator had settled for a nice bowl of dusty hard candy instead.

Tony glanced around the living room, cataloguing exits and entrances as he dragged himself away from the front door. The walls weren’t just covered in swans; there was a plethora of other wildlife to be seen. There were roosters holding tea kettles in the kitchen and that wasn’t even the worst of it. When he poked his head into the bathroom he found that it was papered with dragonflies carrying daisies.

“So, again, before I was so rudely interrupted by my kneecaps exploding, the place is set up, but it doesn’t have everything,” Clint said, shutting the door behind him. “I brought in a box of groceries yesterday when I thought it was going to be me stashed away here, but I was going to get more later on so it’s not much.” He grimaced when Mabel detached from his leg and did figure eights around Tony’s feet. “I didn’t bring any cat food, either, so I’m going to have to come back here tomorrow – oh. Also, you have no coffee,”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony said, nimbly stepping around Mabel. He carried his bag into the living room and set it down on the plastic wrapped sea-foam green couch. The curtains were still mostly open, so he crept closer, trying not to be too obvious about what he was going to do. He pulled the curtains shut, blocking out the world outside and stood back on his heels.

Clint gestured to the one and only bedroom, running his tongue over his teeth. “And just so you know, the sheets are clean,”

“Is there a reason why they wouldn’t be?” Tony asked, curious.

Clint shrugged. “I don’t know. Natasha said you had thing about dust,”

Tony snorted. “Yeah. Dust. Is that what we’re calling it now?”

Clint shrugged. “Well, whatever. This place has a whole four rooms. I don’t think you’re going to end up overwhelmed by the housework,”

“Agreed,” Tony said, peeling the plastic off of the couch. He threw the crinkled ball behind the television and plopping himself down on the couch, trying to ignore the way Clint was glaring at him. “I’ll pay for the fucking couch if it’s that big of a deal,” he said as he pulled his tablet out of his bag and turned it on, bringing up the security feeds; he had been itching to get a look at them ever since he had stepped onto the beach. The mere idea of the cameras being unwatched made his skin crawl, and even though he knew Natasha was studying them, he still didn’t feel completely safe. One quick look was all he needed to get his gut unclenched; the new feeds in Hermann’s Beach House were working perfectly and he could see through all of the cameras they had planted on the expanded perimeter. The new feeds were immaculate, clear enough to reveal the stars in the sky, but it was the older feeds that interested him the most. He pulled up the camera in Steve’s bedroom, and left it streaming as he watched Clint poke around the living room with Mabel stalking his toes. “Is there a reason why you’re circling the coffee table like you want to eat it?” he asked.

“Natasha asked me to walk around so she could check the camera alignment,” Clint said, rolling his eyes. “They’re in here too, remember?”

“I just checked them. They’re fine,” Tony said, pulling up the camera directory. Whoever had installed the new cameras had followed his naming convention; he curled his toes in satisfaction. It was probably a good thing no one could see how happy that made him. He pulled up the feeds for Hermann’s Beach House’s living room and watched lazily as Natasha tweaked the positioning, sometimes only a little, sometimes a lot, jumping between cameras until she had everything the way she wanted it. Strictly speaking, he wasn’t double checking her work. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her eye – it was more that he wanted to make sure there were no bugs in the system. He wasn’t going to be caught unaware – not this time.

“So,” Clint said, hovering beside the coffee table. He tugged a piece of dusty candy from the bowl, popping it into his mouth and spat it out into his hand after a moment of contemplation, grimacing at the taste. “Did you want me to stick around for a bit? Or are you alright if I leave?”

“You can go,” Tony said, trying to get out of the way as Mabel launched herself up onto his lap from the floor. He shifted to make room for her, but as usual she wasn’t willing to wait, so he ended up with her furry butt in his face. “I think we’ve got this covered,”

Clint chuckled. “Well, have fun with your friend,” he said, heading for the door. He paused when he reached it and strode into the kitchen, dumping the candy into the garbage can under the sink. He rinsed his hand and pulled his keys out of his pocket, giving them a slight jingle as though Tony hadn’t been watching him the entire time. “I’ll lock up,”

“Thanks,” Tony said from behind the cat.

Clint saluted him and pulled the door open, stepping out onto the porch. “I’ll bring your coffee and cat food over tomorrow morning,”

“Sounds like a tasty combination,” Tony said. He maneuvered his tablet around Mabel’s tail, trying to get it away from her before she could sit on it and close all the applications. She turned around in his lap and sat down, pinning his wrists to his thighs. He scowled down at her. “You’re just doing this because you know I won’t shove you off,” he said to her, leaning over her to get a better look at his tablet.

Clint laughed as he shut the door.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice boomed out of the tablet’s speakers. The sudden sound sent Tony scrambling sideways across the couch cushions with his hands held out palm first in front of him. Herman’s Beach House was too quiet, he thought with a weary sigh, slumping against the couch. Mabel hadn’t moved from her spot on his chest even though he had nearly flung himself and her off the couch; he could feel the prickly sting from the lovely new set of puncture wounds she had given him. She had been forced to dig her claws into his chest so that she didn’t haphazardly fly off of him and across the room. He was getting tired of the constant terror; this was the third time he had panicked at sudden sound in less than an hour, and it was draining the last of his patience. The cat had grown used to it; he hadn’t. He was starting to think he needed to think more like her and less like him. Maybe then he would be able to sleep again without jerking awake every ten seconds, worrying that someone was there, in the room with him. Tony rubbed his hand over his eyes. It was three in the morning. He had spent the better part of two hours staring at Mabel’s white and brown back feet because he hadn’t been able to think of anything better to do and it had gotten a little…. boring. He tried to move so that he could sneak a peek at the tablet and the streaming security feeds but was instead given a close up of Mabel’s furry side when she clambered higher up onto his chest and stuffed her face into the hollow of his throat.

“Mabel,” he whined, shifting his arms until he had the tablet free again. She snorted into his throat and licked him once, her pink tongue rough and wet against his skin.

“Bucky?” Tony half expected Steve to come running into the room when the kid started speaking again; he sighed and propped the tablet up against Mabel’s back to get a better look at what was going on in Steve’s room.

The video feeds were crystal clear. Steve was lying in his bed on his back, wrapped tightly in checkered blue and black blankets; he wasn’t alone in his room, but he and Bucky were the only people awake. Coulson was sitting with them, slumped in his chair like a mall Santa at the end of the day; he looked a little like he was going to slide out of the chair at any moment, but was somehow maintaining his balance with his fingers curled rightly around the bottom of the chair. Bucky was sitting on the floor, leaning back against Steve’s bed with his blankets pulled up over his feet. He kept tipping forwards every few seconds; the guy probably didn’t even realize he was nodding off.

Tony sighed and made the video larger, ignoring the other feeds.

“Bucky?” Steve called out again, rolling over onto his side so he could look down over the side of the bed where Bucky was sitting.

“What?” Bucky said, his voice gravelly. He rubbed his eyes and sat up straighter, letting his hand drop down to rest in his lap. “Something wrong?”

“No,” Steve said, heaving a sigh. “I had a dream,”

“Was it a bad one?”

“No,” Steve said. He tugged at his blankets. “It was a really good one,”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky yawned. He closed his eyes again and blinked them back open, swaying against the side of the bed. “Can it wait until morning?”

“I guess,” Steve said. “Did I wake you up?”

“No,”

“I heard you snoring,”

“That was the other guy,”

“Nu huh,”

“Ya huh,”

“You’re still bad at lying. Did you know that?” Steve asked.

“I disagree,” Bucky grumbled. “I think I’m very good at lying,”

“Is that what happens when you grow up?”

“I guess so,” Bucky said. “Ask me again tomorrow,”

“What happened to you?” Steve asked, his voice going soft. “No one wants to tell me. They think I’m too little to get it,”

“You don’t want to know,” Bucky said with a grunt. “It’s better if you don’t – believe me.”

“But you’re my friend,” Steve said, sounding hurt. “Why can’t you tell me?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Bucky snapped. He closed his eyes and adjusted his blanket, tucking it against his hip. “This conversation is over,”

Steve fell silent. He pulled his blanket up over his head and vanished from sight.

Bucky sighed, forcefully banging the back of his head against the mattress. “So what was your dream about?”

“Nothing,” Steve muttered, his voice muffled by the blanket.

Bucky reached up and tugged at Steve’s blanket, easing it back so he could see Steve’s face. “I’m not telling you about what happened right now. I don’t want to think about it, ok? I just don’t – and I don’t want to explain it to you. You don’t need the nightmares, kid,”

“Was it bad?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“We’re not talking about it – remember?”

“Sorry,”

“Don’t apologize. Just stop asking,” Bucky said, closing his eyes again. He cleared his throat. “So what was your dream about?”

“I was old and I was married,” Steve said, letting his arm dangle from the side of the mattress. “We lived in Stark Tower and had a floor all of our own,”

“Oh yeah?” Bucky chuckled. “Sounds like a good dream. Who was your special girl? Someone I know? Is she pretty?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, smiling shyly. He picked at Bucky’s shirt, tugging at a string he found along the collar. “Can we get some water?”

“Water?” Bucky mock groaned. “But then you’re going to have to pee!”

“But I’m thirsty,” Steve whined, sticking out his lower lip.

“And you call me the bad liar,” Bucky grumbled. His knees cracked as he stood up. He dumped his blanket onto the end of Steve’s bed and waited with his hand on his hip while Steve struggled out of his blankets. The kid’s pajamas were light blue and covered in little polka dots that looked like Captain America’s shield if you squinted at them; it was Coulson’s work – it had to be. Tony had a hard time not laughing at the sight.

Steve led the way out of the room, slipping through the creaky doorway into the kitchen with Bucky trailing along after him; he was quieter than usual and Tony could barely hear him through the speakers even though they were turned up as high as they could go. Steve went up onto his tiptoes and leaned against the counter to get a cup. He struggled, but couldn’t quite reach what he wanted. He wiggled his fingers at the closest cup, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

Bucky chuckled. “You still can’t reach, huh, squirt?”

Steve scowled and stepped back from the counter. “It’s not my fault everything is so tall,”

Bucky smiled and patted Steve on the head, ignoring the way the kid kept scowling at him. “Sadly, that’s the world we live in,” he said, picking up the cup Steve had been reaching for. He filled it with water and handed it over, grabbing another cup so that he could get a drink of his own. They stood in silence, sipping water, watching each other drink; Bucky chuckled and leaned back against the counter, peering out the window at the ocean. He watched the waves and then turned back to the sink when Steve finished his drink and handed the cup back to him. Steve danced back and forth on the balls of his feet.

“Something wrong?” Bucky asked, setting the cups down beside the sink.

“I’m just thinking about the dream I had,” Steve said, glancing around the room. He spotted Clint, asleep on the couch, and turned back to Bucky, his cheeks going faintly pink. “I don’t know if I should tell you,”

Bucky smirked, “Oh? It must have been good – I think I want to know now,”

“The person I married in my dream wasn’t a girl,” Steve whispered.

Bucky snorted. “I see,” he said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “Well, we can’t all marry pretty ladies,” he said, turning Steve around and pointing him at his bedroom. “I’m sure you’ll find yourself a pretty fella someday,”

“I don’t need to go find one. In my dream, I was married to Tony,” Steve said, letting himself be pushed towards his room.

Bucky nearly tripped on the carpet.

Tony nearly choked to death on his own saliva.

Bucky’s face went beet red. “What are you talking about?” he sputtered, steadying himself on the doorframe. He shooed Steve inside their bedroom and looked around, as though expecting someone to come running at him with a shotgun. He closed the door behind them and followed Steve back to bed, sitting back down on the floor beside the mattress as the kid crawled back under the covers.

“I like Tony,” Steve said, pulling his blankets back up to his chin. “He’s nice,”

“He’s a creepy old man,” Bucky muttered, shaking his head.

“He is not,” Steve said, jabbing Bucky in the ear. “He’s not creepy or old,”

“By the time you grow up, he’ll be older than dirt,” Bucky snorted. “Pick someone less geriatric,”

Steve scowled. “I don’t know what that means,”

“It means,” Bucky said, closing his eyes and leaning back against the mattress, “Tony Stark will be wearing diapers by the time you’re grown up enough to marry him,”

Steve rolled over, pulling his blankets up over his shoulders. “Well, I don’t care,”

“Good for you,” Bucky said.

“I’m going to marry Tony!”

“Go ahead!”

“Fine!”

“What makes you think he’s going to want marry you anyway?” Bucky grunted. “He’s an adult – you’re a child. He’s a real creep if he’s been putting the moves on you,”

“He isn’t doing that!” Steve sounded horrified. “He’s a nice guy! He’d never do that,”

“Then why do you want to marry him?”

“He’s nice, and he doesn’t treat me like I’m stupid. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Steve said. He pulled his blankets up over his head and fell silent.

Bucky pulled his blanket up around his hips and let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Fine. Be that way,”

“Fine!”

“Good!”

Tony sighed and pushed Mabel out of his face. He set his tablet down on the coffee table and slid down the side of the couch so that he could lie down without getting a crick in his neck; Mabel walked down his chest and curled up on his ankle, pinning it to the couch.

Steve wanted to marry him?

Tony chuckled and slipped a pillow under his head so his ear wasn’t digging into the armrest. He wasn’t so sure what to think about that little gem. It was flattering as hell, of course.

Who wouldn’t want to marry Steve?

Steve Rogers – Adult Steve Rogers – was a real catch. It was Tony Stark that wasn’t, at least according to the people Tony had dated in the past. It wasn’t like he didn’t date, either. It was just that most of the time when he walked into a banquet or down the street, he got the ‘don’t-touch-him-he’s-a-dirty-playboy’ look thrown his way; he might have enjoyed planning weddings, but he hadn’t really expected it to ever get serious enough for that to happen– at least not after Pepper had left him. Someone wanting to marry him – genuinely wanting to marry him –well that didn’t happen unless said person was a, psychotic b, wanted his money or c, wanted to wear him like a pair of boots. Sometimes it was a bit of all three. That was sort of why he hadn’t been going out so often – well, that and Steve had been around and he hadn’t really felt up to it.

God, it was such a weird thought…

Tony Stark marrying Steve Rogers….

First of all, it was more likely he would sprout wings and fly to Pluto. There was no way in hell Adult Steve would even dream about something like that. Maybe in a nightmare-ish ‘dear-god-what-is-this-hell’ kind of way.

It was weirder that he was seriously entertaining the idea. It wouldn’t be a burden – that was for sure.

Tony smiled up at the ceiling.

He hadn’t thought about Adult Steve that way before. Yeah, he had wanted to be the guy’s friend, and he had wanted to be able to walk into a room without Steve wanting to snap him in half like kindling. But marrying him? Tony hadn’t wanted to marry him.

Ok.

Fine.

That wasn’t entirely true. There was a part of him that had wanted to marry Captain America ever since he had first laid eyes on those delicious black and white posters Howard had hung in his den. It had been a kid’s dream – one he had made himself lose interest in a long time ago. Captain America was an icon, a man of moral principles and upstanding honor. He was the kind of guy Tony had wanted on his side when Howard had been drunk, raving and angry. And Tony, well of course Tony had wanted to marry someone big and strong and kind like Cap. What kid wouldn’t? He supposed he could have done worse, daydream-wise. But Captain America wasn’t Steve Rogers – he had learned that the hard way the day they had met on the Helicarrier.

Cap was a legend – Steve Rogers could be a bit of an asshole when he wanted to be.

Steve wasn’t that bad once you got past the grumpy, crusty, self-righteous old man outer shell, and ok, yes, maybe Tony did have a teeny, microscopic thing for Steve Rogers and his massive shoulders and his stupid, shapely backside, but it hadn’t like he was going to offer to have the guy’s babies. He hadn’t exactly known Steve before now; they were teammates by necessity, not choice. Lust didn’t mean love.

Well, it didn’t really matter, did it? Crushes and dreams of what might be didn’t mean anything in the real world. Once Steve was himself again, all this would be conjecture. Steve wasn’t going to remember what he had dreamed and he definitely wasn’t going to run off to buy a wedding ring the second he laid eyes on Tony no matter how fantastic Tony looked. Hell, if he looked at Tony without scowling murderously, it would be a miracle.

It was a good thing he hadn’t stuck around, Tony thought with a snort. It was better to be over here, safe from the awkward questions. At least this way he could go on with his life; he wouldn’t have to dwell anymore. At least this way, he wouldn’t have to talk to Steve about anything. If he was lucky, by the time the kid woke up again, the dream would be nothing more than a distant memory.

Tony jerked awake as the alarm system squealed out its first warning. He grabbed for his tablet, ignoring the sharp, stinging pain in his thigh where Mabel had clawed him in mid-flight. He pulled up the cameras, searching for gunmen and Hydra agents, but there was nothing in sight. Sighing, he scrolled through Jarvis’ notifications until the motion sensors were tripped again. He nearly dropped the tablet.

There, darting across the beach in nothing more than his pajamas, was Steve.

Tony was up and off the couch in a second; he threw himself at the door and yanked it open before Steve could even stumble up the steps. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, fearing the worst and let out an oomph when Steve launched himself through the air. Tony found himself with an armful of crying, trembling, Steve.

“Honey? What’s wrong?” Tony asked, backing them into the house. He close the door and locked it, peering through the peek hole to see if someone was chasing the kid; when no one came into sight, he relaxed, but he couldn’t bring himself to put Steve down. “Steve? What’s going on?”

Steve sniffled wetly into Tony’s neck. “You left,”

Oh.

So that was what it was.

Tony carried Steve away from the door and collapsed onto the couch, cradling Steve against his chest. “I know, I know,” he murmured, stroking Steve’s hair. “But you can’t just leave the house like that. You could have been grabbed!”

“But you left! You said you wouldn’t leave, and you left!” Steve sobbed, refusing to look Tony in the eye.

Tony felt like he had swallowed a truckload of bricks. He lowered his gaze, slumping against the back of the couch. He had promised Steve he wouldn’t leave, hadn’t he? He had forgotten all about it; it felt like it had been years since he had made that promise. Shit. He was such an asshole! How could he have forgotten? “I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say. “I was going to tell you in the morning,”

Steve wrapped his arms tighter around Tony’s neck.

“How did you know I was here?” Tony asked. “Did Clint tell you?”

“No. No one said anything,” Steve hiccoughed, squashing his nose against Tony’s jaw. “I saw the lights on and I knew you were here,”

Oh god.

Tony barely managed to hold in his shriek of terror.

Steve had seen the lights on and come running? He had left the house because he had seen lights. There could have been anyone over here – anyone – and oh god. There could have been Hydra agents out there on the beach and Steve could have run right into their arms. “Steve?” Tony croaked, reaching for his phone. “Steve, did you tell anyone where you were going?”

Steve shook his head.

“Oh, honey,” Tony said, shakily hitting speed dial one with his thumb. He put the phone to his ear and waited for Clint to pick up, drumming his fingers stiffly on Steve’s shoulder. He ground his teeth as the phone rang over and over again. No one picked up.

What the fuck was going on over there?

How had Steve escaped without someone seeing him?

What could they possibly be doing in the middle of the night?

It wasn’t like they were all out shopping for pearls! Someone was supposed to be watching the fucking cameras at all times! He was just about ready to throw his phone across the room when Clint picked up on the twenty sixth ring.

Clint’s voice was groggy. “What?”

“Hello,” Tony said as calmly as he could, not wanting to scare Steve any more than necessary; he knew Steve could tell how angry he was, but Clint sure couldn’t. “We have a problem, Clint,”

“What?” Clint grunted. He yawned into the phone. “I was sleeping, you jackass,”

“Oh – did I wake you, honeycheeks?” Tony asked, sweetly. He hugged Steve tighter, tormented by images of the kid being scooped up and carried off without anyone knowing about it. He shuddered, resting his chin on the top of Steve’s head. “I’m sorry. I thought you were supposed to be taking over for Natasha when she went to bed,”

“Yeah,” Clint said, clearing his throat. “Sorry about that. I fell asleep for a second. Don’t worry about it. What’s up?”

“Clint,” Tony said, trying hard not to raise his voice, “do me a favor. Go check on Steve, will you?”

“Fine,” Clint grumbled. “But you owe me one,”

Tony heard the sound of Clint’s footsteps over the phone. He didn’t need to watch the security feeds to know what happened next. He heard the swearing; he heard the sound of something heavy hitting floor. He heard the swearing – the accusations, the hurried, useless plans for finding Steve. He waited until the noise had died down and then calmly murmured into the phone, “He ran across the beach to my place. He’s fine,”

“He what?” Clint screeched. “Jesus Fucking Christ, Tony – why the hell didn’t you say that earlier? It’s fine – calm down, Barnes! He’s fine,”

Bucky’s voice was shrill and booming over the phone; he wasn’t quite yelling into the phone, but Tony pulled it away from his ear to avoid going deaf anyway. “It’s not fucking fine! He’s a little kid! He’s not supposed to be slipping past us! How the fuck did he get out there without anyone seeing him?” Bucky yelled.

“He’s not hurt, right?” Clint asked, putting something over the receiver so he could muffle sounds of Bucky swearing like a sailor in the background. Someone was probably restraining him.

“He seems to be fine,” Tony said, stroking Steve’s hair. The kid sniffled and buried himself in the loose fabric of Tony’s shirt, holding on tightly to Tony’s arm. “It’s not him I’m concerned about,”

Mabel hit the back of the couch and pulled herself up. She meowed as she walked over to Tony’s shoulder, sniffing the air as she moved closer. She stopped to rub her nose against the shell of Tony’s ear before stepping up onto his shoulder and shoving herself in front of his face, nearly knocking the phone out of his hand.

“Tony?” Clint asked. “Hey, are you alright over there?”

“No, I am not alright. There is a cat butt in my face again,” Tony sputtered, spitting out a mouthful of cat hair. He gently shoved Mabel out from under his nose; she hissed at him and walked over top of Steve’s head with her tail held high after giving him a cursory sniff. She strode down Steve’s back, digging her claws into Steve’s shirt as she steadied herself for the descent. She settled on Tony’s knee with a grumpy look on her face and started washing her paws, taking care to get each and every toe clean. “Don’t look at me like that,” Tony muttered to the cat. He smoothed down Steve’s shirt, hoping the cat hadn’t scratched him up.

“Okay,” Clint sighed. “Look, just keep him there until morning, will you? We’re going to have a bit of a team meeting over here and he’s probably not going to want to hear it,”

“You bet your ass you’re going to have a team meeting,” Tony growled, trying to shoo Mabel off his knee before her weight could put his leg to sleep. “You told me you were going to keep him safe, Clint,”

“I know!” Clint snapped. “I fell asleep, alright? I’m sorry. It won’t happen again,”

“It better not,”

“It’s not like I was the only person here,” Clint muttered. “Everyone else was sleeping too, you know,”

“You were the one on duty, Clint,” Tony said. “I trusted you. You told me that you were going to keep an eye on him, and you didn’t.” He hung up before Clint could say anything else and set his phone face down on the coffee table; Mabel pranced over and kicked it away, sending it flying under the couch.

Steve sniffled into Tony’s shirt.

Tony settled his hands on the kid’s shoulders. “I’m pretty sure you know what I’m going to say,” he said, his voice turning soft.

“I shouldn’t have left the house,” Steve mumbled into Tony’s chest.

“Why didn’t you wake someone up and ask them where I was?”

“I don’t know,”

“So what happened? You wanted to talk to me about something and you couldn’t find me – is that what happened?” Tony asked.

Steve nodded, wiping his nose on his damp sleeve. “I had a dream, and I talked to Bucky about it,”

“You had a dream,” Tony repeated slowly. “Was it a bad one?”

“No,” Steve said, shaking his head. He wiped his nose again and looked away. “I was old and I got married to you,” he said, staring down at the couch. He looked up when Tony didn’t say a word and fidgeted, tugging at his sleeves. “Bucky said you’re a creepy old man. He said I shouldn’t marry you when I grow up because you’re going to be old,”

Tony smiled at Steve. “He’s not wrong,”

Steve’s eyes watered. “But I want to marry you!”

“Steve,” Tony sighed, looking Steve in the eye. “By the time you grow up, I’m going to be too old for you. I’m already thirty seven, sweetheart,” he said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “I’ll be as old as someone’s grandpa. Besides, you shouldn’t be thinking about marriage. You’re seven – give it some time, huh? You don’t want to rush into a decision like that. There will be plenty of people out there who you’ll like.”

Steve burst into tears. He buried his face in his hands and slumped in Tony’s lap, his shoulders trembling as he continued to sob. Tony stared at the kid, trying not to panic.

What had he done? He hadn’t been that mean, had he?”

“What’s wrong?” Tony murmured, leaning closer so he could hear Steve better.

Steve let out a heart crushingly loud wail. “You left because of me, didn’t you?”

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve and pulled him close again, tucking the child under his chin. “God, no! I left because I wanted to help keep you safe,” he said. “I thought it would be better if I stayed out of the way and kept an eye on you from a distance. You’ve already got Bucky and everyone else with you,”

“But they’re not you,” Steve sobbed, squashing himself into Tony’s chest again.

“They’re stronger than me – better, even,” Tony said, struggling with his words. He knew what he wanted to say. ‘I’m too fucked up to be useful to you’ wouldn’t sound right – not to Steve. The kid wouldn’t know what that meant. ‘I’m sick’ had its own problems. Then the kid would think he was dying or something, and he didn’t want that. He settled for a good old fashioned excuse, one he had used time and time again when he had been hounded by Pepper for missing board meetings. “I needed space to work,” he murmured. “It’s not something you did. I just need to have some quiet time. It’s really noisy over there,”

Steve looked up again, his eyes bloodshot and puffy. “It is?”

“Yeah, sweetie, it is,” Tony said, relieved that Steve had accepted the excuse so easily. He had expected to fail the way he usually did with Pepper, but it seemed that fate was on his side this time. “I need to keep an eye on the security cameras, because everyone else needs to rest. I’m not as tired as they are, so it’s better if I watch them,”

“But can’t you do that from our house?” Steve asked.

“No,” Tony said, “I can’t work over there. It’s easier to get things done when I don’t have to worry about everyone constantly worrying about me all the time. But it’s not like I’m gone forever,”

Steve gave a soft sniffle and wiped at his eyes with his sleeve.

“You can come visit me here whenever you want, ok? I’m not going to lock the door and yell at you to get off my lawn,” Tony said, cracking a smile.

Steve smiled crookedly up at him. “You don’t have a lawn,”

“I know, but that doesn’t mean I can’t yell about it,”

Steve sniffled. “Do you promise?”

“I promise,” Tony said, smoothing down Steve’s hair. “I’m not going to break this one, ok? Whenever you want to come over here, you can ask someone and they’ll bring you over.”

“So you’re not mad at me?”

“No, Steve,” Tony said, pulling Steve against him. “No, kiddo. I’m not mad. I’ll never be mad at you,”

“But I messed up,” Steve said, burying his face in Tony’s shirt again. “They’re going to be really mad at me,”

Tony patted Steve’s back. “I don’t know what to tell you. They’re worried too,” he said with a shrug. “We’ll deal with it later, alright?” When he pulled his hand back, he noticed that it was covered in a thin layer of sand. It shouldn’t have been a problem. It was just a little sand, after all; he had been getting better with sand. But it wasn’t just sand; he could smell salt water mixed in with it and that part was fresh. He hadn’t noticed it before, but Steve’s shirt was damp – no. Not just damp. Dripping wet. He wasn’t sure how he had missed it. Tony’s gut clenched; the sand smeared in a grey line across his thumb when he tried to rub it off.

He tensed.

No – no.

Not the sand – not now!

Not on Steve!

Tony rubbed the flat of his hand against Steve’s back, cringing when sand tumbled free; he gave Steve’s shirt another jerky rub and pulled his hand back, staring at the mess stuck to his skin. Oh god – oh god – oh god – the kid had been near the water – he had been stumbling near the water – he had been alone near the water-

Steve looked up. He glanced at Tony’s sandy hand with bleary, confused, eyes and then caught on. “I fell down,” he said, pushing himself off of Tony’s lap. He hurried over to the door and started dusting his clothes off over the mat by the door, slapping at his pajama bottoms as hard as he could. “It’s ok, Tony. I just fell down and I got sand stuck to my clothes,”

Tony gritted his teeth and stared at the sand smeared over his hand. It sparkled in the low light, as though it was something precious, but it wasn’t precious – it was death and he could smell the salt water again. He retched into his hand. He knew that he was imagining the intensity of the smell; he knew that he was pulling it out of his nightmares. He wanted to believe that it was nothing, but he couldn’t – he couldn’t let it go, couldn’t let it mean nothing, because if he did someone could die – he could drown and he hated drowning – he hated the taste of the water. He jumped up and darted into the kitchen, his stomach clenching with each step; he threw himself at the sink and turned on the tap, letting a slow trickle of water fall free from the faucet. It dribbled over his hand, and he ignored his hatred of it in order to clean the sand away. This water didn’t smell like salt; it smelled like chlorine and metal. He scrubbed at his hands, slathering them in green apple scented dish soap from the bottle Clint had so thoughtfully left him; he continued to rub and claw at his hand until his skin was pink and raw, and all he could smell was chlorine and apples.

Tony felt Steve tug at his shirt as he was letting the bubbles finally wash from his wrist; his face flushed with heat.

Shit.

The kid had seen him break again.

Why did Steve always have to see when he broke down? He turned slowly, trying to school his expression. He could do this if he tried hard enough; he had to do this.

Steve wasn’t dressed in his pajamas anymore. The kid must have dug through Tony’s bag, because he had pulled on a pair of Tony’s sweatpants and a green t-shirt, the one Tony used as pajamas; none of it fit him, but he had made it work.

Tony hadn’t seen anything this adorable in a long time.

The little guy had been swallowed up by fabric. Even with the drawstring around Steve’s waist pulled tight, the sweatpants looked like they were threatening to fall of him. The kid had rolled the pant legs up, so they weren’t quite dragging across the floor, and it was probably pure luck that had kept him from tripping over them. Steve smiled up at Tony. “The sand’s gone,” he said.

Steve was safe. He was dry and safe – they were safe. Tony dropped down to his knees and swept Steve into his arms, squeezing him for all he was worth. He knew he was crying, but he couldn’t bring himself to care; Steve hugged him back just as tightly.

Tony cleaned the rest of the sand off the couch using a sticky tape roller he had bought at the pet store to get rid of cat hair; he didn’t look at the befouled tape when he was done catching the last grains of sand. He chucked it into the trash as quickly as possible, his gaze averted. The floor was a little harder. He couldn’t use the sticky tape roll on it unless he wanted to crawl around on his hands and knees, so he found himself a broom and got to work. The work went easier if he kept an eye on Steve while he swept; he left the rest of the invading sand dumped neatly in a pile beside the front door. He wanted to dump it outside, but that would have meant getting an eyeful of the beach so he decided to ignore it. That job could wait until morning; it wasn’t like they were rushing anywhere. No one was going to say anything to him. He had plenty of time to procrastinate.

He went into the bathroom to hang up Steve’s damp pajamas. The kid was more of a miracle worker than Natasha. He had pulled every last grain of sand from his clothing, and he had been quick about it too. Tony hadn’t even seen him do it. The kid had even cleaned up the sand he had tracked into the bathroom.

Tony smiled at Steve’s damp t-shirt. He held it up to his chest to compare sizes and chuckled softly at the sight. Sometimes he forgot just how small Steve really was. The kid seemed to forget about that part too. He could see why Erskine had picked Steve as his test subject. The kid was all heart.

Tony sighed and hung the shirt up on the shower curtain bar, angling it so it wouldn’t fall down into the tub. It was strange to think that Steve was a few rooms away; he hadn’t expected the kid to go anywhere without Bucky at his side, but here he was. It was funny how quickly things changed.

“Tony?” Steve called out from the living room. “Can I use the bathroom? I have to pee,”

“It’s all yours,” Tony yelled back. He settled down on the couch, kicking his feet up onto the arm rest and let his eyes droop shut. Soon enough morning would be here, and he would have to escort the kid back across the sand so they could face the consequences of what had happened. At least this way he could gather his wits before the trek back. Sure, he would have to wake up when Steve came back, but a few minutes of sleep couldn’t hurt.

Tony blinked awake when Steve prodded him in the forehead. He looked up, blinking his dry eyes, and tried to get his bearings before his body decided to head back to la-la-land. “What’s up?” he asked.

“I want to go to sleep now,” Steve said, shuffling in place. He turned and looked towards the bedroom. “Can we go to bed?”

Tony gave his head a shake, trying to clear his thoughts. Maybe a power nap hadn’t been the best idea. He could feel himself nodding off already. He turned and looked over at the bedroom before yawning into his arm. “Go on. You’ve got the bed to yourself, kiddo,” he said, pulling his pillow a little higher up the arm of the chair. He tried to get comfortable again.

Steve looked down at his feet; he let his hand drop to his side as he released Tony’s shirt. “Oh,” he said with a sigh.

Tony opened one bloodshot eye. “What, oh? It’s a nice bed! It’s bigger than the one you have in the other house,”

Steve shrugged and turned, stalking towards the bedroom. “Never mind,”

“Steve,” Tony grumbled, sitting up, “I need to keep an eye on the cameras, remember? If I sit in there I’m going to start snoring,”

“But you’re already snoring out here,” Steve grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Tony scrubbed his hand over his face. Well, he couldn’t argue with that logic. He had snorted himself awake twice already, and he hated waking up that way; he didn’t like getting whiplash every time he fell asleep. He combed the tangles out of his hair with his fingers and got up.

He could almost forgive Clint for falling asleep while on watch.

Almost.

Tony tucked his pillow under his arm. He wondered if the others were still sitting around the kitchen table getting the talk; usually their team meetings ended at a reasonable hour, but as their benevolent leader was now seven and their crabby, one eyed leader was trapped at SHIELD HQ, they weren’t going to be getting the same tongue lashing as usual. It was hard to say how things would go. Tony was pretty sure that with Coulson around there would be plenty of verbal smack-downs for everyone; he just hoped he wasn’t going to get a smack of his own. He had, after all, fallen asleep too – although to be fair, there hadn’t been any expectations of him being awake.

“Tony,” Steve grumbled. “I’m tired,”

“I know, I know,” Tony grunted. He grabbed his tablet from the coffee table and made his way around the back of the couch. “Alright. You win. Fine, I’ll sit on the bed with you while you sleep, but I’m not falling asleep,” he muttered, more to himself than to Steve. He slunk around to the other side of the bed and sat down on the left-hand side of the mattress, propping himself up against the wall. He didn’t trust himself to stay awake if he crawled under the covers; it would be too warm and comfy there and he needed to be alert, not comfortable. It was better to have the headboard digging into his shoulder than to be snoring into a pillow, leaving Steve unprotected.

Steve grinned and scrambled up into the bed, pulling the blankets up over him. He rolled around until he was comfortable and then sank into his pillow with a yawn, turning to face Tony. “Good night,”

Tony smiled and patted Steve’s head. “Nighty night,” he said. He set his tablet on his lap. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well get some work done. “Hey, Jarvis? Bring up my last project,”

The tablet blinked once and then glowed a deep purple as the newest version of the arc reactor was dredged up from storage. This reactor was a backup, built to spec to work on the Quinjet in case they needed to jump start something big. They had fried over three engines trying to get broken down equipment running again while on missions, and he had no intention of losing his babies that way again. It felt good to work again. When he looked up from his tablet again, Steve was sleeping.

Tony grunted and looked around, blinking back tears of pain. What the hell was going on? Oh. Steve had rolled into his head. Right. Tony gave his head a scratch. He hadn’t been sleeping. Nope. Definitely not. It had just looked like it.

“I’m sorry,” Steve squeaked. He went back to trying to untangle himself from his pile of blankets, disappearing beneath them.

“Its fine, Steve,” Tony mumbled, rubbing at his sleep-sticky eyes. He picked up his tablet, casually checking the time. Well, at least he had only been asleep for an hour. Clint and the others had been up the last time he had checked in on them, so it wasn’t as if he had dozed off at a bad time. Tony yawned and stretched out, cursing the crick in his neck. Yep. Lying down had been a bad idea after all; he blamed the couch. This was all its fault. He sat up slowly, trying to ease the pain out of his stiff muscles and set about untangling Steve from the blanket before the kid could strangle himself with them by accident. He laughed as the kid rolled free and caught him by the leg to keep him from tumbling clean off the side of the bed. “Be careful, you,” he said with a smile.

Steve grinned at him, still upside down. “I had it,”

“Uh, huh,” Tony said, smoothly sliding Steve across the blankets so he wasn’t so close to the edge. He let the kid go and dragged himself out of bed, stumbling towards the door with his tablet tucked under his arm. It was ten minutes after seven now; he didn’t like being awake so early, but Coulson did, so it was likely they were going to have Clint knocking at the door by seven fifteen at the latest. If he was lucky, the bastard would bring coffee with him and he had a feeling the archer was going to be in the groveling mood. He was going to drink an entire pot to himself, he decided. He was going to load it up with cream and sugar and drink it down straight from the carafe. “What do you think? Breakfast now, or later?” Tony asked, making his way into the kitchen. He put his tablet down on the counter beside the fridge and pulled open the cupboards, looking for something breakfast-like. Sure, he could always cook up some eggs or try his hand at making edible pancake batter, but if there was cereal in the cupboard, he wasn’t against taking a few shortcuts. He found a brand-new box of Wheaties and wrinkles his nose at it. Oh boy. Clint had bought him… fiber. He looked around behind the box on the off-chance that there would be something else hiding behind it, but all he could find was a squashed box of Cream Of Wheat. And then he found something worse. “All-Bran?” he growled, pushing the box further into the cupboard. “Who buys All-Bran?” Nope. Clint was definitely not being forgiven – even with the coffee. Clint could thank the All-Bran personally.

Tony pulled out the box of Wheaties and set it on the counter with a sigh. They were lucky Steve would eat pretty much anything; most kids wouldn’t have touched the stuff without a pile of sugar dumped on top of it, but Steve didn’t have that problem. It turned out to be a good thing, because there wasn’t any sugar anyway. He peeked in the freezer on the off chance that there would be something better inside and shut it with a dreary scowl. There wasn’t even any frozen fruit. What kind of hell was this?

Steve tugged the Wheaties off the counter and ferried them over to the table, setting them down near the edge so they were still within reach. He turned around, nearly tripping on his rolled up pant legs and made a dash for the counter, pulling the nearest drawer open in search of cutlery. He pulled out two spoons and carried them over to table after neatly pushing the drawer back in with the flat of his hand. “Do you want me to get the milk?”

“Sure,” Tony said as he went through the cupboard above his head. “We had a slight problem,” he said as he closed the cupboard door. “We have no dishes,”

Steve stared up at Tony, his eyes wide in disbelief. He cradled the carton of milk against his chest as though he might faint. “We don’t have anything?”

“I’ll keep looking, but I don’t think I’m going to find any bowls in this joint,” Tony said. Well, it wasn’t a complete disaster yet, he thought as he rifled through cupboards. There was probably something of use somewhere; they would just have to be creative. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done this before. When he had been in university, he had eaten out of measuring cups when he had run out of dishes; it hadn’t really bothered him, but Rhodey had side-eyed him for almost a week after he had caught him doing it. “Maybe there’s something here,” Tony muttered. He grinned widely when he found a pair of ceramic coffee mugs. They were dusty and a hideous shade of lime green, likely left behind by another tenant, but they would work. He cleaned them up as Steve broke into the Wheaties; he had a hard time not laughing when he saw the way Steve had torn the plastic bag to shreds. “Aww,” he said, setting the clean mugs down on the table. “What did the bag do to deserve that?”

Steve scowled at him, his lower lip sticking out. “It wouldn’t rip right,”

Tony smiled and ruffled Steve’s hair. “Ok. Well, the bag’s mostly intact,” he said. “That was very kind of you.” He chuckled as Steve fill their mugs and turned back to his tablet, checking the time and the exterior cameras.

It was almost seven twenty.

Was that right?

The time had to be wrong, because that couldn’t be right. If it was really seven twenty, Clint would be on the porch already, coffee and apology food in hand. Tony glanced over his shoulder at Steve, trying not to worry. The kid was busy pouring cereal carefully into the mugs, stuffing them as full as possible. Maybe he needed to eat something. It was probably nothing.

Tony started gnawing on his lower lip.

He didn’t want to look at the cameras – he really didn’t – but there was no other way to get the nagging voice in the back of his head to shut up. He stepped closer to Steve as the kid poured milk into their mugs and pulled up the security cameras on his tablet, praying that he was wrong.

At first, it looked like it was just another morning. There were clean plates and glasses waiting on the kitchen table, ready for use; a pile of toast was sitting on a plate in the centre of the table, right beside a bottle of pulp-free orange juice. The toast was buttered and half-burnt, delicious looking even with the little black bits around the edges. If he had to guess, Clint had been manning the toaster again, because it was lying on its side and looked a bit like it was ready to hurl itself out a window.

There was nothing weird about that.

Coulson had been taking care of breakfast for weeks, and the table always looked like this. When Clint and Natasha were the ones setting the table, it looked a little lopsided and chaotic, and with Bucky helping out, the glasses usually ended up stacked upside-down; it was easy to tell who had been in charge. It took him a second to figure out what made him so uneasy; there was no one standing post at the stove. Someone was always at the stove – Clint always had eggs and he was always trying to steal the bacon when it came out of the pan. Tony could only remember one time when the archer hadn’t been there pressed up against Coulson’s back and that had been because Steve had used the last of the eggs to make a ‘cheer up Tony’ cake the night before and he had been sulking because there hadn’t been any eggs left.

Tony zoomed in again, using the camera to snoop around the hallway. Maybe Coulson had run off to the bathroom because they had all caught Steve’s flu. Hell, maybe Clint had burned himself on the toaster and needed first aid – again.

Tony waited and watched, taking the mug Steve held out to him only because he didn’t know what else to do with it.

Time didn’t change anything; he wished that it had.

A frying pan sat on a burners, loaded up with raw eggs; the pile of uncooked bacon sitting in the centre of another pan looked like it had finished melting off the last of the ice from the freezer. There was no Coulson carefully tending it. Everything looked so still.

It wasn’t right – something wasn’t right.

Tony zoomed in on the stove again. Could the breakers have gone out? Had they been forced to hunt down tools to make repairs? He knew Natasha had a spare set, so it wasn’t like they had nothing to use. He turned his attention to the pancake batter sitting in a bowl beside the toaster. He swallowed hard. He changed cameras and zoomed in on the batter again. He squinted at the video.

Was that a fly in the batter?

Yep.

That was definitely a fly.

There was a fly in the goddamned batter and it had congealed because it had been left sitting out – that was all. It was nothing, he told himself.

Only, it wasn’t nothing, because the house was empty.

Tony checked room after room, going so far as to peer into the bathroom on the off-chance that everyone had decided to take some kind of creepy orgy-slash-bath, but it was empty too. Had there been an attack? He couldn’t see signs of a struggle; there was nothing broken, no torn clothing, no upended chairs or tables. It was like everyone had faded into nothingness. He changed cameras again and started searching through the exterior feeds, all too keenly aware of the sweat dripping down the back of his neck.

It didn’t seem to matter where he looked.

There was no sign of anyone – no footsteps in the sand, no drag marks or unexpected piles of rubble. The car was still in the driveway, untouched. The windows and doors were still locked. The security system was still on.

Oh god.

They had trusted Bucky –

This had to be Bucky – this had to be his work.

“Tony?” Steve called out from the kitchen table. He lifted up his spoon and ate another mouthful of Wheaties. “Your cereal’s gonna get mushy,”

Tony clenched his hand around his mug so hard he was surprised he didn’t break it.

That bastard! He wanted to scream. They had trusted him, and he had screwed them over!

“Tony?” Steve lowered his spoon.

Tony put the tablet down and walked over to the front door. He checked the lock and stood there on the door mat by the pile of sand, staring out through the peek hole at the beach; his mug hit the floor with a dull thud and rolled away, dribbling soggy Wheaties and milk all over the floor.

Nothing had changed outside.

It would have been better if the cameras were frozen – if the system had been broken. He could fix a broken system – he could repair broken cameras.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice turned shrill.

Tony whirled around.

“Tony!” Steve knocked over his chair and his mug as he dashed over to Tony. He wrapped his arms around Tony’s legs, holding on tightly, burying his face in Tony’s hip. “There’s a man with a red face in the window,”

Tony turned to look out the kitchen window; he saw something hit the glass, watched it splinter and bulge inwards, and took a step back when it finally shattered as a red fist hit it again and again. He was ready to fight, but there was no time to move – no time to think. Something pricked him in the side of the neck. He tried to reach up and grab whatever it was and then there was nothing but Steve screaming as the world went slowly black.

Tony’s head was throbbing; he wasn’t sure how long he had been out, and the puddle of drool under his cheek made it clear he had been here longer than he would have liked. The floor he was lying on was made of finished cement, smooth and cold to the touch.

Where was his reactor?

His breath felt like it was ripped from his lungs as the panic attack tore through him. He felt along his chest for the arc reactor, even though he could see the faint blue light of it painted across the floor beneath him. It was fine, he muttered under his breath, his voice still slurred from the tranquilizer, it was fine. The reactor was in his chest and it was working. He got his breathing under control and meekly lifted his head. “Steve?” he croaked.

There was no answer.

The room was empty, aside from him. He was lying in a cell, a room ready for use and stripped of comforts. This wasn’t a suit at the Four Seasons – this wasn’t daycare. This wasn’t the place for a child. This was a place for people who had disappeared. Tony’s gut clenched as he pushed himself upright; he knew that there was nothing he could do now – not with Steve nowhere to be seen – but he had to do something. He had to try.

If they hurt Steve…

Tony gritted his teeth. The bastards were going to pay for this. They had broken into his home, taken his friend and his peace and quiet – that alone was grounds enough for a face-bashing, assuming of course that he could figure out the faces he needed to bash.

Had Bucky been responsible?

Had they been sold out for a lousy seven million in unmarked, untraceable bills?

Tony didn’t like Bucky, but now that the panic was gone he wasn’t so sure he could see the guy selling Steve out. He couldn’t be sure, but Bucky had seemed to really care about the kid, and yeah he had seen people fake that kind of devotion and love before, but even Obi hadn’t been that good.

It didn’t really matter.

They were in Hydra’s cage now, and the threat wasn’t Bucky – if he had been a threat to begin with. It was the Red Skull and his scientists who were dangerous; they were the ones who might rip Steve apart and kill him for shits and giggles. Tony hadn’t thought that Hydra’s agents could get so close, not with Jarvis watching – with all the Avengers working together. It had seemed like a vague possibility, at least until Bucky had come roaring into the picture. One thing was for sure, Tony thought as he raked his fingers through his sweaty hair. He was going to burn this place to the ground when he got out of here; anything left over would be SHIELD’s problem. He would do whatever it took to get Steve to safety, and if that meant cutting through every goddamned wall in this place with a plastic spoon, he would do it; he couldn’t lose Steve. He couldn’t. Nothing else mattered anymore except for Steve.

Tony patted down his arms and legs to see what he still had with him. The spare screwdriver he usually kept in his sock were gone; so was his watch. He felt along the back of his neck and grimaced as his fingers came sticky with half-congealed blood.

Ah.

Well, that answered one question. Hydra had indeed found the first tracking chip he had put in; they had been thorough in their search. He decided not to risk checking for the one in his hip or the one between his toes. Someone could be watching, even if he couldn’t see any cameras and if they hadn’t found those ones he didn’t want to risk giving them away. The place was likely lead lined or shielded from tracking, but you never knew what might sneak though.

When he finished his search, he found that, as expected, he didn’t have anything of use on him aside from his brain. Strictly speaking, that wasn’t a problem. It just made things a little more… complicated considering there was no work to be done here – no Jericho to build, suit to scrounge out of spare parts. He tried not to think about Yinsen and the cave; now wasn’t the time to dwell on the past. He needed to be strong now – he needed to keep it together. He had been kidnapped too many times already to be scared and he was goddamn sick and tired of ending up in cement cells. Well, he thought with a weary sigh, at least he wasn’t zap strapped to a bedframe again. There was always that.

Aside from stripping him of his socks, they hadn’t done much; they had seemingly ignored the arc reactor. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t taken it, but he didn’t trust that it was safe. He would never trust that – not here. Maybe one day they would want something out of him – maybe not – only time would tell. He surveyed his cell, searching for defects and escape routes. The room was cold, but dry and while that might have been a blessing once, he knew it would be used against him somehow. If there was power here, there was probably going to be heating and if there was heating…well, there was probably air conditioning; both were great for torture, if you knew how to use them and he had a feeling that Hydra was well versed in torture. Cement was great for keeping things cold, and with his lack of socks… well, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what might happen in the future. The only way to stay warm now would be to behave and stay on the pathetic excuse for a futon his captors had left against the back wall.

Great.

Well, it was better than nothing, and if he was lucky it might even be clean. Oh boy!

Tony hobbled over to the futon and sat down, tucking his feet under him so his toes could defrost. From this position, the room didn’t look much better, but at least his feet were warmer. There wasn’t anything of use around except for the yellow plastic bucket someone had thoughtfully left behind; he pushed it away from the futon when he realized what it was going to be used for. He hoped the Avengers were out there somewhere, looking for them. If not – well, Rhodey would come. Rhodey always came looking for him when he vanished.

Tony wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to ignore his chattering teeth. Focus on the room, he ordered himself. Focus on the plan. You need to get out of here – you need to find Steve and you need to take him home to the Tower. You need to be strong for Steve. He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath before opening them again. The lighting was too soft to illuminate the room entirely, he noted as his eyes adjusted again. He could make out the faint outline of a door in the far wall, but knowing where it was wasn’t going to do him any good. Everything here was smooth, every surface flawless and custom built to spec; there would be no way to open that door unless it was pushed open from the other side. This wasn’t just some spare room – it had been built for a reason. There would be no lines or convenient panels to tear apart; he was trapped here until they wanted to deal with him. “Fantastic,” he muttered. He closed his eyes and went back to making plans.

After the first few hours he knew he wasn’t going to be able to escape without help. The guards came by to drop off his dinner or whatever meal it was, and they weren’t the sort of thugs Tony was used to seeing; yes, they were both burly muscle-men wearing masks and heavy looking uniforms of pale grey, but they weren’t stupid and they definitely weren’t taking any chances. One of them had a gun trained on Tony the entire time they were in the room and they like the idea of him moving off the futon; any time he tried, even if he only made a twitch or a stretch, they moved in response. They didn’t have to tell him to behave. The way they were dressed was enough to tell him just how cold this place could get; he had a feeling he was going to have to behave himself unless he wanted to end up taking a hack saw to his frozen toes. He listened to his own advice and waited patiently for them to put down the tray and retreat before he made another move.

They seemed happy with that; they left without saying a word.

The meal wasn’t much. It smelled a bit like old boots, and tasted like the army ration pack he had found in Howard’s room when he had been three, unsupervised and hungry; it was stale, too. There was pudding and a piece of greyish-green meat keeping the ration bar company. He wasn’t so sure he should touch anything; it all looked awful, but he forced himself to eat everything on the plate. There was no way of knowing when his next meal might come, if one came at all, and he needed to keep his strength up. It wasn’t too horrible, really. Everything tasted a little bit like chalk and chocolate; that included the meat. It wasn’t bad, but it definitely wasn’t good, either. The water the guards brought him couldn’t wash the taste of it out of his mouth.

When the guards came back exactly thirty minutes later to get the tray and cutlery, they checked everything over three times before they moved towards the door again; one kept his gun aimed at Tony’s head, unconvinced by Tony’s good behavior.

Tony kept his hands to himself. He had stolen cutlery once in the cave with Yinsen, and he knew better than to swipe things so quickly. He had a lopsided cluster of cigarette burns on the back of his left heel to remind him of that hard learned lesson; he would wait. There would be better times to steal things away.

The guards didn’t say anything when he asked to see Steve.

He asked louder.

They ignored him and walked out the door.

Tony put his head in his hands and went back to waiting.

The door opened twelve hours later. Tony was barely awake; his eyes were raw from all the times he had rubbed at them. He tried to get up and then fell back to his knees as Steve was shoved into the room. The kid stumbled towards him; he was dressed in light blue hospital scrubs, the kind that could be untied from behind. His loose pants matched in colour and were damp around the cuffs. There were bandages wrapped tightly around Steve’s forearms and throat. They were stained an ugly brownish red. Steve’s bare feet slapped against the cement as he ran towards Tony, diving into his arms; tears streamed down his pale face. He curled in Tony’s grasp, tucking his head under Tony’s chin.

“Steve,” Tony murmured, stroking the kid’s hair. He pulled Steve close, rocking him back and forth. “It’s ok, honey,”

“I don’t like it here,” Steve whispered, wrapping his arms around Tony’s neck.

“We’ll be back for him later,” the guard said, nodding to Steve.

Tony tensed as the door slammed shut. He smoothed down Steve’s rumpled hair and pulled the kid up onto the futon so his feet weren’t on the cold cement. “Are you alright?” he asked, reluctantly pulling free from Steve’s embrace. The kid sniffled and hugged himself, nodding his head slowly as though it were far too heavy for him to control. Tony ran his hands over Steve’s arms, feeling along the smooth lines of bandages. He didn’t want to pull in case they were hiding something serious, but he needed to see what Hydra had done; he gently unwound the bandages, mindful of the pain his movements caused. There were puncture marks in Steve’s skin; they were oval shaped and over an inch wide, still freshly bleeding. Tony hissed to himself and tugged the bandages back in place, pressing down on them until the bleeding stopped. “What did they do?” he asked, keeping his voice soft.

“The scraped me with a knife,” Steve said, running his fingers over the bandage as Tony tied it back in place. “It was sharp, but they had to keep making it sharper,”

Tony shuddered and turned to the bandage around Steve’s neck. “What did they do here?” he asked, feeling along the fabric’s edge.

“They have needles,” Steve whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut.

Tony pulled him closer. “It’s ok,” he murmured, wishing there was something he could do to make his words more than just words, “You’re ok now,”

Steve wrapped his arms around Tony’s neck again and crawled into his lap. “They hurt my legs too,” he said with a sniffle. “They said they needed samples,”

Tony buried his anger as deeply as possible, saving it away. He leaned back against the cold wall and held Steve to his chest, checking the kid’s arms and legs for damage, afraid of making things worse. There were needle marks between Steve’s toes and puncture marks on the heels of his feet. Most of those were bruised and scabbed over now, likely done earlier in the day; they weren’t as big as the marks on Steve’s arms, but that wasn’t any real consolation.

How long would it take them to get the results from their tests?

The scientists were obviously looking for the serum, but they weren’t the first people who had tried to get at its secrets. SHIELD had a whole freezer stuffed with plasma and blood and god knows what else; if they hadn’t found the secrets to Erskine’s formula in the months since they had taken their samples, Hydra wouldn’t a hope in hell of getting anything in a few hours. Tony smiled at that and lowered himself onto his side. Hydra wouldn’t win – not now, and not ever. He tucked Steve against him, wishing he had a blanket to wrap around the kid’s shaking shoulders. Steve burrowed closer, burying his face in Tony’s shirt.

Tony woke to the sound of the door opening. He was exhausted from the constant wake-sleep-wake loop he had been sucked into; he would have given a kidney for some coffee. He sat up and pulled Steve behind him. The guards weren’t going to steal Steve away – not with him here to stop them. “You can’t have him,” he said. He felt Steve’s arms wrap around his middle from behind him; the kid’s cheek was warm against his back.

The guard snickered and nodded to his friend. Their faces were still hidden behind masks, but those masks now included large, plastic safety goggles. They were dressed in thick black uniforms today. All the better to hide the blood. Tony tried to make himself bigger. He knew he couldn’t beat them, not in a fair fight, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

The first guard stepped into the room, his gait slow and smooth. He was carrying two trays, both loaded up with breakfast foods. There were pancakes and a plastic container of apple sauce; a glass of water and a carton of milk sat beside them, nearly dwarfed by a bowl piled high with cantaloupe and honey dew melon. “You know the drill, Stark,” the guard said, stepping closer. “Hands where I can see them or your brains paint the walls.”

The second guard stepped into the room and shut the door behind him, pointing his gun at Tony’s head. He kept a hand beside the utility knife strapped to his leg, as though he was going to rip it free and give it use at any moment.

Tony watched as the other guard set the trays down in the middle of the room. He froze when the guard with the gun rapped his knuckles on the door. Was someone else coming in? Or was this their time? The door popped open, sliding sideways into the other side of the wall with a slick swish. The first guard strolled out backwards, disappearing from sight only when the second backed out to join him.

The door closed.

Tony slumped forwards.

Good.

They weren’t going to try and take Steve yet. He still had time to try and figure out how to keep him safe. He got up, carefully peeling Steve’s hands from around his middle and scooped up the twin trays of food, hopping back onto the futon before his feet could recognize the cold. He found himself a good spot near the futon’s edge, making sure Steve had enough space, and held the tray out. Steve took it without prompting, digging in before Tony could lower his own tray into his lap. The kid ate like he was starved; that was standard procedure these days, but the sight of him cramming food into his mouth didn’t seem right. The kid was more ravenous than usual, more careful with his food, like he thought someone was going to yank it away. He could have inhaled the tray by accident if Tony hadn’t been there to supervise him.

Tony shifted in place, trying to even out the cold creeping through his backside. He pushed his cup of apple sauce off to the side of his tray, cutting up his pancakes with slow, deliberate strokes, chewing through each bite until his jaw was complaining about it.

Steve set his tray down on the cement and wrapped his arms around his middle; he was shivering all over again.

Tony picked up his container of apple sauce and handed it over to Steve.

The kid smiled shyly at him. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Tony said, rolling his eyes. He went back to eating his pancakes, watching out of the corner of his eye as Steve tore the top off the apple sauce like it was wrapping paper on the world’s best Christmas present. The kid ate slower this time, seeming to enjoy what he had with each spoonful. By the time Tony was done with his cardboard pancakes and the rest of the food on his tray, the kid was down to the last inch of apple sauce, and it looked almost like he was trying to figure out if he had room for it or not.

Tony put his tray down on top of Steve’s, stacking them neatly with the cutlery sitting up on top. A part of him whispered that he didn’t have to be neat and tidy for the guards; he ignored the voice. If they were going to try and take Steve again, he wanted them to bring the kid back here to him afterwards. He didn’t like it, but he knew he might need to let it happen. He needed to be on good behavior – it was the only thing he would be able to bargain with considering they didn’t seem to want to mine him for tech. He stroked Steve’s hair and pulled the kid closer, trying to give him what little warmth he could. Steve sighed and finished his apple sauce, setting the empty container down on top of their trays. He tucked himself under Tony’s arm so that the slit in the back of his scrubs was pinned shut against Tony’s side.

“Are we going to be ok?” Steve asked.

Tony wanted to say yes. “I don’t know,” he said instead of outright lying. “The others are still out there. They’ll come get us,”

“Ok,” Steve said, closing his eyes. “Can I sleep for a bit?”

“Sure,” Tony said, his gaze locked on the door. “I’ll wake you up if anything happens, ok, kiddo?”

Steve nodded against Tony’s side. He hugged Tony’s arm against his chest. “We’ll be alright,” he said, as though he really believed it.

It didn’t take long for the guards to return; Steve sat up stiffly as soon as the door opened, ripped from what little sleep he had managed to get. The guard who had brought in the trays checked them over five times and slipped into the hall. He didn’t close the door behind him. Tony heard him talking, likely into a radio, but couldn’t make out what was being said. The once sided conversation seemed to be unending, and boring for the most part. Either that, or the guard was just plain dead inside.

“The kid’s going with us,” the second guard said, drawing Tony’s attention. He stepped forward and held out a hand as though he expected Steve walk towards him and take it. “They want to run a few more tests,”

Tony scowled, wrapping his arm tighter around Steve’s shoulders. “He’s coming back here after, right?”

“If he doesn’t move now,” the guard with the gun growled, “then you’re going to pay for it, Stark,”

“Answer the question,” Tony gritted out. He wanted to take a swing at the guy, but he knew it wouldn’t end well if he did. “He’s coming back here after, right?”

The guard without the gun strode back into the room and smashed Tony in the side of the head, knocking him to the ground as easily as he might flick away a piece of unwanted fluff. The move wasn’t fast, but it was strong, brutal and efficient in a way Tony knew came from vigorous training. The gloves the guy was wearing had to have been lined with something like lead for the blows to land so solidly, Tony mused as he spit out a mouthful of bloody spit. He was lucky he still had his teeth. The room spun; he barely had time to take in a breath before he was kicked in the gut and sent skidding across the cement.

Steve screamed as the other guard dragged him out of the room by his hair. He kicked and flailed, trying to strike at the man’s arm, but he couldn’t reach anywhere that mattered and he was too light to get any leverage.

Tony struggled to get up, his fingers curled like claws against the cement. The guard standing above him sighed and shook his head, booting Tony in the shoulder hard enough to send him rolling towards the wall again. “Stay down, Stark,”

“You’re bringing him back,” Tony wheezed, trying to push himself up. “Right?”

“Shut up,” the guard said, giving Tony a kick to the ribs. He reached down as Steve’s screams faded and dragged Tony over to the futon by the back of his pants, dropping him on his belly. “Next time, I won’t be so nice, so you’d better learn how to behave yourself,”

Tony pushed himself up; he collapsed when the guard stomped down on the small of his back and cried out, unable to hold the pain in. He lay still, gasping for breath, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. The futon smelled like stale sweat and dust now that he was so close to it again. His hip throbbed angrily as the guard prodded him with the toe of his boot.

“Stay down,”

“He’s coming back,” Tony murmured, “right?”

The guard snorted. “How the fuck should I know? Do I look like I’m in charge, sweetheart?” He gave Tony another kick, but this one was softer, a little less vicious than before, less steel toe and more leather boot heel. “Just stay down and behave yourself. If the Skull wants the brat dead, there’s nothing you or anyone else can do about it, understand?”

“You’d let them kill a kid?” Tony rasped, licking the blood from his lips.

The guard kicked Tony in the hip again. “I do my job, pal. That brat is Captain America. He’s not a kid,” he said, walking away.

The door closed with a hiss.

The lights turned off all at once, dropping Tony into darkness. He took in a deep breath through his nose, trying to keep calm. Something started whirring inside the walls. Tony shivered as a cold draft began to creep over his fingers. Groaning, he pulled his pant legs down around his toes.

Chapter Text

They left him in the dark to lick his wounds; he curled up on his side on the futon and tried to keep his exposed skin from being claimed by the cold by drawing his arms into his shirt. He wished he hadn’t picked out the short sleeved shirt that morning, but there was nothing he could do about it now. It wasn’t like he could have known that it was going to get fucking freezing cold. He had been on the beach for god’s sake – it had been nice and warm there. He was starting to miss the beach house, even if he did loath the sand and water. At least there he wouldn’t get frostbite.

It was impossible to stay warm. His pant legs weren’t quite long enough to cover the bottom half of his feet, and even when he tugged his pants down low on his hip to give his feet some extra room, he couldn’t keep them from slipping back out into the cold. Curling his toes in the fabric didn’t do anything helpful either. Sweatpants weren’t made for this kind of thing – well, these ones weren’t; these ones were made for lounging around in front of the TV while eating popcorn – they weren’t meant to be used like thermal underwear. The fabric was too soft to stay balled up for long. If he had been able to get his hands on some rubber bands or some string he could have tied the bottoms of his pant legs shut and made it work, but he had a feeling they weren’t going to let him get his hands on anything unless they wanted him to have it. He would have to suffer through this punishment without help.

It didn’t take long for his feet and fingers to go numb. He started shivering. He hugged himself tight, trying to draw his toes back into his sweat pants, but it was no use. They just wouldn’t stay. The shivers turned into shakes that tore through his body relentlessly; he could barely think with the sound of his chattering teeth echoing in his head. He had been cold before, but it had never been like this. Usually chattering teeth came during the winter, when there was a thick layer of snow on the ground. It had never been unpleasant – more an inconvenience. The cold have never felt this cruel. There had always been a layer of fabric between it and him back then; here there was nothing but the futon and the thin layer of fabric that was his shirt and pants. He was glad he had given up going commando months ago. He wasn’t sure he would have been able to handle his dick freezing off along with everything else.

He knew better than to fall asleep; he kept hearing Bruce’s voice telling him that if he drifted off, he might not wake up again. Sometimes, it was Pepper’s voice he heard, telling him to get up.

It was easier to stay awake than he expected. His guards seemed to be working a new routine, and with the way they kept turning the lights on and off in his room, it was hard to get comfortable, let alone to fall asleep for long. He started counting the intervals of darkness and light, mumbling the numbers under his breath. He hoped they thought they were driving him crazy; it would be easier if they thought they had broken him. The only problem with that was that it was getting harder to tell if he was just pretending.

The doors opened when the lights turned on again. This was number fifty seven. Tony sat up slowly, blinking, his eyes locked on the doorway. Were they going to beat him now? Was that what this had been about? Or were they just teasing him? He rocked back on his heels and hissed when he felt the air warming around him. His skin prickled unpleasantly at the newfound heat. He rubbed his toes, trying not to panic over how purple they looked under the bright lights.

The first guard walked in with Steve marching along in front of him, the kid’s small wrist clenched in his hand. He shoved Steve towards Tony and took up a spot against the wall, drawing his gun as the second guard slipped into the room through the open door. The new guard had two trays balanced in his arms, both of which were loaded up with food that was steaming in the cold air. Tony’s mouth watered at the sight.

“Stay where you are, Stark,” the guard beside the wall said as Steve stumbled across the cold floor towards Tony. He gestured with his gun, his hand still far too rigid for comfort. “If you move, I shoot,”

Steve collapsed into Tony’s arms, burying his face in Tony’s icy shirt. He stiffened and pulled back, looking up at Tony with wide eyes. “You’re so cold,”

Tony smiled weakly. “Sorry. They decided to give me the freezer-burn treatment,” he said, through chattering teeth. “I’m alright. Hey there. How are you?” He felt along the nape of Steve’s neck, counting the new bandages mingling with the old; there were seven new patches of white gauze taped to Steve’s left arm, and three on his right leg, and he could tell by the way the fabric of Steve’s shirt was sticking out along his front that there were even more bandages lurking underneath. He patted at Steve’s shoulders, his fingers feeling more like stumps than fingers and winced as the kid’s warmth leeched through his fingertips. Steve felt like he was made out of fire.

Steve grabbed Tony’s hands and pressed them against his chest, curling forwards to capture them in his warmth.

Tony smiled at him, wiggling his fingers until Steve let out a giggle. “Thanks,”

The second guard set the trays of food down on the floor and backed away, moving as if he thought he might be slashed at. “You’d better eat up,” he said before disappearing through the door. The first guard gave them a brief nod and stepped out after him.

Tony lunged for the trays.

He scooped them up, afraid the floor was going to steal the food’s heat away and leapt back onto the futon, cursing the way his feet felt like they were made of thick rubber; the bowls and plates set out on the trays were hidden by a circular cover, shielded from the cold. He took them off, stacking them in a pile beside the futon and handed a tray to Steve, waiting patiently for the kid to take it from his hands before he let go, afraid he might drop it if he let go too soon. He sat down again, tucking his feet underneath him like a cat. He hadn’t had anything to eat in hours; the food looked so good, he worried that it might be a mirage. There was thick stew in a large round bowl and it was the good kind, filled with gigantic lumps of potatoes and slices of meat, onions and carrots so thick they almost eclipsed the spoon. There were two warm-to-the-touch slices of bread with butter slathered on them sitting beside the stew on a plate. Tony sniffed at them, reveling in the smell of fresh bread.

The stew and bread weren’t even the best parts. There was a bowl of rice pudding for dessert, the bowl half the size of the stew bowl, and a mug of hot water. Beside it was a green paper packet. He picked the packet up and slipped the teabag free, sniffing at it. It was some kind of chamomile, he determined, and while he usually avoided tea in favor of coffee, he was eager to brew it up.

Steve watched him carefully and pulled his own teabag out, dunking it in the mug of hot water. “Is it good?” he asked.

Tony grinned and picked up his bowl of stew. “I don’t know. I guess we’ll find out,” he murmured. He groaned at the taste, and rolled his eyes when Steve laughed at him. “Just wait until you try it,” he teased. “You’ll be making stupid noises too, kiddo,”

They ate quickly, devouring everything on their trays before it could get cold; the tea was a little stronger than Tony would have liked when they remembered about it, but the warmth it brought to his chest made up for the slight miscalculation. He gave Steve half of his rice pudding and wrapped an arm around the kid while he ate it, sipping at his tea.

The room was warmer now, no longer the meat locker it had once been; he didn’t think he would ever be comfortable here. This warmth wasn’t for his benefit. They had cranked the heat because it wasn’t Steve they were trying to punish. The kid needed to be kept safe – warm – and ready for more tests; it was a miracle they had decided to let the kid stay in here with him instead of keeping him locked up in a cell somewhere else. Tony swallowed down the last bitter mouthful of tea. This wasn’t a gift. Someone was planning something.

“Tony?”

Tony put his cup down on his tray and set it on the floor. Steve tapped Tony’s forearm, his fingers still warm, but no longer blisteringly hot.

“What?” Tony asked, giving Steve another soft smile. “Something wrong?”

“You’ve got bruises all over,” Steve said, tracing around the biggest bruise on Tony’s forearm with his finger.

“I know,” Tony said, shrugging. He didn’t want to make a big deal about it. The kid didn’t need to worry about him. “Oh well. What can you do?”

“I hate them,” Steve said, tucking himself under Tony’s arm. He pushed his empty tray onto the floor with his foot and moved closer, plastering himself against Tony’s side. “This place is awful,”

“Yeah,” Tony said, stroking Steve’s hair. “I know. But the others will find us. I know they will,”

“I hope they come soon,” Steve mumbled. He rested his cheek against Tony’s chest. “I don’t like that they hurt you,”

Tony chuckled. “I don’t like that they hurt you, but I guess we’ve got to put up with it for now,”

“They took me back to that room again – the metal one with all the tables and the guys in white coats,” Steve said, tugging the back of his shirt closed. “They made me pee into a cup,”

Tony winced. “That’s rough,” he said, smoothing down Steve’s hair.

“They strapped me to the table because I kicked the first guy in the nuts,” Steve said, proudly.

Tony snorted. “I’m sure they appreciated that,” he said with a smirk. “Good boy,”

Steve wrapped an arm around Tony’s middle. “I don’t like bullies,” he said, his voice turning soft. “Why do people have to be so mean? What did we ever do to them?”

“I don’t think it was something we did,” Tony said, fixing the back of Steve’s shirt when he saw that it had opened up again. “These people aren’t normal – they’re after the serum and they don’t care how they get it,” he said. “I know you want to kick them, and that’s good – you should want to kick them in the nuts, but be careful, alright? They might not be so gentle with you next time.” He hated that it was him having to say these words. He hated that Steve had to hear this from anyone at all, but there was no one else who could say them. He glared at the bandages he could see through the slit in the back of Steve’s gown. They had taken samples here too, tearing and poking and prodding to get what they wanted. When he got his hands on the people hurting Steve, he was going to give them a kick to the nuts too. No one was allowed to hurt Steve – no one.

The night went by swiftly, aided by Steve’s warmth. Tony woke when the door opened and helped Steve through breakfast, sharing his food again to make sure that the kid got enough to keep him going for the rest of the day. When the guards returned and hauled Steve away again, Tony earned himself a brand new black eye; he hadn’t though it was such a big deal to ask when Steve would be coming back, but apparently it had been akin to telling the guards that they had tiny, tiny penises. His face was sore through most of the morning.

An hour after what would have been lunch time, the door opened again and Tony found himself face to face with the same guard who had so kindly slammed his fist into his face. He smiled cheekily at the guy, unable to help himself. “Back for round two?”

The guard knocked Tony to the ground and jammed his knee in Tony’s back. “You’re lucky, Stark,” he said, as he pulled a pair of handcuffs off of his belt. “The big guy wants to see you,”

“And that’s lucky?” Tony grunted into the floor. His shoulders protested as he was yanked onto his knees by his arm. “Hey – didn’t your mother ever teach you not to manhandle people?”

“Shut your mouth. I’ve got things to do, Stark. Your room needs cleaning, and you need delivering,” The guard muttered.

Once Tony was upright and unlikely to tip over, the guard pushed him out the door, guiding him by his arms. The corridor outside Tony’s cell was wide, cement and sterile; he could smell floor cleaner in the air. He wondered what had been cleaned up. Was it blood? Puke? It certainly didn’t look like anyone had passed through these halls, but maybe there were more people waiting in the other cells they walked past.

They met up with the second guard a few feet away and turned the corner, making their way through another empty corridor. Everything was clean here; there was no litter, no refuse from someone’s lunch. Either the maintenance was automated, or Hydra had some very zealous individuals working in their janitorial department.

Tony counted his steps as he walked, memorizing the twists and turns they made as they traveled. There were doors every few feet, sealing one area off from another; he didn’t like the look of them. They were made of smooth, seamless metal and opened and closed with keycards; he wasn’t going to be running out of here any time soon, not unless there was some kind of master key lying around.

The rooms they passed were eclectic in their use, arranged in a way that seemed almost random to Tony. Some held hospital beds, some had equipment and boxes in them. Most of it seemed useless, but Tony knew there was a reason for all of it, even if he couldn’t see it yet.

Where could they be?

Personnel here was sparse, and the facility seemed huge. Something like this couldn’t stay hidden for long – could it? The equipment he could see was new, stuff that hadn’t been on the market for long, so obviously the owner had a sizeable pocketbook. It wasn’t the best stuff around, but it wasn’t exactly made out of playdough and toothpicks either. Someone had to know about it – someone had to be funding it – and funds could always be traced. Jarvis would find them, he thought with a smile. Jarvis was the best at tracking finances.

They turned yet another corner and guard one whipped out his keycard again, blipping them through the security doors.

Tony reeled back, gagging. The smell of antiseptics was sharp, mixed with a hint of lemon scented soap. The guards pushed him into the hallway and turned him again, shoving him to get him to walk faster. His toes had defrosted as he had walked, the pins and needles cleared free, but it was still hard to move the way they wanted him to without tripping on his own feet. Tony scanned the hall, trying to guess where they were taking him; panic bubbled up, almost dethroning his calm. There were no numbers on the doors, no signage on the walls. Could they be bringing him for execution? Or was this an interrogation?

He stumbled, nearly running head first into guard number one’s broad back. The laboratory before him was large enough to fit a few dozen scientists and researchers comfortably; this wasn’t a research room – at least not from what he could see. This was some kind of examination room – somewhere to collect samples, judging by the empty canisters sitting out on the countertops. Every table was made of steel and it was all polished so intensely, it seemed to gleam. Was that what he was here for? Were they going to take samples from him? It wasn’t like he had anything to offer them. He wasn’t super human – he wasn’t Steve.

“We’re here,” the first guard said, pushing open the lab’s doors. He stepped inside and dragged Tony over to the largest examination table. “Bend over,” he said.

“Can’t you at least buy me dinner first?” Tony asked. The second guard shoved him from behind; he slammed face-first into the steel table and lay there, prostrate and winded as the guards yanked the handcuff off of his left hand. They hooked it around the steel table leg and left, their footsteps echoing through the empty room.

Tony straightened up and gave the handcuffs an experimental tug. He grimaced as they dug into his wrist. The table was bolted the floor. He hadn’t expected it to be loose per say, but it would have been nice if it had at least moved a little. He sighed and looked around the room again, trying to see if anyone had left something out he could use.

“Mr. Stark,” a voice rumbled from behind him. Tony jumped and whirled, yanking on his handcuffs in his haste to see who it was; his wrist throbbed bitterly as the metal slammed against bone. He lowered his arm and forced his body to relax, putting on his most charming smile.

The man who walked into the room was someone Tony had only ever seen in pictures, and most of those had been blurry and black and white. Johann Schmidt wasn’t easy on the eyes; maybe in his youth he had been young and handsome, but there was nothing left of the man he had once been. He was dressed in a tailored suit of navy blue and a cream coloured collared shirt; his skin stood out a deep, garish, maroon against the cream. The failed super serum that flowed through his veins had transformed him into the Red Skull, a monster masquerading as a man. His nose was gone, now nothing more than two blackened holes where his nostrils had once been; his brow was large and protruding, lacking flesh in a way that made it seem like everything that had once been there had been carved off of him with a knife. He was a tall man, closer to Steve’s height; Tony had to crane his neck to look him in the eye. The Skull walked stiffly towards Tony, his hands held behind his back and smiled at him.

Tony forced himself to smile back.

“I see you have been enjoying my hospitality,” the Skull said, looking Tony over. He paused when he saw Tony’s feet and smiled harder, baring his teeth. “You still have toes. How… quaint,”

Tony shrugged. He tested the handcuffs again, trying not to rattle them. “I take it you’re running Hydra these days, huh?”

The Skull’s lips quirked down at the sides. “Indeed I am, Mr. Stark,”

“I was going to ask who I had to complain to about the whole kidnapping thing, but I guess that’s you,” Tony said, leaning his hip against the table. He tried to shove it, but it wouldn’t budge.

The Skull chuckled. “Come now, Mr. Stark,” he said, “Must you try to escape while we’re talking? That’s a little rude, don’t you think?”

“Rude?” Tony snorted. “You’ve got my friends locked up here and you’re carving bits of skin off my Steve – off Steve. You’re the one being rude, pal,”

The Skull threw back his head and laughed, baring his white teeth again. “You Americans are so full of yourselves! They told me that you would be good for a laugh, and I see that they were right,” he said, shaking his head, “I should dress you in motely,”

“Yeah,” Tony said through gritted teeth. “Great joke,”

The Skull reached into his pocket and produced a handcuff key. “It occurs to me that you do not fully understand why you are here, Mr. Stark,” he said. “Perhaps this is something we should remedy.” He tossed the key to Tony.

Tony caught it one handed and held it cradled against his chest. “I don’t get it,” he said. “You brought me out here to tell me something – you don’t need to take off the handcuffs to do that,”

“I wish to take you on a tour,” the Skull said, with a smirk. “I can’t do that if you are cuffed to a table. Surely, even you can understand that,”

“Yeah,” Tony muttered, shoving the key into the lock on the handcuff. “I get that. What I don’t get is why you had to have your lackeys drag me here in handcuffs in the first place.”

“All good games, Mr. Stark, start slowly. It is far easier to explain things if you see them with your own eyes,” the Skull said. He turned when he heard the handcuffs hit the floor and stalked towards the door he had come out of, his hands still clasped behind his back. “Come along. Time is money, as you Americans say,”

Tony moved carefully; the floor was slick here, covered in a thin layer of wax, and he didn’t want to look weak in front of the Skull – not here, not when they were so close. Creatures like the Skull thought with their fists, and if he looked like he was someone that could be swayed with a brutal beating, then that would be what he got.

The room they entered next was warmer. The scientists here were busy at work, dressed in long, blue-green lab coats. Their workspaces were a mess; if this had been a sanctioned lab, it would have been shut down and set for decontamination. There were health code violations here – workplace safety violations – chemical hazards – you name it. Tony saw vials and beakers sitting out on tables, crusty with use. No one was using gloves, and some of the people here looked like they were handing blood in used syringes. Tony shifted nervously, keeping an eye on the floor beneath his feet. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find something sharp lying there, broken and ignored. Please let this not be where they had taken Steve, he prayed.

“I won’t bore you with the details,” the Skull drawled, leading Tony through the lab and into another.

Tony kept up, avoiding piles of metal shavings lying in his path. He stayed close enough to hear the Skull, but not so close as to be within range of his hands; he knew the space wouldn’t save him, but at least this way he didn’t have to see the Skull’s warped features so clearly.

The next room was one Tony had seen before; he had thought it was impossible to recreate the equipment Erskine had used for his Super Soldier Serum project, but here it was, set out neatly with everything placed right where it had been in those faded black and white photographs he had seen in Howard’s notes all those years ago. From wall to wall the place was immaculate, a far different state than the previous room. Someone had gone over every last inch of floor space here, sweeping away dust and grime so that it all looked brand new, like it had come straight off the assembly line. Was this the game? Was this a lie, built by the Skull to trick him into revealing something? Tony stepped inside, peering at everything as though he hadn’t ever see it before, feigning surprise. It couldn’t hurt to play the fool – the Skull clearly already thought he was one.

The Skull wasn’t amused. He grabbed Tony by the back of the neck and dragged him over to the steel gurney in the middle of the room, the one thing that hadn’t been in the pictures, and slammed Tony into it so hard the metal buckle. Tony gasped, the air torn from his lungs and lay sprawled there, trying not to move in case he made the Skull even angrier.

“You know what this place is – what this equipment is for, Stark,” The Skull hissed in Tony’s ear. His breath was hot and sticky, smelling of sardines and garlic. Tony wrinkled his nose and kept his head down.

“You can’t blame a guy for trying,” Tony said, mumbling his words into the metal table.

The Skull sighed into Tony’s ear, his hand still heavy on Tony’s shoulder as though it was there to offer comfort instead of agony. “You know how I was created – I know your pathetic SHIELD has that information in its files,”

“Yes,” Tony murmured, trying not to gag as pain lanced its way through his torso. He was going to have a full body bruise after this; it would be a miracle if he didn’t. “I know all about how you were created. Lab accident gone right, right?”

The Skull snorted. “Hardly. If it had gone the way it was meant to go, I would have my own face, Stark, I wouldn’t have this one. It is fearsome, granted, but it’s not so easy to travel with – at least not unless I’m going to one of those Halloween parties you Americans are so fond of,”

“I get what you mean,” Tony grunted, as the Skull’s weight pressed down on him again. He could feel the Skull’s belt buckle digging into the small of his back.

“Abraham Erskine was a traitor – he should have finished what he started, but he chose instead to butcher his serum when he tested it for the Reich,”

“That’s one word for it,” Tony muttered under his breath. He would have used the word sabotaged, but that was just him. He winced as the Skull’s hand pushed him into the table again.

“Erskine made me what I am, Stark,” the Skull hissed. “Make no mistake – his treachery, his trickery, is something I will never forget nor forgive. I want the serum’s secrets – I want its true form – I want success,”

“And you think I’ve got some idea of how to go about that?” Tony wheezed into the table. The metal fogged from his breath. “Because I’ve got to be blunt with you here – I don’t know any more about the serum than you do,”

“Lies,” the Skull snapped. He pushed Tony’s cheek into the table, his hand moving to the back of Tony’s neck. “You had access to your father’s files – to SHIELD’s files. You know the serum’s secrets better than half the men under my command. Your Doctor Banner knows even more, so do not lie to me and tell me that you know nothing about it,”

“I’m an engineer,” Tony gasped, sucking in a laborious breath. His lungs burned, the blaze growing worse with each new strangled breath he took in. “I’m not a biologist,”

“You’ve done something to Captain Rogers,” The Skull said, leaning heavily against Tony’s hip. “It does not take a biologist to do that,”

“I didn’t do anything to Steve,” Tony squeaked, clawing at the table. “I didn’t – no one on my team did anything to him,”

“Oh?” The Skull lifted his hand, and stepped back.

Tony sucked in a precious breath. The buckle on the Skull’s belt had bitten into the flesh above his hip and had left behind an angry red welt. He rubbed at it but didn’t make another move in case the Skull decided to smash him into the table again just for the hell of it. “Look, I get why you would think that we had something to do with it, but it wasn’t us. We didn’t do this to him – he was shot with something. The gun did all the real work. We couldn’t find it after, and we looked, believe me we looked – we didn’t do anything to Steve,”

“I see,” the Skull murmured. “I am disappointed in you, Stark. I expected a better excuse,” he said, stepping away from the table. He snapped his fingers and the guard that had brought Tony in came slinking in through a hidden side door. “Take Mr. Stark back to his freshly cleaned room and let him think about why it is a bad idea to tell me lies,”

“I didn’t lie –” Tony said. He hit the table with a grunt and lay flat on his stomach as the guard wrangled his arms behind his back again; he didn’t fight it. There wasn’t much point, not with a super human madman standing nearby. He felt the handcuffs slip around his wrists and heard them click in place. “Why would I lie?” he grunted. “Why would I want to turn Captain America into a child?”

The guard hauled Tony up and dragged him out of the room, leading him by his arms again like he was a stubborn mule headed to market. Tony turned, almost wrenching his shoulder out of his socket in the process. “What would be the point in lying about that?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps you wish to keep your secrets.” The Skull smiled. “Perhaps you think it will keep you alive. That is your problem, Mr. Stark – not mine. Use your time to reflect on your situation,” he chuckled.

Tony hit the floor in his cell hard and lay there, shivering in the cold with his hands still handcuffed behind his back. He heard guard’s retreating footsteps and then the door behind him shut with a swish. He groaned into the floor. “You forgot the cuffs,” he yelled, even though he knew they weren’t going to come back. He managed to lift his chest up off the cold floor. They could have at least dropped him onto the futon, he through with a grumble. He turned to crawl towards it and froze, hunched over, balanced on his knees with his arms trapped behind his back.

The futon was gone.

Shit.

When they had said they were going to clean the place up, he hadn’t thought they were going to remove anything. The room stank of disinfectant and the same disgusting lemon soap he had smelled in the hallway; his toilet bucket sat in the corner of the room, blessedly clean, the last remaining comfort. He sighed and rolled over onto his side, trying to stretch his sore shoulders. At this rate, he was going to freeze to death before the other Avengers found him.

His breath was visible in the air.

Fabulous.

He wormed his way across the floor towards the middle of the room. He didn’t want to be punished for being in the way when the guards came back. If he was good, they might bring him food; they might take the handcuffs away.

He chuckled aloud, and closed his eyes.

So the Red Skull though the Avengers had something to do with Steve’s transformation. That was… weird. Where the hell had Hydra gotten that idea from? Did the Avengers Initiative really seem like they were the kind of group that would torture Captain America just to get at the serum? It didn’t really make sense, but then again he wasn’t the crazy guy with a red skull for a face, so it wasn’t like he could really follow that particular train of thought.

Tony shifted against the floor, easing the weight off of his shoulders. He would have rolled onto his belly, but lying that way for too long would make it hard to breath; the arc reactor had never been very comfortable to begin with, and it didn’t like being inconvenienced with extra weight. He missed the days when he could pass out on his stomach; at least then he wouldn’t have had to worry about reborn Nazi super humans and aliens. He would never in a million years have thought that those would be the good old days.

Why did the Skull think he was lying?

Was it because of the press? Was it something he had said out in public?

Had the Skull seen something on the news and assumed that Iron Man hated Steve enough to want to strip him of his powers? It seemed wrong to think that anyone would think he could hate Steve.

Was it something Bucky had said to the Skull?

Could that be it?

Had Bucky whispered in the Skull’s ear?

If he had, that would explain things. After all, it wasn’t like assassins were known for their honesty, and this might just still be a job to him. The Winter Soldier had been programmed to gather intelligence, just like Natasha, and if he had been getting it by leafing through magazines and scanning security footage, there was no telling what the guy might think of them. Maybe the bastard had found out about their argument about that fucking bagel and just plain old assumed they hated each other. Tony scowled. That particular fight had been bad, even by his standards. There had been a lot of gesturing and screaming, and if the cameras had caught it from a certain angle… well, it wouldn’t have looked good. SHIELD certainly hadn’t appreciated it. Of course this could just be the Skull’s twisted mind making things up. It might not be anyone’s fault at all. It wasn’t like the Skull was playing with a full deck.

Either way, he was in trouble. If the Skull was convinced he was lying through his teeth about everything, there wasn’t much he could do to convince the guy that he hadn’t had anything to do with Steve’s mysterious de-aging. Well, he thought with a sigh, at least he now had definitive proof that Hydra hadn’t had a hand in what had happened to Steve. He wasn’t sure whether he was relieved by that or not.

Tony’s stomach growled for the ninth time that minute. He had been lying on his side for hours now, and the ache in his shoulder felt like it was permanent. He could feel the muscles in his back getting ready to Charlie horse; it was only a matter of time before they rebelled, and tormented him with their displeasure. He rolled onto his stomach for a moment, trying to sooth his sore muscles, but it didn’t do anything other than freeze his groin and thighs a little bit more. He was already numb all over – again; he hadn’t felt his toes in what felt like days, and although he knew they were still there, he still wondered if they had up and left without him.

The door opened.

He didn’t bother lifting his head. If they wanted to get his attention they could lift it up for him. He didn’t have the energy to waste on guards.

“Stark?”

The guard kicked out, his boot striking Tony right in the thigh. The muscles in Tony’s leg clenched on contact, and he let out a blood curdling scream, curling himself into a ball; with his hands still trapped behind his back, there was nothing he could do to ease the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking through tears and waited for the Charlie horse to pass. It felt like his muscles were being plucked from his bone with tongs; pain radiated from the centre of his thigh, flaring bright and sharp. He breathed in sharply through his nose.

“I guess that means you’re awake,” the guard chuckled. He looped an arm under Tony’s armpit and dragged Tony towards the door, not bothering to let him get up. “Get the doors, will you?” the guard called over his shoulder to someone outside.

Tony’s vision blurred; he watched as the hallways zoomed past, feeling every last inch of the floor as his body was dragged across it. His sweatpants slipped dangerously low on his hip. “You know,” he mumbled as his skin throbbed from contact with the cement, “I wouldn’t mind keeping my pants on for this visit,”

The guard dragging him slowed. “Christ,” he grumbled, “You’re a lot of trouble, you know that Stark?”

“I aim to please,” Tony slurred as the guard yanked his pants back up. “You know, you wouldn’t have to pull my pants up if you let me walk – a novel idea, I know,”

“If I let you walk,” the guard said, dragging Tony along the floor again, “then it would take forever to get you to the boss, and I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of getting my head caved in because you took too long hobbling down the hallway,”

“Fair enough,” Tony muttered. He lifted his hips off the ground, grimacing as the pain in his shoulder grew in strength. It was almost unbearable, but at least he didn’t have to worry about his sweatpants trailing along on the floor around his ankles, although how long that would last wasn’t clear. He got the distinct impression that the guard was going to get tired of hauling his pants back up pretty damn fast and he didn’t want to lose the skin on bare legs to the icy floor when that happened.

At least the trip was quick.

Someone was opening the doors ahead of them, so it was smooth sailing until they got to their destination.

The guard dumped Tony on the floor in a heap and retreated, vanishing from sight, leaving him to stare blearily up at the florescent lights embedded in the ceiling. Tony recognized where he was even though he hadn’t seen most of the trip. It was all rights and lefts, doors and locks, stops and starts; he was good with those kinds of details, and he didn’t have to see the Skull to know that he was back in the replica of Erskine’s test room.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice was a whisper.

Tony jerked his head up off the floor and locked eyes with Steve from across the room. The kid was strapped to an upright metal gurney, secured with thick leather straps around his middle, ankles and wrists. Anger flared in Tony’s gut. “Steve?” He pushed himself upright using his elbows and inched forwards, trying to get to Steve’s side.

Steve struggled in his restraints, trying to get free. His face was pale and sweaty, his hair sticking up against his forehead in golden spikes. “Tony? What’s going on?”

Tony rolled himself over and pushed himself up from his knees, looking for the guards. This had to be a trap. They couldn’t have just decided on a whim to leave him alone with Steve – not after the Skull’s little speech. The room, however, was empty, cleared of pretty much everything except for Steve and a clipboard left on the steel table in the middle of the room. It looked safe, but was it really? There was only one way to know. Tony took a deep breath and stepped towards Steve. He didn’t get far.

“I see you’re enjoying my hospitality again, Mr. Stark,” the Skull’s voice hissed in Tony’s ear.

Tony jumped but didn’t turn; he could feel the Skull’s breathe, hot and heady, stinking of sardines, against the back of his neck. He didn’t need to look to know where the bastard was. He could practically feel him even though they weren’t touching. “Yeah, your hospitality’s a real treat,” Tony muttered, his eyes locked on Steve.

The Skull grabbed Tony by the back of the neck; his hand was like a branding iron. Tony flinched, a whimper leaving his lips before he could stifle it. The serum must have made the Skull run extra hot, because there was no way this was normal.

“I have a question for you,” the Skull murmured, maneuvering Tony closer to Steve.

Steve’s eyes widened until they seemed almost comically wide. He started crying and fighting against the restraints, desperate to be free, terrified by what he was seeing. His bare lower legs squealed across the smooth metal as he squirmed in place. Tony tried to smile at the kid, wanting to offer some kind of reassurance, but Steve wasn’t looking at him; his eyes were locked on the Skull’s face.

“NO!” Steve whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. His knees knocked together; he trembled, shaking his head from side to side. “Don’t! Go away! It’s not real – it’s not real – it’s not real,”

“It’s ok, Steve,” Tony whispered.

The Skull’s hand tightened on the back of Tony’s neck. “Oh Mr. Stark,” he laughed, his grip vicelike, “You’re so sweet to try and convince him I’m not scary. If you live long enough, you might make a wonderful father someday,”

Steve’s gown went dark green at the crotch; a trickle of urine slid down the metal gurney, pooling on the floor.

“Oh, look,” the Skull sneered, “He’s pissed himself. He’s not very brave, is he? Are we sure this is really Steve Rogers? Perhaps you replaced him with a weakling – a baby,”

Steve turned his head to the side and closed his eyes, tears streaming down his cheeks. Tony’s heart felt like it was breaking. He wanted to gather Steve up in his arms and hide him away, but the Skull had other plans.

The Skull picked up the clipboard and glanced at it before throwing it away, a scowl darkening his already grim features.

“Leave him alone,” Tony growled, twisting in the Skull’s grasp.

“I asked you before if you had anything to do with Captain Roger’s current predicament,” the Skull said, pushing Tony closer to Steve until they were face to face, separated by mere inches. “This is what you’ve done – this is your fault for lying to me,”

“I’m not lying,” Tony snapped. The Skull’s fingers dug into the back of his neck so deeply Tony was afraid his neck might snap.

“Look at him,” the Skull snarled. “Look at what you’ve done to him!”

“I didn’t do anything,” Tony insisted, looking Steve dead in the eye. “How many times do I have to say it? He was shot by a guy with a gun – one we don’t have the specs for! We couldn’t find it or the guy who shot him – and we sure as hell didn’t make it, or orchestrate it!”

The Skull pushed Tony forwards until his face was pressed up against the metal gurney beside Steve’s cheek. He leaned his full weight against Tony’s shoulder, crushing Tony until he couldn’t breathe; the arc reactor clinked against the gurney as Tony scrambled to keep the pressure on his ribs from building.

“I love Steve,” Tony gasped, struggling for breathe. “Why the fuck would I hurt him?”

The Skull’s hand left Tony’s neck; his weight pulled back, and Tony tipped forwards, his shoulders bumping against the metal gurney.

“I see,” the Skull drawled. “So you take no responsibility whatsoever,” he said as he reached out to touch Steve’s face, his grotesque smile growing larger.

Tony knew he had made a mistake; he shouldn’t have said anything about love, even if he did feel it in his heart, but there was no taking it back now. He moved, ignoring his mistake, shoving himself in between the Skull and Steve, his unprotected neck and back left to the Skull’s mercy. He couldn’t stand the thought of the Skull touching Steve – not now, and not ever. He closed his eyes, his cheek resting against Steve’s and waited for his punishment.

It didn’t come.

Tony opened his eyes and turned, using his body to block the Skull from Steve’s sight. If this was the last thing he could to do help Steve, then this was what he would do. He stood his ground, trying to make himself as big as possible.

The Skull laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’re a brave man. That will make things so much easier,” he said. He snapped his fingers and the guards appeared from behind him, as though they had crawled their way out from his shadow. “Take the boy and Mr. Stark to the showers and get them cleaned up. I can’t stand the smell of piss,”

Tony swallowed hard, trying not to flinch at the mention of water; he hoped the Skull didn’t know what it might do to him. No one but the Avengers had known and he hoped it would stay that way. If the Skull found out… well, he didn’t even want to think about it. He put on a brave face, cracking a smile so that no one would notice the way he had started sweating. He turned to Steve, trying to catch the kid’s eye, but Steve wouldn’t look at him. The kid turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut while the guards undid the straps, shrinking away from their touch.

“It’s ok, buddy,” Tony said, making his voice as soothing as possible. “It’s ok. We’ll take care of it.” He could smell urine even from this distance, and he knew how unpleasant it was to be trapped in wet clothing. He stood stock still as the guards moved around him to free Steve, staying close to the kid but not too close to be seen as a threat. Once free, Steve grabbed a hold of Tony’s leg and didn’t let go. Tony couldn’t blame him. If he had been the one laying eyes on the Red Skull’s ugly mug for the first time, as a child no less, he was pretty sure he would have wet himself too. Hell, he would have been lying if he said he hadn’t been worried about losing control of his bladder when the Skull had had his hand on the back of his neck. He winced when one of the guards grabbed him by the arm and let himself be dragged towards the hallway with Steve hobbling along beside him.

The showers were large enough to fit thirty or forty people comfortably, and they all looked well-used. The tiles were a greyish white, grouted with dull, pinkish grime, and while nothing was rusted over, Tony could tell that the place hadn’t been used until recently. He stumbled along with Steve at his side, rubbing at his raw wrists. The guards had taken away the cuffs, but his shoulders still hadn’t accepted that they didn’t have to protest his every move.

The guards herded them to twin stalls in the middle of the room and then stepped back, seemingly unwilling to get any closer to them than necessary; the stalls were stocked with soap and shampoo, the cheap kind that would sting your eyes if you made the mistake of using it too freely. Tony was glad that he didn’t have to ask them for anything. He stripped down quickly, shedding his soiled clothing. He shivered as he folded his shirt and pants into a neat pile, eyeing the showerhead with growing trepidation. He glanced around, hoping to find the guards inattentive and saw that they were watching him. “Fuckers,” he muttered under his breath.

Well, it was now or never.

With a sigh, he turned the water on while he was still outside the direct spray. Trying not to be too obvious about it, he lifted up his arm, closed one eye and shoved his hand under the showerhead. The water was warm; that startled him. He had expected it to be cold, and brownish, but it seemed that someone had come through here and flushed the lines out. He pulled his arm free, feeling giddy with relief, and peeked over the top of the divider beside him to see if Steve was doing alright. The kid was standing in his shower stall, still fully dressed, his arms wrapped tightly around his middle; he was staring blankly down at his toes.

“Hey, kiddo,” Tony said, hanging his arms over the divider. “Are you ok?”

Steve shook his head. He wiped his eyes on the back of his wrist and looked down at his soiled pants; tears welled up in his eyes again.

“Hey,” Tony said. He motioned for Steve to move closer, and blessedly the kid did. He carded his fingers through Steve’s hair. “It’s ok. You were really brave in there, Steve,”

“No I wasn’t,” Steve sniffled, wiping his nose on his arm again. “I peed myself like a baby,”

Tony smiled softly. “It’s not that big of a deal,” he said, rubbing his thumb over Steve’s forehead. “I was going to pee myself too, but I didn’t have any left,”

Steve looked up at him, sniffling. “Really?”

“Yep,” Tony said, smoothing down Steve’s hair. “He’s a really scary guy, kiddo. Anyone would have peed themselves if they saw him,”

Steve sighed, hanging his head. “I feel sticky,”

“Well, that’s pretty easy to fix,” Tony said, resting his chin on the divider. “Just take a shower,”

Steve eyed the shower as if it had teeth. “Do I have to?”

“It’s probably a good idea,” Tony chuckled. “Unless you want to stay sticky,”

Steve sighed. “But what am I going to wear after? I don’t have any other clothes,”

Tony pulled away from the divider, turning to the guards. “Hey – are you guys going to bring us some clean clothes? Or are we going to wander around dripping wet and naked when we’re done here?”

The guard on the left scowled at him, holstering his gun. “We’ve got some clean stuff for both of you, so just get on with it. You’ll get it when you’re done.”

Tony gave the guard a lazy salute and turned back to Steve instead of his shower. “Ok? We’ve got clean clothing now, so don’t worry about it,”

Steve nodded and turned to face the showerhead, glaring at it.

“Do you need any help with that?” Tony asked, grabbing his damp boxers from the floor in case he needed to head over to Steve’s stall.

“No,” Steve said, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. “I can do it,”

“Alright,” Tony said. He dropped his boxers back onto the floor and stepped closer to the shower, nimbly avoiding a spurt of hot water as it exploded from the showerhead. It was hard to believe that the Skull had given them a comfortable bathroom, all things considered. He had expected an ice bath, but this wasn’t bad – even if it was a shower. He sighed and gathered his courage. He could do this. This might be the only shower he got for a long time, and he kind of liked not smelling awful. He ducked under the spray and reached blindly for the yellow bar of soap. It slipped free from his fingers and hit the ground with a soft thump, sliding sullenly towards the drain. “Great,” he muttered, stooping to find it. He opened his eyes a crack and got a face full of spray. He spat the water out, clamping down on his growing discomfort before it could get away from him and make him do something stupid. Now was not the time to have a panic attack – not with Steve so close – not here. He needed to be strong now – he needed to stay calm.

“What happened?” Steve asked, his fingers appearing up on the top of the divider. He was too short to actually see over top of it, but that didn’t stop him from trying. He was probably pressed up against it, standing on the tips of his toes.

Tony chuckled. “It’s ok. I just dropped the soap,” he said. He paused, and turned to glance at the guards, wondering if they had been listening. When they didn’t so much as blink in his direction, he sighed loudly and started rubbing himself down with the soap. “Jeeze,” he grumbled, “Can’t even get a laugh anymore. This place sucks,”

Steve’s fingers disappeared from on top of the divider. “You’re weird,”

“Don’t I know it,” Tony sang, scrubbing at his belly with soapy hands. He hadn’t had the chance to take a look at himself in a long time, not with how cold everything had been. His skin was peppered with bruises and scrapes, a patchwork landscape of injuries old and new. It stung when the water hit him, but at least the cold was mostly gone now. He examined his torso, feeling along his ribs to see if it was worse than it looked. There was a lovely boot print shaped bruise just above his hip; it felt tender, and was a delightful shade of blackish-blue, but it could have been worse. Nothing felt broken. He went back to scrubbing grime off of his belly.

He never had been very good at estimating damage done to his body. Bruce had given him more than one physical that had ended with him finding injuries Tony hadn’t even known about until well after the fact; it was always eventful, if not a bit frightening. He did, however, know how to locate broken bones, and thankfully everything seemed fine – he was bruised up, but fine. His shoulders might be aching, but that would go away in time. He scrubbed at his beard with a handful of soap suds and worked the grease free with slow, carefully movements. His beard had grown longer in the last few weeks, and was more scraggly than tidy these days; he was going to have to get someone to trim it for him when they got the hell out of here. He wasn’t so sure he could do it himself anymore. The thought of looking into a mirror still made his stomach twist, and holding a razor up to his skin seemed dangerous considering how badly his hands shook when he was near running water.

He rinsed his chin off with a wet hand, not trusting himself to stay calm if he tried to get rid of it with the shower spray, and grabbed the clear bottle of shampoo, a lavender scented disaster waiting to happen. He poured it into his hand, scrubbing it into his hair before he could change his mind about it. He might smell like potpourri, but at least his hair wouldn’t be slimy.

“Tony?” Steve called out from his stall, his voice slightly muffled by the sound of the spray hitting the floor.

“Yeah?” Tony rinsed his hair out with handfuls of water, wincing as a blob of shampoo suds slide down his nose and into his eyes.

“I don’t like it here,” Steve said quietly, his voice echoing off the tiles despite his attempt at being quiet.

“Same here, kiddo,” Tony said, dumping another handful of water on his hair. “The room service here sucks,”

Steve giggled. “They don’t have room service,”

“Yeah, yeah. You live in your world, and I’ll live in mine,” Tony said with a laugh.

“I want to go back to the beach house,” Steve grumbled. “I liked it there. I want to see Mabel.”

“I want to see her too,” Tony said.

“Do you think she’s ok?”

“I don’t know, kiddo, I don’t know,” Tony said. He dumped another handful of hot water into his hair and rubbed the last of the shampoo out. “Jarvis will make sure she’s taken care of. He knows I want him to keep an eye on her,”

“Can we go back there after?”

“You really like the place, huh?”

“Yeah. It’s really neat. I think I like it better than home,” Steve admitted. “Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think her owner would let us visit?” Steve asked, his voice turning timid.

Tony leaned back against the divider, flicking bubbles from his shoulders. He didn’t really know the woman who owned the beach houses they had rented, but she had seemed like a nice little old lady – the kind who had a thousand cats and ate hard candy by the pound. She probably wouldn’t have a problem with Steve coming to visit. She had a few grandkids, if the pictures on her mantle had been anything to go by, and she had seemed to like having them around. Yes, she would let them visit. And if she wouldn’t, well, he had toyed with the idea of buying the place off of her already, if only to keep it from being snapped up by an unscrupulous developer. The place was beautiful, or at least it had been before everything had happened, and he could see it bought up and bulldozed if someone else took a shine to it. Fuck it. He would buy the damn place. He wanted Steve to have something to remember from their time there. It seemed unfair for the kid to have to give those good times up too. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, putting the bar of yellow soap back into the soap dish. “Tell you what. I’ll put an offer in on the place. Maybe she’ll let me buy it from her,”

“You can do that?” Steve asked, his fingers reappearing on top of the divider.

Tony chuckled at the sight. “Of course I can do that,” he snorted. “I’ll buy the entire place if I have to. We can make it the Avengers summer home or something – Steve’ll – you’ll,” he corrected himself hastily, “love it when I’m done with it. The rest of the guys will probably like it too, but who cares about them. We can knock the old buildings down and upgrade them,”

“Oh,” Steve said, his fingers wiggling on the divider.

“Or we can leave a few the way they are,” Tony said with a smile. “I think Mabel will like that a little bit better. I don’t think she’ll enjoy a construction team stomping around her turf,”

“She’ll tear up their ankles,” Steve said.

“We’ll be lucky if that’s all she’ll do,” Tony chuckled.

“Hey,” the guard on the left growled. “Hurry it up in there,”

Tony rinsed the soap off of his hand. “Alright, alright. I’m done,”

“Me too,” Steve said, letting go of the divider. “Can we have a towel, please?”

“And clothing?” Tony asked, leaning against the divider. He batted his eyelashes at them. “Clothing would be awesome too.”

“Turn around and face the showers,” the guard on the right muttered.

Tony turned as instructed, keeping his eyes fixed on the showerhead. He didn’t like that the guards were approaching from behind while he was naked and defenseless, but there wasn’t much he could do about it unless he wanted a boot in his groin. He heard the sound of fabric rustling behind him and jumped when something soft hit him between the shoulder blades. He looked down and saw a towel lying beside his foot; he snatched it up before it could soak up all the water and wrapped it around his waist. He chanced a look over the divider and snorted. The guard had dropped a towel on top of Steve’s head; it wasn’t on the floor, but Steve couldn’t see anything.

Plastic crinkled behind him. He waited until he felt whatever it was hit him in the back. The guard’s footsteps echoed into the distance.

“Get dressed,” the guard said when he was back in place.

Tony stooped down, picking up the package that had hit him and tore it open. The plastic bag held a set of light blue scrubs, a pair of pants and some clean, white, BVD’s. All of it was a size too big, but that didn’t bother him. At least he would have space for his hands and feet when they decided to try and freeze him again; he knew they were going to do it again, the question was more a when than an if. He pulled the clothing, yanking the long shirt over his head before the guards could take it away. For now he was determined to enjoy being warm.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice was muffled.

Tony stepped up to the divider and peered over. Steve’s hands were held up above his head; he had gotten himself tangled in the shirt they had given him, and he hadn’t been able to figure it out. It hadn’t helped that they had given it to him already tied up.

“I see you’re uh… having a bit of a problem there, squirt,” Tony said.

Steve flailed his arms. “Can you help?”

Tony looked over at the guards. “Can I dress him, or are you guys going to shoot me in the ass?”

The guards looked at each other and then sighed. “Go ahead,”

“Thanks,” Tony said, stepping out from his shower. He walked around the divider, mindful of the wet tiles and dropped to his knees in front of Steve, reaching up to untangle the knotted strings on Steve’s shirt. He eased them free so Steve wasn’t quite strangling himself with them anymore. He would have preferred if the shirt was a plain old t-shirt instead of a medical gown, but at least it was clean.

Steve smiled shyly at Tony, shuffling in place. “Sorry,” he mumbled, his face flushing pink.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tony said, pinching Steve’s nose gently. He smiled at the kid and smoothed down the shirt, scooping up Steve’s towel. “Your hair’s still wet,” he fretted, rubbing the towel against Steve’s head.

“So?” Steve said, leaning into Tony’s touch.

“No wet hair for you,” Tony said, scrubbing softly until Steve’s golden hair was damp instead of soaking wet. He hung the towel on the divider beside his own and hoisted Steve up, holding him against his hip. Please, he thought as he turned around to face the guards again, let me have this. Let me carry him. Let me keep him safe.

The guards pursed their lips in displeasure but didn’t say anything other than, “head to the door. We’re going back to your cell. You’ll get dinner and then lights out,”

Tony hugged Steve the entire way back.  

Chapter Text

The guards pushed Tony inside and left; they were gentle with him this time, wary of knocking him over in case he dropped Steve. Tony hadn’t thought he would ever miss this cell, but he was starting to prefer being locked up. Their field trips weren’t pleasant, and the Skull wasn’t likely to make them any nicer now that he was angry. Tony wasn’t sure who was in more danger – him, or the staff working here. No one seemed safe.

He looked the cell over and was pleased to see that the futon was sitting flush against the back wall, clean and stiff as always, looking as if it had never been moved. He carried Steve over to it and sat down, setting Steve in his lap. The kid was trembling all over; he tucked himself against Tony’s body and refused to move. The room had warmed up considerably since they had been here last, and it was almost tolerable again. It wasn’t the temperature causing the kid’s shakes. The kid’s adrenaline reserves were drained, and with nothing else to do, Steve was at the mercy of his own mind and the horrors he had witnessed. The Skull hadn’t been happy when they had parted, and Tony knew the bastard wasn’t going to coyly fish for information anymore; he knew how worried Steve was about the both of them. He was worried too, afraid beyond words, but he was hiding it. He hoped to hell they weren’t going to try and rip the information out of Steve. The kid had suffered enough.

The guards came in three hours later, carrying trays loaded with hot food. Their dinner was stew, the same thick and filling kind they had eaten the night before, but today it was too much for Steve’s stomach to handle; Tony watched as the kid picked at his food, his lips pursed in a perpetual frown as Steve chased potatoes around his bowl with his spoon. He gave the kid his bowl of rice pudding in the hopes that it might get him to eat something, but even that wasn’t enticing enough. The strength Steve had mustered during their time in the showers had clearly faded. It was understandable; the Red Skull was terrifying, and now that Steve knew he was out there, lurking in the darkness, it was hard to ignore what was going on. When the Skull had been faceless, it had been easy to just worry about the tests and examinations; now there really were monsters in the world, and they weren’t going to go away. He tried to ask Steve if he was feeling alright, but was met with a blank stare and silence.

By the time the guards came back to claim their trays, Tony’s bowl was bare, scraped clean while Steve’s was mostly untouched. It bothered the kid to leave so much behind; Tony could see it in Steve’s eyes. There were tears in Steve’s eyes when Tony pushed their trays into the middle of the room with his foot.

“It’s alright,” Tony murmured into Steve’s ear as the kid crawled back into his lap. “We’ll be alright.” He hugged the kid close as the guards took everything away. Steve would get his appetite back in the morning. It would be fine.

Tony was surprised to find the futon dry the next morning. He had worried that Steve might wet himself in fear; he was used to the night terrors – he knew what to expect and how to hold things in. Steve didn’t. Still, the kid had pulled through.

The dreams had been especially vivid this time; Tony had had to pinch himself to be sure he was awake.

When the lights turned back on and breakfast came, Steve was jumpy, flinching at every little sound. His skin was pale under the florescent light, his wide eyes ringed with dark bags. There was nothing Tony could do to make him comfortable, no words he could offer to make things alright and by the time the breakfast trays went away again, Steve had eaten only a few forkfuls of fruit. No amount of coaxing could convince the kid to eat.

The guards came to take Steve away for testing just before lunch.

It wasn’t a surprise to see them back so soon; Tony had been waiting for them. He perched himself on the edge of the futon, and smiled at Steve as they escorted the kid out. “It’ll be alright,” he called out as they dragged Steve away. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” He threw himself over to the plastic bucket and dry heaved the minute the door shut behind them. What were they going to do? He couldn’t keep doing this – he couldn’t keep lying to the kid with a straight face. He wanted to be strong, but how could he be strong when he had to spend his days lying?

He didn’t have any time to contemplate options. Ten minutes later the guards came for him, carrying handcuffs and nightsticks with them. He almost laughed aloud, he was so nervous. Like he would try to escape – he couldn’t leave here without Steve. Did they not get that? He wondered if they were stupid, or if they were just overly cautious after spending so much time around the Skull.

The guards dragged Tony down the hall to the examination room, the one he had seen the day before. It looked a little different today; inside, people were working, and the equipment was light up. Steve was strapped to an upright gurney beside a set of steel cabinets, his arms and legs dotted with fresh bandages and band aids. Tony let himself be dragged over to the only other upright gurney in the room and waited, gnawing on his lower lip, as they strapped him to it. The thick leather straps around his wrists, ankles and middle were heavily padded; this was for long-term patients – long term experiments. There were five nurses gathered in the room, two men and three women. They paid him no mind until he started to feel around at the straps; they didn’t like that. They muttered amongst themselves and then one of them, a blonde woman with a polka-dotted face mask and pink and green scrubs sauntered over to him. She pulled her mask down and smiled at Tony, her teeth brilliantly white. The others were wearing similar attire, but she was the most colourful of the bunch. “Mr. Stark,” she said, his voice turning bubbly, “I’m just going to give you a little something to calm you right down,”

Tony glared at her as she plucked a syringe off of a silver tray on the counter behind her; it was filled with something blue. “I’d rather you didn’t, Nurse Ratched,” he said through gritted teeth. “I feel pretty calm right now, thanks. Maybe some other time?”

Her smile didn’t falter, even when she jabbed him in the shoulder with the needle. “They’re going to take some more samples from the boy now,” she said, turning her gleeful smile towards Steve. She pulled the mask back up over her mouth and nose and pulled the needle free, carrying it off to a sharps container to dispose of it. “Please keep quiet. We wouldn’t want to distract anyone, now would we? These procedures are delicate. Someone could get hurt,”

Tony opened his mouth to tell her to go fuck herself but there was something wrong with his lips; he swallowed down a mouthful of spittle and tried to breathe calmly as whatever she had given him tore its way through his system. The nurse had been right; he did feel a lot calmer, although it was an artificial sort of calm. His muscles grew weak. He hung slack against the straps, feeling them but not really feeling them, spittle dribbling down the side of his mouth. He wanted to ask what the hell they had given him, but with his vocal chords turned to stone, there wasn’t much he could get out aside from a raspy wheeze.

Steve’s eyes were on Tony’s the entire time the nurses worked on him. His eyes watered as they took more blood samples; he tried to stay still, but started crying and pulling away when they decided they needed a few more skin samples for their collection. Tony watched in growing horror as they ran a scalpel over Steve’s arm, slicing away a nickel sized patch of skin near the kid’s elbow. The nurse even hummed while she did it. She gave Steve something– another unknown injection – but it didn’t seem to help with the pain. It almost seemed to be making it worse.

Tony squinted at Steve; he blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to get rid of the fuzzy blue tint that had grown over everything. What the hell had they given him? If he had been able to panic, he would have been wheezing and sobbing, but the calm was all-consuming. It stole his thoughts away, smothering his fear.

Steve squirmed in his straps, shaking his head back and forth as a nurse pulled out some kind of medical device; it was nothing that Tony had seen before, although he couldn’t exactly tell what it was because his vision was beginning to blur.

Steve seemed to know exactly what it was for. “I don’t want it,” he shouted, pushing himself forwards, straining and lifting his body away from the gurney. “No! Stop!”

The blonde nurse sighed and patted Steve on the shoulder in a way that might have been consoling if she had actually bothered to look like she cared about what she was doing. “The numbing agent will start soon. You won’t feel a thing,” she said.

“You’re lying!” Steve shouted. “It hurt last time! Let me go!”

The blonde nurse turned her attention to the machine again, calibrating it with a quick press of buttons. She didn’t seem the least bit interested in Steve anymore; it was like the kid had vanished from the room, leaving behind a faceless body, ripe for the harvest. “Taking spinal fluid sample five,” she dictated to another nurse beside her. “I hope we get better results this time.” The second nurse nodded in agreement and wrote everything down on her clipboard, her eyes glued to the page. The blonde nurse grasped a lever on the side of Steve’s gurney and turned it around, wheeling him into place. She toyed with the sheet metal backing and popped it open, revealing Steve’s open-backed gown; with quick, practiced movements, she pulled the folds of Steve’s gown out of the way, tying them in place against the gurney, and pressed the machine against Steve’s bare skin, locking it in place. There was a loud pop – something whirred, likely the machine, and then there was a squelching noise – one that turned Tony’s already gurgling stomach.

Steve started howling. Clearly, the numbing agent the nurse had talked about wasn’t working.

If Tony had been able to move, he would have thrashed against the straps again. He managed to lift his head for a moment, but he couldn’t keep it upright. He let his chin drop, and glared at the floor when the muscles in his neck ran out of energy. There was blood dripping down Steve’s back and something else – something pink and red he didn’t want to identify.

The drilling seemed to go on for hours, but Tony knew that realistically it had only been going for a few minutes. He stared at the floor, memorizing the whorls in the cement, hating that he felt so goddamned calm. Everything around him was wrapped in halos of white and green. His mouth tasted like it was stuffed with perfumed cotton balls; he could feel drool working its way down the side of his neck in a steady line. They wouldn’t ruin their tech builder, would they? The drug they had given him had to be safe – it had to be.

When the Skull walked in, Tony thought he was hallucinating. The man seemed even more demonic than usual, and the thick red halo jutting out from his body looked like it was reaching out to grab at the blonde nurse. The Skull trotted closer and nodded towards Steve, a pleased smile on his face. “I see our dear Captain is cooperating as usual,”

The blonde nurse pursed her lips. “We’ve run into… complications, sir,”

“Oh?” The skull raised an eyebrow. “Something is wrong?”

“We just got in the results from last night’s tests, and I’m afraid there’s no serum,”

The Skull’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forwards, his massive hands settling on the blonde nurse’s shoulders. “None? I thought you said you found some of it in his blood. You assured me that you would be able to reproduce it,”

The blonde nurse shrunk under his touch. “What we identified wasn’t the serum, sir, – it was some kind of protein – one we haven’t been able to recapture,”

The Skull’s growl rivaled that of an angry dog’s. He squeezed the blonde nurse’s shoulders, his fingers digging into her flesh; Tony could hear the crack of her bones from across the room. She went down onto her knees, sobbing, and bowed her head.

“So you lied to me?” the Skull hissed.

“No,” the nurse said, her voice shrill. “No – it was an anomaly – a mistake in the samples. I shouldn’t have mentioned it the first time, but we didn’t know the other tests would come back free of the serum – I’m sorry, sir,”

“Sorry?” The Skull pulled his hands back and glared down at her. “You’re sorry? Tell me, my dear,” he snapped, towering above her. “What use is the boy if the serum is gone?”

“It’s not my fault, sir,” the Nurse whispered, her arms hanging crooked and limp by her sides. “It’s something Stark did – something that happened before we got to the boy. They did something,”

The Skull turned on his heel. “You had better get results, my dear,” he said. “I will not be so lenient next time.”

“Yes, sir,” the blonde nurse said. When no one moved to help her, she struggled upright, balanced precariously on her knees and stumbled over to the other nurses as the Skull turned his attention to Tony. The nurses surrounded her once she was close, lifting her gently into a seat.

“So,” the Skull drawled. He took Tony’s chin in his hand and lifted it up so they could look each other in the eye, seeming to understand that Tony couldn’t manage it on his own. “What did you do to him?”

Tony blinked lethargically, trying to make his lips form words. He managed to get out a single sullen d and fell silent. The halos were circling the Skull’s head over and over again, making it seem larger than before. He squinted at them, but they didn’t go away. He tried to give his head a shake, not liking the damp warmth of the Skull’s hand, but couldn’t manage more than a weak twitch.

The Skull scowled. “Take him to our other guest and let me know when he is fit for interrogation,” he said, letting Tony’s head drop from his hand. He looked over his shoulder at Steve, still suffering as the drill worked its way into his back. “Get back to work or you’ll be where he is,” he growled at the nurses, stalking from the room.

Once the Skull was gone, life returned to the room. The nurses continued to hover around their injured colleague, feeling along her shoulder to see where the bones had broken; they ignored Steve until the machine beeped and then rounded on him, their anger flaring up.

“I don’t care what they say – we got the wrong kid,” one of the nurses insisted, yanking the machine free from Steve’s back.

Steve whimpered and turned his head to the side, trying desperately to catch Tony’s eye. “Tony,”

Tony lifted his head, locking eyes with the nurse manhandling Steve. He opened his mouth to scream at her, but his tongue was still too heavy to be of any use. He thumped his hand against the gurney instead and was glad when the nurses turned on him, their hate redirected. They swarmed him, grabbing at the straps holding him upright and pulling them free. He fell to the floor, still attached to the table by his ankle straps and lay there, winded, and sore as they glared down at him.

“He’s a piece of shit, just like the rest of the Avengers,” a nurse muttered. She gave Tony a kick in the ribs and lifted her foot to take another swing at him but was grabbed by the male nurse on her right.

“Don’t,” the male nurse said, holding onto her arm. “He wants to do it himself, remember? What do you think he’ll do if we start something first? Look at what he did to Janice,”

The nurse sighed and hung her head. “I know. It’s just hard to see him lying there without a scratch. It’s not fair.” She turned away, motioning for the other three nurses to follow her back towards Steve. “Let’s get the brat cleaned up then,” she said, pulling on a clean pair of gloves. “I want to get back to work. Send the guards in to get rid of Stark.”

Tony lay sprawled on the floor until the guards came to get him. He was lucky they came when they did, because it was getting hard and harder to breathe and he was pretty sure he couldn’t feel his face anymore; if they had left him lying there for any longer, he would have suffocated under his own weight. The arc reactor felt like it was trying to claw its way out of his ribcage, and while his thoughts were still hazy and slow, it was hard to ignore the lack of oxygen. One of the guards lifted him up like he was made of paper and threw him over his shoulder. It was weird to be staring at the ground like this; it was weirder still to be carried down the hallway while he drooled all over himself. He hadn’t done this since college, and the last time that had happened it had been Rhodey hauling him home from a party. He missed Rhodey. Rhodey would have at least had the decency to pat his back a little.

The guards didn’t take him back to his cell. There wasn’t any hesitation in their steps. Instead, they turned left when they should have turned right and continued down the corridor until they reached yet another turn he didn’t recognize.

Tony watched the floor as they moved, trying to count tiles so he could navigate his way back if he need to. They were much further into the compound now; it was far bigger than he had imagined. There were triple the checkpoints along this route, and three guards for every room. By the time they reached a cell at the very end of the hall, he could tell that the guards had grown nervous. It scared him that it had taken him so long to figure out what their expressions meant. He hung limp over the guard’s shoulder as the other one coded open the cell door.

He realized belatedly that he wasn’t going to be set down gently.

They tossed him onto the cement, slamming the door shut behind them so quickly, Tony could feel the breeze it made. He landed in a heap, and narrowly managed to keep his head from slamming into the floor and bursting like an overripe watermelon. He gasped, winded by the landing, and lifted his head. If the Skull wanted him here, then there was someone bad waiting for him. He could just feel it.

And he was right.

There was someone waiting for him.

Bucky was sitting on a wide grey futon at the back of the cell. He was barefoot and shivering in a gown just like Steve’s. His mechanical arm was still missing, and his flesh-and-blood arm was wrapped around his back, keeping the gown from flapping open. He pushed himself upright after giving the door a sharp assessing look and approached cautiously, eyeing Tony as if he expected to be attacked. He was right to be worried; if Tony had been able to get up, he would have lunged for the traitor’s throat.

“You,” Tony growled, wishing his arms would obey him. He flopped against the floor.

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbled. “Me. Funny how things work out, huh?”

“Not really,” Tony forced out, taking a sharp breath in through his nose. The cement was colder than it had been in his old cell; it was seeping through his clothes so fast, it felt like he had been dunked in cold water. He let out a gasped breath and shuddered when the air clouded up in front of him. “Nice meat locker you got here. Enjoying yourself?”

“You’re a pain in the ass,” Bucky grunted. He grabbed Tony by the arm and dragged him backwards towards the futon, his bare feet slapping against the floor. “I don’t know why I bother talking to you,”

“Fucker,” Tony hissed, wincing as his body slid across the cement with a squeal.

“They drugged you?” Bucky asked, wrestling Tony onto the futon. He rolled Tony over and pulled his feet away from the cement, sitting down cross-legged. “Why am I asking? I know he drugged you,” he snorted. “You’re not usually so happy,”

“Why are you here? Did the Skull not pay you enough?” Tony slurred. He wanted to pull away from Bucky’s hands, but the sudden reappearance of warmth was enthralling; his body was far too weak to offer up even a token protest.

Bucky rolled his eyes and lifted Tony’s head onto his lap. “I didn’t sell you guys out, if that’s what you’re asking, dip-shit,”

“Prove it,”

Bucky sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. He pulled Tony’s pant legs down, making sure they covered Tony’s toes. “I’m freezing my nuts off in here, just like you. If that’s not proof, I don’t know what is,”

“So where’s the rest of the team then?” Tony said, letting his eyes close half-way. Bucky’s warm thighs were heavenly – Nope. He wasn’t going there. He was going to bury that thought away forever.

“I have no idea where they are or if they’re still alive,” Bucky said, tugging the rest of Tony’s clothing into place. He smoothed out the wrinkles, the move awkward with only one hand. “Look, when I woke up I was lying here dressed like this. I didn’t exactly get a look at the rat bastards that took us down,”

“You were working for the Skull,” Tony scoffed. “How did you not recognize them?”

“I wasn’t working for the Skull. I was working for a guy named John Smith – and yes, I see the joke. It was arranged through a friend of a friend – an old handler – a guy I worked with for years. If I had known who it was, I wouldn’t have taken the deal,”

“Oh sure,” Tony snorted into Bucky’s thigh. “You say that now, but I think you’re full of shit. You would have taken the money if it was the devil offering it up,”

Bucky settled his hand on Tony’s shoulder; Tony flinched.

“I didn’t take money from those shitheads,” Bucky said, his voice turning soft. “Not now, and not back then. The Red Room – they didn’t like Hydra and they didn’t give me much of a choice about who I worked for.” He grimaced. “We didn’t help people like that – everyone else with cash, yeah, but never them,”

He sounded so serious, Tony was inclined to believe him. “You’re not going to kill me with your thighs now, are you?” Tony slurred, giggling in relief. “Natasha threatens to do that to me – did you know that? She says she’s just like you. You guys trained together,”

Bucky smiled. “No, Stark. I’m not going to strangle you with my thighs – not unless you ask nicely,”

Tony closed his eyes. This was almost nice – aside from the whole trapped in a cell with the former Winter Soldier part; maybe it was the drugs talking, but he could see why Steve trusted Bucky, although he wasn’t so sure he would ever be truly comfortable around the guy. Bucky seemed honest, in an I’ll-mess-up-your-face-if-you-mock-me kind of way, and at least right now, the nightmares and flashbacks weren’t bothering him. If he hadn’t been half-drowned by the Winter Soldier, he might have been able to truck himself into believing that the Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes weren’t the same man. It didn’t feel like the guy was involved with the Red Skull; this was no ruse. If Bucky had sold them out, he wouldn’t be here, freezing, in a medical gown; he would be miles away, counting his money in Aruba. “So you don’t know where anyone else is?” Tony asked again, needing the clarification.

“No,” Bucky grunted. “You’re the only face I’ve seen in days. We were taken out while your friend Coulson was busy ripping a strip off of everyone,”

“He loves to do that,” Tony agreed. “I think it makes him feel special,”

“They’ve got Steve, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, they got him. He’s here,” Tony murmured. “They’re mining him for samples,”

Bucky stiffened.

“I know. I’ve seen the show myself,” Tony said, bitterly. “I want them dead too. He’s holding up, but it’s only a matter of time before he breaks,”

“You’ve seen him up close?”

“They were letting him stay with me most of the time – when they weren’t trying to freeze my balls off, as you so eloquently put it,” Tony said. “I did my best, but it wasn’t good enough,”

Bucky’s rigid posture softened. “No,” he said, resting his hand on his thigh opposite Tony’s head. “You kept him going – he’ll be fine,”

Tony opened one eye. “Did they drug you too?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Never mind – You’re an asshole. He’d be better off with a blanket and a potted plant for company,”

Tony lifted his arm lazily and let it drop down onto Bucky’s lap. “Blatant lies,”

Bucky chuckled. “You keep telling yourself that, Stark,”

“Oh, I will,” Tony grumbled. “And as soon as this goddamn drug wears off, I’m going to flick you in the ear,”

“Oh?” Bucky smiled. “I don’t think you could manage that even on a good day,”

“I could too,” Tony said, trying not to sound petulant. “You just wait. Steve’ll help me.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” Bucky snorted. “Bring in the cavalry, why don’t you. That’s cheating,”

“You’re only saying that because he likes me better,” Tony said with a smirk.

Bucky’s smile faltered slightly. He looked up at the ceiling, his expression turning contemplative. He fell silent, drumming his fingers on his leg. “Did he talk to you?”

“About what?” Tony asked.

“About the dream he had,”

“Oh,” Tony said. He could vaguely remember the dream, but the details were fuzzy, just like the rest of his thoughts. He hadn’t thought this slowly in years. “That. Yeah. He talked to me about that,”

“What did you say to him?”

“I told him I’m too old for him and that he needs to think about it some more – I told him there’s no rush. He’s still a kid,” Tony grumbled. What did Bucky take him for? An idiot? What was he going to say? Yes, I’ll marry you, Steve? “I wasn’t going to say anything at all, but he looked at me with those puppy-dog eyes of his, and that was it,”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, he does that. He’s always done that – even when we were kids,”

“Yeah?” Tony smiled. Steve was such a sweet kid.

“He couldn’t seem to turn them off. I don’t think he knew he was even doing it,” Bucky grumbled. He pushed Tony’s hand off of his lap. “Either that, or he’s secretly a super villain,”

“God, I hope not,” Tony sighed. “Can you imagine fighting against him? He’d just give us that damn look and we’d all give up,”

Bucky smiled again. “I’ll kill you if you hurt him,”

Tony opened one eye and looked up at Bucky. “Same here, pal,”

“Good,” Bucky said, leaning over Tony. “I don’t want to hurt him. I know you don’t want to either.”

“What’s bringing this on all of a sudden?” Tony asked, cocking an eyebrow. “Is it because I’m drug addled and you don’t think I’ll remember anything?”

Bucky snorted. “No,” he said. “No. I’ve been meaning to say this to you for a while. Every time I tried to corner you, you freaked out,”

Tony flinched.

Bucky scowled down at Tony. “See? That’s what I mean,”

“You do realize that you tried to beat me to death and drown me, right?” Tony growled. “I’m allowed to be paranoid about you bashing my head in,”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be, jeeze,” Bucky muttered. He brushed his bangs back and stared down into Tony’s eyes. “Look. I’m asking you – as a friend, as Steve’s friend – to do me a favor. If I go back to the way I was – if I get hit in the head and I snap back, I don’t want to hurt him.”

“I get that,” Tony said, patting Bucky’s knee. “I won’t let you hurt him,”

“You might have to kill me,”

Tony grimaced. He knew it was true. On his own, he hadn’t been able to take Bucky out; if Natasha hadn’t come back when she had, he would be dead right now. He didn’t see a way to take Bucky down without turning to lethal methods. His hand-to-hand combat skills were pathetic in comparison to the Winter Soldier’s. Even without the use of the mechanical arm, Bucky would still be able to take Tony down – he didn’t doubt that for a second. “I don’t think Steve would like that very much,” Tony said, carefully.

“I know,” Bucky said. “But if it needs to be done, you need to do it, alright?”

“What if I don’t want to?” Tony asked, swallowing hard. “What if I don’t want to kill you?”

“You won’t have a choice. I remember what it was like when I was him – when I was the Winter Soldier,” Bucky said. He curled his hand into a fist and clutched it against his hip, his smile turning into a sneer. “I hate him – I hate what they did to me – I hate what they made me become. I would have delivered Steve to their fucking door with a ribbon on his head, and I wouldn’t have cared at all. It would have been just another job,”

Tony gritted his teeth. “I don’t want to talk about that,”

“I need you to promise me that if it comes down to it, you’ll do what you need to do, Stark,” Bucky murmured, looking Tony in the eye again. “Promise me,”

Tony felt like he was choking on the words. “He’ll hate me,”

“I know,” Bucky said with a sigh. “But he’ll get over it,”

“He will not get over it. He’ll hate me and he’ll kill me with his bare hands,”

“Well, that’s your problem,”

“What am I supposed to say to that? Yes?” Tony rolled over, turning his face away from Bucky’s stomach. “I don’t want to talk about this,”

“Well tough shit,” Bucky grunted. He settled his hand on Tony’s shoulder, putting it back in the exact same place when Tony feebly managed to shrug it off. “If you love him, you’ll keep him safe,”

“Who says I love him?” Tony muttered, pulling his knees up against his stomach.

“Idiot,” Bucky grumbled, prodding Tony in the back of the head. “So that’s a yes, right?”

“I guess,”

“Stark,”

“Yes!” Tony yelled. “I’ll fucking kill you if it comes down to it, alright? Happy now?”

Bucky smoothed Tony’s hair down. His touch was unexpectedly gentle, his hand warm against Tony’s bare neck. “Thank you,”

“Yeah,” Tony grunted. “Whatever,”

“If it makes you feel any better, if you go rogue, I’ll kill you,” Bucky drawled.

“Oh, goodie,” Tony said. “That’ll be fun,”

“Maybe you should program something into my arm – you know, to make it easier on you,” Bucky said, his voice almost wistful.

“Who says I haven’t thought about that already? Maybe I put a self-destruct module into that sucker when no one was looking,”

“If you had, you’d have given it back to me by now,” Bucky said with a laugh. “I’m still pissed about that, by the way,”

“Still?” Tony scoffed. “I think you don’t know when to let things go,”

Bucky snorted. “You’ve been spending way too much time with Steve,”

“Don’t I know it,” Tony muttered.

Bucky’s hand opened up, spreading out over his knee. He rubbed wiped the sweat from his palm and reached behind himself to fiddle with the gown’s back. “This fucking thing keeps opening up,” he muttered, trying to pull the sides together. It was a wasted effort. The flaps of fabric didn’t seem to want to stay in place no matter how tight he pulled the strings. “Why aren’t you wearing this piece of shit?”

Tony smiled thinly. “He likes to take samples, and I’ve got nothing to give him,”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“The Skull is looking for the serum. Apparently Steve doesn’t have it in his body right now,” Tony said, shifting in Bucky’s lap. His strength was returning, albeit slowly, yet his lower half didn’t seem to want to follow the rest of his body. He grabbed for his pant legs and tried to tug them down further over his toes as goosebumps ran up his legs. “I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he said, fingers tangling in fabric. “The Skull thinks I did something to Steve – claims I scrubbed the serum from his blood – and he’s pissed,”

“Did you do something?” Bucky asked, cocking his head to the side.

“No!” Tony snapped. “Why does everyone think I’d do that?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, dropping his hand back into his lap. “Maybe he thinks you’re jealous of Steve, or something,”

“Jealous? I’m not jealous,” Tony muttered. “I’m Iron Man,”

“If you’re Iron Man, where’s your suit?”

“It’s at home,” Tony said with a huff. “I couldn’t take it with me. It was too easy to track – too flashy. I only had the one that worked. I sort of blew the other ones up,”

“Aren’t you supposed to be a genius or something? Couldn’t you have just built something for stealth?” Bucky asked. He chuckled when Tony pawed weakly at his knee. “It’s probably better you didn’t bring it,”

“Oh?” Tony growled. “Enlighten me, oh brilliant one, – why is that exactly?”

“The Skull would have it right now, and he’s strong enough on his own without having your suit to play with,”

Tony grimaced. “Good point,”

“I’ve been known to make them on occasion,” Bucky shrugged.

The door snapped open behind them.

Bucky stiffened, sitting up ramrod straight. “Oh boy – company,”

The Skull smiled at them, his hands tucked carefully behind his back. He nodded to someone outside and the door shut behind him with a swish. He was wearing a plastic apron over his suit, one that looked far too clean, like it was just waiting to be splattered with blood.

“Hello, Stark,” the Skull said. He smiled at Bucky. “Good to see you, Barnes,”

“Fuck you,” Bucky growled.

“Charming as always,” The Skull drawled.

“I try,”

“I believe the drugs have worn off enough now. Shall we begin?” The Skull rolled up his sleeves, revealing the long, red, expanse of his forearm. “It’s time to pay for your lies,”

Chapter Text

“Do you have anything you would like to say?” The Skull asked, cracking his knuckles. He watched, still smiling, as Bucky pushed Tony off of his lap and put himself in the way, blocking Tony with the only thing he had – his body.

“He doesn’t have anything to say to you,” Bucky grunted. “So why don’t you just go back to fuckwit mountain, and leave us alone,”

The Skull chuckled. “Oh, Barnes,” he said, stepping forwards, “You always were irritating. I’m not sure how you remained a secret for so many years. SHIELD must be filled with idiots if they couldn’t recognize you,”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t really myself,” Bucky said. He tried to keep the Skull away, but with one arm, he wasn’t particularly effective even with his extensive training. He took a swing at the Skull, nailing him in the chin again and again. It didn’t seem to matter how hard he hit; the Skull didn’t stop smiling. It was as if nothing was touching him. Bucky swung again and backed up, glancing behind him to see if Tony was still lying where he had left him. It was a mistake. The Skull stepped to the side and grabbed Bucky by the shirt, tossing him out of the way.

Tony managed to get onto his knees, but couldn’t keep his balance. The drugs were still slowing his movements, and his muscles had no intention of helping him stay upright for more than a few minutes at a time. He hated that he felt so calm. Here the Skull was, ready to start beating the shit out of him – and he knew that was what was going to happen, he wasn’t stupid enough to think that it was going to be a stern lecture he was getting – and he couldn’t even bring himself to feel properly afraid.

Bucky threw himself through the air at the Skull. This time, it seemed the Skull’s patience, had run out. The Skull caught Bucky by the arm and hurled him into the wall shoulder first. Bucky bounced off the wall and dropped to the ground with a grunt; he struggled to rise again and collapsed.

“While I find your courage admirable,” The Skull said, leering down at Bucky, “You would do well to stay out of my way, Barnes. I am here to punish Stark. Your day will come tomorrow,”

Bucky snorted into the cement and scrambled up. “Screw you, pal.” He shoved at the Skull’s chest with the flat of his hand, standing tall even as the Skull’s eyes narrowed in irritation. “Back off,”

The Skull sighed. “You are making this worse for him,”

“Fuck you,” Bucky snarled. He jabbed the Skull in the chest. “You’ve got us locked up here – you’ve got no right to keep us,”

The Skull grabbed Bucky by the arm and twisted it, sending Bucky flying into the wall again; this blow was harder than the last. The room was too small, and it was impossible to avoid hitting anything made of cement. Bucky slid down the wall, landing in a heap. He wouldn’t stay down. He groaned and forced himself onto his knees, trying to crawl his way closer.

“No, thank you, Barnes,” The Skull growled, kicking Bucky in the small of his back. He stomped again and again until Bucky was lying on the floor, gasping and wheezing. “You are not my type.” The Skull smiled thinly down at Bucky, pleased when he didn’t bother to get up again. “Now stay down and out of my way,”

“Bastard,” Bucky rasped, curling into a ball.

“Trying to taunt me?” The Skull said, his hands settling on his hip. “You are more of a fool than I thought, if you believe calling me names will distract me.” He turned to Tony, swiftly snatching him up from the futon by the front of his shirt. Tony hung in his grasp, his knees dragging against the floor. “If you undo what you did to the dear Captain, I will spare you this torment, Stark,”

Tony raised his head and locked eyes with the Skull. “I can’t reverse what I didn’t do,”

The first blow was light, merely knocking Tony in the shoulder, a warning that worse things were to come.

“What did you do?” The Skull growled, his fingers curling in the fabric of Tony’s shirt.

“I didn’t do anything to Steve,” Tony spat.

The second blow was heavier; it pushed the air out of Tony’s lungs, and the next had him seeing stars. He gasped and lifted his arms up in front of him, grasping at the Skull’s hand still buried in his shirt. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus on the pain and not the Skull’s hideous face as it flickered in front of him. He wouldn’t give in – not to this. Not to the Skull.

The blows continued; Tony felt every last one.

In the end, he hung limply in the Skull’s grasp, his face swollen and bleeding, waiting for the one that would finally, blessedly, end him. His mind was numb, free of fear for the first time in ages. It would be alright. Steve would still have Bucky; he wouldn’t be alone.

But Steve wasn’t the only one under Bucky’s protection.

The Skull staggered and dropped Tony, whirling around to see who had hit him. Bucky’s fist caught the Skull in the chin, and this time, it did damage, although it wasn’t enough to stop him from retaliating. The Skull staggered back, tearing the front of Tony’s shirt and whirled, his eyes trained on Bucky’s. “Goddamn you, Barnes,” he snarled.

Tony hit the floor chest first, banging his nose on the way down; he could taste blood in his mouth, and could feel it dribbling down his chin. He lay still while Bucky and the Skull struggled, wishing he could close his eyes and sleep.

“Enough!” The Skull roared, shoving Bucky away.

Bucky hit the wall back-first and leaned against it after he slid to the ground, panting; his lip was split and his face bruised, but the defiant rage burning in his eyes made the injuries seem trivial. “Oh? You giving up?”

The Skull scowled. “You’re lucky, Barnes. I don’t want to kill you – yet.” He turned to Tony and sneered down at him, rolling him over with his boot to make sure he was still alive. “Others would have broken by now and admitted their lie. I do not believe you are strong enough to hide something from me for so long, so I suppose I will have to believe you for the time being,”

Tony didn’t bother moving. His body was so bruised, even breathing hurt.

“Therefore, I will give you a choice,” The Skull continued ignoring the fact that his audience wasn’t looking at him. “You will help my scientists develop the serum for use, and in exchange, I will not use the boy as the first candidate,”

Tony stilled. Was the Skull serious? Did he really think he would be able to pull the Super Soldier Serum out of thin air? He rolled over onto his belly, gritting his teeth and lifted himself up, balancing his weight on his elbows. He stared through bloodshot eyes up at the Skull. His body throbbed bitterly. “What?”

The Skull smiled at him. “Is this you saying yes, Mr. Stark?”

Tony would have enjoyed telling the Skull to go fuck himself with a cattle prod, but he had a feeling it wasn’t going to end well if he let those words out; he wasn’t sure his body could take any more damage today. “I guess so,” he said. “What do you want me to do? Pick up their dry-cleaning? Janitorial work? I’m good with a broom – or so Pepper tells me,”

The Skull chuckled, peering down at Tony as thought he was inspecting a small dog who had pissed on his carpet. “No, Mr. Stark. As amusing as that would be to see you dressed in grey and pushing a broom around, I do not want you cleaning the floors. Your skills are needed elsewhere.” He chuckled when Tony collapsed onto the cement as his strength finally ran out. “You will have a month to get the serum working – that’s fair, isn’t it? And after that, well,” he shrugged, “the first batch you make will be used on the boy.” He turned to the door, glancing at Bucky who was still pressed up against the wall. “I expect you to behave yourself for the time being Barnes,” he said. “You are expendable – if you get on my nerves again, I will not hesitate to rip your face off and make you eat it,”

“Sure thing, boss,” Bucky grunted, saluting the Skull with his middle finger.

The Skull sighed. “One day, boy, you will learn to hold your tongue,”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, wiping blood off of his lower lip. “I highly doubt that, pal, but you can sure try to teach me,”

The Skull left without a word, leaving the door open. Tony lazily stared out into the hallway. He wondered if Bucky was going to make a break for it; if someone was going to get Steve out and take him to freedom, now would be as good a time as any. Bucky, however, didn’t seem interested in making his escape, much to Tony’s surprise. He pushed away from the wall and staggered over to Tony, kneeling beside him.

Bucky whistled lowly. “You’re a mess,”

Tony grimaced and pushed himself up onto his elbows again.

“Get him up,” their usual guard said, slinking into the room. He had his baton out and was patting it against the palm of his hand.

Bucky rolled his eyes at the guard. “Keep your pants on,” he muttered as he helped Tony to his feet. He wrapped his arm around Tony’s middle, and threw Tony’s arm over his shoulder. “Where are we going?”

The guard glared at Bucky, patting his baton harder. “The boss told us to take you for a shower – says he can’t have you stinking the lab up,”

Bucky nodded and dragged Tony to the door.

The shower room was a lot further away than Tony remembered; it was slow going, even with Bucky propping him up. The guards were patient this time, one walking leisurely ahead and one strolling behind them, their batons still held at the ready. They knew no one was going to try anything – at least not so soon after a beating at the Red Skull’s hands.

They weren’t completely wrong. Tony could barely move, but Bucky was still more than ready to fight. It was probably part of his training from the Red Room, Tony mused. He could feel the muscles in Bucky’s stomach against his side with each step and he had no doubt that the guy’s arm was just as beefy.

When they got into the showers, they were ordered to strip out of their bloodstained and tattered clothing. Bucky didn’t hesitate; he slipped out of his clothing and then tugged Tony’s bloody clothing off, dumping it all onto the floor beside them. Modesty, it seemed, had died long ago for him. He hesitated, however, when the guards ordered him to get into a stall.

“He’s not going to be able to wash the blood off,” Bucky said, gesturing to Tony. “Hell, he’s probably not going to be able to stand.”

“That’s not your problem,” the guard on Bucky’s left growled. “Get in the shower,”

“Fuck yes, it’s my problem. If he drowns, we’re all screwed,” Bucky growled.

The guards moved closer, batons held at the ready.

“Wait,” Bucky said, holding his hand up. “Look – I’m not saying you need to do something. Let’s just do this the easy way, huh? I’ll clean him up myself – that way, no one ends up slipping and dying. We aren’t going to try anything,”

“You think we give a shit about that?” The guard on the right snorted.

“I think the Skull cares about it – and he doesn’t want Stark hurt again. He’s got a deal with him – he needs Stark’s brain,” Bucky growled, stepping closer to the bench where Tony sat, swaying, as he tried to stay upright. “If you make him shower on his own he’s going to splatter that nice brain of his on the floor when he goes headfirst into it,”

The guard on the left sighed wearily, and slid his baton back in its holster. “Alright. But if I see any monkey business, you’re going to get a beating,”

Bucky smiled. “Fair enough,” he said, wrapping his arm around Tony’s middle. He helped Tony up, ignoring the way Tony flinched away at his touch. “Let’s get this over with,”

Tony could feel fear creeping into his thoughts; the drugs had worn off finally, and he was starting to miss the weightlessness. At least when they had been in his system, he hadn’t had to worry about every little thing. He wanted to shrug away from Bucky, loathing the feeling of the other man’s skin against his own, but he knew that if he tried to move away, he would fall. He could feel the cold creeping in through the tiles beneath his bare feet, and no amount of awkward shuffling could chase it away. He shrank back when they reached the shower stall, grasping the wall in desperation.

No.

Not here.

Not here – please not here.

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “What?”

Tony closed his eyes and breathed in through his nose. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t care that he was bloody and bruised; right now, all he wanted to do was go back to his cell so he could curl up in a ball on his uncomfortable futon. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? He didn’t want to see the water. Please, he wanted to scream, don’t put me in the water.

Bucky turned the shower on as high as it would go before Tony could even open his mouth to protest; the air started to steam as water splashed free from the showerhead.

Tony cringed and ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He could feel the spray on his skin. He caught a whiff of salt in the air and gagged, slumping against the shower stall wall. “No,” he whispered, clinging to it for dear life. Not again – not now!

The Winter Soldier’s hand landed on Tony’s shoulder.

“NO!” Tony dug his fingers into the wall as his knees buckled. This was it at last – he had been beaten, and there was nothing left, no strength to draw on; it would end here. He hoped the Winter Soldier made it quick; he hoped the bastard would have the decency to break his neck this time. He was tired of drowning, so, so tired of it.

The hand on his shoulder dropped to the small of his back.

“Whoa,” the Winter Soldier said, lifting Tony up. “Calm down, Stark. You’re going to hit your head,”

Calm down?

Tony twisted in the Winter Soldier’s grasp, trying to get away. He would have to be quick, or else that fucking metal hand was going to come down on his throat again and then the game would be lost. Hot water hit Tony in the back, and streamed down his face, dripping through his hair; he gasped and hissed at its touch. Pain lanced through his body as beads of water struck his bruised and battered skin. The Winter Soldier held him steady, angling him under the water. Tony couldn’t hear the waves coming, but he knew they would be here soon and then he would feel them on his face – on his neck and his nose and lips –

“Tony?” The Winter Soldier’s voice was hesitant.

“Just do it – kill me and get it over with,” Tony rasped, dangling in the bastard’s grasp.

“Tony,” the Winter Soldier said, softly. “I’m on your side, remember? It’s me – It’s Bucky. I’m not going to hurt you,”

“You’re lying,” Tony whispered hoarsely as water continue to drip down his face. “You’re him – you’re lying,”

“I’m not lying,” Bucky murmured. He wrapped his arm tighter around Tony’s middle, letting Tony’s chin rest against his shoulder. “It’s ok. I know you’re scared, but I’m not him anymore. We’re here because we need to protect Steve, remember? Think about it – we’re here for Steve. He needs us to be strong, remember, Tony?”

Tony let out a shuddered sob as the Winter Soldier faded away. He leaned his face against the damp skin on Bucky’s neck. “Shit,” he coughed, choking on the mist. “Sorry. Shit – I’m sorry.” He had forgotten; this wasn’t the Winter Soldier – not anymore. This was Bucky Barnes – Steve’s friend. He was safe with Bucky; this wasn’t the Winter Soldier.

“You ok?” Bucky asked, easing them towards the water again. He used his body to keep Tony up as he adjusted the strength of the spray, lowering it until it wasn’t quite so harsh.

“I’m fine,” Tony said, swallowing down his fear. His face ached where he had been slugged, and the skin around his left eye had started to swell; the tear in his lower lip stung when he licked at it. “Just get it over with, alright? I fucking hate it here.”

“You and me both, pal,” Bucky muttered. He grabbed the bar of white soap off the wall beside him and sighed. “Christ, this would be easier if I had my fucking arm.”

Tony shivered as Bucky scrubbed at him with the bar of soap, concentrating on staying upright instead of on the unwanted touch. Bucky built up a lather and set the soap down, scrubbing the bubbles over Tony’s body, getting rid of the sticky smear of blood. The bar of soap was an unhappy shade of pink by the time Tony got a look at it again.

“What’s the thing in your chest?” Bucky asked. He didn’t wait for an answer before wiping a handful of soap suds over the arc reactor, his fingers skimming the metal casing with a squeak.

It took every ounce of strength Tony had to keep from flinching away. No one had touched the reactor without his permission – not since Obie; everyone else had at least had the courtesy to ask first. He shuddered at the memory of Obie’s hand on his chest and reminded himself that Bucky wasn’t likely to rip the reactor out – not with only one hand, at least. “It’s like a pacemaker,” he supplied, grinding his teeth as Bucky moved his hand to scrub at a stubborn patch of blood on Tony’s breastbone. “It’s a miniaturized Arc reactor.”

“A reactor... so it’s a battery or something? You’re not going to drop dead on me, are you?” Bucky asked, only half joking.

Tony smiled thinly. “Not unless you take it out. Didn’t Natasha tell you about it?”

“Why would she?” Bucky said with a snort. “They weren’t talking to me all that much aside from ordering me around. She didn’t exactly trust me.”

“She said we could,” Tony said with a frown. “What makes you think she didn’t?”

“She never let me get near anything sharp,” Bucky said with a shrug. “If she really trusted me, she wouldn’t have shadowed me every time I picked up a fucking fork.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what she thought about me,” he said, rapping a knuckle on the middle of the reactor. “I take it no one knows about this? It’d make you a liability in the field if they knew, right?”

“SHIELD knows,” Tony grunted, pushing Bucky’s hand away from the reactor. “Don’t touch it.”

“Why?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. “Can I break it?”

“No,” Tony muttered, glancing down at the floor, watching the soap suds dance around the drain. “I just don’t like people touching it. It’s personal.”

“Alright. That’s fine,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I know what it’s like having something people can rip off you. It’s not pleasant.” He went back to scrubbing at Tony’s chest.

“Someone took it out once,” Tony said, surprised by the words. He didn’t like to talk about Obie– didn’t like the flood of memories his name brought back – but it felt like he needed to explain. “A friend of the family knocked me out – took it out. I almost died.”

Bucky winced in sympathy. “Does the Skull know about it – about your reactor?”

“I don’t know. I don’t see how he could have missed it,” Tony said, dryly. “Someone stripped me down and put me in that first set of scrubs. They had to have gotten a look at it,”

“And yet you’re still walking around,” Bucky mused. He moved on to another splotch of blood. “Maybe someone didn’t tell him,”

“Maybe,” Tony agreed. Could it really be that simple? Had someone just not mentioned it to the Skull? It wasn’t exactly as if it could be mistaken for a micro-dermal, or something as simple as that. The reactor was far too big to be overlooked, and even if people thought he was off his rocker, they wouldn’t believe he had carved a hole in his chest just for shits and giggles. Or would they? The newspapers and gossip rags always had made it their mission to make him look like a crackpot; it wouldn’t be a shock to some people if he had gone and implanted a giant glowing circle in his chest just because he could.

“Well,” Bucky said, inspecting the bruises littering Tony’s torso, “I don’t think he broke anything when he was using you as a punching bag. Lucky you!” He ran his hand over Tony’s back, searching out new scrapes. His fingers skittered along Tony’s spine; he paused and scrubbed at a trail of blood that had trickled down from the back of Tony’s neck. “You’ve got a bunch of cuts, but nothing’s too bad. Head wounds bleed like a bitch, and there’s no bump, so you’re probably not concussed or brain damaged - well, no more than usual,”

“Ha,ha,” Tony muttered. He winced when Bucky’s fingers moved lower along the edge of his hipbone, skimming over a particularly angry bruise. “We’re never talking about this when we get home,” he said, trying not to go deadweight in Bucky’s grasp when the sudden shock of pain nearly dropped him to his knees. He locked his arms around Bucky’s neck and held on tightly, praying his hands wouldn’t slip free.

“Agreed,” Bucky muttered, grabbing for the soap again. He dropped it and sighed, glaring down at it. “If you make one goddamned joke about dropping the soap, so help me god, I will end you.”

Tony giggled; it was a terrible sound, too shrill to be taken as a laugh of amusement. He let Bucky muscle him towards the wall and latched on to it while Bucky stooped to retrieve the escaped bar of soap.

“You’re a nut,” Bucky said, affectionately, wiping Tony’s legs down with soapy foam. He glided his hand over the curve of Tony’s ass, moving quickly as though he was touching something that might bite him. He eased Tony away from the wall and turned him around, attacking Tony’s chest again with his soapy hand. He muttered something in Russian under his breath; Tony couldn’t hear what it was, but he had a sneaking suspicion that it was something rude.

“Almost done,” Bucky said, steering Tony towards the water again when he was done. He eased his fingers through Tony’s blood crusted hair, mindful of the cuts and scratches on Tony’s scalp. “You’re lucky he didn’t cave your skull in,”

“It felt like he did,” Tony muttered, blinking through the water. He nearly slipped when Bucky’s hand came up to shield his face from the spray. “Thanks,” he said, leaning against Bucky’s broad chest. It felt strange to be this close to the guy – to anyone, really; there was an intimacy here he hadn’t expected and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. He peered over Bucky’s shoulder, focusing on the trickles of water making their way down Bucky’s peach coloured skin. There was a scrape on Bucky’s lower back, likely caused by the Skull; it had scabbed over, leaving behind a smear of dried on blood. “You’re bleeding,” Tony said. “Well – you were bleeding,”

“I noticed,” Bucky grumbled, scrubbing the blood off of Tony’s ear. He paused, inspecting the rest of Tony’s face. “Well, your ugly mug can’t get any worse, so I guess we’re good to go,”

“You want me to get the blood on your back?” Tony asked.

“May as well,” Bucky sighed. He shifted and handed Tony the soap.

“So what do you think’s going to happen now?” Tony asked, leaning heavily against Bucky’s shoulder, “I’m starting to think we’re both screwed no matter what we do.” He scrubbed weakly at Bucky’s back with soapy fingers, trying to keep enough space between them so they weren’t bumping groin to ass. He prayed to whatever gods were up there that he wouldn’t slip.

It didn’t work; he slipped anyway. He was pretty sure the gods hated him.

Bucky snorted out a laugh when Tony’s bearded face mashed into the small of his back, just above his ass. “You know, I didn’t say you had to clean my back with your face,”

“Shut up,” Tony griped into Bucky’s back. He grabbed Bucky by the hip, using him as a human ladder as he stood up. His knees were still wobbly, but they mostly held; he looked around with his good eye and saw that the guards were pointedly looking in the other direction as though they thought something unsavory was going on. He couldn’t help the giggle that came out next. He pitched forwards, resting his forehead against Bucky’s shoulder.

“What?” Bucky grumbled, twisting around to get a better look at Tony.

Tony’s eyes stung; tears clung to his lashes. He bowed his head as sobs tore from his throat unbidden. It had been funny, but now he couldn’t see what he had been laughing at. This was his life now – wasn’t it? It was filled with beatings and the cold, and people he didn’t really like; it would never be the same again, not until they got out of here, and even then, he wasn’t so sure it would get any better once he was home.

Were the others even coming to get them?

Or was this it?

Was it just the three of them now? Was that this all there was? Were they going to have to break out all on their own?

“Tony?” Bucky’s voice was soft when he whispered into Tony’s ear. “Hey – you with me, buddy?” He wrapped his arm around Tony’s shoulder and squeezed. “You’re starting to freak the guards out,”

Tony sniffled and wiped his nose on his arm. Jesus, when had this become his life? He turned away, letting the hot water rinse the tears and snot off his face. “I’m fine,”

“Yeah,” Bucky grumbled, patting Tony’s shoulder. “Sure. Whatever you say,”

“I’m sorry about your stupid arm,” Tony muttered, wiping at his eyes.

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky said, easing Tony to the side so the water could wash away the last of the soap suds still clinging to his body. “You’re not the first guy to do it,”

“You’re kidding,” Tony said. Somehow he wasn’t surprised. From what he had heard about the Red Room, nothing had been safe from their wrath. Bad behavior meant losing the things that mattered the most, and an arm certainly counted in that respect. He wondered what Bucky had done to get that kind of a punishment.

“Yeah. It happened a couple of times. They didn’t like it when I didn’t listen,” Bucky said. “It wasn’t as bad as the actual human one getting torn off, though. That one was a bitch. I don’t really remember how it happened – I think I got it stuck under a rock when I fell from the train – but, man, it hurt. It itches like crazy, too.” Bucky gestured to his shoulder, where his robotic arm would have been if it had been attached still.

“I’ll make it up to you. I’ll make you a better one,” Tony said, turning Bucky around so they could was the last of the soap off of his back. “Hey, speaking of your arm – do you think they still have it?”

Bucky snorted. “I know they have it.”

“Oh?” Tony bit down on his lip to keep from grinning. Maybe things weren’t so hopeless after all. “Did they, uh, show it to you?”

Bucky cocked an eyebrow. “The guards brought it in and waved it at me,” he said, slowly. “What did you do?”

“You remember what we were talking about before,” Tony said, glancing at the guards. “You know. The thing,”

Bucky scowled. “Right. The thing,”

“I may have done it for real,” Tony said, clearing his throat. He took a step back and braced himself against the wall; if Bucky was going to slug him, now would be the time. After all, stealthily putting a self-destruct code slash bomb into a guy’s cybernetic arm was kind of rude.

“What are you – you’re kidding,” Bucky said, his eyes widening. He glanced at the guard and then reached for the tap, shutting the water off. “You’re crazy. You actually did it?”

“What can I say? I’m creative when I’m uncomfortable,” Tony said, leaning heavily against the wall. It had taken a lot of tinkering to get everything in place without anyone knowing about it, but he was glad he had done it; all that they needed to do was find a way to connect to the arm and then bam! They could get a lovely distraction out of it if they timed it right. He grumbled to himself when Bucky manhandled him out of the stall and forced a scratchy beige towel into his arms; he lowered himself onto the icy bench behind him, not trusting his legs to keep him upright for much longer and patted the skin he could reach dry. His arms felt heavy, and what little energy he had was quickly disappearing. He hoped it would come back soon. He was getting tired of being tired.

Bucky grabbed a towel of his own and started scrubbing the lower half of his body, keeping his head bowed and his voice low so the guards wouldn’t overhear him. “So you can do it then?” Bucky murmured, drying off his toes.

“Of course I can,” Tony muttered, patting his legs dry. “Get me near a computer and I’ll find it and set it off. It won’t be hard,”

“Great,” Bucky sighed. “Well, if we’re lucky he’s going to put you in the lab with the rest of his asshole friends, so you won’t have to wait long,”

“This is assuming they let me near a computer,” Tony muttered into his towel. If they were smart, they weren’t going to trust him near one; his reputation as an escape artist made it hard to play sweet these days. He dropped his arms back onto his lap and let the towel pool over his groin, shivering as the last of the warmth from the shower fled, leaving him covered in goose pimples.

Bucky glanced up at Tony and then shot a look at the guards. “Hey,” he called out. “Do we get new clothes or what?”

The closest guard scowled at him and gestured towards a bench a few feet away with his baton, where two sets of pink scrubs sat waiting; only one was backless, and it was easy to tell who it was meant for considering they had little embroidered nametags on the breast pocket. The Skull had a pathetic sense of humor it seemed, but at least they had dry, clean, clothes again. Pink wasn’t Tony’s favourite colour, but he didn’t mind it. The new set even included a pair of soft slippers for the both of them, a welcome addition to their wardrobe even if they did have bunny ears. Bucky scowled and stalked over, snatching the scrubs and slippers up; the surliness was probably feigned, but he did a good enough job to make it impossible to tell otherwise. He dropped the clothing onto the bench beside Tony and tugged impatiently at Tony’s towel. “Come on – get your lazy ass moving,”

Tony sighed, and let Bucky pull the damp towel off of his lap. “You’re a jerk,”

“I know,” Bucky said, scrubbing the towel over Tony’s chest.

Tony snatched the towel back. “I don’t need help,”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “Then why are you still dripping wet?” he asked, lifting his towel up to his head. He scrubbed at his lanky hair, but it didn’t seem to do much. With only one hand, the towel kept slipping out of his grasp. It was only his quick reflexes that kept it from dropping to the ground. “Fuck – you’d think years of doing this would make it easier,” Bucky grumbled.

After watching Bucky unsuccessfully scrub at his hair, Tony was forced to admit that he was going to have to step in. He didn’t want to; it would have been easier to look the other way and work on toweling himself off, but he couldn’t bring himself to be that callouses. Bucky had helped him after all. It was his turn to return the favor. “Look,” Tony said, gesturing to the bench. “There’s lots of space. Sit down. I’ll dry your hair,”

“I’m not a cripple,” Bucky snapped, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. “Is that what you think?”

“I didn’t say you were,” Tony said, patting the bench, trying to make it look enticing. “But, I need help drying off my back and this way, we both get something out of it,”

Bucky eyed him suspiciously.

“I’m serious,” Tony said, lifting up his towel. “I’m freezing my ass off. Move it, soldier,”

Bucky’s frown turned into a grim smile. “I’m not a soldier anymore,” he said, sitting down on the bench. He handed Tony his towel and turned with his head bowed, hunching over so Tony could have easier access to his soggy hair. “Steve’s going to bust a gut when he finds out about this,”

Tony scrubbed the towel over Bucky’s head. “Nah, I think he’d be ok with it,”

“It’s pathetic,” Bucky muttered, his hand curled on his bare leg. “I want my fucking arm back,”

Tony sighed. He scrubbed harder, getting the last few drops of water from the hair on the nape of Bucky’s neck and handed the damp towel back. He wished he could do something to help, but it wasn’t like getting the arm back now would do them much good. If they were going to blow it up, they couldn’t risk damaging it, and even if they had it the guards were still going to have batons, and the Skull was still going to be hopped-up on failed super serum; having an extra arm, even if it was made of metal, wasn’t going to do much to stop them if they were found out. He leaned forwards as Bucky dragged the towel up and down his wet back, contemplating the future. He toyed with the idea of closing his eyes and decided against it. He was already a little on the dizzy side from all the steam and he didn’t want to topple over like a drunk. It was bad enough he could barely stand on his own; he didn’t need to bruise the rest of his face with an ill-timed crash.

Bucky ran the towel over the back of Tony’s neck, a surely expression plastered on his face. “You know, when I woke up this morning, I didn’t think I was going to be toweling off your ugly ass,” he muttered.

Tony smirked and winced as the split in his lip opened up again. He licked the blood away. “Same here, pal,”

One of the guards rapped his baton on the stall beside him. “Hurry it up and get dressed,”

Bucky glared hatefully down at the pink scrubs beside him. He turned to Tony, smiling in a way that might have been charming under different circumstances. “Want to trade?”

Tony chuckled. “I would, but somehow I think they’re not going to let us,”

Bucky heaved a sigh. “You’re probably right. He probably wants us in uniform.” He picked at the plastic bag his clothing was sealed in and swore at it when it wouldn’t tear open. He tossed it into Tony’s lap without a second thought. “You do it,”

Tony ripped the plastic apart and handed the clothing back. “You need help with any of that?”

Bucky scowled. “I just need you for the shirt,” he grumbled, plucking the pink pair of BVD’s from the bag. He pulled them and the drawstring pants on without much trouble. The shirt, however, was a different matter. He picked it up and flipped it open, fumbling with the strings at the back. “I can’t get the ties done up,” he said after a minute of clumsy fumbling.

“Alright – give it here.” Tony helped Bucky into the shirt, pulling the second sleeve up over Bucky’s stump of a shoulder. He slipped the flaps of fabric closed around Bucky’s back and grasped the strings tightly in hand, tying them together as neatly as possible. At least this time they would stay in place, he mused as he did up the last two knots. He tore into his own bag of clothing when he was done and struggled into his BVD’s, angling his legs so he could get them on without having to stand up. Bucky eyed him, amusement plain as day on his face.

“You know, you can ask for help too,” Bucky said.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, pulling the shirt over his head.

When they were done, they were ushered out into the hallway with one guard walking in front of them and the other at their backs; Bucky slung an arm around Tony’s middle and kept him upright. The hall grew colder the further they walked. Tony leaned closer to Bucky when the shivers started up again.

A beep sounded from the on the radio strapped to belt of the guard behind them; the noise was piercing, jolting them from their silent march. Tony stumbled as the guard in front slowed down and stopped, turning to face the guard at the back.

“Yes?” The guard at the back held the radio up to his ear and waited for the person on the other end of the line to speak.

“Return Stark to his original cell,” a voice said over the crackling line. “There’s been a change in plans.”

Tony tensed.

“Roger that,” the guard said, strapping the radio to his belt again. He snapped his fingers to get their attention and tapped his baton against his palm. “We’ll drop Stark off first – then it’s back to your cell, Barnes,”

“Great,” Bucky muttered. He hoisted Tony up higher to keep him from slipping onto the floor. “Well, at least I get the scenic route this time,”

The guard chuckled. “Get moving,”

They let Bucky set Tony onto the floor near the doorway before they hauled him away to his own cell; when the door shut, the room went pitch black. Tony could barely see anything, but he found that it didn’t really bother him. He was too exhausted to care. He felt along the floor as he crawled the distance to the futon and cheered silently when he found the edge of the futon. His fingers brushed something warm; he stopped, his hand held out in front of him and squinted in the darkness.

There was a person lying on the futon.

Tony crawled closer, mindful of his slippers. “Hello?”

The person on the futon jerked up, flailing around in the dark; a blow caught Tony in the chin, but it wasn’t has hard as it could have been. Regardless, he rocked back on his heels, almost toppling over.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice was different, much richer than usual – deeper, too.

Tony didn’t have to see him to know that this wasn’t the child he had seen last. This was Steve Rogers – adult, Steve Rogers. He lowered himself onto the flat of his ass, aware dimly that the cement floor was cold. “Steve?

Steve reached out and patted at Tony’s shoulder, trying to find him in the dark. “Tony? What’s going on?”

Tony let out a nervous laugh. He moved without thinking, wrapping his arms around Steve, and buried his face in the crook of Steve’s neck. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “You’re safe,”

Steve let out a startled laugh. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Tony said, hastily pulling back. This wasn’t the Steve he knew – well, this wasn’t the child-Steve he knew. He had to remember that. He slowed as his fingers brushed against Steve’s chest. He could feel Steve’s ribs. Wait – that couldn’t be right. He patted at Steve’s body, fingers feeling blindly in the dark. No. This wasn’t right – this couldn’t be possible.

“Steve? What happened to the serum?”

“I was hoping you could tell me the answer to that,” Steve sighed. He patted the futon beside him. “Sit down. It’s too cold to be sitting over there.”

Tony moved on auto pilot and sat, tucking his feet underneath him.

Chapter Text

“You were attacked,” Tony said, wishing he could explain things better. They hadn’t identified the attacker or the weapon used on Steve before they had been captured so there wasn’t much else he could add.

“Did it have something to do with that bagel?” Steve asked. “Because that’s the last thing I remember,”

“No, Steve,” Tony said, pinching the bridge of his nose. Would Steve ever shut up about that bagel? It had been one little bite – one! Hell, it had even been a bite, it had been more of a nibble. He had had a feeling it would come back to bite him in the ass. “It didn’t have anything to do with the fucking bagel.”

“How long have we been here?” Steve asked, shifting uncomfortably in place. He turned on his knees so that he could face Tony. It was impossible to make out his expression in the dark, but Tony was fairly certain Steve had that puckered, irritated look again – the one he got when he thought someone wasn’t telling him the entire truth.

“I’m not sure. Time’s kind of relative here,” Tony said with a sigh. “If I had to guess, it’s been almost a week,”

“So we were attacked and we’ve been locked up here ever since? Where’s here, by the way – and who’s responsible?”

“Look – I think I need to start again,” Tony said. “Steve, this started a long time ago. You were turned into a child.”

“What?” Steve sighed in irritation. “Are you pulling my leg, Stark? Because that’s not funny,”

“Why the fuck would I make that up?” Tony snapped. He tensed, his muscles turning to steel. Great – It hadn’t even been ten minutes since Steve was back to normal, and already the guy was chewing a strip off of him for no reason. No. He could do this. He had promised himself that he would put up with it and he would put up with it. He took a deep breath in through his nose and forced himself to stay calm despite the twist in his gut. “You know what – I think this conversation is going to have to wait. I’m tired, and I don’t really think I can explain it properly right now.” He lowered himself onto the half of the futon that wasn’t currently occupied by Steve and closed his eyes, ignoring the cold as it took hold of his lower body. At least his head was warm, he thought bitterly. Maybe the cold would numb the bruises and his growing rage. Bruce was going to be so proud of him when he got back.

“Tony,” Steve said with a sigh. He went onto his knees and felt along the futon until he found Tony’s head and shoulders. “I’m sorry, ok? I just don’t understand what we’re doing here,”

“It’s fine,” Tony muttered, closing his eyes. “I’ll explain it later, alright? I’m really tired,”

“What happened to your face?” Steve asked, his fingers skimming Tony’s swollen cheek. “Who did this?” Steve sounded scared.

“It’s nothing,” Tony said, batting Steve’s hand away.

“It’s not nothing,” Steve huffed. He inched closer and tugged on Tony’s shoulder. “If you don’t want to talk about it right now, that’s fine, but don’t sleep like that. The floor’s cold,”

“Yeah,” Tony snorted, “I noticed. And do you mind? I’m kind of bruised here.”

“I’m sorry – I’ll be more careful, alright?”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“I get that you’re angry, but you don’t need to freeze to death to prove a point. Lie down here with me,” Steve said, patting the futon. “We can share the warmth.”

Tony sighed. He lifted his head wearily and glanced at the rest of the futon. He really did want to be mad at Steve, but it was hard to feel anything other than the growing numbness in his heart. It really would be more comfortable lying there on the futon, without the cold biting into his hip and back; it was easy too. All he had to do was get up and move, but the problem was that going there meant being near Steve, and he wasn’t so sure he could just casually lie down next to the guy. It had been easy when Steve was a child. He hadn’t had to think about anything – about how Steve would react to him. Now it felt like he was juggling chainsaws.

“Come on, Tony,” Steve said, patting the futon again. “Lie down,”

Tony heaved himself upright and crawled across the futon on his hands and knees. He regretted sprawling on the floor so quickly now that he was on the semi-soft futon again; his joints ached bitterly as he dropped down onto his side. He was getting too old for this kind of shit. He lay beside Steve and wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as Steve’s warmth started to creep into his body. He stared into the darkness as Steve settled against the wall behind him, and tried not to gasp when Steve’s knees brushed the backs of his. It was different, being here with Steve like this. It felt like he was with a stranger.

This was what he had been waiting for – what he had known was coming.

The kid was gone.

He hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut as tears started to flow freely; he muffled the sobs as best he could, biting down on his hand to keep the noises from getting out. The kid was gone. Steve was gone, and he hadn’t even gotten to say goodbye. He was just a kid, and he had left this world alone.

How had it happened?

Had the guards put Steve back in their shared cell after they had taken him away to see the Skull? Had the kid wondered where he was? Had he been afraid? Had he been waiting for him to come back?

Steve’s arm wrapped around Tony’s middle as though he could hear Tony’s thoughts. “It’s alright,” he said, rolling closer, his slender frame pressed tightly against Tony’s back, leaving no space between them. “We’ll figure this out together,”

Tony nodded slowly, not really hearing Steve’s words; he felt cold inside, like something was missing – like it had been torn out, leaving nothing but an empty, gaping, hole behind. It shouldn’t have been this hard to let the stupid kid go. He hadn’t even expected him to stick around – but it had been months since they had become friends, and oh – he had lost all of that. Steve didn’t remember a thing; they weren’t friends anymore – they would probably never be friends again. He sobbed harder, biting down on the inside of his wrist. It was for the best. There would be no nightmares from what had happened here – this way there would be no trauma, no pain. The kid was free now; he was finally safe.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice was gentle when he whispered in Tony’s ear. “Who hurt you?”

Tony cleared his throat. He steadied himself; Steve wouldn’t take this well. He didn’t know Steve’s thoughts anymore, but he knew the child version well enough to see how upsetting this news would be. “The Red Skull did it,” he said, gritting his teeth. “He runs this place.” Steve’s hand dug into the meat of Tony’s hip, pressing into the bruises already littering Tony’s skin. Tony let out a soft whimper, wishing he could take the words back and pretend they were a joke. Steve let go quickly, seeming to realize what he had done.

“I’m sorry. Shit.”

“It’s fine,”

“It’s not fine,” Steve said, shaking his head.

“Alright – so you’re a jerk. Happy?”

“Not really. The Red Skull is dead, Tony. You’re wrong,”

Tony wiped at his eyes. “Steve,” he said, his voice cracking, “I think I know who beat the shit out of me,”

“He’s dead,” Steve insisted, his tone bordering on hysterical. He pulled away and rolled over, turning to face the wall, curling in on himself. “The Red Skull died – I killed him and then I put the plane down in the water. I died to kill him,”

“Well,” Tony said with a sniff, wrapping his arms around his middle again, rubbing at the new bruise on his hip, “I hate to break it to you, but he didn’t stay dead either,”

“I am not wrong!” Steve shouted shrilly, his voice bouncing off the walls.

“You don’t have to yell at me,” Tony muttered, shifting towards the edge of the futon. This had been a bad idea. He shouldn’t have bothered getting comfortable here – not if this was how Steve was going to act. Maybe the floor would be better after all. God, why had he even bothered trying? He had known Steve didn’t like him, but he had thought Steve had at least trusted him enough to listen.

“No – don’t go,” Steve said as Tony started to sit up. He rolled over again, inching closer across the futon. “I’m not yelling at you,” he mumbled, sounding ashamed. He wiggled back into place against Tony’s body, curling around him. He was shivering all over, likely there only because he was seeking extra warmth, but Tony didn’t mind; he liked the way Steve felt pressed up against him, even though he knew it didn’t mean anything.

“It’s just not… it shouldn’t be possible,” Steve mumbled into Tony’s neck. “I stopped him. He’s dead. Why would he get to live again? Why him?”

“I don’t know what to tell you,” Tony said, grimacing when Steve’s boney knee bumped against his thigh. “Look, let’s just talk about it in the morning, alright? I just want to get some sleep,”

“You keep saying that, but should you really be sleeping?” Steve asked, patting at Tony’s forehead. His hands were small, his fingers slender and soft, unlike the rest of him; he ran his hand over Tony’s forehead, nimbly moving over skin as he tried to map out Tony’s face in the dark.

Tony delicately pried Steve’s hand off of his cheek. “Poking me in the eye is not helping, Rogers,”

“Sorry,” Steve grumbled. “I just want to see how bad the damage is,”

“Well, I want to sleep right now – you can check me over in the morning. Maybe they’ll even turn a light on for you,”

“I want to check you over now,” Steve insisted, sitting up. “Come on. Roll over.”

Tony scowled. “I’m tired,”

“And I’m worried about you dying in your sleep because you have a concussion,” Steve said, feeling along the side of Tony’s face. He moved on to Tony’s shoulder when he was satisfied with what he found. “Does it hurt here?” he asked, gently rubbing his way along Tony’s collarbone.

“Yes,” Tony hissed, batting Steve’s hands away. “Stop it! Bucky already checked me over – you don’t need to do it too,”

“That’s not funny,” Steve said, shrinking back as though he had been struck. “Why would you say something like that?”

“What?” Tony sat up slowly, cursing his aching body. “What did I say?”

“Bucky’s dead, Tony,” Steve said, sitting stiffly. “That’s cruel – you didn’t even know him. Why would you even say something like that?”

“Say something like what? Bucky’s been with us since the beach – which, of course, you don’t remember,” Tony said with a groan. He flopped back down on his side, grimacing. “God, can’t you just let me sleep? I’ll explain everything later, ok? Just let me sleep. I can’t think like this,”

“I think I deserve an explanation now,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well I don’t want to explain it all right fucking now! It’s been a shitty day, Steve – a shitty fucking week, and I just want to go to sleep,” Tony growled. “Just let me have a couple of hours, alright? I just need some sleep and then I swear I’ll be better. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know,”

Steve inhaled sharply through his nose. “Fine. Keep it all to yourself. It’s still not going to keep me from checking you over,”

“Fine,” Tony grumbled, rolling onto his back. “Feel me up all you want – just don’t wake me when you’re done,”

“Fine,” Steve muttered, kneeling beside Tony’s hip. “Let me know if it hurts anywhere,”

Tony woke up with Steve spooned up behind him. Had he died while he was sleeping? Because he hadn’t thought Steve would get this close to him again after what had happened the night before. Steve’s irritation, it seemed, hadn’t been enough to block out the cold, so here he was huddled up against Tony with his arm wrapped tightly around Tony’s middle. That was more than alright. It wasn’t like Tony wanted Steve anywhere else; at least here, he could keep Steve warm, even if it was only for a little while. Steve’s breathing was deep and rhythmic, his breath warm against Tony’s skin; it was calming to listen to, a blessing beyond words. Steve’s medical chart from his pre-serum days was almost as thick as a phonebook. Steve had been a walking time-bomb back then; anything could have taken him down and put him in the hospital. Tony didn’t even want to think about what sleeping out in the cold would do to Steve’s already weak immune system. There was no wheezing today, no bubbling sounds coming from Steve’s chest. He didn’t know what he would have done if Steve had been struggling to breathe. Seeing Steve as a child, fighting off the flu, had been bad enough on its own. Back then there had been medication – here there was nothing.

The futon had flattened out during the night; their combined weight had finally been enough to squash the air out of it. The damn thing was going to be paper thin by the time they got out of here, Tony mused. He was going to have to take a peek at the tag on it and find out who made the damn things; putting them out of business was going to taste so, so sweet.

Tony’s side ached. He shifted and then stilled when Steve’s breathing started to pick up. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened yet, and he knew it would be the first thing out of Steve’s mouth the second he woke up, so he did the cowardly thing and settled back down again even though it wasn’t particularly comfortable anymore. Without the serum, Steve was a full head shorter than Tony, and his boney bare toes were busy digging their way into the middle of Tony’s thighs. It wasn’t pleasant. He was going to have to beg the guards to lend them a nail clipper, because Steve’s talon-toes were a real problem. He could probably use them to gouge out concrete at this point.

Tony shifted and glanced around to see if anything had changed while he had been asleep. The room was brighter than before, but it was just as empty as always; everything seemed the same. He glared at the door. The guards would be coming soon. He wondered what they would do now that Steve wasn’t an easily terrorized child. Would they drag Steve off to a separate cell? Or were they going to leave him here?

The door opened without warning; the two guards who stepped inside were the same ones as always, but today they seemed more wary than usual, more timid, even. It was understandable. Captain America was back, after all; who wouldn’t be frightened of entering a cell where he was being held captive?

Tony didn’t so much as twitch; the smell of eggs and bacon was enthralling and he didn’t want to risk having it taken away if he jumped on it like some kind of ravenous beast. Besides, his bruised and battered body wasn’t really up for fast movements just yet. Slow and steady was going to be his motto for the next little while. He let the guards get into position, and waited watchfully while one set twin breakfast trays down on the floor in the middle of the room. He could feel Steve waking behind him, so he put his hand on top of Steve’s, hoping it would convey to him that they needed to stay still. It didn’t keep Steve docile, but it did keep him from lunging at the guards directly. Tony was proud he had managed that much.

The guards left in a hurry.

Tony sighed and lethargically struggled upright, his joints cracking with every move he made. He scooped their trays off the freezing floor and carried them back to the futon, just like he had done every day since they had arrived, attentive to the cold air against his skin. He held the second tray out to Steve and settled cross-legged onto the futon, rolling his shoulders one at a time before setting his tray down on his lap. He frowned at Steve’s bare feet and picked up his tray again so he could kick his slippers off without knocking his food halfway across the room. “You can have these if you want,” he said, nudging the slippers towards Steve.

Steve hesitated for only a moment and then snatched the slippers up, tugging them on. “Thanks. We can share them,”

“Sure,” Tony said, lifting the cover off of his tray. The bacon was dripping with grease and still warm; everything else was cold and soggy. He pushed his eggs around on his plate as he ate them, breaking the yellow lumps up into bite-sized clusters.

Steve hoovered everything on his plate, shoveling food into his mouth so fast it hard to tell what he was eating at any given moment.

So they were back to this again, huh?

Somehow, he wasn’t surprised.

Tony finished most of his eggs and all of his bacon, but it was a grueling trial. He tried to choke down the rest of his food, but could only manage a handful of his cantaloupe squares before his stomach decided enough was enough. He pushed his tray towards Steve with a grimace. “Here,”

Steve paused, fork still held halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“I can’t finish and I don’t want it. Eat,” Tony said, giving the tray a wiggle. “My stomach’s not feeling so great.”

Steve frowned. “Are you sure?” he asked, scraping the last of his food off of his plate and into his mouth. He didn’t need the calories the way he did when he had the serum in his veins, but that wasn’t slowing him down.

“I wouldn’t be offering it to you if I wasn’t sure,” Tony grunted. He handed Steve his tray and wrapped his arms around his middle, trying to warm himself up again. His stomach grumbled unhappily; he rubbed at it, hoping it would behave. He didn’t think Steve would appreciate having to smell vomit so soon after breakfast.

Steve hesitated, setting his empty tray down on the floor. He balanced Tony’s tray against his knees and prodded the fruit, as though suspecting something was wrong with it.

“It’s not the food making me feel sick,” Tony sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I know that,” Steve said with a scowl. He let his fork drop into the tray and picked up the bowl of fruit, turning it around so he could get a better look at it. “It’s almost full,” he commented.

“I noticed,” Tony said, dryly. He wanted to lie down again, but with Steve sitting on the other side of the futon, it would be impossible to get comfortable unless he curled up into a ball, and the bruises on his back, gut and ribs weren’t likely to enjoy that experience all too much. He settled for rubbing at his stomach again.

“You should try to eat a little bit more,” Steve said, holding the bowl out. “Just a few more pieces? You need to keep your strength up,”

Keep his strength up? Tony smiled and shook his head. God, was this what he had sounded like when Steve had still been a kid? Had he been this corny too? “Seriously, Steve – I get it, believe me. I’d eat if I thought I could, but I just don’t feel like puking everything up. So just finish it off for me, alright?”

Steve picked up a chunk of cantaloupe and offered it to Tony. “Eat one more?”

Tony sighed. “Fine,” he said, popping the chunk of cantaloupe into his mouth. He made of show of chewing and swallowing and then licked his fingers clean so he wouldn’t get anything sticky on his scrubs when he went back to rubbing his stomach. “I think I need to lie down again,” he said.

“One more?” Steve asked, holding up a strawberry.

Tony gave the fruit the evil eye. “Steve,” he said, warningly, “I’m serious about the puking part,”

“Just one more,” Steve said, giving Tony a soft smile. “Please?”

Tony plucked the strawberry out of Steve’s hand and chomped into it, eating as quickly as possible. His stomach grumbled at him, unamused by his continued eating; blessedly, it decided to behave itself. He licked his fingers clean again, running his tongue over the nail on his thumb to get a particularly stubborn seed and was surprised to see that Steve was suddenly looking very intently into the bowl of fruit.

What was that about?

Steve cleared his throat, grabbed for his fork and stabbed at the remaining bits of fruit, taking the pieces two at a time. He ate with a grimace on his face, stuffing himself with every last morsel. When he was done, Tony half expected him to decide to have a bit of a lay down too. He looked queasy; the burp that came up a few seconds later sounded a wee bit too wet for Tony’s liking.

Steve’s cheeks flushed pink. He stacked their trays and bowls together, setting everything in the middle of the room, and scooted backwards onto the futon when the door opened. He watched as the guards came in to collect everything. The frown on his face made it clear he was in planning mode; unfortunately for him, the guards seemed to notice the look, and they weren’t liking the scrutiny.

The first guard took out his baton, smacking it against his palm. “Alright, newbie,” he said. “The rules are simple. Don’t try anything and you won’t get hit.”

“Alright,” Steve said with the ghost of a smile on his lips. “Sounds simple enough. I think I can do that,”

The guard scowled. “Tell you what – we’ll make it even simpler for you. If you try anything, it’s not going to be you who gets hit,” he said, waving the baton at Tony. “Stark’ll be the one getting the beating,”

Steve paled.

“Good,” the guard said, scooping up their trays. “Oh, and you’ve got the day off,” he said, stepping through the door. The second guard gave them a brief, cautious, glance before leaving; the door shut behind them, locking in place with a sullen click.

Tony let out a heavy sigh. He ran his fingers through his sweaty hair and turned, lowering himself onto the futon on his side. Steve shifted to accommodate him, his eyes still trained on the door.

“Don’t bother,” Tony said, wrapping an arm around his middle, trying to conserve his strength and warmth. “It’s seamless and it only opens from the other side,”

“I’m assuming that means you’ve checked all the walls too,” Steve murmured, wrapping his arms around his knees. He glanced at each of the walls in turn, eyeing them in a way that made even Tony feel uncomfortable.

Tony kicked lightly at Steve’s leg. “Stop that,”

“I’m trying to get us out of here,” Steve grumbled, rubbing at his leg. “You still haven’t explained anything yet, in case you’ve forgotten,”

“Oh,” Tony said, glaring at the edge of the futon. “Right.”

“So are you going to tell me now, or are you going to take another nap?” Steve said, his dour mood turning on Tony.

“You were hit with some kind of beam,” Tony said, hiding his fingers in the loose fabric of his scrubs. “We couldn’t find out who did it, or what it was that did the damage – Bruce and the others are still looking. The point is, you weren’t an adult anymore,”

“Is this the I-turned-into-a-kid story again?” Steve asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“You were a seven year old,” Tony said, trying not to be impatient. He knew how strange it sounded, and he had lived through it; Steve was used to magic and mayhem, but losing a few months would still be hard to believe.

“So I turned into a kid?” Steve repeated. “You’re absolutely sure that’s what happened?”

“Yes, Steve, I’m absolutely sure that’s what happened,” Tony snapped, bristling. He toyed with the hem of his shirt, fiddling with a bit of loose string. “You were a kid – until last night, obviously,” Tony muttered. He swallowed down his tears, remembering Steve’s childish, chubby face. God, he was going to miss the little guy. How had he gone about his life before? It was hard to think about a time when Steve hadn’t been underfoot.

“Right. Ok, so you said we’ve been here a week now?” Steve said, drumming his fingers on his knee. “So I was a kid for a week,”

“Uh, no,” Tony said. “It’s been a couple of months, actually.”

“Months…” Steve’s eyes widened. “You’re – that’s impossible,”

“Steve,” Tony said with a huff, “I’ve been on babysitting duty ever since you got hit. I think I know what’s possible and what’s impossible,”

“But that’s – I don’t remember anything,” Steve said, staring down at his hands. “It’s been months?”

“You didn’t really miss much if that’s what you’re worry about,” Tony said hastily, hoping to smooth things over. “You’ve been with us the entire time, and it’s not like people thought you vanished into thin air or something. The people who needed to know about it knew,”

“That’s not the point!” Steve snapped.

Tony winced.

“I was a child – a child – for months, and now I’ve lost the serum and I’m an adult again. Is that what you’re telling me?” Steve growled. “The Red Skull is back – alive – and so is Bucky? Jesus, Stark – I think you hit your goddamned head a lot harder than you think,”

Tony snorted. “Whatever, Cap,” he said, closing his eyes. Why did he give a shit again? It wasn’t like he was needed here anymore; the kid was gone, and he didn’t have to look out for anyone other than himself. No one needed to look out for Captain America – Captain America could take care of himself.

“Tony,” Steve said, wearily, “I’m serious. Did someone look you over? Tell me the truth,”

“Bucky looked me over,” Tony muttered. “He was with me when the Skull decided to use me like a fucking drum, alright? He was right there in the shower after, too,”

“Tony,”

“What?”

“Tony – Bucky Barnes is dead,” Steve said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know how you found out about him, but when we get out of here, I’m going to ask Bruce to look you over again,”

“Oh,” Tony snorted, sitting up. “So I’m brain damaged now? Is that it?” He sneered at Steve, his hands curling into fists. All these months spent taking care of Steve, and the fucking guy wouldn’t even listen to him. “Thanks for that. I guess I must be if I was looking out for your stupid ass,”

Steve flinched. “Tony,”

“What?” Tony said, struggling up. He staggered over to other end of the cell across from the futon and sat down on the cold floor, tucking his feet into the bottom of his scrubs. “You got a problem with me swearing at you because you told me I’m hallucinating and off my fucking rocker, Rogers? Fuck you,”

“Tony,”

“Fuck. You.”

“You’re going to catch cold if you sit over there,” Steve said, resting his chin on his knees. “Stop being so stubborn,”

“I’m stubborn?” Tony growled, wrapping his arms around his middle. “You’re the guy who refuses to believe a word that comes out of my mouth! Because I lie all the time, right? Tony Stark – King of the liars.”

“Tony,”

“Do what you want – break out or don’t break out – hunt down the Skull or ignore him – hell, leave me here to rot. I don’t give a shit.”

“You’re being childish,”

“I’m fucking tired,” Tony snarled, closing his eyes. “I want to go home and I’m so fucking tired of you telling me I don’t know anything!”

“I’ll get us out of here,” Steve said, softly. “Just give me some time to think, Stark.”

Tony slid down the side of the wall and closed his eyes. “Fine. Do whatever you think you need to do, Steve. Plan whatever you want,” he said, closing his eyes. A nap was a good idea right about now; maybe then he wouldn’t have to listen to Steve telling him how goddamned crazy he was. He started shivering and by the time he dropped off to sleep, he couldn’t feel the side he was lying on.

Tony woke with Steve wrapped around him like a living blanket. Somehow, the guy had managed to drag him across the floor and onto the futon all by himself; it was pretty impressive, considering how frail Steve looked. Realistically he knew Steve was still the same tactician he always was, so it probably hadn’t taken him very long to get Tony where he wanted him, but it was hard to ignore the kindness of the act. He was still mad, of course, but he would take this over freezing on the floor any day. Steve’s warmth was almost enough to earn him forgiveness. Tony shifted on the futon, trying to work the kinks out of his neck. He smiled softly despite himself when Steve snuggled closer to him in his sleep, his nose rubbing against the back of Tony’s ear.

Tony allowed himself to doze for a few more minutes as he pondered how long it had been since breakfast. His stomach wasn’t quite rumbling yet, and it felt better, so he suspected that it hadn’t been more than a few hours. Had Steve come up with a plan since then? It wouldn’t have surprised him. He had seen Steve come up with plans in far less time than this.

The door slid open; Steve jerked awake behind Tony. He lifted himself up onto his elbows and leaned over Tony’s shoulder as the guards carried in two trays, but didn’t otherwise move. Tony pushed himself up once the guards were gone and scooted towards the trays on his knees. He frowned when he realized he was wearing his slippers again, but didn’t comment on it; his toes were warm again, and he was just happy they weren’t encased in little blocks of ice. He handed Steve one of the trays before settling down to eat. It wasn’t a five-star meal, merely a tuna sandwich with a glass of milk and a couple of chocolate chip cookies, but it was food – even if the cookies did taste a little stale.

Steve ate hastily, finishing the quarters of his sandwich in two bites each. He moved on to his cookies and chomped through them, swallowing down the milk before it could get even faintly warm.

Tony nibbled at his food, his stomach grumbling unhappily after each bite. He forced himself to finish the sandwich under Steve’s watchful eye and then drank the glass of milk before he could be ordered to finish it. “Happy?” he asked, picking up a cookie. He nibbled on the edge of it and then put it back on his plate with a sigh. Chocolate chip cookies had been Steve’s favourite; he couldn’t bring himself to eat them. “You can have these if you want.” He pushed the plate towards Steve and turned away, setting his glass back down on his tray.

Steve picked up the plate, cradling it against his chest. “They kind of taste like cardboard,”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony said with a shrug. “But they’re better than nothing, right?”

Steve smiled sadly. “Yeah, I guess so.” He bit into the first cookie.

Tony put his tray down on the floor and slid it towards the middle of the room. There was no sense in keeping it any longer, not now that it was empty. He looked around, trying to find a suitable place to lie down again.

“So I was thinking,” Steve said through a mouthful of cookie.

“Oh?” Tony slumped forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. He was surprised it had taken Steve so long to come out and say it.

“I think I have a plan,” Steve said, wiping cookie crumbs from his lower lip. He nibbled at the next cookie, licking chocolate off of his fingers. “I think I can get us out of here, but I need to ask you a few questions,”

“Alright,” Tony said, turning around. He yawned into his hand, feeling sleepy and full. “Let’s hear it,”

Steve inched closer, hunker down and whispered his plan into Tony’s ear.

When the guards came to take away the trays, they were ready for them; Tony was surprised by how much damage a tray could do if aimed at someone’s head in just the right way. Steve had the first guard down a split second after he got into the room, and there wasn’t much the second could do to stop himself from being beamed in the head at eye level. Tony had barely had to lift a finger.

Together they pulled the guards out of the hallway and into the cell, tying them up with the zip-ties they found in a pocket on one of the guard’s belts. At first they worried that the doors would close behind them, sealing them in, but their fears proved unwarranted. No one came running in – the doors stayed wide open, waiting for instructions from a keycard, one they found on the guards. They didn’t rush after that, but they didn’t dawdle either; they stripped the guards out of their uniforms and pulled the stolen clothing on over their scrubs. The uniforms didn’t fit the best, but since Steve wasn’t as big as usual, they both found they could get away with wearing what they had pilfered without it looking too obvious. The only problem they had ended up being the stolen boots, which didn’t quite fit properly.

Tony felt giddy and nervous. He followed Steve’s lead as they stepped out of the cell and watched warily as Steve surveyed the hallway outside for unexpected visitors. They waited in silence, eyeing the hallway until they were both satisfied that the coast was clear.

Tony slid the keycard free from the pouch on his belt and closed the cell door behind them with a flick of his wrist. So far, things were going swimmingly. He hoped their luck kept up with them. “Alright,” he said, pulling his mask down over his face. “Where to, Captain?”

Steve didn’t get a chance to say.

The building shook so hard, Tony was thrown into the wall. He braced himself, one hand thrown out to ease the impact and waited, listening carefully for footsteps. He could hear shouting in the distance, but it was faint. Good – the hall was still clear and would probably stay that way.

“I thought you said you weren’t close enough to set that bomb off?” Steve hissed, pulling Tony away from the wall.

“Oh, Rogers,” Tony said with a chuckle, “That wasn’t me. That was the cavalry.” The radio on his belt chirped to life, letting out a barrage of angry shouts and curses as the compound’s security forces called for backup. “See?”

“You sure they can’t track us through that?” Steve asked, heading down the hall with Tony’s wrist clamped in his hand.

“They probably can, but they’re a little busy at the moment. I think it’s an outer wall breach,” he said, pulling his hand free. He turned left at the next junction, almost leaving Steve behind.

“What are you doing? It’s this way,” Steve insisted.

“That’s the way to the labs – this way leads to Bucky,” Tony said, jogging down the hall as quickly as his bruises would let him. There was no way he was going to leave Barnes behind now, not after what they had been through. He owed the guy a thousand times over.

“Tony,” Steve growled, sprinting after him, “Bucky’s dead. You need to stop thinking he’s alive,”

Tony snorted as he turned the corner. The lights flickered; another explosion rocked the building, nearly sending him to his knees. Regaining his balance, he darted through the abandoned and open checkpoints, laughing at the security system as it tried and failed to boot up. Someone had hacked into the system, and had taken out all the smart parts of the Skull’s security; now the checkpoints were next to useless. He rounded the corner and headed to the cell at the far end of the hall. It was there that he hit a snag. With the security system crippled, the locks had opened, but not the doors. He looked around, patting at the wall until he found the panel that hid the manual override. He grinned and used it to force the door open; he struggled with the weight of the door, and got it open just in time for the electricity to go out. Cursing, he stumbled and bumped into the doorframe as the door was pulled into the wall. The darkness they were thrown into was so thick, it felt like it was a solid mass. He fumbled for the flashlight on his stolen belt. “Oh, shit!” He had a split-second to realize what was happening before Bucky knocked him on his ass with a one-armed tackle. The flashlight skidded away in the darkness. He hadn’t even managed to turn it on.

“Goddamn it, Barnes,” Tony hissed, slapping at Bucky’s shoulder. “Do you always have to try and kill me? Is this our thing now?”

Bucky raised his arm, ready to strike as the emergency lights turned on, bathing them in a dull, yellow, light, clearly not recognizing Tony’s voice. He glared down at Tony, still straddling his waist, and then burst into laughter, a grin spreading across his face. He grabbed Tony’s mask and yanked it off. “You fucker!” He thumped Tony on the chest. “I can’t believe you got out!”

“Yeah, well,” Tony grumbled, shoving Bucky off of him and onto the floor. “I’m a genius, remember? I mean, Steve helped and everything, but I did all the real work,”

Bucky snorted. “Oh yeah, sure. Where is he, by the way?”

“He’s standing behind me, you boob,” Tony grumbled, struggling up. He grabbed Bucky by the arm and hauled him upright, pointing him towards Steve. “There he is. Good as new – well, partially new. New-ish? Is that a word?”

Steve stood frozen in the hallway, his expression hidden by the mask over his face. “Bucky?”

Bucky eyed Steve cautiously, his expression turning unreadable. “Hey,” he said, still standing beside Tony. “You’re uh… looking different today,”

Tony gave Bucky a playful shove, sending him staggering towards Steve. “Oh come on,” he said, with a chuckle. “You’ve seen him before. It’s not like he’s grown a third head or turned into Godzilla. All he did was grow up. Well – that part’s debatable, but you get what I mean.”

Bucky grinned and leapt forwards, wrapping his arm around Steve’s middle. “Hey,”

Steve fumbled with his mask, yanking it off so roughly it came away with strands of his hair still stuck to the rubber. He dropped it to the floor and wrapped his arms around Bucky, tucking his face into Bucky’s throat. “Bucky – you’re alive,”

“I told you,” Tony muttered, turning away to give them privacy. He squashed down a wave of jealousy as they hugged. It wasn’t fair to be miffed about their grand reunion, he told himself. He pulled his radio off of his belt and held it up to his ear, listening to the chatter coming through with the static. The voices sounded scared enough; he was pleased that the Skull’s people weren’t as cool and controlled as they had made themselves seem. He stepped off to the side and changed channels on the radio, moving down the hallway towards the nearest checkpoint. Hm. He would need to find Bucky’s arm at this rate. It sounded like everyone was in the hallways, and if he had to guess, it was going to be hell getting through the mass of guards and scientists if they were being herded backwards away from the explosion. They would need all the hands they could get.

“Hey,” Bucky grumbled, reluctantly letting go of Steve. “Tony – don’t just wander off, you lug,”

“I’m not wandering off,” Tony groused. “I’m looking for a computer to work my magic,”

“You going to get me my arm back?” Bucky asked, perking up. He looped his arm around Steve’s shoulder again. “Or are we still going to blow it up?”

“Your arm?” Steve stared blankly at Bucky in confusion. The look turned to horror when he realized that Bucky’s arm was indeed missing. “What happened to your arm?” He pulled away enough to get a better look at Bucky and started poking and prodding him, moving from bruise to bruise, his lips pulled in a thin grim line.

“It wandered off and no one turned it at the lost and found office,” Bucky said with a shrug. “I’ll tell you about it later when we’re not in this shithole. And before you ask, the rest of me is fine. I’m just a little banged up, that’s all,”

Steve scowled. “Is this from the same guy that got Tony?”

“Yes,” Bucky said, prying Steve’s hands off of his shoulder. “But we have more important things to worry about. So what’s the verdict, Tony? Are we blowing my arm up or what?”

“Blowing your arm up? Tony,” Steve growled, glaring in Tony’s direction, “You said you had a bomb planted in the building, not a bomb buried in Bucky’s goddamned arm!”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Tony grumbled.

“It is too!” Steve snapped. “You can’t just blow up someone’s arm!”

“It’s cybernetic – it’s made out of metal. What’s the problem?” Bucky asked, confused.

“Well no one told me that!” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Well you know now,” Tony grumbled.

“That’s not the point!”

“Enough,” Bucky said, smacking Steve in the shoulder. Steve rocked back on his heels from the blow, looking startled. “Look, I get that you’re not happy about being kept in the dark, but can we focus, please?”

Tony pursed his lips, looking from the still blaring the radio to the hallway and the doors that were nearby. There had to be a working console around here somewhere; electricity was up and running again, so it stood to reason that some of the machines working should still have access to the mainframe even with SHIELD meddling with the security system. “Get me to a computer and we’ll find your damn arm,” he said.

“Right,” Bucky said, leading them down the hallway. “The guards rushed off in the middle of dropping off dinner, so I don’t think we’re going to run into anyone on the way there. They were bitching about some Avengers or whatever the name was,”

“Good,” Tony said with a grin. “If the Avengers are here, we’ll be fine. Was it a left here, or a right?”

“Three rights and a left for the labs, four lefts and a right to get to the server room and security HQ,” Bucky said. “Which do you want?”

“Where do you think there’ll be an unattended computer and the least amount of guards?” Tony asked, tucking the radio away.

“I’d bet that the labs have cleared out by now,” Bucky said, turning them right. “There’s a small rest room off the main workspace – I saw one of the nurses come out of it when they dragged me in for questioning. It’s probably empty. There was a computer in there, I think,”

“Is it out of the way?” Steve asked.

“Definitely,” Bucky said with a nod. “It’s small – one of those rooms where people go to nap while they’re on break – but it’ll be a good place to hide. The rest of the techs are probably heading for the exits right about now, so I don’t think they’re going to be getting in our way. If your group is causing chaos on the other side of the compound, everyone with guns should be over there,”

“What about the Skull?” Tony asked, as they approached the hallway leading to the labs.

“He’s going to be out there beating the living shit out of whoever he finds,” Bucky growled. He pointed out the door and yanked it open, revealing a small room filled with cots; there, nestled in the corner was a desk and a laptop, still booted up. “I guess that’s your cue to get working,” he said, ushering everyone inside. He shut the door behind them and locked it, shoving a bookshelf in front of the door for added protection.

Steve sat down on one of the cots, looking lost. “So it’s all real?”

“What is?” Bucky asked, perching on the corner of cot beside Steve.

“The Red Skull lived,” Steve said.

“Oh,” Bucky sighed. “That. Yeah, that bastard’s still breathing alright,”

“He didn’t believe me when I told him,” Tony grunted, settling in a rolling chair. He pulled the laptop closer and smirked, finding it still logged in. He could have hacked it easily, but it was always nice to save time. He ran through the system, checking to see how connected it was with the rest of the facility. He let out a low whistle. “Boys, I think I just found out what heaven looks like,”

Chapter Text

The security cameras connected to the Skull’s system were fantastic. Their resolution was so low, he could barely make out anything and what he could see was blurry as hell. He squinted at the feed and tried to decide who was more of an asshole: the Skull, or the jackass who had installed the cameras. He could make out blobs of pink, black and yellow on the outside of the base and some of them sort of looked like Avengers and SHIELD agents. It was hard to tell who exactly said agents or Avengers were, though, so the footage wasn’t much help aside from providing the comforting thought that SHIELD and the Avengers were indeed there, pressing through the crowd of blurry probably-Hydra lumps. He picked out the Red Skull’s magnificent red blob of a head at the front lines and noted that the Skull was fighting a blonde and creamy blob which may or may not have been holding a hammer.

“So where’s my arm?” Bucky asked, leaning over Tony’s shoulder to get a better look at the laptop. “What the fuck am I seeing here?”

“Well,” Tony said, “These appear to be the security camera feeds. The Skull cheaped out, so while I would love to be able to pick it out of the air for you, I think I’m going to have to go through their records to see if they wrote down where they left it,”

“You think they labeled it and left it in a box somewhere?” Bucky snorted.

“Correction. I’m hoping they labeled it and left it in a box somewhere,” Tony said, diving back into Hydra’s files. Basic searches were unfruitful, he learned after pulling up the query window for the umpteenth time; there was a system in place within Hydra’s crumby network and it seemed to work, but it didn’t seem like anyone other than the lab technicians had been using it. Worse yet, most of the people who had been using it had been using it wrong. He was fairly certain that if he had been their System Admin, he would have been bald already from ripping out his hair. “I want to take this clusterfuck of a database outside and burn it,”

“I take it the files are a mess?” Steve asked with a cough. He rested his elbows on his knees.

When Tony glanced over, he saw that Steve looked like he had been running for miles without stopping. He wondered idly just how much energy it took to maintain Steve’s body now that it was serum-free; the guy looked like he was ready to drop dead, so either Steve hadn’t gotten enough or he had just plain run out of energy already.

“A mess would be easier to search,” Tony said, clicking his way through a list of cotton swabs and tongue depressors. “But from what I can see they seem to have kept most of their entries in the right categories… ah here we go.” He dragged the cursor over to a new folder labeled Mechanics and found the arm’s entry nestled amongst a list of wrenches and back braces. “It’s in room 730,” he said, tapping the screen.

“Where’s the map?” Bucky asked, grinning from ear to ear.

Tony pursed his lips as he pulled up a map of the complex from Hydra’s servers. “Oh goodie. We have yet another problem,”

“Which is?” Bucky grumbled, leaning heavily against Tony’s shoulder.

“They didn’t include the room numbers,” Tony said, nudging Bucky away from a particularly tender bruise. He squinted at the map, cursing Hydra’s horrible workmanship and enlarged the top level until it couldn’t get any bigger. “Oh great – they included the numbers, but those numbers are on crack. According to this, room 730 is on floor two,”

“There’s a second floor?” Bucky asked, quirking an eyebrow. “I thought this joint only had the one floor,”

“It does,” Tony grunted. “They labeled everything ass-backwards. I’m going to have to try and hook into the bomb’s energy signature to get at it. I was hoping I wasn’t going to have to do that,”

“Why? Is it too much work?” Bucky teased, slinking away to sit down beside Steve.

“Oh no, it’s real easy – if we were in a building that wasn’t a cement bunker with jammers in pretty much every inch of it. Obviously there are a few pockets where the signal gets through – again, they’re incompetent but that part’s probably a good thing because the trackers in me are how the Avengers found us – but since I don’t have any scanning equipment on me, things are going to get tricky,”

“You’ve still got trackers in you?” Bucky sounded surprised. “I thought they scanned the shit out of all of us,”

“Oh please,” Tony snorted. “I’ve been kidnapped so many times now, it’s not even a challenge to hide them anymore,”

“You’ve been kidnapped more than once?” Steve asked, looking up sharply. “When did that happen?”

“Uh, didn’t you read my file, Spangles? I’m pretty sure it’s all in there in triplicate,” Tony said, frowning at Steve. “I guess I can give you a preview. There was Afghanistan, and then of course there were the ten or so times I got nabbed as a kid – Dear old Howard never did pay the ransom for that last one, now that I think about it. I got out of that one on my own. I miss my pliers – those things were awesome, but I never could get them out of that wall.”

Steve looked floored.

“You really didn’t know?” Tony asked. He glanced away from the computer as the security footage booted up again.

“Fury mentioned Afghanistan,” Steve murmured, “But he didn’t go into details and I didn’t ask,”

“You didn’t want to know?” Tony chuckled. He had expected Steve to know everything – the guy had always seemed a little too high strung to let anything go without getting a look at it.

“I didn’t want to seem like a busybody,” Steve said, shaking his head. “Natasha told me it was be better if I heard it from you. She said the reports didn’t have all the details,”

“They didn’t,” Tony said, sweetly. He had hacked into the files to check what SHIELD had written about him and most of what he had found had been just plain wrong; no one seemed to know about what The Ten Rings had done to him when he had refused to build them weapons, and he had been more than happy to keep it that way. He hadn’t wanted their sympathy, or their padded cell.

“So did you find it yet? Or are we going to sit around at this bake sale forever?” Bucky grumbled.

“What do you think this is? A Walmart?” Tony snorted. “I can’t just type in Bucky’s arm and find it through magic,”

“So what are you waiting for? Look for it! You two can chat about the good old times when we get home. I want my arm,” Bucky grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said. He stopped typing slowly, lifting his hands up away from the laptop.

Yep – that wasn’t right at all.

The floor was vibrating and despite the fact that Hydra had been the ones to build the place from the ground up, he was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be doing that. He pulled up the feed from the cameras in the hallway and leapt up from the chair, kicking it out of his way. He flew at the door, dragging the temporary barricade away with strength he hadn’t thought he had possessed; he was out the door and diving into the hall before Bucky could even yell at him to get back inside. He ran down the hall, hoping he wasn’t too late.

He wasn’t. The War Machine was still standing in the middle of the hallway, likely in the process of scanning the building for heat signatures. Tony spread his arms, ready to grab at the armor, grinning so hard, his face was starting to hurt. He stumbled, slipping on a puddle of unidentifiable viscous fluid and sailed into War Machine’s shiny chest. “Rhodey!”

“Tony,” Rhodey said, his voice emotionless as it came through the modulator. “Don’t just sneak up on a guy like that!” He flipped the faceplate up and scowled down at Tony, all the while wrapping his arms around Tony, pulling him into a bruising hug. “You bastard! I’m going to wring your goddamned neck!”

“It’s great to see you too,” Tony said, laughter bubbling up. “Weren’t you on a mission?”

“Fuck that,” Rhodey grumbled. “I came back early when I heard your ass was in trouble – as always,”

Steve and Bucky came barreling around the corner with Bucky swearing a blue streak. They skidded to a halt when they saw Tony wrapped up in War Machine’s embrace; Steve recognized the armor for what it really was, but Bucky, having never seen the armor before, looked like he couldn’t quite parse what he was seeing. He stepped forwards as if to try and make a grab for Tony and then hesitated when he saw that Tony was busy making grabby hands at the briefcase strapped beneath the Gatling gun on the War Machine’s back.

“You are a beautiful man, Rhodey,” Tony said. “I love you. I’ve told you that before, right?”

Rhodey scowled harder. He wrestled the briefcase off of his back and handed it over. “Save the mushy stuff for Pepper,”

Tony flipped the briefcase over, pulling off his gloves with his teeth so he could press his thumb against the lock. “She’s going to wring my neck too, I bet,” he said as the briefcase slide opened, revealing the most beautiful thing in the world – the Iron Man. This wasn’t the latest version of the briefcase armor, but it was good enough to withstand what Hydra had at their disposal. Tony grinned and stuck his arms into the gauntlet ports, standing perfectly still as the armor enveloped him in its calming embrace. It was a little looser than he remembered, but it still fit like a dream. He let the faceplate close over and turned to Steve and Bucky, saluting them. “Fuck that computer, he said. “I’ll find your goddamned arm with my sensors,”

Bucky eyed the armor, shifting in place as though he expected to be attacked. “Are all of your friends robots?”

“Rhodey’s a human,” Tony chuckled.

Rhodey side-eyed Bucky and Steve. “Are these two idiots yours?”

“Yep,” Tony said as Jarvis booted up. “I made them myself. Now, let’s see – scan for the mark x17jpL microBomb serial 170365965jppl2,”

“You remember the serial number?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why am I not surprised,”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said, putting his faceplate up again. “He’s a real computer whizz,”

“Very funny,” Tony said, searching through data as it was pulled in by his sensors. “This is so much faster – oh baby, why did I leave you at home again?”

“You realize they can hear you, right?” Rhodey asked, his voice mumbling in Tony’s ear. He was on a private channel, probably catching up with the rest of the Avengers in the background, and for once he didn’t sound hassled. Tony wondered who had called Rhodey in and who he was working under this time.

Had SHIELD contracted out this time?

Or was the army lending the War Machine out to make sure its creator and maintainer stayed alive?

“Yeah, I know. Fine, I’ll use the comms,” Tony said, turning his comm on. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen – how’s the Hydra smashing going?”

“Stark?” Natasha’s voice was so piercing and loud it made Tony wince.

“Jeeze, are you trying to make me go deaf,” Tony muttered back. “We’ve got Steve and Bucky with us – and of course Rhodey,”

“Obviously,” Rhodey grumbled through the line. “No one else is trained to find your dumb ass,”

Tony snickered. “Yes, well, you’ve had years of practice. They’ll learn.”

“Sure, Stark,” Clint chuckled. “It’ll be in the training manual soon enough,”

“They’ve got you in it already,” Tony snorted. “I’m so much easier to understand – and prettier,”

“Right,” Natasha said with a sigh. “Status?”

“We’re good, all things considered. How’s the Skull doing? Is he still getting his head beat in with Mjolnir?” Tony asked. He skimmed through the sensor data and found, to his delight, that Bucky’s arm and the bomb in it were within range.

“Tony? Did you find the arm?” Steve asked, tapping Tony on the faceplate. He coughed into his arm and gave Tony a concerned frown before looking around him at the rest of the hallway. “Hello?”

Tony patted Steve on the head just because he could; the suitcase armor wasn’t heavy compared to his usual suit but the touch still made Steve wobble in place as thought he was made out of rubber. Tony knew he shouldn’t press his luck, but the indignant look on Steve’s face was far, far too precious to see only the one time. “I found the damn arm – relax, Steve,” Tony said, making sure he was projecting his voice into the hallway. He had a feeling Steve wouldn’t appreciate being left out of the loop for much longer, even if it was so Tony could talk shop with Rhodey.

“Tony,” Steve sighed, grasping Tony by the wrist. His hands were too small to wrap around it entirely. “Can you knock it off?”

“Knock what off?” Tony grunted, scowling. Did Steve always assume he was screwing around? Or was today just special?

“Never mind,” Steve said, letting go of Tony’s wrist. He shuffled his feet. “Look, are they going to get us out of here anytime soon or should we get walking?”

“I’ll ask,” Tony muttered. He relayed the message and tried not to wince when five different voices told him to ask again later when they weren’t doing something important. “I guess that means we need to dig our way out of this hellhole on our own,” he muttered into the hallway.

“Just so you know,” Rhodey muttered into a direct line to Tony. “Pepper’s here and she’s not happy,”

“She’s here? Here here? Or waiting-with-SHIELD-agents here?” Tony fought off a wave of anxious nausea and threw himself into scanning the building, this time searching for Pepper. It was no use; the suitcase armor’s sensors were good, but not good enough to stretch the entire base. The War Machine’s sensors, on the other hand, were far better. He dove into Rhodey’s uplink with Jarvis’ help, and stole an aerial scan of the compound, layering it over the map he had pieced together with his own scans. He was pleased when things matched up, but didn’t stay happy for long. There were gaps in the map where rooms existed in Rhodey’s data but didn’t exist in his own, and Pepper wasn’t appearing anywhere. His gut twisted; he trembled in the armor, sweat dripping down his face. They could have him, but they couldn’t have Pepper – never her, or Rhodey, or, he realized with a dull pang of fear, Steve. “What’s going on? I’m not reading her on the grid, Rhodey,”

“That’s because she borrowed some armor,” Rhodey said, flicking Tony in the forehead. The armor clanked on contact. “She didn’t want to be left behind this time. Happy’s in the Command Centre with Coulson and the other SHIELD eggheads, sweating it out. He wasn’t too keen about being left behind, but he didn’t have much of a say once she got going,”

Tony rubbed at his head and realized belatedly that the flick hadn’t actually hurt. “So she’s fine?”

“As fine as always, although between you and me, I wouldn’t want to get in her way. When she heard what happened she threatened to burn every last Hydra building to the ground. She’s itching to beat the shit out of something,” Rhodey chuckled. Tony could practically hear the grin in his voice.

“But she hated the armor,” Tony said, resting his hand on Steve’s head as thought to bring him into the conversation. “She told me I shouldn’t have rebuilt it,”

“I believe her words were, if you bring that thing into my living room one more time I’m going to hit you with it. But that was before she tried it out,” Rhodey said. “Turns out, she enjoys ripping things apart with her bare hands. Go figure,”

“Hey,” Bucky grunted, kicking Tony in the shin to get his attention. He winced and rubbed his foot, glaring at the armor. “Oh god…Remind me not to do that again without shoes,”

“Yeah, that’s not too smart there, Bucky,” Tony grumbled. “We’ll go grab your arm in a bit, just give me a second to figure out where Pepper is,”

“Ms. Potts is here?” Steve tried to shrug out from under Tony’s hand. He struggled against the weight of the armor, his scowl darkening with every second he spent pinned. “Tony,”

“It’s fine,” Tony said, wrapping his arm around Steve’s shoulder, tucking Steve against his side. “I’m going to call back-up.” He switched channels again, connecting his, Pepper’s, Rhodey’s and the Avengers comms together, bypassing SHIELD’s altogether. If they wanted to know what was going on, they could ask Natasha about it later. He wasn’t going to do them any favors today. “Pep? You there?”

“I’m here,” Pepper growled through the comms. Something that sounded suspiciously like tearing metal came through her microphone in the background.

Tony winced. “I take it you’re busy?”

“Not too busy to come over there and smack you,” Pepper said, sweetly. “You’re alright?”

“He’s fine,” Rhodey said, cutting in. “We would like an escort to find an arm,”

“An arm?” Pepper groaned. “How the hell did you lose your arm?”

“It’s not my arm,” Tony sighed. “It’s Bucky’s,”

“And who, might I ask, is Bucky?” Pepper snapped. Something exploded near her; something clattered through her comm.

“Are you ok over there?” Tony asked, still searching for Pepper’s signal. She was a lot easier to pick up now that he knew what to look for; after all, there were only three arc reactors in the vicinity, and two of them were with him.

“I’m fine,” Pepper said, her signal blinking on Tony’s HUD. “Who’s Bucky? Is he someone you found?”

“Bucky is James Buchannan Barnes,” Rhodey said. “The Winter Soldier,”

“The Winter Soldier is with you?” Pepper’s voice turned icy. “Why is the Winter Soldier with you? What did he do to you? Are you alright? Do I need to break his face?”

“He didn’t do anything to me,” Tony sighed. It wasn’t a complete lie, more of a strategic omission; he didn’t want to go into the full story while they were in the middle of breaking out. There was no way to know exactly what Pepper or Rhodey would do when they found out what Bucky had done when he wasn’t Bucky. He had a feeling that an ass-whopping was going to come Bucky’s way if he mentioned anything now, and while a part of him knew he would feel a certain satisfaction watching Bucky get smacked for what he had done, he didn’t think he could watch the guy get banged up anymore. He almost liked him now. “He’s a friend of Steve’s, and we’re all escaping together,” Tony said. He read the sensors as Steve squirm against him and sighed. “Hold on. The Captain’s getting cranky. Do you have a spare comm on you Rhodey?”

Rhodey tapped at a square patch on the War Machine’s hip; a panel slid back under his touch, revealing two comms nestled in a padded pocket. They were spares, ones usually left hidden and shielded until there was a real emergency. Tony would have had a few of his own, had he not started building them into the armor well after the model he was currently wearing. Rhodey handed the two comms out, giving one to Bucky and one to Steve.

Steve helped Bucky get his into his ear and then worked on his own, still standing with his hip pressed up against Tony’s; it was odd to have Steve so close considering how uncomfortable the guy had seemed before. Surprisingly, Steve didn’t seem to feel like moving away, even when Tony lifted his arm to let him escape. Instead, he leaned closer against the armor, his cheek squashing against Tony’s chest.

“I’ll be there in a second,” Pepper said through the comms. “Just let me hit this guy with his own gun,”

“Sure,” Tony said. “Take your time,”

Steve shifted slightly, leaning harder against Tony’s side. “Is everyone alright? How’s Natasha and Clint?”

“We’re fine, Captain,” Natasha said, her voice barely above a whisper. “We’ll speak when we’re outside. I need to finish stripping the files from the Skull’s server before someone intervenes and wipes them.” Her comm abruptly went silent.

“It’ll be fine, Cap,” Clint said, into the comms. “We’ve got eyes on everything. No one – not even the Skull – is going to get in here without us knowing about it first. You can relax,”

“Aww,” Tony murmured, dropping his arm back down onto Steve’s shoulder. “Don’t tell him that. I just put him down for his nap. Now he’s going to be all angry again,”

“Very funny,” Steve growled, not lifting his head.

“You ok?” Tony asked, connecting his comm directly to Steve’s. He didn’t like the sallow shade of Steve’s skin, and he especially disliked the way the Captain seemed unsteady on his feet. He gave Steve a quick scan, but couldn’t find anything unusual. He shifted against Steve, lifting him up a bit so he wasn’t quite sliding down Tony’s side. “Steve? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbled. “Just tired. And the smell’s… I don’t like the smell,”

“Smell? What smell?” Tony asked, flipping up the faceplate. He sniffed at the air and got a whiff of something heavy and acrid. He didn’t know how he had missed it before.

“It’s the bleach,” Bucky said, moving closer to Steve, his arm held out in case he needed to catch him. “He’s always been kind of allergic to bleach,”

“Kind of?” Tony sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Define kind of allergic,”

“It doesn’t drop him or make him break out into hives or anything, but it makes him dizzy as hell,” Bucky said. “Is your gal going to get here sometime soon, or what?”

Tony didn’t have the chance to answer. A door on his right was yanked rudely off its hinges and then hurled out into the hall so hard it lodged itself there in the wall. Tony grimaced; he recognized that throw, although he hadn’t ever seen it do that much damage. Usually it was just a pair of errant shoes being whipped across the room, or on one memorable occasion, a box of cookies that had beamed him in the back. A suit of armour similar to the Iron Man but smaller and leaner, gleaming in red and silver, stepped out through the doorway, dusting its gauntlets off. Tony had built the Rescue armor for Pepper months ago, but he hadn’t ever seen it in action outside of testing; it was sleek, built for agility and had magnetic powers that could be used as shields, or, as it appeared Pepper had figured out, used as tearing implements. The Rescue armor stomped towards Tony, its faceplate snapping up as it got closer. “Anthony Edward Stark,” Pepper growled, her eyes flashing.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Tony winced.

“You can’t just disappear on me again!” Pepper swept forwards and pulled Tony into a brutal hug, nearly squashing Steve between them in the process. Tony patted her back, his armor clinking against hers, letting their foreheads bang together.

“Sorry,” Tony said, making sure Steve was safely tucked beside him and not in any danger, “I kind of got side tracked,”

“I know,” Pepper said with a soft smile. “He seems a lot taller now, although I’m pretty sure he used to be bigger before you guys went on vacation.” She looked Steve over, frowning at his pale skin and turned to glare at Bucky, who shrank back as though threatened with a bullwhip. “So that’s the guy who –”

“Nahnanana –” Tony said, glancing at Steve. “Don’t,”

Pepper frowned unhappily. “Tony,”

“Not now, alright?” Tony sighed, rubbing his face with his gauntleted hand. “We’ll talk about it later. Right now we need to be escorted to Bucky’s arm,”

“Are you hurt?” Pepper asked, her unhappy frown turning on Tony. “You’re standing funny,”

“Maybe,” Tony said, sheepishly. “But I’ll be fine. It’s just a bunch of bruises and stuff,”

“And possibly fractured ribs,” Bucky said, ducking behind Rhodey. “And a definitely fractured wrist,”

“A fractured wrist? Possibly fractured ribs?” Pepper’s frown morphed into a glare. “You need to be escorted to medical, not to a goddamned arm,”

“It’s important that I get to it now,” Tony said, scowling in Bucky’s direction. The traitor was going to pay later. “I need to disable the bomb in it before someone sets it off by accident,”

“The bomb?” Pepper sputtered, her cheeks going red. “Oh for the love of god.” She turned to Rhodey, letting out an exasperated sigh. “Did he say anything about a bomb to you?”

“No,” Rhodey grumbled. “He most definitely did not,”

“OK, well, I told you now, Mom and Dad,” Tony said starting down the hall. “We should probably get going before someone tries to, oh, I don’t know, stop us?”

“Tony,” Pepper hissed, “Don’t you dare walk away from us. We are having a conversation here,”

“Nope,” Tony said, putting the faceplate up and lumbering down the hall with Steve practically hanging off of him. “We’re walking now. All comments and angry yelling can wait until I’m out of the suit and I’ve had a nap,”

“Tony,” Pepper hissed. “You and I are going to have a serious conversation when we get back home,”

“I know, I know,” Tony said tersely. “Just let me do this before I fall over, alright?”

“You’d better not mean that for real,” Rhodey grumbled, giving Tony the evil eye.

“I’m fine,” Tony muttered over his shoulder. “Come on Barnes! Get your ass in gear,”

Bucky sighed and started after Tony. The suitcase armor might have been heavy, but it moved a lot faster than most people did and before Tony knew it, he was halfway down the hall with Bucky jogging after him. Tony reluctantly slowed down and glanced over his shoulder again as Pepper and Rhodey put their faceplates up and followed after him; Bucky waited for them to take up positions on either side of the hall and started moving again, tapping at his comm until he was on a private line with Tony.

“Is there a reason why you’re not telling them what happened with me?” Bucky murmured.

“It’s complicated,” Tony said, looping his arm around Steve’s middle to steady him as he walked. “And believe me when I say I need you alive until we get out of here,”

“Ah,” Bucky said, struggling to keep up. “So they’re those kinds of friends,”

“The bring-the-shovel-and-help-hide-the-body-kind? Yeah – they’re definitely those kinds of friends,” Tony said with a chuckle.

“Alright, well how’s Steve doing then?” Bucky asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. His bare feet slapped against the floor as he walked; the noise was jarring as it echoed in the empty hall. If Tony closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that it sounded like gunfire.

Tony panned the cameras down at Steve. He didn’t like what he saw; Steve lolled in his grasp until his face was resting against the cold metal of Tony’s neck. Tony hoisted Steve up against his hip so he wouldn’t slide down onto the floor and fretted as Steve’s dangling legs bumped against the armor’s.

Steve didn’t even protest.

“Hey, Steve,” Tony said, giving Steve a gentle shake. “Wakey, wakey, champ.” He waited for Steve to move and then started rocking him back and forth, afraid of shaking him too hard in case Steve was unconscious.

Steve grumbled and opened his eyes slightly. His nose was running and his eyes were dripping; he glared up at Tony, his expression baleful and wiped his nose on his arm. “What is it, Tony?”

“You’re looking a little peaky there, buddy,” Tony commented, consulting his HUD to see how far away from the SHIELD Medical Unit they were. If they rushed, he could get Steve there in under five minutes – assuming that they had a clear path and didn’t have to fight their way through a crowd of angry, homicidal Hydra agents. He turned them down the next hall and pinged Bucky’s arm again. It wasn’t far now. Just a few more feet and they would have it. He ignored the fearful voice nattering in the back of his head – the one telling him he was going to get Steve killed – and pushed on.

“I’m fine, Tony,” Steve said. He sneezed into the side of Tony’s throat and groaned, wiping at his nose. “Oh god,”

“Yeah, I guess you haven’t been drippy nosed in quite a while, huh?” Tony said. He told Jarvis to keep an eye on Steve’s vitals and followed the next ping to a door marked ‘Canned Fruit’. He scowled at the door. “Canned fruit? This is where they’re keeping a cybernetic arm?”

Bucky chuckled. “Well, they always say you find things the last place you look, and this would be the last place I’d look,”

“You can say that again,” Tony muttered. He tried the door handle and when it didn’t open, kicked the door in, tired of wasting time. He knew his adrenaline wouldn’t last much longer; he could feel it draining way. Each breath he took felt like it was being squeezed out of him. It was lucky that Pepper and Rhodey had showed up when they had. Without the suit – and Rhodey and Pepper’s help – he would have been dead weight by now or lying face down on the floor. With Steve slowly sagging against him, he knew it would have been near impossible for them to make their way outside on their own. Empty hallways were useful, but they still had to be walked through, and even Bucky, ex-Winter Soldier or not, couldn’t carry two grown men out of a building with one arm, no shoes and while wearing a set of scrubs that flapped open at the back every few seconds.

Tony let out a long, slow, breath, and forced himself to ignore the sweat dripping down the side of his nose. Bucky’s arm was easy to spot, even if it was lying amidst a pile of squashed boxes of canned applesauce and stewed tomatoes. It was a little scraped up, likely from when Hydra had tried to take a crack at breaking it down to replicate it, but it seemed no worse for wear. Of course two seconds later, when Tony had it in his hands and was scanning it, he realized that things weren’t going as great as he had thought.

The connector prongs that let the arm attach to Bucky’s body were severely damaged; this wouldn’t be a repair job – this was going to be a whole teardown and rebuild. The idiots had managed to scrape the shit out of the neuro-chips and the lower motherboard had a crack in it. Any decent tech would have known better than to drag something sharp over those two parts. He groaned aloud, holding the arm delicately in his gauntleted hands. Oh hell, they’d even managed to scrape away some of the soldering while they were busy stabbing at the rest of the casing with god-knows-what. The bomb would probably still work with the aid of a remote detonator, judging by the fact that they hadn’t been able to get past the first few screws, but nothing else was salvageable. If he ever found the bastard that had done the damage, he was going to beat them to death with their own arm. “Jarvis, warm up the production line in my workshop and bring up the specs for the original arm. I want a functional copy by the time we get back home,” Tony said, shaking his head. At least this way when they got back the tower, Bucky would have a useable, albeit archaic, arm to use. He would have to build a new one when he had more time.

“So?” Bucky peered around Tony and Steve at the arm. “Hand it over, hotshot,”

“Don’t get too excited. It’s useless,” Tony said, handing Bucky the arm. “They fucked up the connectors and the chips. Congratulations. You are now the proud owner of a brand-new arm-shaped club.”

Bucky stared down at the arm in despair. “You’re kidding,”

“I wish I was,” Tony said, adjusting Steve against his hip. He gave Steve’s vitals a glance again and noted a spike in Steve’s core temperature. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make him want to get moving again. He wasn’t going to risk losing Steve to something as stupid as a fever when they were this close to freedom. “Let’s go,” he said into his comm, turning back to the door. “Medical’s starting to look really cozy right about now,”

“You can say that again,” Bucky muttered. He glared down at his arm. “Why do they always fuck up the pretty ones?”

Tony snorted. “I’m building another arm right now,” he laughed. “Don’t worry about it,”

“Masha’s been with me for so long,” Bucky sighed, shaking his head. He cradled the arm against his chest and followed Tony out into the hallway. “We’ve been through a lot together,”

“You named your arm Masha?” Tony asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Bucky glared at him. “Well what was I supposed to call her?”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, shrugging. “Arm? Lefty?”

“You named your pet dog, dog, didn’t you,” Bucky said with a snort.

“Nope. I’ve never owned a dog,” Tony said, getting into formation with Pepper taking the rear and Rhodey taking point. He was happy for the distraction; he didn’t want to think about what would happen when the medics got their hands on him. He looped an arm around Bucky’s shoulder and reeled him in so he was near Steve. “I had a fish once though,”

“Yeah?” Bucky sighed, still glaring at his arm. “What did you call it? Fish?”

“I named it Fleecy,” Tony said. He heard Rhodey laughing on their shared comm channel and rolled his eyes even though he knew no one could see him. “Like this is news to you, Rhodey,”

“Doesn’t make it any less funny,” Rhodey said.

“Who names a fish Fleecy?” Bucky said, scowling.

“He named his turtle Stumpy,” Rhodey said, snickering. “Believe me, the names only get worse,”

“Hey,” Tony grumbled.

“Your robots are named Dummy and U,” Rhodey said.

“Those are perfectly acceptable names,” Tony said, glaring at the back of Rhodey’s head. “Might I remind you of Martha?”

Rhodey froze in mid-step, his foot still in the air. “Leave Martha out of this,”

“Who’s Martha?” Bucky asked, looking between Rhodey and Tony in confusion.

“Martha is Rhodey’s succulent,” Tony said with a smirk.

“His what?” Bucky looked even more confused. “What the hell is a succulent?”

“It’s a type of cactus,” Rhodey grumbled, stomping towards the door. “I’m in the Air Force. Sue me. Succulents can live without being watered. And Martha’s beautiful. Leave her alone,”

Pepper sighed over the comms.

“It’s not my fault he doesn’t name things using his brain,” Rhodey said, pushing his way through a checkpoint. He smashed it against the wall when his Gatling gun got stuck on its edge; it looked like he was enjoying the carnage a bit more than usual, although with the faceplate up, it was hard to know for sure if he was grinning or scowling.

“Hey, I didn’t say Martha wasn’t a pretty lady,” Tony said, hoisting Bucky up and over the wreckage of the checkpoint. “I just said you named her Martha,”

“Yeah, well,” Rhodey said, punching a hunk of broken tile out of his way. He kicked the debris away and cleared a path as the building shook around them. “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me,”

“Deal,” Tony said with a grin.

“Is that the Hulk?” Pepper asked, slapping a ceiling tile away from Bucky’s face.

“Yep,” Rhodey said, punching out the next checkpoint. “I guess that means we need to hurry, huh?”

“Probably,” Tony said, hoisting Steve and Buck up against his hips. “I don’t know about you, but I have no intention of being here when he stomps this place into the ground.”

“You know,” Bucky grumbled, tucking his arm against his chest. “I’m going to have to kill you if someone sees me like this,”

“Which is worse? Someone seeing you in the backless scrubs, or being carried like a little kid?” Tony asked.

“I hate you,” Bucky sighed.

“Aww,” Tony said, jumping the last of Rhodey’s wreckage, “You know you love me,”

“Sure,” Bucky said with a snort.

“Don’t tell him that,” Rhodey said into the comms. “Now he’s going to believe it. You can’t stroke his ego like that. He’s going to be impossible to be around now,”

Tony snorted. “Oh, like I was such a sweetheart before,”

“Chatter,” Steve groaned into the comms, squeezing his eyes shut. He leaned his face against Tony’s chest again, sniffling wetly.

“Alright, Cap,” Tony said, softly. He didn’t like that Steve was ordering him around, but he knew why he was doing it. He had missed Pepper and Rhodey; hearing their voices made him feel whole again, but now wasn’t the time to catch up. He grimaced and counted out the distance again, keeping an eye on the map in the corner of his HUD. “Hold on, alright? We’ll be in Medical in no time.”

Medical was crowded by the time they made it through what was left of the Hydra base. They hadn’t run into any resistance; most of the guards and soldiers had been drawn outside, lured by the spectacle that was Thor beating on the Red Skull with Mjolnir. It was quite the sight, but there were more important things to do so he rushed by before Steve could notice what was going on around them. He had Jarvis record the fight for later viewing; he could already taste the buttery popcorn.

He set Steve down on an empty stretcher while Bucky hopped up on the one beside it, letting his arm drop onto his lap with a sullen sigh. Rhodey and Pepper stayed to the back of the trailer, keeping their gaze locked solely on Tony; he could see them staring at him through the cameras. He tried to laugh his growing anxiety away, but all that came out was a tired huff.

Steve wasn’t breathing properly. Tony recognized the wheeze; he didn’t need the medics to tell him that something was wrong. He cringed inside the armor as Steve was swarmed by medics, watching as they pulled a clear oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. Steve tried to fight them, not understanding what was going on; he struggled to sit up, his eyes bleary and bloodshot.

“Captain Rogers,” the medic hissed, grasping Steve by the shoulders. “You’re going to make it worse if you struggle,”

“Tony?” Steve rasped, trying to worm his way free. One of the medics grabbed Steve by the chin while a new one, a man who had come up behind Tony carrying a tray littered with supplies, readied a needle with what was likely sedatives. This was probably the first time they would work on Steve in such a low dose. One of the medics turned Steve’s head to the side, and shined a light pen in his eyes, checking his pupils.

“Tony?” Steve called out. His voice was softer, more confused this time.

Tony moved closer despite the chaos, letting the faceplate snap up. “I’m right here,”

Steve smiled weakly. “Oh. Ok. Good – that’s good.” He pitched forwards, coughing, his shoulders shaking violently; the fit lasted for almost a full minute and when it was finished, he seemed completely worn out. He slumped onto the stretcher on his side, his cheeks faintly peppered with pink, his eyes still locked on Tony’s. “I’m ok,”

“I need you move, Mr. Stark,” the Medic at Tony’s elbow said. “We need space to work,”

“Right,” Tony said taking a step backwards. “Sorry,”

“They should be looking at your ugly ass too,” Bucky grunted. A medic slunk around Bucky’s stretcher and started checking him over, her gloved fingers pressing against his bruised skin. He batted the medic’s hand away from the machinery in his shoulder but couldn’t keep her from swabbing the grime off of his face with a wet piece of gauze.

“Do you need medical attention as well, Mr. Stark?” asked the medic who had been restraining Steve.

“Yeah, I probably do,” Tony said. He locked the armor’s knees and leaned against it, aware once more of every last scrape and bruise on his body. He was shaking, he realized, but the tremors were faint, no worse than when he had crashed after downing ten cups of coffee in one sitting. He inputted the suit’s release code and slumped forwards as the armor opened up, nearly clipping the edge of the stretcher with his nose when he fell. One of the medics caught him and steered him towards an empty cot, easing him up onto it with careful, slow movements.

“You know,” Tony slurred, “I think you’ve done this before,”

“Mr. Stark,” the medic said, taking Tony by the chin. “Look straight ahead please,”

Tony gave her the smarmiest grin he had in him. “Like this?” he said, batting his eyelashes when she was done.

The medic sighed and scowled at him. She put the flashlight away and grabbed a pair of shears off the tray beside her. “I’m going to have to cut away your clothing, Mr. Stark,”

“Why?” Tony asked, trying not to panic at the sight of the shears. The way they shinned in the light made them look far too sharp – too real. “I’m fine. I can take my clothes off on my own,”

“I’d rather not aggravate your bruised ribs,” she said, not unkindly. “We’ll go really slowly, alright?”

“I’m not a child,” Tony muttered, trying not to sway where he sat. It felt like the ground was moving – which it could have been for all he knew. The Hulk was still out there, knocking down the Skull’s base like it was made out of candy glass. He scrubbed a hand over his scraggly beard, wincing as the muscles in his neck and shoulders twitched in protest. God, he was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep for a few days; he would be fine after that. He was safe now, he reminded himself as the medic lifted up a syringe, checking it over. It would be fine; they wouldn’t hurt him. The medic eased him backwards, lifting his legs up so they were on the stretcher instead of dangling off the side of it. He fell asleep as she eased a needle in his arm.

Chapter Text

Medical equipment wasn’t ever as whisper quiet as it claimed to be; advertisers were always lying about that kind of thing. Tony had woken to its appallingly loud song so many times now, he could recognize every damn thing running in the room by sound alone. One slow glance around the room told him he was in SHIELD’s private medical rooms, the one place on the Helicarrier that he really, truly hated.

Thankfully, he wasn’t here often, and one trip every few months was more than enough for him. The last time he had been here, he had been visiting Clint after a mission gone wrong and he had bolted through the door the second he was sure Clint would make it, ducking into the bathroom so he could gag into the sink in peace. The stink of blood, gore and bleach had been too much for his stomach to handle, and when they had been swabbing up the halls an hour later, everything had smelled faintly of lemons. Needless to say, he had gone running to his suit to get the hell out of dodge.

Tony moved to sit up, planning on sneaking out of the room before someone could spot him, and found Pepper’s weighty hand on his chest before he could even lift himself an inch above the mattress. He collapsed when she pushed him down and lay sprawled against his pillow, dimly aware that the world was still hazy around the edges.

God, he hated painkillers more than he hated the medical bay.

“So,” Pepper said, dragging her chair closer to the right side of Tony’s bed. She was dressed in a loose blue skirt and a maroon sweater, one that Tony recognized. She had likely borrowed it from the locker he kept on the Helicarrier for emergencies.

Rhodey shifted his chair against the left side of the bed, effectively keeping Tony trapped by blocking all access to the exits; unless Tony wanted to vault over the end of the bed, he wasn’t going anywhere.

Rhodey was dressed in a pair of baggy gray sweatpants and a shirt that said Property of SHIELD across the chest in bold, ugly, stencilled lettering. “How are you feeling, champ?” he asked. He had a cup of coffee in his hand, but to Tony’s disappointment, he wouldn’t hand it over.

“I’m fine,” Tony grumbled sullenly, wishing he had the sweet, sweet taste of coffee to replace the god-awful hint-of-death in his mouth. “But coffee would be nice,”

“You’re hopped up on painkillers,” Pepper said with a sigh. “You’re not getting coffee until you’re off of them – and I mean it this time, Tony. No booze either,”

“I know, I know,” Tony said. “I’ll pass out and die in a puddle of my own puke if I mix meds and booze. I’ve heard the lecture ninety times already. I get it. I just want a sip of coffee, that’s all.”

Rhodey grimaced and handed his coffee over. He waited for Tony to take exactly one sip and then snatched it away, ignoring the disapproving glare Pepper sent his way. “What? This way he can’t complain,”

“He’ll complain anyway,” Pepper sighed.

“You two are so cruel,” Tony grumbled, licking his dry, cracked lips. “So, what’s the damage? What did the Doctors say?” Rhodey’s coffee had been hazelnut flavored, and while it hadn’t completely gotten rid of the bad taste in his mouth, it had certainly made it a little less horrible.

“You’ve were unconscious for almost ten hours,” Pepper said, checking her watch. “The medics on scene knocked you out so you wouldn’t thrash around while they checked you over,”

Tony winced. “It was that bad?”

“You’ve got bruised ribs, a mostly-healed fractured wrist and sixty five different sets of deep tissue bruises shaped like knuckle prints all over your body,” Pepper said, looking distinctly unamused. “They’re recommending bed rest and taking time off of work, but no, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been,”

“So the usual,” Tony said, wiggling his toes just to make sure they were still there. He lifted the blankets up and stared despairingly down at the white and blue polka dot hospital gown they had dressed him in. “Aww, man,”

“That’s the price you pay for being in the medical wing,” Rhodey chuckled. “Hey, be glad you’re wearing anything at all. They could have left you buck-naked,”

Tony forced himself to stay relaxed. The idea of being naked in front of anyone made him want to hurl, but Rhodey had no way of knowing that; hell, Tony wasn’t sure whether he could stand to even look at himself in the mirror anymore, nude or not. He was pretty sure that when he did, he would see flashes of himself in the shower with Bucky, both of them bruised and battered. He didn’t want to remember that – he wanted those memories gone. “That’s not funny,” he said, his grin seemingly pinned in place. “It wouldn’t be fair. I’m far too dazzling for my own good,”

“Sure,” Rhodey said, cracking a smile. “Dazzling’s one word for it,”

Tony snorted, feigning indignation. It was a relief that no one seemed to notice that something was wrong, yet at the same time he almost wished they would say something. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.

“Don’t worry,” Rhodey said, patting Tony’s blanket-lump of a knee. “Pepper and I will keep your virtue intact.”

Tony couldn’t help smiling for real. “You say that like I have virtue,”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Virtue or no virtue, you’re still grounded,”

“Grounded?” Tony cocked an eyebrow. “Since when are you allowed to ground me?”

“Since the doctors said you shouldn’t be operating heavy machinery while hopped up on painkillers,” Pepper smiled sweetly.

“Oh, that kind of grounded,” Tony said, flapping a hand at her. “Fine. I’ll put up with your evil for now,”

“Thank you,” Pepper said. “Now, shall we talk about Steve?”

“What about Steve?” Tony asked, carefully sitting up. He accepted a pillow from Rhodey and stuffed it behind his head so he could squint at each of them without it being too much of a struggle. He tried to feign obliviousness, but quit the moment they shot him a look that clearly said if he tried to fake his way out of this one, it was going to be more trouble than it was worth.

“He doesn’t remember, does he?” Rhodey asked. It wasn’t really a question, judging by his grim expression.

“I wish he did,” Tony said, quietly. “But you’re right. He doesn’t remember anything. He remembers the fight over the bagel, and that’s pretty much it,”

“Oh,” Pepper said, looking down at her hands. She looked close to tears. “Oh Tony. I’m so sorry,”

“Yeah,” Rhodey said, staring mournfully down at his coffee. “Shit,”

“Well it’s not like I didn’t know it was a possibility,” Tony said with a shrug, trying to make himself at least sound cheerful. “That’s life for you – always there to stick a boot up your ass when you least expect it,”

“When did it happen? The transformation I mean – not the boot up your ass. Did he just switch back?” Pepper asked. She leaned back in the chair, resting her hands on her thighs. “Did the Skull do something to him?”

“Not that I know,” Tony said. “I don’t even know if the Skull even knew Steve was back to being an adult. We broke out before he could get a look at us again.”

“Ah, well, maybe SHIELD’s doctors will figure it out,” Rhodey said. He snorted loudly and exchanged a look with Pepper; they both started snickering. Tony laughed with them, glad that he wasn’t the only one convinced of SHIELD’s incompetence.

“What are they doing with the Captain?” Tony asked after the laughter died down. He sobered at the thought of SHIELD poking and prodding Steve the way the Skull’s technicians had and squirmed uncomfortably under the covers.

“Natasha told me that they’re still struggling to figure out how he’s back to the right age without the serum in his veins – they’ve been doing blood work since we got back to the Helicarrier, but so far they don’t have anything more conclusive than ‘he appears to be Steve Rogers’,” Pepper said. “They’re probably going to come ask you questions about it in the morning,”

“They’re wasting their time. I don’t know what happened,” Tony grumbled, clutching at his blankets. “One minute I was having the shit beaten out of me by the Skull and the next I was being thrown unceremoniously into a cell with Steve. I didn’t see it happen. There wasn’t any big reveal – no fairy dust or sparkling stars.”

“Figures. I heard through the grapevine that they’re interviewing the Hydra technicians to try and puzzle it out, but so far no one is talking. They haven’t been able to get shit out of the security cameras either. I assume you know all about that part,” Rhodey said. He sipped at his coffee, chuckling when Tony gave him puppy dog eyes again. “I’m not giving you more coffee. Stop looking at me like that, you bum,”

“Spoilsport,” Tony muttered.

Rhodey rolled his eyes. “Don’t play the cute card, Stark. You’re too old for that.”

“I am not,” Tony said. “I’m the perfect age and I’m always cute,”

“You’re old,” Rhodey said. “so, so, old,”

“I’m not older than Steve,” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest. He glowered at Rhodey, trying not to take him too seriously. “He’s in his nineties – I’m a spring chicken. And you didn’t deny that I’m cute – I believe I win this round,”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rhodey said, taking an obnoxious slurp of his coffee so Tony could see he had drained the last of it. “I’m sure Steve will agree with you,”

“Speaking of Steve,” Pepper said with a knowing smile, “He was pretty worried when they had to sedate you,”

“He wasn’t worrying – he was waiting to rip a strip off of me,” Tony muttered. As much as he would like to think that Steve cared enough to want to make sure he wasn’t a vegetable, he knew it was highly unlikely that the dear Captain wanted to do anything other than yell in his face after the list of his numerous injuries had been written out.

“No, I’m pretty sure he was actually worried,” Rhodey said, glancing at Pepper. “He wanted to sit with you until you woke up. Pepper had to chase him out because he kept glaring at everyone like he thought they were going to poison you or something.”

“That’s normal,” Tony said. “He loves to glare.”

“It wasn’t because he was glaring,” Pepper said, scowling at Rhodey. “He kept dragging his sad little oxygen machine around with him and it kept getting stuck on everything. I thought he was going to disconnect something by accident. I was trying to get him to go back to his room so he could sleep,”

“I don’t get why he’s worrying. He looked me over himself,” Tony said. “Even Bucky looked me over– I’m fine. Why does everyone think I lie about injuries?”

“Because you do lie about injuries,” Pepper said, crossing her long legs over one another. She eyed Tony over top of her knee. “Need I remind you about your brush with palladium poisoning?”

“Ok, point taken,” Tony grunted. “But this time I wasn’t lying,”

“And the doctors backed you up – this time,” Pepper said, sweetly. “You’ve got nothing to worry about,”

“How he doing?” Tony said, scowling. “You said he was carrying an oxygen machine around with him?”

“Steve’s fine,” Rhodey said, glancing at Pepper again. “They’re keeping him on oxygen as a precaution. He’ll be off it in a few hours. He had a mild allergic reaction to the smell of bleach, but it’s cleared up – mostly,”

“What is that?” Tony asked, gesturing to Rhodey. “You two are conspiring about something. I can feel it.”

“We’re worried,” Pepper said, choosing her words carefully.

“You’re worried about what? Steve? Me? I told you, I’m fine,” Tony grunted. “The doctors told you I’m fine. I’m fine,”

“We’re worried about Bucky,” Rhodey growled, crushing his paper cup into a ball. He tossed the crumpled ball into the garbage can beside Tony’s bed, glaring at it as thought it had insulted him by simply existing. “Coulson told me what happened,”

Tony winced. How much had Coulson said about what had happened in the Beach House? He had asked him to keep the information private, but had he? Rhodey could be damn convincing when he wanted to be, and Pepper – well, Pepper didn’t take no for an answer most of the time. He glanced over at Pepper to see if she was about to grill him too, but she just looked confused by Rhodey’s comment. “Ah, I see,” he said, not wanting to inadvertently reveal anything.

“I see? That’s your response to me getting the truth out of Coulson?” Rhodey said. His nostrils flared dangerously. “Tony,”

“It’s not what you think, ok? He was brainwashed,” Tony said, glancing down at the blankets instead of at Rhodey. It was easier to speak without having to see the growing worry in Rhodey’s eyes. His chest felt tight; he tugged at the collar of his scrubs, trying to get himself some air. He didn’t want to slip back into a panic attack again – not here, of all places. “What am I supposed to do? Hate him forever? The guy didn’t know what he was doing,” he said, taking in a long, slow breath.

“He tried to drown you,” Rhodey said. “He almost succeeded,”

Tony tensed, forcing his eyes to stay open so he wouldn’t have to see the waves again. He could hear the sound of water crashing against the shore, but it was faint still.

“He what?” Pepper snapped, bristling. “You didn’t say anything about him nearly being drowned!”

“I wanted to clarify it with him first,” Rhodey grumbled, shifting in his chair under Pepper’s gaze. “I was going to try and get him to tell you himself. You know how it is with him – it’s always one big fucking secret,”

“Rhodey,” Pepper sighed.

“Barnes did a lot more than try to drown him, ok? He threatened Steve – kid Steve,” Rhodey said, his worried expression turning murderous. “He took out the entire team and beat the shit out of Tony under orders from AIM – he’s the reason Tony’s wrist is fucked up – that’s why that mother fucker knew about it. He stood there and acted all sweet as pie with us and he almost drowned Tony with his bare hands!”

Tony took another deep breath. Stay calm, he ordered himself. Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm!

Pepper took in a sharp breath through her nose. “I’m going to kill him,”

“Get in line,” Rhodey grunted.

“He’s not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Tony said, holding up his hands. He took a smidgeon of pleasure from the way they were so angry on his behalf and saved it away for later. “He’s just Bucky, now, alright? He knows what he did – he’s sorry. He didn’t mean it – well, he meant it, but he wouldn’t have done it if he had known who the fuck we were,”

“Tony,” Rhodey said, putting his face in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees, “He tried to kill you.”

“He’s Steve’s friend,” Tony said, softly. “And I get it – believe me, I get it. I lived it – I hate what he did too. I have fucking nightmares about it, but we have to sit back and see it for what it was – an accident.” He sighed, running his hands shakily over his sweaty face. He winced when he touched his and swollen eye and dropped his hand back into his lap, flexing his fingers. He had thought long and hard about this. The Winter Soldier and Bucky Barnes were two different people. Yes, they shared a face and skills, but that was it. There was nothing to worry about; it wasn’t likely that Bucky was going to jump up one night and strangle someone in his sleep – the Winter Soldier’s personality was gone, and even if it wasn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to ask Steve to give up his best friend – he wouldn’t ask that. “There’s nothing I can do to change what happened. What’s done is done, and I’m not going to take him away from Steve – we can’t do that. Barnes needs a home too and if I have to be the one providing it, I’ll do it, no questions asked,”

Pepper’s stern gaze softened. “Honey, are you sure? You don’t have to bring him back to the Tower if you don’t want to,”

“I know,” Tony said. He let out a groan and slumped back against his pillows. “But I owe him one, so I guess I’m going to have to put up with seeing his smug-ass face everywhere. At least this way I’ll be able to keep an eye on him,”

“You owe him one?” Rhodey frowned. “You owe him one?”

“You don’t get to hear that story until I’m well and truly shit-faced,” Tony gritted out. “Please. Don’t. Ask.” He didn’t even want to think about it. Sure, nothing truly horrible had happened and the story wasn’t rated R, but he wasn’t exactly happy about the fact that he had been soaped up by Bucky Barnes. If it had been Steve, well, things would have been different. Maybe it would have been – on second thought no. He wasn’t going there. It was probably better to save that particular fantasy for when he wasn’t wearing a hospital gown and in front of his two best friends.

“Alright,” Rhodey said, slouching back in his chair. “I’ll let it go, but what now?”

“I don’t know. I guess it all depends on when they’re releasing me,” Tony said. “I’m assuming the Skull’s all locked up tight, so I can weasel my way out of the debriefing, right?”

“Unfortunately, no. He’s not,” Rhodey sighed. “The Skull got away,”

“He what?” Tony sat up bolt upright; his back muscles twitched in protest at the sudden move, unimpressed by his sudden burst of energy. He groaned, rubbing at his back with the flat of his hand. “You’re telling me the Red Skull – the guy with the gigantic red noggin that can be seen from space – escaped from SHIELD custody. How?”

“He wasn’t ever in SHIELD custody,” Rhodey said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Everyone was just milling around watching the fight. No one thought he was going to be able to just vanish.”

“Hold on,” Tony said, shaking his head. “Let’s start at the beginning. Thor had him on the ropes – right? I remember that part,”

“Right,” Rhodey grumbled. “Well, Thor was doing fine. He and the Skull were duking it out and while the Skull definitely wasn’t winning, he was holding his own. We thought Thor was going to take him down – he was hitting the son of a bitch in the head over and over again – you know how it is. People get hit with a hammer, they don’t get back up. Everyone figured the guy would drop like a rock after a few more blows, but it didn’t happen. Pepper and I were called in as backup after you were knocked out, but we didn’t get there in time to do much good.”

“He whipped out some kind of experimental gun and fired it into the ground,” Pepper said. “It created some kind of hole – I don’t know what it was made out of or where it went – but it looked almost like there was another world underneath him. All I saw after that was blue lights coming through the suit’s cameras and then bam – the hole in the ground swallowed him up and he was gone, taking the gun with him. SHIELD’s technicians are looking over the readings Jarvis sent them from War Machine and Rescue, but so far they don’t have much to go on aside from the energy output matching the readings they got from something they called the Tesseract.”

“Shit,” Tony sighed. He had been hoping that the Skull was busy enjoying SHIELD’s hospitality, but apparently the Skull was wilier than they had expected. He couldn’t blame Thor for the mistake; it wasn’t like the guy could have predicted the Skull was going to have an escape ray on hand, but for fuck’s sake, why hadn’t anyone thought to get a cage ready? SHIELD knew what the Skull could do if given free reign and now the madman was out there with a raging hate-on for Steve and damn near everyone else. He hoped to god the Skull wasn’t sitting down somewhere trying to work out a deal with AIM. The last thing they needed now was Hydra and AIM teaming up to take over the world. “I take it Steve’s shitting bricks,” he said with a grimace.

“That’s putting it mildly,” Rhodey chuckled, darkly. “No one told him until a few hours after he was chased out of here. I guess Fury thought it would be safer for him if he didn’t hear about it until he was breathing properly again. Of course that didn’t go over well. He went stomping off to the Tech guys the minute Fury left, swearing up a storm.”

“Captain Morality was swearing?” Tony cocked an eyebrow. “I knew it!”

“Yeah, he’s got quite the potty mouth,” Rhodey said with a smile. “You should have heard him. He told some guy to fuck himself when they tried to stop him from leaving his room.”

“Oh god,” Tony said, putting his head in his hands. “Tell me you got footage of that. Please?”

“They did – and even better, SHIELD’s drones got some very nice imagery from the fight – I had them send it all to Jarvis for you,” Pepper said.

“Oh goodie! At least I’m not going to have to hack into their files to get it this time,” Tony snorted.

“Not this time,” Rhodey agreed.

“I’m assuming Steve’s still there, knocking heads together?” Tony asked. The Captain never had been very good with letting things go when he felt he was being wronged; it wasn’t strictly a bad thing, but in this case it was probably making it harder for him to recover considering he wasn’t lying down and well, recovering. Without the serum he was plain old Steve Rogers and Steve Rogers wasn’t that healthy to begin with.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he was,” Pepper said. “You always seem to like the feisty ones, don’t you?”

“Sure,” Tony said, clearing his throat. “Feisty. That’s a good word.”

“I would have gone with cranky,” Rhodey said, “But sure. Feisty covers it,”

“Alright,” Tony said, clearing his throat. He was not going to talk about this now. Nope. Not happening. “So the Skull’s gone. What happened to the rest of his base? Is it still standing, or did the Hulk take it all down?” Tony gnawed on his lower lip. The Skull might be gone, but his faux lab was still a ticking time bomb – if it worked.

“I was just coming to talk to you about it,” Natasha said. She strode into the room, her footsteps dull and muted against the cement floor. She padded closer, nodding once to Pepper and Rhodey and sat down on the edge of Tony’s bed. She handed Tony her tablet and sat back, waiting for him to look at what she had brought, eyeing Rhodey’s shirt. “I didn’t think SHIELD had a gift shop,” she deadpanned.

“It doesn’t,” Rhodey said. “I made it myself,”

Tony snorted loudly into his arm and turned back to the tablet. The file on display was from the Skull’s replica workshop; Tony would recognize those blueprints anywhere. “Did the techs run this, or is it from Hydra’s mainframe?”

“It’s a little of both. I had Bruce check the data over when he was back to being himself, and he said most of the machinery is pointless. It’s close to the original specs, but nothing works,” Natasha said. “Fury wants you to look it over to see if you agree with that statement,”

“Right,” Tony said, skimming through the rest of the files. “Well, from what I saw of it, it looked like a piece of crap, but I’d have to dig around in its guts to know for sure.” He looked up, hearing the sound of wheels rolling down the hallway and barely supressed a groan when he realized what was making the awful noise.

“He should be resting,” Steve said, storming through the open doorway with his dark green oxygen tank wheeling along behind him; he still had the mask on, and while his breathing was raspy, almost rushed, it didn’t appear to be causing him any real trouble. He had been moving too fast for his own good, but in his blind rage, he hadn’t noticed. His face was still pale, his cheeks flushed pink from his rush, but he didn’t look as faint as he had the last time Tony had seen him. He stomped his way towards Tony’s bed, gesturing towards the tablet with one slender finger. “Fury’s files can wait,”

Natasha smiled thinly. “I know you’re upset, Captain, but now isn’t the time for a shouting match,”

“Bullshit,” Steve roared. He took a moment to catch his breath, bending over with his hands on his knees and then straightened up, his glare so sharp it could have cut glass. “He needs to rest,”

“You need to rest,” Tony said, still looking through the files. What he saw made him want to start dancing; nothing here would even be remotely useful unless someone was trying to start a very large fire. He skipped ahead to the mission briefing and read through the report, noting that the incidents at the Beach House had been strategically left ambiguous in places. He wondered if that had been Natasha’s doing or Coulson’s.

Steve snatched the tablet away, nearly dropping it when the smooth edges slid through his fingers.

“Hey!” Tony protested. “I was reading that,”

“You need to rest,” Steve wheezed.

“Jesus, Steve,” Tony said, patting the mattress. “Sit down. I’m getting tired just looking at you,”

Steve opened his mouth to argue and then shut it. He sat without further prompting, settling on the edge of the mattress with the oxygen tank sitting beside his feet. He fiddled with the mask, adjusting the elastic where it was digging into his cheeks and dropped the tablet onto his lap, probably thinking that Tony wouldn’t make a grab for it. He took a deep breath in and then started coughing, his shoulders shaking violently. Tony barely resisted the urge to reach out and hold him. He looked so frail, it seemed like the coughing might shake him apart.

Tony scooped the tablet up and flipped through the files again, ignoring the scowl on Steve’s face. He set his free hand between Steve’s shoulder blades, rubbing a gentle circle until the coughing stopped.

Steve swallowed down another cough and slumped forwards. He was quiet for a while as he focused on his breathing; he glanced at Pepper and Rhodey in turn, giving them a look that said he was still unhappy with them and then spoke, his words choppy. “He shouldn’t still be out there,” he said, with a wheeze.

“I know,” Tony said, flipping to the end of the mission report. He noted the timestamp and handed the tablet back to Natasha, who took it and stood up, easing her way off of the mattress so as not to jostle Steve. “We’ll catch him eventually. We just need to be patient.”

“I don’t want to be patient,” Steve muttered.

“I know what you mean,” Tony sighed.

“I hate to interrupt, but I’ve got to get going. Do you agree that it’s not dangerous?” Natasha asked, standing up.

“Its garbage,” Tony shrugged. “It’s dangerous alright. I wouldn’t turn it on. It’ll probably throw a breaker, kill the lights and nuke someone’s balls, but I don’t think it’ll do much more than that,”

Natasha nodded. “Alright. We’ve got it in lock up, if you want to take a look at it later. When you’re feeling better you can ask someone to show you to it. It’s in boxes for the most part. Clint and I packed it up before the Hulk could get at it.”

“How’s you-know-who,” Tony asked, not looking at Rhodey or Pepper.

“He’s fine. He’s just happy he’s not locked up in a closet this time,” Natasha said, her lips quirking into a smile.

“Hey,” Tony said as Natasha turned to leave, “The report didn’t say anything about Mabel. Is she alright?”

Natasha turned, her smile growing broader. “You’re worried about the cat?”

“She’s a nice cat,” Tony grumbled. “I’d be a bastard if I didn’t ask,”

“Agreed,” Natasha said.

Steve frowned. “What cat?”

“Mabel. She’s an old-lady cat – lives in the Beach Houses we rented. We feed her,” Tony said, shrugging. “It’s not a big deal,”

“We had a cat?” Steve turned from Tony to Natasha. “You let me near a cat?”

“Of course we did,” Tony said. “She’s a nice cat. A little bitey, but nice,”

“Mabel’s fine,” Natasha said. “She was a little shaken up after the attack, but thankfully the Skull didn’t seem to notice her. Clint found her hiding underneath the porch. You’re going to have to phone and check on the rest yourself, because woman who owns the resort wasn’t all that happy to find out how much damage was done and she isn’t taking my calls anymore,”

“Oh god, did they leveled the place?” Tony asked, wincing. “Tell me they didn’t level the place.” The beach house’s owner, an elderly third generation Asian American woman named Emily Jia, had been hard to win over. She wasn’t happy having visitors around in her resort, but with food to buy and grandkids to put through college, she had been unwilling to refuse the offer of fast cash. Tony liked her. She had seemed nice, despite her grouchy demeanor; he hoped she wasn’t going to yell at him. There was only so much yelling he could deal with in one day.

“They didn’t do much damage, but they did knock out a bunch of the windows and kick in the front door of both our place and Hermann’s. It was strictly a snatch and grab. They didn’t stick around for carnage,” Natasha said. “We lucked out. There weren’t any injuries either, aside from our bruised egos,”

“Well that’s a refreshing change,” Tony chuckled. “Say, do you happen to know when I get out of this joint?” He batted his eyelashes at her. “Because I’m willing to beg if I have to,”

“You’ll have to talk to the doctor yourself,” Natasha said with a scowl, turning back to the door. “I’ll see you at home.”

“Alright,” Tony grumbled. “Fine. Don’t tell me,”

“Tell you what?” Natasha called out, almost out the door. “That you’re a pain in the ass? I think everyone in the room knows that already,”

Tony scowled. “I hate you guys,”

Pepper smiled. “We should get going,” she said, standing up. She gave Rhodey a look Tony couldn’t quite place and then dragged him bodily out of the chair when he failed to understand her. “We’re going to take the suits back to the Tower. We’ll drop you off at home when the doctor signs off on it.”

“Fine,” Tony said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go on. Leave me alone with Steve, why don’t you,”

Steve sighed. “Tony,”

“Uh huh. I’m sure you’re in for a terrible evening,” Rhodey snorted. He yelped and rubbed at his arm when Pepper dug her fingers into it, shooting her a dirty look. “See you later Tony,”

“Yeah,” Tony said, closing his eyes. “See you around.” He listened to the sound of them walking out of the room and tried to decide whether he should sleep or attempt to talk to Steve; both were likely to cause the same result, although the sleeping portion might be a tad safer considering he wouldn’t have to listen to Steve yell at him.

“Did you want me to leave?” Steve asked, quietly.

Tony wiggled across the mattress until he wasn’t taking up the entire width of the bed. “No,” he said, patting the blankets beside him. “You can lay down if you want,”

“I’m fine,” Steve said stiffly, adjusting the oxygen mask. He turned, glancing over at Tony and then stilled, his fingers dancing over the see-through tubing connected to the mask.

“I’m going to nap,” Tony said. “If you want to join me, go ahead. It’s your choice,”

Steve hesitated and then lifted his feet up onto the bed, adjusting the oxygen mask until it wasn’t threatening to slide off his face. He settled down with his head resting on the pillow beside Tony’s, clasping his arms over his belly. He swallowed hard. “Tony?”

“Yep?” Tony sighed, opening one eye. Oh good. The yelling was going to start.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t get you out of there,” Steve said, softly.

Well that was unexpected Tony thought. “It’s not your fault,” he said, patting Steve’s arm. He felt Steve tense under his touch and gradually moved his hand away, letting it drop onto the blankets. “It’s not like we knew the serum wasn’t going to come back right away.”

“I’m still sorry,” Steve muttered. “It was my fault. I should have been more careful,”

“Steve,” Tony grumbled. “I hate to break it to you, but there is no way you could have known some crazy bastard was going to shoot you with an experimental serum-draining gun. It’s not like we were on a mission – we got caught with our pants down, but it wasn’t anyone’s fault,”

“I should have known,” Steve said, rolling over onto his side, turning away from Tony. “I should have been watching. It was my fault, and the entire team got dragged into this mess because of me,”

“Steve,” Tony murmured. “It wasn’t that bad,”

“You got captured and tortured by the Skull,” Steve growled. “How was that not bad?”

“The torture was only a teensy, tiny, part. The vacation got me out of doing a lot of paperwork – I have no regrets,” Tony chuckled. He turned, glancing at Steve’s back; Steve’s hair was tousled, still greasy from days without a shower. His shoulders were boney, his body small again in a way Tony hadn’t thought he would ever see. It seemed strange that Steve was here, with him, when there were a thousand other things he could be doing. “You were a really sweet kid,” Tony said, his voice turning soft. “It wasn’t a bad way to spend a couple of months,”

Steve wrapped an arm around his head; his clothing looked like it was hanging off of him. There wasn’t much in his wardrobe that would fit, these days, Tony mused. Everything was built for a much bigger Steve – one with broad, muscled shoulders and a delectable pair of thighs. In his former clothes, he looked like he had simply wasted away.

“I don’t know what to do now. The Doctors don’t know when this thing is going to wear off,” Steve said. “It might never wear off.”

“Well, there’s no sense worrying about it now,” Tony said.

“Tony,” Steve sighed. “You don’t understand. I’m useless like this,”

“You’re not useless,” Tony scoffed. “You’re still you,”

Steve sighed. “I wish it was that simple.”

“It is that simple,” Tony snorted, nudging Steve in the back of his leg with his knee. “If a jackass like me can go out there every day and fight bad guys, then you can too.” He never had been very good with pep talks, especially when it came to Steve, but maybe this would help. He had never thought Steve would need one. The guy had always seemed like a rock. Maybe he wasn’t as strong as he seemed.

“You’re not a jackass,” Steve murmured.

Tony opened his mouth to disagree and froze.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway.

Tony groaned aloud and prayed that it was the doctor coming to tell them they could go home.

It wasn’t the doctors.

“Steve?”

A tall woman with long blonde hair leaned around the doorframe and peered into the room. Her soft smile turned grim when she spotted Steve lying beside Tony; she swept into the room, ignoring the fact that no one had invited her in and stopped at the end of the bed. Her white bodysuit and gun holsters made it clear that she wasn’t just a run-of-the-mill visitor. This was a SHIELD agent, and a high ranking one at that. “I just got back and they told me you were in the medical wing,” she said, frowning down at Steve. She gasped when got a better look at him, her eyes going almost comically wide. “What’s going on? What happened? Steve? Why are you so small?”

Steve sat up in a hurry, nearly tangling himself in his oxygen cords. He buried his face in her shoulder; she smiled and hugged him, resting her cheek against the top of his head. She stroked his hair as though unsure what else she could do.

“I’m sorry, Sharon,” Steve said, his voice muffled by her shoulder. “I should have called when I woke up. A lot’s happened in the last few days,”

Tony’s heart felt like it had crumpled up in his chest. So this was Sharon Carter. Somehow he hadn’t expected to ever meet her. She was beautiful, graceful in a way that made her hard to ignore; she seemed to glow with confidence. Hell, she practically radiated the stuff. He debated on introducing himself, but when he locked eyes with her, he found that she wasn’t the least bit happy to see him. She was almost glaring at him. He wondered what the hell that was about; he couldn’t remember ever having met her before, and they sure as hell hadn’t ever spoken before now. Instead of speaking, he closed his eyes and turned his head so he didn’t have to watch the reunion; Steve could have all the privacy he wanted. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. They had spent more than enough time in close quarters. Steve deserved a break.

“Oh,” Steve said, straightening up. He reluctantly pulled himself away from Sharon, his cheeks faintly pink. “Uh, this is Tony Stark.”

“I noticed,” Sharon said, her hands migrating to her hips. “I’ve seen the magazines.”

“Tony?” Steve leaned against the bed and gingerly rolled Tony over with a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, are you alright?”

“Sorry. I was trying to sleep,” Tony grumbled, trying not to glare right back at Sharon when she shot him a dirty look over top of Steve’s head.

Steve’s cheerful smile faded. “I just wanted to introduce you to Sharon Carter,” he said, pulling his hands back as though he had been burned.

“Nice to meet you, Sharon,” Tony said, holding out a hand. It was the least he could do without coming off like a complete asshole. He would be polite; he would behave himself. This was Steve’s girlfriend, after all. He was supposed to be polite to her, wasn’t he? He was fairly certain that if he wasn’t, someone was going to give him hell.

Sharon didn’t take his hand. Instead, she wrapped her arm protectively around Steve’s shoulder and started steering him away from the bed. “You really should be resting,” she said, waiting for Steve to drag his oxygen tank along behind them. “You can tell me about what happened in the morning, once you’ve got some sleep. You look like you’re going to fall over,”

Steve glanced over his shoulder at Tony and then turned away. “Alright. I’m supposed to be staying in room 350,” he said with a cough.

“Then let’s go,” Sharon said, leading them out the door.

Tony stared up at the ceiling. He wondered just what he had done to make the world hate him so much; maybe in another life he had enjoyed kicking small, fluffy, animals.

The next morning, Tony got up bright and early and snuck out of medical. It was a stupid decision, considering the painkillers had worn off hours ago and his entire body was throbbing in agony, but he needed to get as far away from Steve Rogers and Sharon Carter as possible and this was the only way to do that. He found Pepper and Rhodey waiting for him on the Helicarrier’s deck; they both looked tired and more than a little bedraggled, but they didn’t seem all that surprised to see him.

“Tony,” Rhodey said. He was carrying two cups of coffee and he idly sipped at one as he waited for Tony to get closer. He handed Tony the other cup in his hand and turned back to Pepper. “You owe me ten bucks,”

Pepper sighed wearily. “Fine. I’ll give it to you when we get back to the Tower.” She looked Tony over, obviously not appreciating his backless gown any more than he did. “You couldn’t stop and find some pants on the way?”

“I could have stopped for pants,” Tony said, strutting towards their waiting helicopter, “but then my coffee would be cold.”

“And your junk being cold didn’t factor into that decision at all?” Rhodey asked with a snort. He pulled off his jacket and slung it over Tony’s shoulders. “I brought you a change of clothes, by the way. You’re welcome,”

“Thanks,” Tony said, hugging the jacket a little tighter. The wind out here was freezing.

“So what’s with the early morning flight?” Rhodey asked, hooking his arm through Tony’s shoulder. He followed Pepper as she made her way towards the helicopter, his steps blessedly short so Tony could keep up. “I take it you and Steve didn’t make nice-nice like planned?”

“Hey,” Tony said, scurrying into the helicopter before the wind could lift the bottom of his scrubs up and flash-freeze his ass, “I tried. It’s not my fault his girlfriend came to find him,”

Pepper frowned. “His girlfriend?” She settled down in the seat beside Rhodey, patiently ignoring Tony when he handed her his coffee and started rooting through the duffle bag he assumed contained his clothing. “I thought he was single,”

“Apparently not,” Tony said, pulling out a pair of sweatpants. He pulled them on, ignoring the way Pepper wrinkled her nose at him when he accidentally flashed her. “Oops,” he said, worming his way into the sweatpants.

“It’s fine. God knows we’ve all seen it all before,” Pepper said, leaning back against her seat as the helicopter took off.

“Oh good,” Rhodey said dryly. “I thought I was the only one who got flashed by him on a regular basis,”

Pepper chuckled into her hand.

Tony rolled his eyes. “It scares me a little that you two creeps keep count. You are sad, sad, people,”

“Only when you’re not around,” Pepper said with a soft smile.

Tony ducked his head and went back to staring into his bag.

“So Steve Rogers has a girlfriend?” Rhodey sounded shocked. “I thought the guy was too busy for that kind of thing,”

“Apparently he found the time,” Tony said with a grunt. He fished out the shirt Rhodey had brought him and glared at it. “Really? Hello Kitty?”

“She’s a classy lady,” Rhodey said, sipping his coffee. “Complain louder – I don’t think the people of Manhattan can hear you yet.”

“Jerk,” Tony said, pulling the gown off. He stuffed it into the duffle bag and quickly yanked the shirt over his head, noting Pepper’s cringe at the sight of his bruised torso. “I’m fine. Remember? The Doctors said I was fine,”

“It doesn’t look fine,” Pepper scowled.

“Yeah, well,” Tony grunted. “The Skull was pulling his punches. If he had wanted to do worse, he would have,”

“That’s not reassuring me – at all,” Rhodey muttered. “He’s still out there,”

“I highly doubt he’s going to come walking through the front door – at least not now that Steve’s a big boy again,” Tony said, settling against his seat. He stared out at the skyline at it went by, leaning heavily against the window, wishing he could feel cold metal against his skin so it would dull the ache in him. The Skull was going to be a problem alright, but he wasn’t the only one bad thing in Tony’s life right about now. Tony sighed and shook his head. He was going to have to get a hold of himself, and fast; he couldn’t keep pining like this. Steve really did have a girlfriend. He hadn’t wanted to acknowledge that Sharon Carter was real, but having seen her with his own two eyes, he was forced to admit that there wasn’t much hope for him, not with the way Steve had looked at her. He hunched his shoulders, stuffing his hands into his pockets. What rotten timing! He had been this close…

“Maybe they’re not really together,” Pepper said, leaning forwards. She squeezed Tony’s knee to get his attention. “Did he actually say that they were dating?”

Tony frowned. “Technically? No. He didn’t say anything about her aside from her name,”

“That sounds like you still have a shot,” Rhodey said. “I mean, assuming you don’t like, light her house on fire or sign her email address up for a bunch of spam,”

Pepper pinched the bridge of her nose. “Yes. Let’s avoid doing that, please.”

Tony sighed. “I don’t know,”

“Well, put it this way. He hasn’t said no yet, has he?” Rhodey said.

Tony’s frown deepened. “That’s… true,”

“So go for it. Woo him,” Rhodey said.

“Woo him? What are you, four?” Tony snorted.

“I agree with Rhodey. If he doesn’t like you, then he doesn’t like you, but that doesn’t mean you should just give up. If he hasn’t said he’s not interested, he’s still available,” Pepper said, handing Tony back his lukewarm coffee.

Tony pursed his lips, stroking his chin. Actually, that wasn’t a half-bad idea. It wasn’t like he had to do anything hard. It was a little flirting, right? He could handle that.

Chapter Text

Nope. He couldn’t handle flirting, even after years and years of solid practice; he didn’t even get the time to plan how to start . One minute he was in his workshop running tests on the replica of Bucky’s arms to make sure its structural integrity was sound and the next he was face to face with a furious looking Steve.

The smile Tony cracked didn’t smooth anything over; in fact, it might have made things worse .

“ What are you doing down here?” Steve asked. They had taken him off the oxygen, but he still sounded a bit wheezy, like he might start gasping for air at any second. Someone had gauged his condition as acceptable, though, because here he was, ready to bring hellfire and brimstone and god knows what else down on Tony for not lying face down on his big, comfy bed upstairs.

There was an upside to Steve’s visit; there was no Sharon Carter anywhere in sight, and while Bucky was standing there in the corner, leaning up against the glass workshop wall, he didn’t look like he was enjoying himself.

“I’m working,” Tony said, still trying valiantly to smile his way out of trouble. “He needs an arm, right?”

Bucky perked up at the mention of his arm; he slunk over to inspect what would be his new limb, seemingly oblivious to Steve’s growing irritation. “You’re supposed to be napping,” he said, stealing the arm clean out of Tony’s hands. He looked it over, pleased with what he saw, lined it up and snapped it place with a squeal of pain.

Tony flinched. “You know, I haven’t had a chance to tinker with the pain receptors in there yet,”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to it,” Bucky said. He flexed his new arm, wiggling his fingers. His eyes widened. “Hey, that’s not bad,”

“It’s a crappy prototype,” Tony snorted, turning back to his worktable. “The real one will be way better,”

“Tony,” Steve said. He grabbed the back of Tony’s chair and spun him around until they were face to face again. “You shouldn’t even be down here. I don’t care if you’re busy working on prototype arms – you’re supposed to be resting,”

“I’m not doing anything labor intensive,” Tony muttered, trying not to snap at Steve. Sure, he was a little sore and his wrist was still healing, but he hadn’t been down here all that long. Jarvis was keeping an eye on him, and he had even done the responsible thing and set up a timer to make sure he didn’t stay down here all day. “Pepper and Rhodey gave me permission,” he said.

“I know they gave you permission. But they didn’t want you down here for three hours ,” Steve said, planting his hands on his hips. “ They’re the ones who sent me down to get you, you know,”

Tony blinked sluggishly. Pepper and Rhodey had – oh . He grinned into his hand and closed down the programs he had been tinkering with. At least that explained how Steve and Bucky had gotten past security. “Well, I guess for you I can go upstairs,” he said with a wink.

Steve squinted at Tony. “What?”

Shit.

Nope. That hadn’t worked at all.

“I should probably take a nap,” Tony said, backpedaling as fast as humanly possible. He jumped up and rushed past Steve, but couldn’t move fast enough to escape the withering look sent his way. He jabbed his finger into the elevator button so hard it hurt and wondered why he had even attempted flirting with Steve. He would need at least a thousand hours of sleep before he tried again; the last thing he wanted was for Steve to see him sleep-deprived, drooling and mumbling nonsense. Still wincing, he stumbled inside the elevator and ordered Jarvis to take him back up to the penthouse before he could make things worse by opening his mouth again. He was, unfortunately, shit out of luck. Bucky wrestled his way into the elevator before the elevator doors could close, wedging himself in the doorway, blocking the doors so they couldn’t close. He gave Tony a look that clearly said he thought Tony had lost his mind.

“What are you doing?” Tony hissed, trying to shove Bucky out of the elevator.

“I’m holding the door,” Bucky said dryly. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You know Rhodey and Pepper are up there, don’t you?” Tony said with a grunt. There was no getting away from Bucky now, but maybe he could be distracted with good old fashioned fear.

“Oh yeah,” Bucky said. “I met them both already. They have a very nice murderous glare thing going for them. I think I like them,”

“They want to murder you, and you’re not even concerned,” Tony grumbled, leaning heavily against the elevator wall. “Why am I not surprised?” He cursed Bucky’s lack of self-preservation and glanced around him, wondering if he could get away with ducking under his arm and making a mad dash for the emergency stairs.

“Who doesn’t want to kill me these days?” Bucky chuckled. He stepped out of the way when Steve strode stiffly into the elevator and leaned up against the wall beside Tony, glancing down at his metal fingernails as though they were somehow new to him. “So this arm is pretty awesome. When can I expect an upgrade?”

Tony rolled his eyes. It figured. Everyone wanted an upgrade. “I’m going to need a few days. I’m not supposed to be working, remember?”

The doors to the elevator closed with a chime.

Steve scowled, crossing his arms over his chest; the look he shot Tony would have been far more formidable when he was pumped full of super-serum. Now he looked more adorable than imposing. “Damn right you’re not supposed to be working. You’re going to sleep for the rest of the day – and you’re going to eat,”

“Bossy,” Bucky said, smirking at Steve. He leaned over and whispered loudly into Tony’s ear, “I think that means he likes you,”

Steve’s face and neck went beet red. “Bucky!” He smacked Bucky in the left shoulder and recoiled with a yelp, clutching his hand against his chest. He glowered at Bucky’s shoulder. “Son of a bitch!”

“What?” Bucky said. He glance down at Steve’s hand and then at his shoulder, recognition slowly dawning. He snorted loudly, tried to muffle it and then burst into laughter, wiping at his eyes with his flesh-and-blood hand. “Oh god. That’s awful. That shouldn’t be funny,”

“Yeah,” Tony said, edging away from Bucky. “Right. Funny. Yes.” Was this normal? Or had he just not noticed that today was jam-packed with crazy?

The elevator doors opened; Tony made a break for the kitchen, flying past Steve who looked a little bit like he was going to wind up and take another swing at Bucky.

Tony found Pepper sitting at the breakfast bar. She looked up from her newspaper when she heard him approach, and took a sip of mocha from her mug. “Why are you running?”

“No reason,” Tony said, meandering towards the fridge. Coffee was a good idea right about now – coffee would make everything better.

“No more coffee for you,” Pepper called out, her attention back on her newspaper.

“You can’t tell me what to do. You’re not my real dad,” Tony grumbled, sullenly. He yanked open the fridge with a sigh and gave the creamer a gloomy look before plucking a plastic jug of mixed-berry juice from the door pocket. He sighed wearily when it turned out that the juice wasn’t coffee in disguise. Oh well. Pepper was probably right, although he’d never admit that out loud. If he was going to sleep any time soon, he was going to need to let the caffeine drain from his system; he had already downed four cups of sugary sweet coffee today, and if he kept inhaling the stuff, he probably wouldn’t ever be able to shut his brain off long enough to sleep.

He glanced over at the breakfast bar and spotted the glorious, still-steaming cup of mocha sitting near Pepper’s hand. Maybe she would let him steal a sip if he played nice; a sip wasn’t a full mug, after all. What harm could it do? He strolled over, sipping at his juice and slid his hand across the table towards Pepper’s unattended mug.

Pepper chuckled, lowering the newspaper enough to look Tony square in the eye. “You know, you can’t really use that excuse every time you don’t want to do something.” She pushed her mug towards him with a smile. “You may have exactly one sip – and it better be a sip and not a chug or you’re going to be in trouble,”

Tony grinned impishly and sat down on the barstool beside Pepper; he let his feet dangle against the metal rungs and took a slow pull of Pepper’s savory mocha, making it last. He watched Steve and Bucky as they stepped out of the elevator and walked into the kitchen, the mocha still held tightly in hand in case Pepper tried to cut his sip short.

Steve looked like he was on a mission to reclaim his dignity. His ears were still faintly pink, but the rest of the red had drained from his face, leaving it as grim as always. He walked up to the breakfast bar and eyed Tony’s choice of meal, clearly disapproving of it. Tony got the distinct impression that he was going to be shadowed until he decided to actually lie down for a nap; he wasn’t sure whether he should be happy about that or not. The thought of Steve watching his every move made his heart flutter, yet at the same time it made him extremely nervous. If he was going to fuck up, now would be the time.

“What?” Tony said, setting the mocha down. He took a dainty sip of his juice. “It’s fruit. It’s healthy,”

“You should really eat something solid,” Steve said with a sigh. He glanced at Tony’s throat as Tony swallowed and then looked away, his ears turning a darker shade of pink. He strode over to the fridge, intent on opening it. Of course, that didn’t work out so well; normally, Steve could open the fridge with his pinkie. Today, he struggled to pull it open and then turned around to glare at Bucky, as though daring him to say something.

Thankfully, Bucky knew better than to crack a joke. He whistled cheerfully to himself and dropped down onto a bar stool beside Pepper, stretching out like a cat who had just finished a very pleasant nap in the sun. “I aint sayin’ nothin’” he drawled.

Pepper wasn’t thrilled by her new neighbor. She lowered the paper in order to glare at Bucky and then lifted it back up when she was satisfied that he had understood her. “Why are you here?” she asked, flipping to the sports section.

“Steve’s making breakfast,” Bucky said, drumming his metal fingers on the countertop. “I plan on mooching some of it.” The click, click, click of his fingers hitting marble made Pepper’s left eye twitch; Bucky didn’t seem to notice.

Pepper lowered the newspaper in order to glare at Bucky’s hand.

Bucky sighed, letting his fingers rest on the countertop. “What?”

“She doesn’t like tapping,” Tony murmured, reaching for Pepper’s mocha. Unfortunately, this time she wasn’t so willing to let him have any; she pulled the mug away and sat it on the other side of the counter so Tony couldn’t reach it unless he planned on lunging for it.

Steve pulled the fridge door open; it squealed. He grinned triumphantly and stuck his head inside, searching for breakfast foods.

Bucky tapped his fingers idly on the breakfast bar, humming under his breathe; the resulting clanks seemed deafening.

Pepper lowered her newspaper and turned her glare on Bucky. “Don’t test me, pal,” she growled. She snapped the newspaper back up and went back to reading; she was sitting so rigidly, it almost looked like she had been carved out of stone.

Bucky let out a loud sigh and rested his chin in his hands and his elbows on the countertop. “You know, I think I’ve gotten warmer receptions in Antarctica,”

Tony grimaced. That had been, without doubt, the stupidest thing Bucky could have said. Even he knew better than to bait Pepper this early in the morning without having a box of chocolates, or at the very least, a maple flavored doughnut on hand.

Pepper slapped the newspaper down on the table so hard, both Bucky and Tony jumped. “Listen here, you punk,” she snarled. In heels she was taller than most people, and right now she was a good three inches taller than everyone in the room; she was more than willing to use that to her advantage. She rolled up her sleeves, each move methodical and precise and stood up so she could tower over Bucky. She jabbed him in the middle of the chest; her fingernails were a deep blood red, and while they were blunt, they were long. Her eyes flashed with rage. “If you so much as blink at him funny, I’m going to go get my suit and rip your goddamned arms and legs off. Do you understand me?”

Steve peered around the side of the fridge door, his eyes going wide. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Tony said quickly, praying that Pepper would take the hint and save the rest of her death threats for another time. He was fairly certain that no one had told Steve what had happened on the beach and he was planning on keep it that way; the less they talked about it, the better. Steve didn’t need to have that imagery bouncing around his head. It was bad enough the guy had woken up in a prison cell. “They’re just joking around, right?”

“Right,” Bucky said. He nodded to Pepper, his face draining of colour. “Sure. I’ll behave – I promise. Cross my heart and hope to die – and all that jazz,”

“Good,” Pepper said, sitting down again. She snapped her newspaper up and went back to reading the financial section as thought nothing had happened.

Steve frowned at them and disappeared back behind the fridge door. “Who wants eggs?”

Tony sighed into his smoothie and tried to remember what breakfast had been like before Steve and Bucky had come into his life. He was pretty sure it had been far less dangerous and far more boring.

Tony ate everything Steve put in front of him and then slunk off to his bedroom before Steve could try and force him to eat more. He wasn’t hiding – nope. He was regrouping. It was a purely tactical decision. He crawled into his nest of blankets, burrowing underneath and let out a long, loud yawn. Well, statistically, things could have been worse; they could have been attacked by super villains or dragged off to a debriefing. Today had actually been pretty good. No one had stabbed anyone, and nothing had been on fire when he had left the kitchen; with any luck, things would stay nice and peaceful, and he would be able to try again with Steve tomorrow without crippling their friendship beyond repair.

Tony closed his eyes. He smiled into his pillow. It was nice to be in his own bed again; no one was going to drag him out of bed and beat him here – not unless he asked nicely. He was finally home – finally, blessedly, safe.

Someone knocked on the door.

Groaning, Tony sat up and disentangled himself from his blankets. “Come in,”

Steve pulled open the door and stepped inside, glancing around as if he expected to see someone other than Tony in bed. “Hey,”

Tony flopped back onto his blankets and groaned into his pillow. Great. What had he done now? “What’s up?”

“It’s nothing, really.” Steve sat down on the edge of Tony’s bed and wiggled his toes in the carpet. “I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for Bucky,”

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony said, waving an arm blindly. “I’ll call the contractors when I wake up and get everything started,”

“Contractors?” Steve frowned. “What contractors? Why do we need contractors?”

“We need contractors for his floor,” Tony said with a jaw-cracking yawn. “He’s going to be living here, isn’t it? That means he needs a place to stay,”

“Oh! Right,” Steve said, scratching the back of his head. He cracked a grin. “You don’t need to rush, you know. I’ve got a guest room in my floor and he can just use that. It’s really, uh, big,”

“Full floors tend to be large,” Tony said, dryly. He rolled over onto his side and glanced at Steve over the ridge of blankets. “Speaking of floors, you’re probably going to want to sort through all the stuff on yours.”

Steve looked perplexed. “What do you mean?”

“You haven’t been to your floor yet?” Tony asked. He sat up again, running his fingers through his hair so he didn’t look like a complete and utter slob; he couldn’t hide the dark bags under his eyes, but he could handle the tangled, greasy hair – at least for now. “Right. Ok. Maybe I should go with you then,”

“Tony,” Steve chuckled, “You were going to sleep, remember?”

“Sleep can wait,” Tony said, muffling a yawn with his arm.

“No,” Steve said, pushing Tony back into bed.

Tony wobbled and sank back into the blankets, blinking owlishly up at the ceiling. “What was that for?”

“I’ll tell you what – I’ll wait for you in the living room. When you wake up again,” Steve said, patting Tony’s shoulder, “We’ll go down to my place together and sort through everything.”

“The suspense is going to kill you,” Tony mumbled into his pillow, his eyelids already drooping.

“I’m sure it will,” Steve chuckled, standing up. “Just get some sleep, Tony.”

“You could sleep here too, you know,” Tony said. “If you wanted,”

Steve paused in mid-step; he glanced back at Tony. “I shouldn’t,”

Drat.

Shot down – again.

Nice job, Stark.

Tony heaved a sigh, not bothering to lift his head. “Alright – it’s cool,”

“Get some sleep,” Steve murmured. “I’ll see you later, alright?”

Damn it! He was supposed to be good at this! Of course, it had probably been a little presumptuous to invite Steve into bed ten minutes after they had finished breakfast, but it wasn’t like he had pulled his pants down and waggled his eyebrows suggestively. Tony muffled a sigh. He needed to fix this and fast. Stupid, stupid stupid! “Sure. If you need anything, just ask Pepper or Rhodey. They know where everything is up here,” he croaked.

“Alright,” Steve said with a nod. He paused in the doorway and turned around so that he was looking at Tony again, his face half hidden by shadow. “You can tell me anything – you know that, right?”

Tony lifted his head, squinting at Steve. “Uh, alright. Sure. If I think of anything I’ll let you know,”

“Right. Ok. So uh, I’ll be out here when you need me – when you’re awake and we’re ready to get to work,” Steve corrected himself hastily, slipping out the door. Considerate as always, he pulled the door shut behind him.

When Tony emerged from his room a mere seven hours later, he found Steve by following his snores. Steve was curled up on a couch in the living room with Bucky by his side, his nose buried in the soft, padded, leather; he was draped over the arm of the couch, looking a little like he was going to slither down onto the floor. The others were just as easy to find. Pepper was sitting on the couch beside Steve with her feet in Rhodey’s lap; her knitting needles clacked as she worked on a new potholder that would undoubtedly turn into a toilet seat cover judging by how big it had grown. She looked up when she heard Tony approach and smiled serenely at him, the aggression from the morning gone.

“How long has he been out?” Tony asked, perching on the arm of the couch beside Rhodey.

“He’s been out ever since you went to sleep. He must have been tired,” Rhodey said with a shrug.

Bucky snorted. “It’s nothing to worry about. He always sleeps like the dead,”

Tony frowned. “Really? All the time he’s been here, he doesn’t usually get more than four hours a night. Hm. Must be the serum,”

“I don’t know,” Bucky said, ruffling Steve’s hair. “He used to sleep pretty deeply even when we were out in the trenches. Maybe it was the stress,”

Steve stirred but didn’t wake. He burrowed deeper into the arm of the couch, his snores growing louder.

“Speaking of food, it should be here soon,” Rhodey said, adjusting the ball of yarn in his lap so the strand Pepper was working with wouldn’t slip out of his hands. “We took the liberty of ordering take-out while you two were having your sleeping beauty contest,”

“Sounds good,” Tony said.

“It should. You’re paying for it,” Rhodey grinned.

Tony rolled his eyes. “And that’s a surprise? I’m always paying for food around here. The day you guys pay for food is the day I die from a heart attack.”

“Oh please. You’ve got boatloads of cash to spare,” Rhodey said. “I don’t think any of us could foot the bill. Everyone here eats at least their weight in food every day. I know I’d be broke after living here for ten minutes,”

Tony chuckled. “Alright, alright. Point taken. What did you order? Anything good?”

“We ordered a crap-load of Thai food and a deep dish pizza for the boys from Brooklyn,” Rhodey said. “We got the spicy stuff, so I figured it would be a good idea to get something for their weakling tongues,”

“Hey,” Bucky grumbled. “I’ve eaten Thai food before,”

“Oh yeah?” Rhodey cocked an eyebrow. “Real Thai food or mall Thai food?”

“Real Thai food,” Bucky growled, his eyes glinting. “I bet you fifty bucks you’re going to be sobbing way before I am,”

“You don’t have fifty bucks,” Rhodey snorted.

“Hey Tony,” Bucky said, still glaring at Rhodey.

“What?” Tony laughed.

“Lend me fifty bucks, will you?”

The smell of Thai food and pizza brought Steve out of his deep slumber in record time; Tony enjoyed watching him sniff his way into consciousness. Steve looked so sweet and wobbly, his body still heavy with sleep. The smile on his face was bordering on deranged.

Tony picked out a chair in the dining room and sat down, sprawling with his elbows on the table. He grinned when Pepper handed him a plate loaded up with Pineapple Rice, Pad Thai and Thai Pepper Steak. “Thanks,” he said.

“You’re very welcome,” Pepper said with a smile. “And thank you for lending Bucky fifty bucks. I can’t wait to see this disaster get on the road,”

Tony smirked. “Same here.” He waited impatiently as Bucky and Rhodey settled in chairs across from each other. They were using the biggest plates Tony owned, and both were loaded up with identical, super-sized portions of spicy Thai food. He wondered who would crack first – Bucky or Rhodey. Really it could go either way. The curry they had ordered usually set his mouth on fire just by smelling it, and both Rhodey and Bucky had a decent sized bowl of the stuff sitting beside their plates. With no milk in sight, it was going to be a painful fight to the finish.

Steve circled the dining room table, shooting furtive looks his plate as though he expected it to be snatched away. He hovered beside Bucky and then turned and stalked away, seeming to know better than to get too close to the battle.

Tony patted the chair beside him, hoping to get Steve to sit down beside him; he was startled when it worked. Steve darted around the table and sat down, settling with his plate within reach of Tony’s hand.

Huh.

Maybe he was making some progress after all, Tony thought with a smile. “So who do you think’s going to win?” he asked. He pointedly ignored his food even though the smell of it was making his mouth water, his attention solely on Steve.

Steve shrugged, glancing over at Bucky. “I don’t know about your friend, but I’ve seen Bucky eat some crazy stuff during the war. He’s pretty good with eating contests,”

“Yeah, but was the food ever spicy?” Tony asked.

Steve pursed his lips. “Not really,” he admitted. “Usually it was pretty bland. They used to use the chipped beef from the mess tent,”

“Ah, well, while that sounds delightfully disgusting, it’s not even close to what they’re going to be eating now. See that bowl over there?” Tony said. He made sure to gesture with the arm that was the furthest away from Steve’s plate; as expected, Steve shifted in his seat, but this time instead of shying away, he turned to glance where Tony had pointed.

“What is that stuff?” Steve asked.

“That, my friend, is green curry,” Tony murmured. “It’s the hottest thing they have on the menu,”

“Oh jeeze,” Steve muttered, eyeing the bowls with trepidation. “That’s a pretty big portion,”

Tony chuckled. “Oh yeah. If they start with that, they’re both going to be gonners before they’ve even started. The place we order from makes it extra, extra spicy if you ask nicely, and Pepper always asks nicely,”

Bucky glared at Rhodey over his plate. “Alright. Let’s get this show on the road,” he said, picking up his fork.

Rhodey did the same, glaring back at Bucky. “Go ahead. Take a bite, Barnes,”

Bucky didn’t even blink. He dove into his meal without comment, stuffing a chunk of Pepper Steak into his mouth; he chewed thoughtfully, and then continued chewing as his eyes began to water.

Tony cackled and started in on his own food. Everything was as good as expected, although the Pepper Steak wasn’t quite as spicy as he remembered, which was a bit of a disappointment; he nibbled his way through the next few pieces and then stabbed at one and set it on the only empty space on Steve’s plate. Wooing might have been hard before, but he knew what to do now that they were around food; if he was right, Steve was going to be, figuratively, eating out of the palm of his hand.

Steve gave the chunk of Pepper Steak the evil eye.

“Try it,” Tony said. “It’s not bad. You’ll be fine,”

Steve glanced warily at the cube of meat and then at Bucky, noticing that some of it was also on Bucky’s plate.

“It’s fine,” Tony repeated, dividing the mound of Pineapple Rice on his plate into four blobs. “Trust me. I’m not going to send you to the hospital for shits and giggles,”

Steve sighed and popped the piece of beef into his mouth. He chewed deliberately, his eyes widening when the full flavor hit him. “Oh,” he mumbled. He wiped his mouth daintily on his napkin. “That’s pretty good,”

“I told you so,” Tony laughed. He went back to demolishing the rest of his dinner. He was surprised when he looked down at his plate later and saw that he had left behind small portions of everything Pepper had given him. He smiled to himself, remembering the way Steve had grinned widely when he had been slipped extra food as a kid. He wondered if he could get away with doing the same thing now that Steve was an adult again.

Steve, it seemed, was quite happy with everything that had been on his plate. When Tony looked over to see if he was finished, he found that Steve had practically licked his plate clean.

That was definitely a good sign. He slipped a scoopful of pineapple fried rice onto Steve’s plate, trying not to be too obvious about it.

Steve turned, attracted by the movement and stared down at his plate. He seemed amazed to see that there was food still there, but he didn’t question how it had arrived on his plate. He scooped it up and ate it with relish, licking the prongs of his fork clean before turning back to watch the eating contest; he looked far more satiated once he was done.

It was startling to see how much food Bucky and Rhodey had devoured so far; they hadn’t quite cleared their plates, but they had done a damn good job of clearing off space. Tony smirked to himself, trying not to burst out laughing. Their tongues had to be burning by now. Both Rhodey and Bucky had started to go more than a little red in the face. Neither of the contestants had made it to the green curry yet, but it was clear now that both of them were planning on powering through the rest of their meal, even if it killed them.

Tony maneuvered his last scoopful of Pad Thai onto Steve’s plate.

Steve turned in his chair, eyeing his plate again.

Tony smiled and reached for a spring roll.

Steve glanced from the food on his plate to Tony. “Why are you feeding me?”

Tony shrugged, biting into the spring roll to try and buy himself time. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just used to it,”

Steve scowled at the plate. “You don’t have to feed me – you know that, right?”

“I know,” Tony sighed, wiping crumbs off of his mouth. “Sorry.”

Damn it!

He had failed again. He should have known better than to push his luck. One extra bit of food had probably been Steve’s limit; the guy had so much goddamned pride. Tony rubbed a hand over his forehead and rounded up the last of the Pepper Steak on his plate with his fork. He froze when he saw that Steve was still watching him. He worried for a moment that he was about to get yelled at, but after careful scrutiny, he realized that Steve’s expression was more curious than angry. Fuck it, Tony thought. One last shot couldn’t make it any worse. He held the fork out to Steve. “You want this?”

Steve looked down at his plate where the scoopful of pad Thai was still waiting patiently for him. “Are you sure?”

Tony rolled his eyes and set the forkful of beef down on Steve’s plate. “I saved it for you,” he said, licking grease off his fingers. “Of course I’m sure.” He turned in his chair to watch Bucky and Rhodey continue their eat-off, or whatever it was they were calling it, leaving Steve to make up his mind.

The view over the top of Steve’s head was pretty good, all things considered. The game was close to over; Tony could see it, even if the competitors couldn’t.

Rhodey’s ears were starting to turn a lovely shade of brick red. His nose was dripping almost continuously, and while he was still busy shoveling food into his mouth like he was starving, he was starting to slow down. Bucky, on the other hand, looked like he was close to going head first into the table. He stared at his plate for a full minute, swaying in place, and then glared at the remaining food. He stabbed at the Pepper Beef and crammed it into his mouth.

Pepper sighed and shook her head. “You boys and your games,” she grumbled.

Rhodey looked up from his food, his gaze weary. “Oh, like you could eat all of this,” he mumbled through a mouthful of spicy shrimp and beef.

“Alright,” Pepper said. She stood up and scooped herself a bowl of the green curry. Her bowl, however, was almost twice the size of theirs. She smiled at them and stalked over to sit beside Rhodey, making herself some space at the table with an elegant sweep of her arm. She picked up a clean spoon and held it over the bowl. “Are you two man enough to try the curry now? Or are you going to chicken out on me?”

Bucky hoisted up his spoon, ready to accept the challenge.

Rhodey did the same.

The three nodded in unison and started eating.

Tony couldn’t help the laugh that escaped. He had seen Pepper eat green curry at least a half a dozen times now, and he knew damn well she could polish off an entire container on her own without touching as much as a drop of milk to sooth the sweet, sweet, burn. She locked eyes with him as she ate another spoonful of curry, her eyes sparkling with mischief, her smile turning downright devilish.

Poor, poor Rhodey. By the time he was finished his first spoonful of curry, he was outright wheezing; snot was running down his chin and his eyes were so watery it looked like he was one step away from crying. He sniffled and stared in horror at Pepper, his next spoonful of curry held aloft with trembling fingers.

Bucky wasn’t doing much better. He had managed about the same amount of curry as Rhodey, but once it had gone in and he had swallowed it things had gone a little differently. He had his tongue out and was fanning at it as tears and snot ran down his cheeks.

Pepper finished the bowl of curry with a smug, self-satisfied, sigh. She held her bowl out to Tony. “Be a dear and get me some more, will you?”

Tony grinned and scooped her another helping, making sure to fill the bowl up to the top. She accepted the bowl with an even wider smile than before and dug in again, powering through as if she was eating chocolate pudding instead of spicy curry.

Tony leaned back in his chair, content to watch Rhodey and Bucky wince with every spoonful Pepper ate.

“That’s terrifying,” Steve murmured. He watched in awe as Pepper finished off the last of the curry. She licked the spoon clean and then crossed her arms over her chest, watching as Bucky and Rhodey tried to unsuccessfully choke down a few more mouthfuls.

“Yeah, Pepper loves her spicy food,” Tony snickered. “She’s the reason why we always order the green curry,”

“I take it they didn’t know that?” Steve asked, eating the last of the food on his plate.

“Nope. Somehow, I don’t think they would have mouthed off if they knew she could eat the entire damn container all in one sitting. Pep’s got a stomach of steel,” Tony chuckled.

“No, no,” Pepper said, patting her stomach. “It’s lined with lead,”

“My mistake,” Tony said, saluting Pepper.

After a few seconds of prolonged agony, Rhodey calmly set his spoon and bowl down on the table and shoved his chair back, hurling himself at the fridge so hard he almost bounced clean off the door; Bucky darted after him, leaving his bowl spinning in his wake. They fought for the jug of milk and then took turns pouring themselves glass after glass until they were both panting and wearing the most absurd looking milk moustaches Tony had ever seen.

Pepper smiled and picked up a piece of pizza, nibbling at it. “That’s not so bad. We should order more next time,” she said.

Bucky and Rhodey dove for the milk.

Chapter Text

Pepper tasked Bucky and Rhodey with washing the dishes as punishment for losing the eating contest. They labored away, still sweating from the spicy food, throwing mutinous glances over their shoulder every once in a while as if that would convince Pepper into let them use the dishwasher. Once everything was cleaned, dried and put away, they rode the elevator down to Steve’s floor. Tony bounced nervously on the balls of his feet, anxious to get a look at Steve’s room again. It had been a long time since he had been here last, and he wasn’t quite sure what to expect.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true.

He had done all the shopping for the kid, so he knew every damn thing in the room; it wasn’t going to be a mystery. He just didn’t know where everything had been left after their hasty departure. Hydra’s hunt hadn’t left them with much time to clean up after their final round of colouring. He knew that the main rooms were relatively clean. He had checked the security cameras before they had stepped into the elevator to make sure they weren’t going to walk into a disaster zone when the doors opened up again, but since he had agreed to keep the Avengers private lives, well, private , he didn’t know much more about the state of Steve’s floor than that. He hadn’t installed cameras in any of the bedrooms so he had no way of knowing what Steve’s looked like.

He knew there were toys waiting for them – a lot of toys. He had made sure Steve had had the best of the best and had spent more than was perhaps reasonable, buying the kid whatever he had wanted. He had even gone through every specialty toy catalogue he had been able to get his hands on to make sure everything was just right. Ok. Truth be told, he had probably spoiled the kid a bit, but it wasn’t like he had bought the kid a pony. And yes. Ok. He had offered – Steve had never taken him up on it.

The elevator doors opened; pop goes the weasel started playing to signal their arrival. The change in chime was something Tony had implemented after Steve – Kid Steve – had confessed in him that the old chime had scared him. It had reminded the little guy of the bell they had rung at the doctor’s office when they were calling a new patient to come up to the window, and Tony hadn’t thought it was fair to leave the chime the way it was after hearing that story. He hadn’t wanted the kid to live in fear every day of his life. Tony’s eyes filled with tears at the memory; he turned away and waited for it to pass, hoping no one had noticed.

Steve frowned, clearly not understanding why Pop goes the weasel was playing on repeat. He allowed Bucky to drag him out of the elevator and glanced around his floor, checking everything over. “I don’t see anything weird,” he said, turning to Tony. “I thought you said the suspense was going to kill me,”

Tony smiled softly. “That’s because we did everything in your room, not out here,”

Bucky snorted loudly. “Oh boy. That sounds creepy,”

“Ok,” Tony chuckled. “Admittedly, that was a bad choice of words, but that’s where all the good stuff is, so let’s go, shall we?” He led the way, clenching his hands so he couldn’t rub them together in glee; he didn’t want to look like a complete whacko, after all.

Steve’s bedroom door opened easily, sliding across the carpet with a soft swish. Tony stepped inside, hitting the lights and waited with his back pressed against the wall. This was it. Steve was going to love it here.

Steve stepped into the room and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes going as wide as dinner plates. “Oh dear god,” he gasped, looking around. “What the hell did you do to my room?”

Bucky gave a low whistle and bumped his shoulder against Tony’s as he walked past. “Jeeze, do you think there’s enough stuff in here?”

Tony hated to admit it, but Bucky might have been right. The room was packed with stuffed animals, toy chests, colouring books and countless other things; it was surprisingly tidy still, although there wasn’t much left of the floor for them to walk on or see. The place was drastically different from when Steve had first moved in; for once, it looked a home instead of like an occasionally occupied hotel room. The walls had been repainted a soft baby blue, and there were stenciled drawings of the Avengers taped up, waiting to be painted on. Tony was rather proud of them, truth be told. He had made them himself; Natasha had helped hang them, but neither of them had been able to convince the kid to make a decision about where to put the final product.

Steve stumbled into the middle of the room, glancing at everything he passed with growing horror. The stacked pyramid of stuffed animals was so high it hit the ceiling, and there, resting at the top of the pyramid in a place of honor was a stuffed Iron Man. It stood out, a deep crimson against the baby blue walls, proudly surveying its kingdom.

Tony grinned at it. “It’s beautiful in here,”

“It’s something alright,” Bucky chuckled. He picked up a colouring book from the teetering stack on what had once been a neat and tidy table and flipped through it. “Hey,” he said, holding the book out to Steve. “Look. You even coloured it in the same way you used to. That’s freaky,”

Steve gaped at the colouring book. He snatched it out of Bucky’s hands and flicked through it, running his finger over the pages. “I did this?”

“Of course you did,” Tony snorted. “What, did you think I came in here and set this up as some kind of elaborate prank? Could you see me colouring in twenty colouring books just to be a jackass?”

“You’re crazy, Stark,” Bucky laughed, “But even I know you’re not that crazy,”

Rhodey and Pepper hovered nervously in the doorway. Tony gave them a small smile and waved to try and get them to come in, but they didn’t seem to notice; they were happy to wait and watch what was going on. They were focused on Steve, who was still skimming through the colouring book as thought it was some kind of alien artifact.

“I guess someone wants to be a parent someday,” Bucky said, elbowing Tony in the side. He went over to a massive blue treasure chest and wiggled his fingers above it before opening it up. “What the fuck are these?” He stuffed his hand into the chest and pulled out a handful of colourful Legos. He swore and rubbed his finger, glaring at the Legos, having nearly dropped them. “You let him play with these? They’re fucking sharp,”

“They’re Legos,” Tony said, scooping the Legos out of Bucky’s hand. He snapped two together and tossed them back to Bucky so he could try them out for himself. “And if you think they’re sharp now, wait until you find one on floor with your bare feet,”

“You’re nuts,” Bucky said, dropping down to his knees. He pulled out a new handful of Legos and started snapping them together, building himself a rectangular box out of multi-coloured pieces. “Hey,” he said, holding the box up. He looked rather proud of himself. “These things aren’t half bad, even if they are more dangerous than half the shit I had as a kid,”

“They’re not dangerous,” Tony said, flicking Bucky in the ear. “They’re building blocks, not razor blades,”

“Right. I’ll believe that when I see it,” Bucky chuckled, grasping Tony’s lower leg in his metal hand. “Flick my ear again, pal. I dare you.” He smiled sweetly up at Tony.

Tony scowled down at Bucky, and tried in vain to shake his leg free from Bucky’s death grip. “Damn you and your metal arm,” he grunted, hopping on his one his free foot. “I don’t know why I make you nice things. You’re mean,”

Bucky scooped up a new handful of Legos with his free hand and built himself another rectangular box, sticking it onto the first. “You guys are the ones with the weird toys,”

“And jacks were less weird?” Tony snorted. He lifted his leg up and pushed his bare toes under Bucky’s shirt, wiggling them against Bucky’s bare belly. “I refuse to believe that,”

Bucky yelped and gave Tony’s leg what appeared to be a gentle tug in revenge. It didn’t feel all that gentle to Tony; he tumbled face first into Bucky’s lap, and lay sprawled across Bucky’s knees with his ass in the air and his face an inch away from the carpet.

“I need an adult,” Tony squawked. He squirmed in Bucky’s lap, trying to break free. The bastard still had his lower leg in his vicelike grip; his struggles meant nothing. He twisted and flailed, burying away the slight terror creeping through his mind at the thought of being pinned so easily. He rolled over and stared balefully up at Pepper and Rhodey. “Help?”

Steve glanced up from his colouring book; his expression seemed to turn anguished for a split second before going impossibly blank.

What that was about?

Steve set the colouring book on the table, smoothing out the crumpled cover and pages with his hand. “I think I’d like to start sorting through stuff now,” he said, quietly. “Do we have any boxes, Jarvis?”

“We have several different kinds, all of which are in storage in the basement levels of the building, Captain,” Jarvis said. “Would you like me to have someone bring them up?”

“Yes please,” Steve said. “I kind of want my room back.” He turned to the stuffed animals and shook his head. “This was such a waste of money,”

Tony stopped squirming in Bucky’s lap. “What?”

Bucky frowned. “What are you talking about? This stuff is awesome!”

Steve sighed and turned away, grim-faced. “Look at all of this… junk,” he said, gesturing to the pile of stuffed animals and then to the boxes upon boxes of toys. “You spent more money in here than most people could hope to make in a year! And all of it was for a kid who wasn’t even going to be around for more than a few months,”

Bucky’s grip loosened; Tony eased himself out of Bucky’s lap and stood up, rubbing the back of his neck.

Ok.

That stung a little.

Yes. He knew he had gone a teensy bit overboard, but in his defense, none of the stuff he had bought could even be remotely classified as junk. He had been told off for ‘buying way too much stuff’ by practically every Avengers aside from the Hulk, and he was well aware he had a problem with saying no to the kid’s requests, but he hadn’t thought it was that bad. Kids loved toys. What was he supposed to do? Leave the kid toy-less when he had the cash to spare?

“Alright – point taken,” Tony gritted out. “But it’s not like I ripped the toys out of some screaming kid’s hands, you know,”

“I get that, but as of now it’s all going to charity,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m sure someone will enjoy it,”

“Captain?” Jarvis said, sounding hesitant. “Your boxes are waiting in the elevator. Did you need anything else?”

“No, I think we’re good. Thanks, Jarvis,” Steve said with a sigh.

“I think I’ll go get those boxes,” Rhodey grunted, vanishing from the doorway.

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest and scowled at Steve’s back, unimpressed with his decision.

Steve stalked over to his bed, oblivious to the change in mood in the room. The red, white and blue duvet he found on his bed was a recent addition. It was brightly coloured and clean despite having been used by a small child for over a month. Fabric cut to look like Captain America’s shield had been hand stitched into the middle of the cover at Tony’s request; it had cost five hundred bucks to have it made, and Tony had tipped the woman who had made it over twenty five hundred dollars all because Steve had started jumping up and down when he had seen it – that had been kid Steve, of course. Adult Steve, didn’t seem to be nearly as excited to see it. Instead of grinning, Steve pulled the fluffy duvet towards him and stripped it from the bed in three rough tugs. The bed looked naked without its splash of colour.

“You’re getting rid of your poofy blanket?” Tony asked, his voice going whisper-soft. “But you love your poofy blanket,”

Steve calmly folded the duvet into a square and set it down on the floor. “I’m a grown man, Tony. I don’t need a poofy blanket, or whatever the hell this is – and I don’t need you babying me. I get that you think all this stuff is cute, but it’s not. I’m not a child anymore and I need you to understand that,”

“Who the hell said I don’t understand that?” Tony growled. He watched as Steve started systematically dismantling the tower of stuffed animals, sorrow tugging at his heart. He plucked the stuffed Iron Man from the pile and cradled it against his chest, trying not to panic at how quickly things had gone bad.

Rhodey chose that moment to walk into the room carrying a stack of boxes and a box of plastic bags. He grimaced at the toys scattered all over the floor and set the boxes and bags down, dusting off his hands. “I didn’t even know we had that many boxes,” he grumbled.

“You know me,” Tony muttered. “I’m always planning for emergencies,”

Bucky chuckled. “You need help, man,”

“I do not,” Tony snapped, squeezing the toy tightly.

Bucky’s expression softened. “I didn’t mean it like that,”

Tony scowled and turned away.

“Alright,” Rhodey drawled, nodding at Steve. “Well, I left the rest in the living room so if you need more, that’s where they are,”

“Thank you Colonel,” Steve said, not looking up from the pile of toys. “I’m sure I’ll get to them eventually. There’s a lot to go through here,”

“What’s going on?” Rhodey murmured, glancing from the boxes and bags to Tony.

“Fucked if I know,” Tony said, wrapping his arms a little tighter around the stuffed Iron Man. Had he really been that bad? He looked around the room again, watching as Steve started dumping the stuffed animals he had sorted through into a massive green plastic bag. It physically hurt to watch; he hadn’t thought anything could hurt this again, not after spending years seeing Howard’s sneers, but apparently he had been horribly, horribly wrong.

Steve scoffed at a stuffed dinosaur and threw it into the bag, sending it straight to the bottom of the bag. “You know what’s going on, Tony. You brought me down here to intentionally show me all of this stuff.” Steve sounded tired. “It wasn’t necessary,”

“But,” Tony started, flinching as if he had been struck.

“No, Tony,” Steve said, tossing another toy into the bag. “You didn’t need to be here. You just wanted to see the look on my face,”

Tony opened and closed his mouth, shocked into silence. Yes – what Steve had said was true. He had wanted to see the look on Steve’s face, but it hadn’t had anything to do with humiliating the guy; he hadn’t wanted that. He had wanted Steve to see just how much he had cared – how much effort he had taken to gather toys from around the world, how much time he had spent here, arranging things so Steve would be happy. It was more than anyone had ever done for him when he had been that age; Howard sure as hell hadn’t cared enough to bother even bringing back peanuts from his personal jet.

How could things have gone so wrong? Tony wasn’t sure how he had managed it, but somehow he had ended up insulting Steve – the exact opposite of what he had intended to do.

He didn’t get it.

What had he done wrong?

Why did Steve hate everything here?

He opened his mouth again, wanting to explain – needing to understand – but couldn’t bring himself to dredge up the words; instead, he bent down and scooped up the duvet before Steve could throw it into another bag, claiming it for himself. He cradled it against his chest and staggered over to the pile of colouring books still sitting on the drawing table. He moved on impulse; he knew that he needed to move fast or he would be caught and stopped. Steve was just going to get rid of the colouring books, he reasoned, trying to swallow down the bile in the back of his throat. It would be a shame to see them go into a dumpster. He rooted through the different books until he found his favourites, the ones Steve had used the most, and gathered them up, saving them from the purge. Steve might not want them, but he sure as hell did. He didn’t want to just forget the kid; he wasn’t going to give those memories up without a fight.

Pepper and Rhodey stood framed by the doorway, stunned; they watched, hands held at stiffly at their sides as Steve tore through the neatly stacked piles of toys. The room had been so neat and tidy before; now it looked like a tornado had ripped through.

Pepper didn’t stay in the doorway. She plucked a plastic bag from the pile and handed it to Tony, seeming to instinctively know that he wanted to whisk things away. She flashed him a sad smile and slipped past Steve as he continued to sort stuffed animals, a woman on a mission. She plucked a stuffed Captain America shield and a purple stuffed whale from the pile Steve hadn’t gotten to yet, recognizing them as favourites from the days she had spent babysitting. Everything here was memorable; the plush whale was a toy Tony had bought for Steve at the aquarium’s gift shop, and the other stuffies had been collected over time from various trips around town.

It hadn’t been Tony buying all the toys, either.

Bruce and Clint had picked up most of the teddy bears after taking an impromptu trip to Toys-R-Us with Tony’s credit card, and Thor had done a fair bit of shopping too, although most of what he had bought had been eaten. Even Natasha had bought Steve a gift. Hers had been a miniature tea set; she and the kid had spent more than a few hours having tea parties together, sipping real tea and eating cupcakes in the living room. She had threatened to disembowel Tony and make him wear his own entrails as a hat if he told Steve about it, of course, but the threat hadn’t stopped Tony from getting Jarvis to take a thousand different pictures of teatime. She would be happy to see them later, he knew; she just didn’t know it yet. They were the only images he had ever managed to capture where Natasha was smiling for real.

Pepper sighed in frustration when she couldn’t find the last toy she was looking; she didn’t dwell on the loss and instead moved on. She stepped over Steve’s growing discard pile to get at the bookshelf, where she set about scooping up nearly every damn children’s book in sight. She carted them all off, filling up a box in the process and carried it out of the room with her head held high.

Tony gave the room one final despairing look and then followed Pepper out, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He was shaking when he got to the elevator. He clutched the plastic bag of toys tightly against his body for comfort. He didn’t understand what was going on.

Why was Steve doing this? He hadn’t meant to be cruel. Had he seemed uncaring? Was that the problem? Had Steve thought he was just joking around?

“Jarvis?” Pepper murmured. “Hold the elevator for a second, please.” She set her box down on the floor and put a hand on Tony’s shoulder, squeezing gently until he looked up again. “It’s alright,” she said. “We’ll make it right somehow.”

Rhodey dashed out of Steve’s room and skidded into the elevator. He had a box in his arms, and looked a bit like he had just escaped from a booby-trapped tomb with treasure. “Close the door,” he hissed, glancing into Steve’s living room. No one had followed him out, but Tony could make out the sound of shouting even through the closed door and he knew exactly who was doing it. Steve’s voice always had carried, he mused.

The elevator doors closed with a soft click. Rhodey collapsed against the wall.

“What the hell was that about?” Pepper asked.

“Uh,” Rhodey muttered, looking sheepish. “Well, I kind of did something bad,”

“Oh god,” Pepper groaned. “What did you make off with?”

“I grabbed the Captain America stash,” Rhodey said, shifting the box against his chest. “I figured Tony wouldn’t want his Cap stuff thrown out considering how much time he spent putting it all together. I don’t know – I couldn’t just let Steve chuck it in a bag. That stuff belongs in the vault or hell, in a museum. It wasn’t right.”

Tony leaned back against the wall, fighting off a wave of vertigo. Oh god. He had forgotten all about the Captain America toys he had lent the kid! Most of it was irreplaceable, scavenged from auctions and private sales over the past thirty years. As a kid, Steve had been so careful with everything, and it had been hard to say no to him. What else had he left behind? There was little they hadn’t shared.

“Did we miss anything?” Pepper asked, glancing at their stolen loot. “I think I got all the books he liked, and I know I got his favourite stuffed animals,”

“I didn’t see the bagel pillow,” Tony said, softly, swallowing down his anguish. “Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?” Jarvis said as the doors opened into the penthouse.

“Let me know if it turns up – I want to keep it,” Tony said. He staggered out into the living room, the plastic bag hanging loosely in his hands. Pepper and Rhodey followed him out, their boxes tucked against their chests.

“I’m assuming we’re going to store all of this in the guest room for now,” Pepper said with a sigh. She turned, casting a glance at Tony when he didn’t say anything. “Hey, are you alright? Tony?”

Tony carried his plastic bag into his room and shut the door. He staggered his way over to his bed and collapsed onto it face first, sinking into the spongy mound of blankets. The bag flopped down beside him and folded over.

He rubbed his eyes. What had he done wrong?

He was tired of feeling like this all the time around Steve; it didn’t seem to matter what he did, he just always screwed everything up. With the kid, it had been easy. All it had taken to fix a fuckup was a bucket of ice cream and a hug or two, but with adult Steve it didn’t seem to matter what he did anymore; he always seemed to do something to make things worse. He buried his hand into the bag and pulled out the duvet, curling it around his shoulders. Maybe it would be better if he just stopped talking to people. Maybe then he couldn’t fuck things up all the time.

His bedroom door opened with a creak. Tony buried his head under the blanket.

Pepper sat down on the edge of the bed. She let out a long, weary sigh as she ran her fingers through her tangled bangs. “I’m sorry he was a jerk,”

Tony shrugged. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have gone down there with you guys,”

“Tony,” Pepper murmured. “Honey, you didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t know what the hell crawled up his ass and died, but it had nothing to do with you. You just wanted to show him the world you built for him. It wasn’t like you pointed at him and laughed in his face. We’ll talk to him in the morning – we’ll figure it out together, I promise,”

“I’m the idiot that bought all that crap,” Tony mumbled. “I should have known better. You can’t buy love, right? That’s what you said. I should have just listened,”

Pepper looked guiltily down at her lap. “Tony, I said that to you because you bought me a building for my birthday,” she said. “I didn’t say it because I thought you were a shitty person. I just thought it was too much,”

“Did I do too much this time too? The toys, I mean – did I get too many?” Tony grunted. “Do you think that’s why he hated it? I mean, I know he hates waste, but I really thought I did something right this time,”

“I think you scared him, honey,” Pepper said. “I think he freaked out because he found his room filled with stuff when it had only ever been empty before. He was essentially on ice all over again, and this other person – this kid, took over and made his home something different. That’s got to be scary,”

“Empty,” Tony mumbled. “I guess you’re right. His place was pretty damn empty before.”

“I’ve seen pictures of morgues that were homier than Steve Roger’s bedroom,” Pepper said, petting Tony’s shoulders through the duvet. “He lost a lot of time again. It has to be a shock – that doesn’t excuse the bad attitude, of course – but it was probably just a kneejerk reaction. I don’t think he meant to do it out of spite.”

“I guess,” Tony murmured. Was that it? Was it the time that had passed making Steve angry? Had that been the problem all along? He tried to think of it from Steve’s perspective, and cringed inwardly. What would it be like walking into a room like that? It had been Steve’s room, and yeah, it was still Steve’s room, but it wasn’t empty anymore. It was filled with stuffed animals, and games and goddamned wallpaper that he hadn’t picked out or even seen before. It couldn’t be the same room until all of that other stuff was stripped away. It would all seem so strange – hell, he could see why it would be frightening. God, he should have locked Steve’s room up and carted all of that crap out before he let Steve walk in there. It would have been kinder that way. Maybe things would have been easier to handle if Steve hadn’t had to see it all lying right there in front of him.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice turned soft.

“Yeah?” Tony murmured. He peeled the blanket off of his head and rolled onto his side so he could look at her.

Pepper smiled and carded her fingers through his hair. “Give him some space, alright? I think he needs time to puzzle it all out. He’s got Bucky with him, and as much as I hate to admit it, I trust the guy. Bucky’s not going to let something happen to him. Steve will be fine. He’ll figure it out, and one day, he’ll get over it, but until then you’re going to have to be patient and leave him be,”

“I don’t know,” Tony said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This was so much easier when I didn’t like him, you know?”

“I know,” Pepper chuckled. “Try and get some rest, alright? Rhodey and I will be right outside if you need us.”

“Ok,” he sighed. “Pep?”

“Yes?” Pepper said, standing up.

“Do you think I should keep any of it?” he asked, nodding towards the bag of stuffed toys.

“I think you should definitely keep it,” Pepper said. She leaned over and kissed him on the forehead, smoothing down his hair. “Now go to sleep. I’ve got knitting to do and you need your sleep,”

“Alright. G’night, Pep,” Tony said.

Pepper pulled the toys out of the plastic bag and looked them over. She beamed at the stuffed Iron Man. “Why am I not surprised this is the one you walked out with?” She set the stuffed Iron Man on the pillow beside Tony’s head, giving it a gentle pat on the helmet. “He’s a cute little guy. I hope he brings you good dreams,” she said. She stroked Tony’s hair one last time before leaving, that soft, sweet, smile still on her lips. A long time ago that smile would have made him melt into a puddle; today, it just reminded him that good things always left him behind.

Tony tried to sleep – he really did – but after three hours of tossing and turning, he knew enough was enough; sleep wasn’t coming – at least not for him. He wrapped Steve’s duvet around his shoulders and snuck out of his room. He could hear Pepper snoring like a chainsaw even two rooms away, and he knew that meant Rhodey was likely out like a light too; the pair of them were good at falling asleep at the same time. For some reason, they had always been able to ignore each other’s snores. He knew that no one was going to tell him off for sneaking out, but still, he scuttled through the darkened living room and into the elevator before he could be seen.

The workshop was devoid of sound; he hadn’t expected it to be loud considering no one had permission to be down here aside from him, but some sound would have been nice. He sighed. He had been hanging around the kid for too long; it was hard to imagine being down here alone for hours on end now. Maybe coming down here to work hadn’t been the best idea after all. He keyed in his passcode and stepped inside his workshop, heading towards the kitchen where Dummy was already mixing some kind of nasty brown concoction that may or may not have been made with metal shavings swept up from the floor. He took the smoothie when it was done, blended to ghastly perfection, and stuck it in the fridge, patting Dummy kindly on the head. “Thanks, boy, but I’m not hungry right now. I’ll save it for later.” The cot in the corner of the workshop was calling out to him; it looked nice and cozy, and for once there wasn’t even a trace of motor oil on the sheets. Perhaps sleep wasn’t as far away as he had thought.

Tony clambered onto the cot and lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Jarvis dimmed the lights.

“Thanks,” Tony mumbled, pulling Steve’s duvet higher up his chest until it blocked out the light of the arc reactor.

“You are very welcome, sir,” Jarvis said. “May I suggest getting some sleep? Ms. Potts has requested that you get at least five hours tonight, if that is possible,”

“Alright, alright,” Tony grumbled. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep.

Two hours later he was forced to admit that sleep really, truly, wasn’t coming no matter how many robotic sheep he counted. He sat up sluggishly, pressing his palms to his face. He had promised Pepper that he wasn’t going to spend all night working, but he could probably get away with doing something light like design. He wouldn’t even have to leave bed to do it.

He sat cross-legged on the cot and wrapped the duvet around his middle to keep warm. “Jarvis? Pull up Bucky’s floor plans,” he grumbled. The hologram in front of him was bare still. He hadn’t gotten around to doing anything important with this one yet, but he had nothing but time on his hands now, so it wouldn’t stay empty for long. He skimmed through a list of contractors, juggling the walls on the hologram until he had them where he wanted them. He yawned and pulled up the list of paint colours and furniture.

Tony snorted so loud he woke himself up. He slumped back against the cot with a groan, glad that Jarvis had taken over before he could accidentally fuck up the floor plans by inadvertently crashing head first through them. He was sore all over, but it had become a familiar sort of ache and was almost pleasant. He lifted up his shirt to inspect his bruises and found them just as dark as they had been the night before. A few more days and they would be a lovely shade of greenish yellow. At least he had something to look forward to.

“Sir? Mr. Barnes is requesting permission to enter the workshop,” Jarvis said.

“Let him in,” Tony grunted, letting his shirt drop back down over his chest. At least this saved him time; now he didn’t have to go hunt Bucky down in order to show him the design for his floor.

Bucky sauntered into the workshop, his hair still wet from the shower. He paused to pat Dummy on the head. “Tony?” he called out.

“Over here,” Tony said, yawning into his forearm.

“Were you sleeping down here?” Bucky asked.

“Of course,” Tony grunted.

Bucky sat down in a rolling chair and wheeled it over to the cot. He lifted his slippered feet up onto the mattress. “So,” he said. “Last night sucked,”

“Sucked is putting it mildly,” Tony said, burrowing under the duvet.

“Steve’s not feeling too happy right now, if that’s any consolation,” Bucky said. “He stayed up all night sorting through stuff. I don’t think he meant to get rid of everything, but now he’s kind of lost,”

“Lost?”

“He flipped out,” Bucky said, rubbing a hand over his metal shoulder. “He thought you bought him an entire store just because you could. He didn’t realize that so much of the stuff there meant something to you guys,”

“What clued him in?” Tony snorted.

“Natasha came down and reclaimed her tea set. She tweaked his nose and told him that if he made you cry, she was going to make him suffer,” Bucky chuckled, darkly.

“Natasha said that?”

“Yep. She really wasn’t impressed when she found out about what happened last night. Mind you,” Bucky sighed, “She didn’t exactly come out and threaten to break his legs or anything. It was more of a ‘looking at him with murder in her eyes’ thing. I think I’m the only one who recognized it.”

“That’s Nat for you,” Tony chuckled.

“Yeah. She’s always did have a way with words,” Bucky said, rolling his shoulders.

“So why are you here? Checking up on me?” Tony asked. He tried to squash down on the hope that Bucky had been sent by Steve.

“I got kicked out,” Bucky smiled sheepishly. “I kind of gave him shit and he told me to fuck off,”

Tony sat up straighter, intrigued. “What did you say to him?”

“I told him he should pull his head out of his ass and get over himself. It wasn’t like you were shoving money in his face or anything. You were just trying to be nice to him, and he acted like a dick,”

“Ouch,”

“Oh please,” Bucky snorted. “He deserved it. He was a real shitbag and he knew it too,”

“Well, yeah, but you didn’t have to say it to his face,” Tony said, quirking a smile. “I thought you were supposed to be his bestest friend,”

“I am,” Bucky grunted, kicking at Tony’s leg. He missed and scowled. “That means I have the right to give him the cold hard truth when he needs to hear it, and he needed to hear it,”

“So he’s up there, alone, sulking?” Tony asked, trying to sound casual. He didn’t want Steve to suffer, even if he had been a jerk. He wasn’t that cruel.

“No, sadly he is not sulking alone,” Bucky grumbled, his expression turning sour. “He called Sharon in and they’re busy talking,”

Tony winced. Great. Sharon Carter was around again; he had the worst goddamned luck in the world. How had she gotten into the building? It was starting to look like it was time to change the locks. He knew it was petty, but he hadn’t exactly given permission for her to be in the building, and if she and her SHIELD pals were getting into his house without permission, he was going to have to do something about that – for safety’s sake.

No. Scratch that. If Pepper found out she would skin him alive and he liked his skin where it was.

He tucked the duvet over his lap again and gestured for Jarvis to pull up the blueprints for Bucky’s floor. It was better not to dwell on Sharon. It wasn’t fair to be angry with her; she hadn’t done anything aside from the whole breaking and entering thing. It wasn’t her fault Steve had called her in.

Bucky’s eyes lit up when he caught sight the hologram. “Whoa,” he said, poking at it with his flesh and blood fingers. The hologram spun in a neat circle before returning to its original position. Jarvis was, thankfully, very used to guests playing with schematics, and knew better than to let anyone make changes. “What the fuck is that?” Bucky asked in awe.

“That,” Tony said, batting Bucky’s hand away, “is going to be your floor – eventually.”

“Really,” Bucky whistled. “Is it going to be that blue everywhere?”

Tony put his head in his hand. “Barnes,”

Bucky cackled, leaning back in his chair. “You’re so precious Tony, you know that, right?”

“Why do I put up with you?” Tony sighed. “Jackass,”

“I love you too,” Bucky said with a grin. He knocked Tony in the knee with his slippered foot again. “So are you coming upstairs for breakfast or what?”

Tony grabbed the slipper and yanked it off, slapping it across Bucky’s foot. “This is mine now,”

“I didn’t know you liked me that much,” Bucky laughed. “You’re collecting my clothes now? That’s a little creepy,”

Tony scowled at him.

“So are you coming up for breakfast or what?” Bucky asked.

“I guess,” Tony muttered. He wondered if Steve would be there. It seemed likely that Steve would be having breakfast on his floor with Sharon. Tony twisted the slipper in his hands, and glared at it.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir,” Jarvis said, saving and shutting down the hologram before Tony could hurl the slipper through them, “But Captain Rogers is – oh. Pardon me, sir. It appears the Captain has changed his mind,”

Tony glanced up from the slipper just in time to see Steve disappearing into the elevator.

“Was that Steve?” Bucky asked, turning in his chair to squint at the workshop doors.

“Yeah,” Tony said, struggling upright. “I guess it was. Why the hell did he just leave like that? Jarvis?”

“I am afraid the Captain did not give me an answer as to why he departed so abruptly, sir,” Jarvis said with a sigh. Tony hadn’t actually made it possible for the AI to get frustrated, but he was fairly certain that’s what had just happened.

“He didn’t say anything?” Bucky asked. He rolled his shoulders again and grimace. “Fantastic. The one time he takes my advice, and he chickens out,”

“And what advice would that be, exactly?” Tony asked. He folded the duvet into a perfect square and set it down on the cot, smoothing the wrinkles out with the flat of his hand.

“It’s not important now. Never mind,” Bucky grumbled, pushing himself across the room on the rolling chair. He caught himself on Tony’s worktable and stood up, dusting his hands off on his pajama pants. “So, my floor looked pretty good. When’s that happening?”

“I’ll get the contractors in as soon as possible,” Tony said, stalking towards the elevator. “It should be ready in a few days, give or take a bonus or two,”

“And the arm?” Bucky asked.

“The arm is going to take longer,” Tony grumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Shut up about the damn arm,”

“You’re a cruel man,” Bucky grunted, following Tony into the elevator.

“Tell it to someone who cares,” Tony muttered.

Tony was irritated to find both Steve and Sharon seated at the table when he stepped out into his penthouse. He peered into the kitchen, unsure as to where he was expected to be; Pepper and Rhodey had already finished making breakfast, so there wasn’t much he could do aside from sit down. He hovered in the doorway until Bucky found himself a seat at the table and then took a seat of his own – one that was as far away from Steve and Sharon as was humanly possible.

Bucky scowled at him and hucked a chunk of banana at his head.

Tony scowled back and ate the projectile, chewing as obnoxiously as possible. His bad mood didn’t last long. He smiled sweetly at Pepper when she set a mug of coffee down in front of him. “Thank you,”

Pepper yawned and patted him on the head. “It’s nice to see you awake before noon,” she said, returning to the counter. She wrestled a stack of pancakes onto a serving platter and carried it over, setting the top two on Tony’s plate. “You’d better eat everything this time,”

“Yes, mom,” Tony grumbled good-naturedly. He winced when she smacked him in the back of the head. “Ow!”

“Stop sassing your mother,” Rhodey growled. He set a platter with bacon and sausage down on the table and ducked under Pepper’s arm when she went to smack him in the back of the head too.

Tony chuckled and glanced at Steve over the rim of his coffee cup. It didn’t look like Steve was all that torn up about anything, so his flight earlier had probably been nothing. Steve was sitting beside Sharon, smiling up at her as if the sun shone out of her eyes. It would have been hard to find a more appealing expression, and even though it wasn’t directed at him, Tony almost felt a little bit better seeing it. That all went to hell when Steve started leaning against Sharon’s arm.

Tony gazed into his coffee, trying to quell the despair brewing in his gut.

“I don’t see you eating,” Pepper growled into Tony’s ear. She scooped eggs onto his plate before setting the new platter down on the table.

Bucky smirked and helped himself to some pancakes.

“So Steve,” Pepper said, pointedly ignoring Bucky as he picked through the stack to find the fluffiest pancakes. “How did the cleaning go?”

Steve turned away from Sharon, looking chagrinned. “Uh, it went well,” he murmured, glancing down at his empty plate. “Most of it’s in boxes and ready to go. We’re just waiting on Good Will to come take it all away,”

Tony hid his face behind his mug.

Well, at least Steve wasn’t outright hiding what he was doing with the stuff. He dug into his food, trying to focus on the savory bacon instead of the painful twist in his gut.

“I’m sure they’ll appreciate the donation,” Pepper said, her voice turning cold. She sat down beside Tony and started scooping cubed fruit salad onto Tony’s plate. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do today, Tony?” she asked.

Tony shrugged and bit into a chunk of watermelon. There was always work to do somewhere; he knew he wouldn’t have a problem finding something to fiddle with. R&D usually had something for him to look over these days, so if he ran out of rooms to redecorate, he could always start there.

Rhodey dropped into the seat on Tony’s left and reached around him for the bottle of organic blueberry syrup. He poured it liberally over his pancakes and then turned the bottle onto Tony’s plate, drawing a happy face on each pancake. “Tony’s going to call the Beach House’s owner today, right?” he said, putting the syrup bottle back.

Tony bit into a chunk of peach and shrugged again. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do about the beach house just yet. Throwing money at the place seemed like a good way to win the owner over, but there was his promise to the kid to think about, and he wasn’t so sure he could just hand the lady money without looking the damage over for himself. He needed to be sure she got enough to take care of more than just the initial damages. He bit into another piece of peach, pondering the future.

Pepper reached around Tony and whisked his plate away; she started cutting up his pancakes for him, glancing over at Rhodey as she worked at turning the pancake into perfect squares. She smiled when Tony ate another piece of fruit and slid his plate back in front of him. “There. Eat,” she commanded.

Tony sighed and turned his attention to the pancake. He had been around Pepper long enough to know that she wasn’t going to let him leave the table until every last bite was gone. The force-feeding didn’t really bother him this time; the pancakes were a lot better than anything that had been in the Skull’s compound, and at least here, he didn’t have to worry about the time. No one was going to take his food away if he didn’t eat fast enough; the worst he could expect was a dirty look.

Steve slid a pancake off the pile and onto his plate. He grinned at Sharon and reached for her plate, ready to load hers up too.

“You don’t need to feed me, Steve,” Sharon murmured. She pulled her plate out of reach and stabbed at a pancake, sliding it onto her plate. “I’m a big girl. I can feed myself,”

Tony cocked an eyebrow but didn’t comment on the way Steve’s grin gradually died. He cleared the last of the pancake off of his plate and turned to his fruit again, soldiering on even when Rhodey slid more bacon on his plate.

Bucky grabbed another pancake, drowning it in syrup until it was so blue, it looked a bit like it had been dredged out of the ocean. He smirked at Steve, gesturing with his fork. “So are you going to take me up on my offer, or what?”

“No,” Steve said, pursing his lips. “I was thinking of getting away for a few days – heading over to Sharon’s or something.” He turned to Sharon with a sheepish look on his face. “I mean, if that’s alright with you,”

Sharon nodded, slicing through her pancakes with an easy flick of her wrist. “It’s fine. I’ve got some time saved up. We can go bum around town or something. I know you haven’t been on vacation in a while,”

“That’s true,” Steve said, drumming his fingers on the table. “I could use a break,”

Tony picked up his plate and rose mechanically; he carried it over to the sink and left it there, going back to the table to pick up his lukewarm coffee. He nodded once to Pepper and Rhodey before turning and heading back to the elevator.

What did he care if Steve thought he needed a vacation? There was nothing to miss here, after all. He got into the elevator, and let the doors close behind him.

On second thought – a vacation sounded like a good idea. He could easily make it a working vacation too. The suit needed some fine-tuning and a trip would make that task far easier. He hurried into his workshop and dropped the mug of coffee off on Dummy’s head. “Take this to the kitchen,” he said.

Dummy whirred happily and wheeled the cup over to the counter; miraculously, it survived the trip and ended up in the sink without shattering.

“Jarvis? Bring up the newest iteration of the suit,” Tony said.

“One moment please, sir,” Jarvis said.

In seconds, the suit assembled in front of Tony, every part gleaming. Tony eagerly stepped into it, letting it close around him; the fit was a bit looser than he remembered, but it wasn’t so bad that he would need to make adjustments. He would grow back into it eventually. The aches and pains in his body made their presence known again when he tried to move; his muscles screamed out their displeasure with each step he took. Still, he ignored the pain and ran through his final pre-flight checklist, itching to leave. He had his wallet and a spare shirt tucked away in a side pocket. There was nothing else he needed. He could always buy himself a shirt or two; he knew the town well enough now to know where to get a decent pair of pants and shoes, too.

“Tony?” Rhodey knocked on the workshop door. “Oh shit. Come on man, don’t do this,”

“You told me to head out and deal with the mess at the Beach House,” Tony said, his voice modulated by the armor. “I’m going to deal with it. You got a problem with that?”

“Tony,” Rhodey murmured, shaking his head. “Don’t go there alone,”

“I need to make sure Mabel’s alright,” Tony said, opening up the workshop doors. He headed for the elevator, bypassing his usual launch chute in favor of walking.

Rhodey followed him into the elevator. “At least let me suit up. I’ll go with you,”

“It’s fine. I need to be able to deal with this alone,” Tony said. “It’s better if I bite the bullet now and get it over with. The waiting’s the part that’s going to drive me up the wall,”

“You were almost drowned there, Tony,” Rhodey snapped. “I know you’re mad at Steve, but come on. This isn’t the way to heal,”

“And what is?” Tony scoffed, sending the elevators up. He debated on stopping at another floor so he could simply blow out the window and leave without being seen, but couldn’t make himself care enough to do it. This was his house, after all. Why should he hide? He got out at the penthouse and stalked through the living room with Rhodey dogging his steps, heading for the Launchpad on the deck.

Steve looked up, startled; he was elbow deep in dishwater and had a gorgeous bit of soap foam stuck in his bangs. “Tony? What are you doing?”

Tony hesitated but kept walking. It wasn’t like Steve needed to know where he was going. He wasn’t on active duty anyway – Captain or no Captain, this was still his life – his decision. If Steve could go on vacation, so could he.

Jarvis opened the sliding glass doors so he didn’t walk straight through them.

Tony ran the last few feet, throwing himself off the ledge with a grunt. He felt the drop in the pit of his stomach and closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation. Flying always had been better than everything in his life; hell, even sex wasn’t as good. The repulsors flared to life, pulling him back up from his freefall. He shot across the skyline, letting Jarvis plot out a course. He could just make out Steve standing on the launch pad in the distance. He didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

Tony arrived at the Beach House as the sun was setting. His anger had slowly faded during the trip, but it was still there in the back of his mind, waiting to spring free He landed with a stumble as the repulsors shut off and moaned, wishing he could rub his hands over his face. The armor was ill-suited for jaunts in the sand, but really, it could have been worse. He only sank three inches and at least while he was in the suit no one could tell he was hyperventilating and having one of the worst panic attacks of his life. He locked the suit’s joints and leaned his face against the interior of the helmet, breathing in through his nose.

It was fine.

He could do this – it was the beach, not a battlefield. Yes, there was water here, but he had the suit and no one was going to hurt him with the suit on. He turned off the external cameras and bathed himself in darkness, letting the HUD become his one and only sight.

It was fine. There was water outside the suit, but he wasn’t outside – he was here and he was safe and he was fine.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony shuddered, corralled his strength and turned the cameras back on. The world blinked into life in front of him; everything was far too loud and colourful. The sudden crash of waves behind him nearly sent him into another panic attack. He turned towards the beach houses and the road, focusing on the woman in front of him instead of on the beach. “Mrs. Jia?” The suit hid the worst of his trembling. He was glad that he had kept the faceplate down. He didn’t think anyone was going to appreciate seeing his sweaty face; he probably looked like a goddamned grub right about now. He certainly felt like one.

Emily Jia tapped her foot in the sand, her arms crossed over her chest. Her hair was streaked with grey and pulled back in a loose bun. She was wearing flip-flops, a striped green-and-pink shirt and beige Bermuda shorts; she looked at ease here on the beach, but the scowl on her face made it seem like she was going to make sure no one else was. “You know,” she said, the barest hint of an accent in her voice, “When Ms. Potts said that Stark International would be paying for the damage to my property, I assumed that she meant I was to send her the bill. I didn’t think I would be getting a personal visit. Do you not trust me?”

Tony swore inwardly and flipped up the faceplate, knowing it would make a better impression than the Iron Man’s impassive face. “No, Mrs. Jia. That’s not what this means. I wanted to stop by and make sure you had everything you needed – and that included checking to make sure the cat was alright,”

Mrs. Jia frowned. “Cat? What cat?”

“Mabel,” Tony sighed. God, the cat better have been real, because if she wasn’t, he was going to have to fly himself to the nearest asylum and have himself committed.

Mrs. Jia’s frown vanished. “Oh! You found Mabel?” She brightened considerably, her hands dropping from her hips to her sides. “I’ve been looking for her for three months!”

“Three months?” Tony gaped at Mrs. Jia. “You’re kidding,”

“I wish I was,” Mrs. Jia muttered, shaking her head. “That cat loves to wander. I don’t usually see her for weeks at a time.”

“I’m not surprised,” Tony chuckled. “I guess she knows all the good places to get a free meal,”

“Yes. She’s very good at mooching,” Mrs. Jia sighed. “I don’t know why I worry so much about her. Technically, she’s not really even my cat.”

“She’s not?”

“One of the guests left her behind – the poor little thing was pregnant, and they didn’t want to care for her because vet bills were too ‘expensive’,” Mrs. Jia snorted. “Personally I think that was a crock of shit. They were driving a goddamned Mercedes – they could have paid for the vaccinations for the kittens and even the spaying for Mabel, but they were too bloody cheap to do it. They were happier buying themselves new rims for their car.” Mrs. Jia scowled. “People like that are scum.”

“Agreed,” Tony said. “She’s done fairly well. You must have taken very good care of her,”

Mrs. Jia snorted. “She takes care of herself mostly. I stuck a collar on her a few months after she ended up mine and I feed her when she bothers to show up, but that’s pretty much it. She’s never been the nicest cat,” Mrs. Jia said. “She doesn’t really like other cats – or people.”

Tony chuckled. “I noticed,”

Mrs. Jia eyed the suit. “That must have been a long flight. Where were you before you decided to come here?”

“New York,” Tony admitted. “Would you mind if I stayed the night? I’ll pay, of course,”

“I suppose I can let you stay,” Mrs. Jia said. She looked Tony up and down, pursing her lips. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Not really,” Tony said. “I don’t usually get an inflight meal – it’s kind of hard to eat and fly. I had breakfast before I left, though. Does that count?”

“Breakfast was hours ago,” Mrs. Jia grumbled, giving him a look that told him she was unimpressed with his decision-making skills. “I suppose you can come back to my place for dinner. Let’s get a move on then, hm? I was just sitting down to eat and by now it’s gone cold,”

“How did you know I was going to be out here?” Tony asked, following her down the road.

“Your CEO – Ms. Potts – phoned ahead and warned me that you were going to drop by unannounced. Naturally, I thought she was out of her damned mind. Who just decides on a whim to visit a city miles away?” Mrs. Jia said. She glanced over her shoulder at Tony, quirking a smile. “Obviously, I should have known better. You’re Tony Stark after all. Who needs jet planes when you can fly off in your magical suit of armor?”

“It’s not actually magical,” Tony said with a weary sigh.

“Yes, yes,” Mrs. Jia said, clucking her tongue. “I get that. You businessmen are far too literal,”

“You’re a businessman too you know. Businesswoman,” Tony said, correcting himself. “You know how it is. You have to mean what you say – well, for the most part at least – otherwise you get sued and no one likes being sued. Not even me,”

“True,” Mrs. Jia said. She led them down the bumpy asphalt to a house at the end of the street.

There was grass in the front yard, but it was straw-like and growing amidst sandy soil. The house they approached, unlike the others in the resort, was brightly lit and well away from the beach and water. It was three stories high, and while quaint, had been built in a much different era than the other beach houses. It almost looked new. The sharp angles on the roof made it seem like it had been dropped here from another planet. The white framing around the windows stood out against the navy blue siding and it sort of looked as if they were being watched by large, unblinking eyes.

Tony marveled at the rigid wooden shingling, amazed that everything was in such good condition. Salt air was very, very good at degrading whatever it touched, and by all accounts, the wood should have started rotting by now.

Mrs. Jia scowled at Tony as she made her way up the broad white steps to the front door. “You’re staring as though you expect gargoyles to drop down from the roof,”

“Do you have gargoyles?” Tony asked, heading towards the stairs.

“No,” Mrs. Jia said, pulling her keys out of her pocket. “I do not have gargoyles. I thought about it, but then I remembered that birds tend to like shitting on them, and we have a lot of birds here,”

“Good point,” Tony said. He hesitated, wondering whether he should wear the armor inside or not. The stairs looked structurally sound, but he didn’t want to risk dropping through the floor if it was simply paint keeping the place so fresh looking. He had been hoping to make the armor lighter one day, but sadly, he had been forced to put that particular upgrade on the backburner; he hadn’t had the time to devote to make it lighter and more durable while the kid was around.

Oh well. It wasn’t like he could stay suited up forever. Sighing, Tony shucked the armor and locked it up behind him, leaving it standing beside the stairs. Jarvis would watch out for it, and if anything happened he would give Tony a shout through his cellphone. Besides, it would be good to have a decent pair of eyes surveying the property. Even though the Skull and Hydra were long gone, it still felt as though someone was watching him; he didn’t like that feeling. He started up the steps, aware that Mrs. Jia was trying to figure out why he was dressed in a greasy tank top and sweat pants considering he was supposed to be here to do an inspection of the damage to her buildings, and barely had time to react before he was hit in the shins by something heavy.

He staggered and went down hard; he tumbled, hitting his head on each step.

Something hissed and wiggled out from under his legs.

Tony gazed up at the night sky, watching as the clouds spun unpleasantly. His head throbbed in protest when he sat up, but it appeared that his brain had indeed remained both intact and inside his skull. His ribs, on the other hand, ached so fiercely he was forced poke at them to make sure they broken. He was lucky; the fall had likely only given him more bruises for his collection. He let out a loud sigh and glared down at the cat sitting beside his hip. “What were you thinking?” he said, shaking his head. “You could have killed me, you stupid cat,”

Mabel clambered into Tony’s lap and butted her furry face against his chin. She purred loudly when he stroked her ears, rubbing her spittle covered chin all down the side of his throat. He grimaced and hoisted her up, letting her settle in his arms before going onto his knees. He stood up, muttering curses under his breath and started up the stairs again.

Mrs. Jia looked like she had just seen him unhinge his jaw and swallow a watermelon whole. She gaped at him, and stood frozen in the doorway with one hand raised to brace herself against the door frame. “How did you do that?”

“How did I do what?” Tony asked pausing beside her. He grimaced when Mabel started gnawing on his t-shirt, leaving wet patches in her wake.

“You picked her up,” Mrs. Jia said, her eyes growing wider. “No one picks her up,”

“Really?” Tony chuckled. “She’s always let me pick her up. I blame Steve,”

“Steve?” Mrs. Jia frowned. “Who’s Steve?”

“He’s the kid we had with us – was the kid,” Tony said, rubbing his thumb over Mabel’s sticky chin. He sighed, focusing on Mabel instead of on his memories of the kid. The cat didn’t look malnourished, but she wasn’t exactly as chunky as she had when they had been taking care of her; he hoped that she had gotten something to eat recently. When he looked up from studying Mabel’s belly, he found that Mrs. Jia was still looking at him, only now she was smiling sadly.

“What?” Tony asked, tensing. He sure as hell didn’t need pity.

“It’s nothing,” Mrs. Jia said, her voice going soft. She turned and headed down the hallway, disappearing around the corner. “I’ve got spaghetti and garlic toast. You’re lucky I always make enough for tomorrow or you’d be shit out of luck,”

Tony closed the door carefully behind him. He locked it and slid the chain in place, not wanting to risk inviting trouble even though he knew it was unlikely he would find any here. He glanced around, searching for a place to put his work boots where they wouldn’t make a mess; strictly speaking, he hadn’t exactly had anything smeared all over him today, but he had learned long ago to be mindful of the carpet. Howard had taught him that lesson the hard way. He found a spot against the wall that was out of the way and moved Mabel up onto his shoulders so he could toe off his boots. She nibbled on the ridge of his ear and rubbed her teeth against his cheek. She was either extremely happy to see him, or secretly planning to eat him. He wasn’t sure which.

“Mr. Stark? Did you want something to drink?” Mrs. Jia called out from the kitchen.

Yes, Tony wanted to say, give me anything – paint thinner, whiskey, vodka, whatever you have that’s strongest. “I’ll take a root beer if you’ve got any – or water,” he said.

“You’ve in luck,” Mrs. Jia said. “I’ve got root beer,”

“Nice,” Tony said. He inspected the portraits on the walls as he made his way towards the kitchen; there were quite a few here, and all of them had smiling faces in them – they were real smiles, too, if he had to guess. He wondered what that was like. Having a family that really smiled seemed like such a novel concept. He was pretty sure there had only been one time in his life where he had ever seen both of his parents smiling at the same time; that had been on the morning they had sent him off to boarding school, and they had both still been tipsy from the party they had thrown the night before.

The walls here were covered in wallpaper that belonged in a garbage dump; there were tiny purple hearts along the ceiling and ferns along the floorboards, with palm trees and brownish blobs that looked like they were supposed to be islands in between. Whoever had done the decorating here had a very distinct style and Tony would have bet a million dollars that they had been the person who had decorated each and every beach house Mrs. Jia owned.

The kitchen, on the other hand, was delightfully chic, much more clean and modern than he had been expecting. Mrs. Jia looked up from her gas stove and nodded towards the large butcher block where two chairs and two bottles of chilled root beer sat waiting. “I’ll bring it all over when it’s warm,” she said, humming to herself as she worked.

Tony took a seat at the butcher block. He plucked Mabel from his shoulder and waited patiently while she did circles in his lap; she settled down when she was finally satisfied, resting her chin on the butcher block in contentment, and closed her eyes. Her purr was loud enough to be heard clean across the room. It sounded a little like a motor was starting up.

Mrs. Jia looked up, startled. “She really likes you,”

Tony shrugged, running his fingers along Mabel’s back. He found a burr in her fur and gently worked it free, setting it on the butcher block after he noticed that Mrs. Jia glaring at him; he tried not to look nervous. It was like she had read his mind and seen that he had been tempted to flick the burr across the room. “Mabel likes all of us,” he said with a cough, hoping to discourage her wrath. “She kept us company all the time. I don’t think I spent much time here without her,”

“I suppose that’s bound to happen when you’re adopted by a cat,” Mrs. Jia agreed. She carried two plates of spaghetti over to the butcher block and set them down, returning a moment later with a hunk of garlic toast on another platter; it wasn’t anything like the spaghetti Tony was used to. The sauce was brown and had bits of bamboo shoots and ground pork mixed into it. She handed Tony a fork and turned her attention to her bottle of root beer, opening it up with the backside of her butter knife.

Mabel watched with narrowed eyes as Tony cut up his noodles. He knew what she was waiting for; she had been on his lap during dinner frequently enough for him to be able to tell when she was planning something. With a dramatic sigh, he found a sizeable chunk of meat with some noodles in it and chopped it up into bite sized pieces. He slid the pile into his palm, and waited while Mabel ate it.

Mrs. Jia cocked an eyebrow. “Is that how you won her over? Bribery?”

“To be fair,” Tony grumbled, letting the cat lick his fingers clean of sauce, “it didn’t start as bribery. She stuck her face in my plate once when I wasn’t looking and that was pretty much it. She seems to think it’s a standing invitation,”

“I see,” Mrs. Jia said. “Maybe that’s why I never got anywhere with her.”

“Who knows,” Tony said, through a mouthful of noodles. “Thanks for the food, by the way,”

“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Jia said, tearing a piece of garlic toast in half. She glanced down at it and then handed it over to Tony. “She likes butter,” she said with a sigh.

Tony smiled and held the bread out under Mabel’s nose. Unsurprisingly, the cat launched forwards, her pink tongue licking at the bread.

“Your friends aren’t going to show up, are they?” Mrs. Jia asked after a moment, swirling her noodles on her plate.

Tony shook his head. “I don’t think so. And if they’re plan on it, they’re not going to be here for at least another day. They don’t have the suit to cart them around and they need to get permission from the Pirate King to rent a bird from SHIELD.”

“The Pirate King?”

“He’s the head of SHIELD. You’ll know him if you ever see him,” Tony said with a shrug.

“Why are you really here, Mr. Stark?” Mrs. Jia asked, pursing her lips.

Tony stared down at his plate, twirling his noodles with his fork. He wasn’t really sure how to answer her question. He didn’t know why he was here, truth be told. He had wanted to take a vacation from Steve and the Tower, and yes he had also wanted to make sure the place was given enough cash to cover every last bit of damage, but those weren’t the only reasons he had wanted to be here.

He had promised the kid he would come back here and buy the place – keep it safe from harm and he planned on keeping his promises.

But the kid was gone now.

Was there really a reason to buy the place? Should he bother staying? It wasn’t like the kid would find out about it and tell him off; the kid was gone. There was nothing stopping him from getting back into the suit and having Jarvis pilot it back to the tower.

Mabel sunk her teeth into Tony’s thumb and growled dangerously. Well, alright. There was one thing stopping him.

Tony sighed and turned the lump of garlic toast around so she could lick the rest of the butter off of it. She started purring again, happy with his decision to cater to her every whim. She snorted loudly as she gnawed on the edge of the bread.

“I know you like the cat, but you can’t be here just for her sake,” Mrs. Jia continued. “Are you here to clean up?”

Clean up?

Tony frowned. What could there be to clean up? Hadn’t Natasha and the others taken care of everything? It had been over a week since they had been captured – surely someone had thought to take care of the mess they had left behind.

Mrs. Jia sighed tiredly, setting her fork down with a click. “Alright. I take it you were unaware of the fact that all of your stuff is still sitting in the beach houses you rented,”

Tony swallowed hard. Everything was still here? All of it? “Everything everything?” he croaked. “Or just some of everything,”

“Everything, everything, Mr. Stark. It’s all still there. I was debating on throwing it out, but luckily for you I never got around to it. I guess that means you’re going to be doing some cleaning tomorrow,” Mrs. Jia said with a wistful chuckle.

“I guess so,” Tony grunted. His gut clenched at the thought of having to weed through the kid’s things. He had thought he would be doing a bit of poking around here – a little mapping and listing. He hadn’t thought the kid’s things would still be here. Suddenly, the food didn’t look as appetizing as it once had. He set his fork down. “I should probably get on that. When do you want me to head over?” he asked, smiling weakly. His insides churned unpleasantly at the thought of seeing the beach house as it was now – trashed.

Mrs. Jia frowned at him, clearly not liking the look of his smile, and shook her head. “There is no way in hell I’m letting you do anything tonight. You’re not setting foot in either of those houses in the dark,”

“Why?” Tony wished he didn’t feel so damned relieved at the prospect of delaying the inevitable.

“Well, for one, there’s a lot of crap still inside that I didn’t bother cleaning up, and two, the light bulbs are all burned out and the windows were knocked out so I had to board them up. Whatever it was those crazy people used, it fried the entire electrical system – I was lucky it didn’t blow out the entire block! You’d be in the dark the entire time.”

“That sounds bad. I can take a look at it for you,” Tony said with a wince.

“Well, you can look all you want tomorrow. I’m not sure what works, and I’d rather not have to drive your sorry butt to the hospital if you slip and fall in there,” Mrs. Jia growled.

“I see,” Tony sighed. Well, at least he knew where he was going to be tomorrow morning. The routine would do him some good; it had been a long time since he had had a project to work on – one that wasn’t on his list because it needed to be – and he was glad for the distraction. The less time he had to think about Bucky Barnes and his goddamned arm, the better.

“Eat your dinner,” Mrs. Jia said, popping a piece of garlic toast into her mouth. “You’re going to have a long day tomorrow and you look like you need the extra strength,”

Tony grimaced and picked up his fork. “Has anyone ever told you you’re pushy?”

Mrs. Jia smiled sweetly. “Every weekend. My grandchildren think it’s fun to waste food,”

“Ah,” Tony said, scooping up another mouthful despite the fact that he no longer had an appetite.

“Don’t get me wrong. They’re good kids – but sometimes they just need a boot to the ass to get them going,” Mrs. Jia said, taking a sip of her root beer.

“Are they going to take over here?” Tony asked, curious.

Mrs. Jia snorted. “They’re all too big-city-minded to want to come back out here. I bought this place with my retirement money,” she said. “They help out when they can, but they’re not going to stay over for more than a few nights at a time. They have classes and work to keep them busy – I have this place, and I’m used to being alone,”

“That’s a shame,” Tony said, stuffing more food into his mouth. “It must be expensive paying for all of this on your own,”

Mrs. Jia’s eyes narrowed. “What are you implying, Mr. Stark?”

Tony swallowed before speaking and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “I’ve been thinking,”

“Thinking? I have a feeling I’m not going to like this,” Mrs. Jia sighed.

“Well, the kid, he really liked this place,” Tony said. He faltered, words failing him. He looked down at his plate, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “This was one of his favourite places and I sort of promised him I’d make sure it was taken care of,”

Mrs. Jia’s grim expression melted away. “Did something happen to this child of yours, Mr. Stark?”

Tony’s mouth went dry. He grabbed for the root beer and took a swig. It didn’t help. “Yeah,” he said softly. “He’s gone now.”

“I see,” Mrs. Jia said, staring down into her bottle of root beer. “That’s a shame,”

Tony shrugged. “He’s not really gone. He’s just… I don’t know. He’s still here, just not really,”

“It’s hard to lose someone you love,” Mrs. Jia said. She took a slow sip, swirling her root beer. “I don’t know what I would have done if I had lost one of my little ones. It was bad enough losing a husband,”

Tony glance down at his plate and fought off tears; he stroked his hand down Mabel’s back and stayed quiet, forcing himself to breathe through his nose so he wouldn’t cry. The tears came anyway and no matter how hard he tried to clamp down on the sobs, those escaped too. Mabel meowed and rubbed her face against his chin, licking at his tears. He stroked her, dimly aware of her fur under his fingers.

“Well, that settles it. You’re staying here tonight,” Mrs. Jia said, setting a gentle hand on Tony’s shoulder. Tony hadn’t even heard her stand up. She carted their dishes off to the sink and scraped the scraps into the garbage can.

“It’s not a big deal,” Tony said, wiping his nose on the back of his hand. “I can stay anywhere. I’ll pay – it’s not a problem,”

“It is too a problem,” Mrs. Jia said, not turning away from the sink as she worked at the dishes. “I’m not leaving you alone in an empty house to mourn. That would be thoughtless and cruel,”

“I’m a grown man,” he grunted.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” Mrs. Jia said, looking over her shoulder. “Grown men are allowed to feel loss, you know.”

“I know that,” Tony mumbled. Mabel licked the tears off of his hand.

“Those men who came to take you and your boy away,” Mrs. Jia said, turning on the water. She noticed Tony flinch but didn’t ask about it. “They did something to you, didn’t they?”

“So what if they did,” Tony said, glaring at Mabel’s furry rump.

“You shouldn’t have to face that alone,” Mrs. Jia said.

Tony laughed darkly. “I wish that was true,”

Mrs. Jia smiled sadly. “I used to think like that too,” she said, setting the dishes down in hot, soapy water.

“Oh?” Tony sniffled, giving his nose another wipe. “How did that work out for you?”

“It didn’t end well,” she said. She scrubbed at a dish and then set it back into the water. “But then again, it never does when you leave scared and sad and I was so, so sad for a long time after my husband died. No matter what I did, it never seemed to go away. It clung – dug its fingers in – and while some days were good, others were downright awful. I could be working on one of the beach houses – cleaning it out for new guests – and all of a sudden the sadness would just come back. I broke more than a few brooms, I’ll tell you that much,”

Tony scratched at Mabel’s ear. He knew that kind of melancholy; he had felt the same way when Howard and Maria had died. It had felt like it was eating him from the inside out. The kid’s loss felt different. It seemed deeper – stronger, somehow – like at any minute he could fall apart. He wondered if it was because he had actually loved the kid. Sure, he had cared for his parents – but he had never worried about them the way he had worried for the kid – for Steve. Or maybe it wasn’t just the loss bothering him. Maybe it was because while the kid had needed him, Steve hadn’t seem to need to even be in the same room with him.

“Back then, I couldn’t cope. I turned so vicious, I couldn’t even recognize myself most of the time. It was too easy to sink into dark thoughts and because I didn’t feel like I had a reason to let other people in – to just talk about it, I sank deeper and deeper. Every time they asked me questions, and it felt like I was tearing open old wounds.”

“I know that feeling,” Tony muttered.

“My children were the ones who got the worst of it. They left most days thinking I was furious with them, but it wasn’t their fault. It was no one’s fault. My husband was dead, and I couldn’t bring myself to forgive my children for not understanding that it wasn’t them making me upset. It was that I was so terrified of being alone.” She sighed and rested her arms on the edge of the sink. “Loss is a tricky thing. We all handle it differently. My oldest son,” she said, nodding towards the wallpaper. “He decided to decorate the beach houses as a sort of tribute to his father.” She chuckled. “I thought it was a good idea until I saw the result.”

Tony smiled softly.

“That boy doesn’t have a stylish bone in his body, and it’s probably cost me more customers than it’s worth, but still, I’ve left the hideous mess the way it is because he needs it to be here,” Mrs. Jia said. “Sometimes I think that’s what my husband would want too. He wasn’t around when I was thinking of buying the buildings, but I think he would have liked them. I think he would hate the wallpaper, but you know what?” She scrubbed at another dish. “I think he might have liked it too, because it was something that came out of love and that’s what matters – the love will always be there. I know that he will live on inside that love. And no matter how horrible everything looks now and no matter how empty you feel, one day, it will get better. Your little one will always be there. He’s never truly gone.”

“I don’t know if I can sort through his stuff,” Tony admitted, his eyes welling up with tears again. “Steve’s gone through everything at the Tower already, but it still feels like… I don’t know – like someone’s cutting off a part of me,”

“You need to talk to him about it,” Mrs. Jia said. “Explain what you feel. Your friend isn’t psychic – you need to say it or he’s never going to know.”

“That’s easier said than done,” Tony sighed. “He doesn’t like to talk to me,”

“Did you raise your boy together?”

Tony blinked. “No,” he said finally, amused by the question. Him and Steve, raising a child? Somehow he didn’t think that would ever happen. It was a nice thought though. “No. He never met the kid, but they knew each other in a sense,”

“Then why is he the one digging through the child’s things?” Mrs. Jia asked, cocking her head to the side.

“I don’t know,” Tony said, feeling lost. Why was Steve going through the kid’s things? It had seemed right at the time to let him have free reign over everything; it was all in his room, after all. But now that he thought about it, really truly thought about it, it didn’t seem right. Steve was a stranger to the kid’s life. He didn’t understand – but that wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t like they had explained anything to him.

“I understand what it’s like to not want to hurt someone’s feelings, but you need to set boundaries. This is your loss – your sadness – and your friend doesn’t get to decide anything for you. Talk to him,”

“Alright,” Tony nodded. He winced as Mabel did another lazy circle on his lap, sticking her boney feet onto his balls. “I’ll talk to him when I get back,” he promised.

“Good,” Mrs. Jia said. “Now get over here and help me with the dishes. They aren’t going to dry themselves,”

Mrs. Jia woke Tony up at five thirty in the morning; she had been up since four thirty, but had decided to let Tony ‘sleep in’. Tony groaned and whined about being awake so early, but dragged himself out of bed and away from Mabel’s warm, fuzzy body anyway. He stalked his way into the kitchen and found breakfast already waiting for him.

They ate in silence, stuffing themselves with toast and oatmeal. When they were done, they did the dishes, fed Mabel a quick breakfast of mushy food and headed out.

The water was still just as much of a problem as before, but with Mabel held in his arms and Mrs. Jia walking in front of him, Tony found he could manage the walk without completely breaking out in a cold sweat. The salty air was easy to ignore with the scent of cat filling his nostrils. The only downside with her being that close was that it let Mabel rub her face against his chin and clean her teeth on his beard; her fish breath was god awful.

They reached the beach house.

Tony waited with his back to the beach while Mrs. Jia fought with the lock holding a piece of plywood over what had once been the front door. They walked inside together, flashlights held up in front of them like talismans to ward off evil. With the windows boarded up, there was no light inside, and everything the flashlight’s beam touched seemed to cast an eerie shadow. They moved carefully, watching where they walked for fear of stepping on something sharp. Tony was glad to be in his work boots; there were broken bits of glass scattered all over the carpet and while most of the coffee table was still standing, there were splinters of wood lying on the floor around it. The damage was blessedly minimal – nothing a plastic bag, broom and dustpan couldn’t handle, but there was a distinctly abandoned look to the place now that no one was here. Clothing was scattered everywhere, and there were upended suitcase lying in the middle of the kitchen. It felt wrong to see the place so dirty.

Tony didn’t want to put Mabel down, but the choice apparently wasn’t his to make; she threw herself out his arms and hopped her way over to the first suitcase she found, plopping herself down on top of it. She started grooming herself and then curled up in a little ball and went to sleep.

“Well, at least someone’s happy,” Mrs. Jia commented, with a laugh. She opened up a cupboard and pulled out a box of garbage bags, yanking one free. She held it out to Tony. “You’d better start gathering everything up. They’re talking about rain today, and I’d rather not have to walk through it if I don’t have to,”

Tony took the bag and turned to the clothing. He made his way along the floor, scooping everything up, shaking glass and splinters free. Most of what was here was Coulson’s, although every once in a while he would stumble upon something of Clint’s mixed in with the mess. He cleaned up the front rooms, filled up his bag and went to get another before tackling the bedrooms.

The first bedroom wasn’t a problem; it was his, so most of what was here was stuff he hadn’t particularly cared for. Still, it was strange. He had done his fair share of packing, but it had never been like this; there had never been bits of broken glass and dirt trampled into the fabric, even after his rowdiest parties. He shook the blankets from his old bed out and folded them up, stuffing them into another plastic bag before they could get any dirtier. He did the same with the sheets and pillows before heading back out to deposit the bags in the hallway beside the front door.

He got a new handful of bags and headed into Coulson’s room as Mrs. Jia started sweeping up the debris in the living room.

The damage here was more severe.

There were burn marks on the mattress, and the floor and from what he could see there were more than a few darts buried in the walls. He stalked back into the kitchen, pulled a pair of thick work gloves out from under the sink, where he had stashed them weeks before, and snatched up a cup, taking his loot back into the bedroom. Pulling out the darts was the easy part. The tips were sharp, but they weren’t any different from the weaponry he had designed and tested for SI back in the day. It wouldn’t have been so bad if not for the fact that the body of the darts, filled with whatever knockout drugs Hydra had put in them, were structurally weak and cracked at even the tiniest bit of pressure. He cursed the poor design and dumped the broken darts into the cup piece by piece, cleaning up everything he could find so no one could accidentally knock themselves out. The last thing they needed was a workman stepping on something and being sent to the hospital.

With that taken care of, he turned to the closets with a new plastic bag in hand. Aside from a few shirts, there wasn’t much left here. Everything was likely already packed away, having been carried off and abandoned in the living room. He gradually stripped the bed, sighing at the burn marks in the sheets. These couldn’t be reused, but thankfully the blankets and pillows had survived the Hydra rampage. He stuffed them into a new plastic bag and carted everything out into the living room, setting it down with the rest of the bags already there, dumping the burned sheets into the scrap bag.

He grabbed a new pile of bags and steeled himself for what he was about to see. So far there had been no toys lying around – nothing colourful, or childish, either. He could almost pretend that the kid hadn’t ever been here. He paused in the doorway, his hand held up to push open the door.

Mrs. Jia rested against her broom, watching him from a distance. “You can wait if you want. There’s no rush,”

“I know,” Tony said dully, trying not to peek through the crack in the door. If he didn’t look, it wouldn’t be here – but he couldn’t not look. He needed to know what Hydra had done – he needed to know what was left of the kid. He moved forwards, pushing the door open and stepped inside.

The room was dark even with the door left open behind him. The flashlight in his hand felt heavy, as if it was made out of stone. He hoisted it up and shined it around the room, taking in his surroundings.

The kid’s things – Steve’s things – were lying on the floor, scattered as if having been abandoned during play. If he hadn’t known better, he could have tricked himself into believing that the kid had been called away for dinner.

A stranger had been in here, someone who didn’t belong; Hydra had been in here. He could tell because someone – some irresponsible, disgusting, jackass – had stepped on things, leaving behind damage and dirty shoe prints. The plastic dishes the kid had once played with – ones that had been in perfect condition the last time Tony had seen them – were now snapped in half down the middle. What hadn’t been stepped on had been searched through and left in seemingly random piles. There was clothing scattered along the walls, and some of it had mud and sand splattered over it.

Tony gritted his teeth. The Hydra agents who had done this were likely already in custody at SHIELD HQ, but that didn’t make him feel any better. It felt like the bastards were still here, haunting the place. He got to work cleaning up their mess and started sorting through the kid’s clothing, putting the dirty stuff in a separate bag so he could get it washed. When he was done, satisfied with his work, he turned his attention to the toys.

The toys were harder to handle.

The Iron Man ball the kid had once played with was torn down the side; fluff and string dangled from the gaping hole. It wasn’t just torn, either. Someone had deliberately taken a knife to it, splitting the seams. Maybe they had thought something was hidden in it. Maybe they just hadn’t liked the look of it. Tony smoothed the torn fabric down with his thumb and shook his head. The kid was going to be –

His started crying. He felt his tears drip down his cheeks and hung his head, setting the flashlight down so he wouldn’t have to look at the damned stuffed toy anymore. His fingers remained buried in the soft, velvety fabric. He took comfort in the fact that the toy was there and not just a figment of his imagination. The kid had been real – he had been real, and now he was gone.

His tears petered out eventually; his face felt sore once they were gone, but at least now he could think again. He turned the flashlight back on, grateful that Mrs. Jia had let him work in peace and set about examining the toy again. He could fix it, he realized, wiping his nose on his sleeve. It wouldn’t quite look the same, but it could be whole again. He picked at the stuffing that was still trying to escape and pushed it back inside, squashing the fabric closer, cradling it in his hands.

He had told the kid that he had wanted one just like this; now, he supposed, sadly, it was his for the taking. He put the Iron Man ball into a new plastic bag and moved on to the rest of the toys, mindful of the broken plastic around his knees.

He would have to throw out the plastic plates. There was nothing from the set to salvage. A few of the other toys were too damaged for repair, but most of the plush toys were salvageable. He felt around the floor, separating the torn teddy bears and mangled giraffes, tossing everything into the same bag so he wouldn’t lose anything. It wouldn’t do to misplace a lost limb.

All that was left now was the bedding. He methodically stripped the bed down, folding the Captain America sheets up in a neat square and then froze, noticing something resting between the mattress and the wall.

He knew what it was before he got at it. It was a miracle it had survived Hydra’s attack. He worked the stuffed bagel free from its hiding place, moving slowly to keep the metal frame pinning it to the wall from tearing a hole in the smooth fabric. He had wondered where the bagel had gotten to, and here it was. He hadn’t expected to find it at all, really; he had thought it had vanished forever. It was a little dusty, but perfectly intact. He ran his fingers over the stuffed sesame seeds, marveling again at the intricate stitch work.

When Mrs. Jia came in a moment later to check up on him, she found him crying. Tony couldn’t tell if they were happy tears or not, but they were there and there was nothing he could do to stop them.

Mrs. Jia rubbed circles on his back while he sobbed, murmuring softly into his ear. “It’s alright,” she said, over and over again.

After a while, it even felt like it really was alright after all.

They dragged the plastic bags over to Mrs. Jia’s house one at a time, setting them down in her spare bedroom. Mabel supervised the trips, running circles around them as they made their way across the sand. It was easy to hide his view of the water with a well-placed bag on his shoulder; he was proud of himself for only trembling this time. He was too emotionally exhausted to feel much else, it seemed.

After a quick lunch of sandwiches and coffee, they returned to finish scrubbing the floors clean. Mabel refused to come inside after that; she seemed to dislike the smell of Pinesol as much as Tony did, but she was lucky and got to spend the rest of the afternoon sunbathing on the porch – unlike him.

After dinner, Tony found himself a spot on Mrs. Jia’s couch and pulled out the bag of toys again, ready to fix them up. He set the Iron Man ball down on the coffee table and frowned at it, unsure of where to start. He was used to more complicated objects, things made of metal and plastic, not fabric. Jarvis – the butler, Jarvis – had always been the one to fix his stuffed animals when he was a child. And even though he had done plenty of work making uniforms for the Avengers, Tony hadn’t ever physically had to sew the pieces together. There had always been machines for that work.

“You’ll be needing a needle and thread,” Mrs. Jia chuckled, patting Tony on the shoulder. “Let me get my sewing kit.” She returned with a plastic ice cream pail and set it down in front of Tony, who gawked it in confusion.

“What?” Mrs. Jia snorted. “Didn’t your mother have one like this?”

Tony shook his head. “My mother didn’t sew. She had other people for that,”

“Ah,” Mrs. Jia said, opening up the ice cream pail. She pulled out spools of thread and held them up to compare with the Iron Man ball’s fabric; settling on a crimson thread, she handed it to Tony and fished out a needle. “Do you know how to do this? Or am I going to have to clean blood off the couch?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,”

Ten minutes later, he held the needle and thread up to Mrs. Jia; the Iron Man ball dangled at the end of the blood soaked string. “Help?”

Mrs. Jia sat down on the couch next to him and took the Iron Man ball from him. She sighed and shook her head. “You’re really bad at this,”

“I haven’t exactly had a lot of practice,” Tony grumbled, sucking at his bleeding thumb. He had managed to stab himself no less than twenty six times. He was man enough to admit when he needed instructions.

Mrs. Jia smiled softly and pulled out a two pronged object with red knobs on the ends. “This is a stitch ripper,” she said, showing it to him. She put the longest prong under the first set of crooked, wide, stitches and pulled, severing the thread. She worked her way along the line, taking out Tony’s disastrous attempt, muttering under her breath when she got to a particularly stubborn stitch. “Now,” she said, stripping the thread from the needle so she had new, unsoiled thread to use, “we start here,”

Tony watched as she made her first lines, each stitch neat and tiny. When she was done, she tied the string off with a series of knots and then cut the excess string off. She loaded the needle up once more so she could start the next line, and chuckled when she noticed that Tony was watching her.

“What?” Tony said, looking away in a huff.

“Nothing,” Mrs. Jia said, smiling a little bit harder. “You just remind me of someone.” It took her far less time to repair the damage to the Iron Man ball than Tony had expected, and by the time she was finished, it looked just like it had come straight off the store shelf. Tony held it up, running his fingers over the nearly invisible stitches.

“Impressive,” he said.

Mrs. Jia chuckled and reached for the plastic bag filled with toys. “Tell you what,” she said, nodding towards the kitchen. “You make dinner, and I’ll sew these up,”

“Deal,” Tony said, jumping up. “What do you want me to make?”

“That depends. What kinds of things can you cook?” Mrs. Jia asked.

“That depends,” Tony said, turning to the fridge. “What do you have?”

Mrs. Jia picked up a ripped plush octopus and felt around the base of the first torn tentacle, fishing its twin out of the bag. She pinned the torn tentacles in place with ease, her skilled fingers sticking pins in over and over again until they had sealed the fabric together again. “There’s plenty of ingredients to work with. You decide. Anything is fine,”

“That’s not a good answer,” Tony snorted. “Just don’t hit me if I burn anything, alright?”

Mrs. Jia laughed.

Tony reheated chicken soup from a can and boiled up some extra noodles, dumping them into the soup to make it more filling. He wasn’t very proud of his concoction, but at least it didn’t taste like it had been scraped off the bottom of a bus seat when he was done. Mrs. Jia’s cupboards were a terrifying place to snoop, mostly because he couldn’t tell what half of the stuff was; she had jars upon jars of unlabeled spices, and while he was normally a very daring individual, he had no interest in fiddling with anything more complicated than a can opener after such a long day.

Mrs. Jia didn’t mind. She seemed happy to simply have food hot ready and waiting in front of her. When she was done stitching up the last of the stuffed animals, she came and joined Tony at the dining room table. She cracked her knuckles and let out a long, weary, yawn. Tony set a bowl of soup in front of her and went back to his own bowl.

“Sorry,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I know it’s not gourmet, or anything,”

“Its fine,” Mrs. Jia said, picking up a spoon. She took a sip and nodded approvingly. “You did a good job,”

“It’s just soup,” Tony said, shrugging.

“My son routinely burns soup,” Mrs. Jia chuckled. “Consider yourself talented by comparison,”

“Alright,” Tony laughed.

After a few minutes of quiet slurping, Mrs. Jia looked up from her soup. “Did you mean it? What you said about wanting to take care of this place?”

“I meant it,” Tony said.

“I’m curious – did you want to buy it?” Mrs. Jia asked.

“Did you want to sell it?” Tony asked in response, cocking his head to the side.

Mrs. Jia sighed and set down her spoon. “No. I really don’t want to sell the resort, but it’s a lot for one person to handle,”

“I can see that,” Tony said dryly.

“I’m not sure what to do,” Mrs. Jia said, shaking her head. “I’ve been offered money by more than a few companies – they’re telling me the land is worth more now than it was when I bought it, and that it would be in my best interest to sell it now. But I don’t know,”

“Do you still want to run a resort?” Tony asked, setting down his spoon.

“Yes,” Mrs. Jia said, firmly. “I want to stay here. I love the place – and yes,” she sighed, “every once in a while some jackass comes in and trashes one of the buildings, but it’s worth it,”

Tony grinned sheepishly.

“I would like to propose a deal,” Mrs. Jia said, resting her hands on the table. “If you are interested in buying the resort, I would be interested in selling it to you – with some stipulations in place,”

“I’m listening,” Tony said.

“I propose a deal. You can buy the resort – the buildings, the land, everything – but only if you agree to my conditions. Firstly, the resort needs to stay open. I would like to stay on as a caretaker,” Mrs. Jia said. “Secondly, my house will stay mine,”

“Alright,” Tony said. “What else?”

“What else?” Mrs. Jia looked confused. “What do you mean what else?”

“I mean what else do you want to add in? I’m assuming you have more demands than just those two,” Tony said with a smile.

Mrs. Jia shook her head as if to clear her confusion. “Yes. Well, I want to keep the buildings the way they are – well, at least a few of them. What did you plan to do with the resort?”

“I was thinking about turning it into a vacation home slash getaway for the Avengers,” Tony said. “We only need a few of the buildings though, so the others could still be rented out and kept the way they are now,”

Mrs. Jia nodded. “That sounds good to me. Are you planning on knocking any of them down?”

“I have plans for a few of the buildings, yes, and those do involve construction, but whatever I take down, I promise to replace,” Tony said, putting his hand over his heart. “I want to do upgrades on the rest of the resort – you know, making the bathrooms and electrical and all that crap work better. I’ll probably put in some security too. I don’t want to tear down everything, but I wouldn’t mind making sure it’s all up to code again,”

“That seems fair,” Mrs. Jia said.

“If you don’t mind,” Tony said, putting on his best business smile, “I’d like to add a few things to the deal as well,”

“Oh?” Mrs. Jia leaned back in her chair. “Alright. Let’s hear it,”

“For one, I want to pay for Mabel’s vet bills, food bills and whatever costs you incur from keeping her,” Tony said.

“Really,” Mrs. Jia said. She looked a little like she was trying not to cry.

“Really,” Tony said. “I’d also like to include medical benefits and wages for you and your family – assuming they want to be involved,”

“Mr. Stark,” Mrs. Jia protested, sounding stunned. “That’s a lot to consider,”

Tony held up a hand. “That’s not all. I would also like to offer whatever help I can if and when you ever need it. That extends to college tuition, or rent or whatever you and your family need.”

“But why?” Mrs. Jia asked.

Tony shrugged. “I like you,”

“Liking someone doesn’t mean you have to fund their entire family’s life,” Mrs. Jia said dryly.

Tony chuckled. “Well, let’s put it this way then. I like the cat, and in order for the cat to have the best life possible, I need to take care of the humans that take care of the cat,”

Mrs. Jia rolled her eyes. “When you put it that way, it makes so much more sense,”

Tony chuckled.

“I think we have a deal then,” Mrs. Jia said.

“Good,” Tony said, picking up his spoon. “I’ll talk to my lawyers when I get back to New York and get them to draw up a contract and a bill of sales.”

Mrs. Jia nodded, reaching for her spoon. She stared at it for a moment and then looked up at Tony, her eyes watering. “Thank you,” she said.

“Not a problem,” Tony said, slurping up a spoonful of soup.

“It means a lot to me,” Mrs. Jia said, smiling at Tony.

“It means a lot to me too,” Tony said, smiling back.

He was just drifting off to sleep when his phone rang. Fumbling blindly, he managed to drag it closer to his face. “What’s up, Jarvis?”

“Sir – the Avengers are in need of your assistance. There has been an attack on both Stark Tower and SHIELD’s headquarters,” Jarvis said.

Tony sat up, catching himself on the headboard before he could tumble onto the floor. He scrambled in the dark, heaving himself upright and staggered for the door, nearly tripping when Mabel shot out into the hallway in front of him. By the time he got out into the foyer, Mrs. Jia was already there waiting for him, her sleep clothes in disarray, her eyes wide.

“What’s going on?” Mrs. Jia asked.

“Someone’s attacking my tower,” Tony said, struggling into his work boots. “I need to go.” He was glad he had fallen asleep while still dressed, because he was fairly certain if he had been forced to dress now, he would have ended up with his pants on backwards and his shirt stuck over his head. He unlocked the front door and stumbled out onto the grass. The rain that hit his face was startlingly cold; he shivered and wiped at his cheeks. He had forgotten all about the storm. It hadn’t seemed so bad when he had settled down for the night.

The suit opened up and he slid inside before he could get a better look at anything other than the HUD.

Mrs. Jia stood framed in the door, her hands on her hips. “What do you want me to do with all of your stuff?”

Tony pulled the faceplate down. “Have it shipped priority mail to my place – I’ll pay you back for everything – including the time I spent sleeping in your guest room,”

“Alright,” Mrs. Jia said. “Tell you what – instead, of paying me for your stay, why don’t you just keep yourself out of the hospital, Mr. Stark.”

“I make no promises,” Tony said, firing up the repulsors. “But I’ll try and keep that in mind. Thanks for everything.” He shot up into the air and turned for New York. “Jarvis – what’s going on over there?”

“I’m afraid the news is not good,” Jarvis said. “Agent Romanoff reports that Hydra agents are currently trying to get into the building, but so far the security system is holding its own. SHIELD’s is having much more trouble. The force attacking its front doors is much larger,”

“Shit,” Tony muttered. “Any sign of the Skull?”

“No sir,” Jarvis responded. “For the time being, he appears to be elsewhere. Captain Rogers is searching for him, but so far no one has seen anyone that even resembles the Skull and none of the cameras in the area have picked up on him,”

Steve was out looking for the Skull?

Steve-I-have-no-serum Rogers was out looking for the Red Skull?

Tony’s chest felt like it had been crushed. He took in a deep breath, trying to remain calm. Now was not the time to panic.

Screw that!

What the hell had Steve been thinking?

“Jarvis?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Get us there faster,”

Chapter Text

Tony’s stomach was churning so badly that by the time they reached New York he was ready to open the faceplate and puke on the first villain he saw; if there had been an actual Hydra agent around he might have actually tried it but sadly he wasn’t able to spot anyone dangerous. He scanned the streets as he flew by, hoping to find someone he could blast. The data he got back wasn’t helpful in the least, but it did tell him that most of the civilians had already been cleared from the area. On the plus side, there wasn’t any danger, but on the bad side, there wasn’t anyone around who wasn’t a SHIELD agent. He couldn’t see anything out of place, either; everything seemed, well, normal. He found five police officers and first responders hiding behind a van and seven more hugging the sides of a supermarket. There seemed to be a blackout happening and aside from the Tower, block after block was drained of power. Even the street lights weren’t working.

The closer he got to Stark Tower, the weirder the readings got. There was nothing here – no energy, no life forms – nada, and then, as he made a final sweep, out of nowhere there was a flare of energy on the HUD.

Where could that kind of power be coming from?

The Tower was completely self-sufficient – he had done all the work himself – and there was nothing in his possession that should have been throwing off that kind of extra energy. Even the Arc reactor wasn’t that powerful.

It had to be Hydra’s work.

“Jarvis – scan the crowds again. Is that what I think it is?” Tony grunted. “Because that better not be something Tesserect based, or I’m going to be very unhappy,”

“I’m sorry to inform you, sir, but yes, the energy readings are similar to that of the Tesserects,” Jarvis said, “I am afraid I cannot locate the source of the energy. I do, however, have some good news,”

“Oh yeah? Lay it on me,”

“Most of the Hydra agents around us are not, in fact, human,”

“The Skull is using bots now?” Tony snorted. “Fantastic. I guess that’s a good way to get an army in a hurry. I never thought he’d start outsourcing. This is probably AIM’s tech,”

“Agreed, sir,” Jarvis said with a sigh. “One moment – I’m afraid the Tesserect readings are growing weaker. Whatever the Skull was using appears to have been moved elsewhere.”

“The mother fucker probably opened up another portal,” Tony growled, glancing around. He knew he wouldn’t see anything suspicious, but it was better than shaking his fist in the air. “Any clue as to where the device was before it left?”

“I’m afraid there are far too many similar signatures in the vicinity to narrow it down to simply one location. It appears that there were multiple devices,” Jarvis said. “I am calculating locations now,”

“Good,” Tony said. “I want to catch that son-of-a-bitch,”

As they flew the last few feet to the sidewalk in front of the Tower, Tony started spotting piles of torn metal; some of it was still in familiar shapes. A few of the pieces looked like limbs, while others resembled legs, heads and torsos. Even without seeing a full body, he knew they had been similar in structure to a human until they met their untimely demise. It was clear that his superhuman teammates had been out and about today, because while he knew Natasha and Clint were physically strong, he didn’t think they could tear a human-sized bot apart with their bare hands. He glanced around as he landed, but couldn’t spot Thor or the Hulk anywhere.

Where had the team gone?

Shouldn’t someone still be out here? Had they not won?

“Who’s in the game still?” Tony asked, blasting a bot as it grabbed at the armor’s boots. The bot dropped to the ground, sparks flying from the shiny new holes in its head and lay there twitching. “Anyone need any help? We’re winning, right?”

“I have located Agent Romanoff’s signal and will connect you with her now,” Jarvis said.

Natasha’s voice was raspy when it came through the comms. “Stark? Is that you? It better be you.” She coughed violently and then took in a deep breath. “Shit.”

“Yeah, it’s me. I’m outside the Tower right now. What’s going on? Are you alright? That’s a nasty cough you’ve got there,” Tony said, glancing around the streets again for signs of danger. He was not going to be jumped by any more Hydra agents – not again.

“You’re late,” Natasha grunted. “We’re almost done here.”

Tony sighed. “I see.” Great. He had flown all the way here, not sleeping for even a few minutes in case he was needed, and he had missed the entire goddamned battle.

“We used an EMP to take the bots down,” Natasha said. “It’s better that you weren’t here, really. You wouldn’t have enjoyed it,”

Tony winced. An EMP was serious business, even if it was only designed to last for a short time. He had encountered them often enough to know just how dangerous they could be when in the wrong hands. Every piece of arc reactor technology he used these days had EMP resistance built in. He hadn’t been willing to risk the electromagnet in his chest shutting off – not now that he was always in such close contact with a guy who could summon electricity at will. “At least that explains why the grid is dead,” he muttered. He hoped he wasn’t going to get stuck footing the bill for fixing everything. He had replaced the main grid twice already, and he wasn’t looking forward to doing it again.

“How’s everyone doing? Any injuries?” Tony asked.

“We’re doing alright.” Natasha sighed. She sounded tired, as though speaking was too much work. “The Captain’s down,”

“What?” Tony’s voice turned shrill. Steve was hurt? “What happened? Is he alright? Where are you? Where is he? Are you alright?” He tapped into the Tower’s security system and skimmed the video streams, trying to find both Natasha and Steve, hoping that they were still within reach of the cameras.

He was in luck – at least when it came to finding Natasha. She was indeed inside the Tower. He found her first. She was on the ninth floor, surrounded by overturned chairs and a scorch-marked table. She was in an office that was usually occupied by data entry clerks. She looked like she had fought her way through a firestorm; her hair was blackened in spots and her face was streaked with soot and blood. Her jumpsuit was burned off in places, revealing patches of pinkish skin. She coughed again and leaned against the nearest chair, bracing herself until her coughs subsided. Tony wondered where she had been, considering there was no sign of fire around her.

“Relax. He’s in the Tower in the Medical Wing, and he’s fine,” Natasha sighed.

“What happened?”

“We were looking for the Skull down in the sewers. Steve insisted on coming with us even though he wasn’t going to be of any use if we did actually catch up,” Natasha said. Her voice sounded painfully hoarse. She turned and started coughing again, slumping as she was staggered by the force of it. She caught her breath again and continued speaking. “Barnes and I managed to keep him from getting outright killed, we couldn’t save him from himself.”

“Is it bad?” Tony asked in a small voice. Please, he thought, please let Steve be alright.

“He’s going to have a bruised ego along with the rest of his injuries, but he’ll be fine,” Natasha chuckled darkly. “We chased the bastards into an office building a few blocks away from the Tower. It was all rather anticlimactic. We were running, guns drawn and ready to fire and then Steve tripped and fell into a chair.” Natasha chuckled sadly. “He got up, seemed to shake it off, and then one of the Hydra goons we were chasing slammed him back into the chair. He cracked four ribs, bruised his hip, and put his back out,”

Tony let out a long slow breath. Cracked ribs were bad, but they were better than brain damage. Bruises weren’t so bad either. The back though – that one would be a pain in the ass, even if it wasn’t long-lasting. “So he’s alright?”

“He’s unconscious and in the Tower’s medical wing, but yes, he’s alright,” Natasha said. “He’ll survive – assuming you and Barnes don’t throttle him to death,”

Tony snorted. “Yeah, really.” He gave the surrounding buildings another thorough scan, but didn’t pick up anything strange. Everything was peaceful. The battle was over and judging by the lack of movement, it had ended quite some time ago.

“So, may I ask why you were playing with fire?” Tony asked.

Natasha squinted at the security camera nearest her, sighed and collapsed into a padded chair. “Well, there was a flamethrower,”

Tony winced. “Who the fuck brings a flamethrower into an office building?”

“Hydra agents,” Natasha shrugged. “It wasn’t so bad.” She gave her bodysuit a sniff and sneezed. “Correction,” she said, wiping her nose on what was left of her left sleeve, “It could have been worse. I was fortunate enough to have a table to hide behind. The man I turned the flamethrower back on, wasn’t as lucky,”

Tony couldn’t keep himself from gagging at the imagery conjured up by her words; he opened the face plate, afraid of throwing up in the suit, and took in a deep breath through his nose. “That’s disgusting,” he wheezed when he had control of his stomach again.

“It happens in war more frequently than you would think,” Natasha said with a shrug. “You get used to it after a while,”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said, covering his mouth again with his hand, “No one wants to see someone become a piece of human barbeque,”

“Oh relax, Stark,” Natasha snorted. “It was just a bot. I didn’t light a human on fire – this time,”

“This time? Is that supposed to reassure me?” Tony asked, putting the faceplate back up, relieved that he wasn’t going to have to arrange clean up for that particular mess. SHIELD could hire the scrap collectors for all he cared.

“No,” Natasha said. “Did you want me to reassure you?”

“No,” Tony muttered. “I guess not.” He turned towards the Tower and fired up his repulsors, hurling himself into the sky. There was nothing else to do now – at least not down here. He knew where he needed to be. He soared towards the landing pad and let Jarvis scan him so he could land without getting his ass shot off.

“Are Pepper and Rhodey alright?” Tony asked.

“They’re fine,” Natasha said. “They went over to SHIELD to help defend the prisoner’s barracks about three hours ago,”

“The Skull was there to break someone out?” Tony asked, frowning. He was surprised to hear that the Skull had stuck his neck out for someone else – even if it had been a proverbial neck at best; the guy didn’t seem like the type who helped people out of a jam unless he meant to make it much, much, worse for them.

“From what we can tell, yes, that’s what he was doing,” Natasha said. “I’ve been trying to call SHIELD for confirmation, but I think someone must have set off an EMP there too. I’m hoping it was one of us, but you never know. It must have messed with their comms,”

“I doubt the Skull was there personally– if they could make a bunch of hydra goons out of spare nuts and bolts, they could make themselves a Red Skull,” Tony muttered.

“Exactly my thoughts,” Natasha said. “Steve agreed too. That’s why we were in the sewers in the first place. He figured the Skull was up to something, but since we never actually found him, I guess we’ll never know – at least not until he decides to attack again and show us.”

“Alright, so what do you want me to do? Do you want me to head over to SHIELD?” Tony asked, pausing on the landing platform. He didn’t really want to help SHIELD out, but he would if he had to.

“No, don’t bother heading over,” Natasha said. “The Hulk and Thor are already there. It’s better if you stay here and keep guard. I’d rather have a heavy hitter here to watch over the place. With Steve down for the count we need the suit now more than ever,”

“Yeah,” Tony grimaced at the comment, but didn’t comment. Picking a fight now was pointless. “I get what you mean. You going to head up to medical? You seem like you could use a checkup,”

“I’ll get there when I get there,” Natasha grumbled. “You should go visit Steve. He’s resting, but someone should be with him when he wakes up,”

“But –”

“No buts, Stark. Go sit with him. He could use the company,” Natasha snapped.

“It should be Sharon sitting with him,” Tony muttered, making his way through his penthouse. He kept the suit on, knowing that there wasn’t a floor in his building that couldn’t handle the weight of it.

“She’s busy,” Natasha said. “Besides, I think he’d rather see you,”

“Yeah, right,” Tony said, calling the elevator. “I think you hit your head. You should have that looked at,”

Steve was unconscious, but he looked like he was sleeping. The medical staff had long since retreated to the other side of the room, and Tony was alone for the time being, at least until Bucky came back from the bathroom. He pulled up a chair and rested his elbows on his knees. He was still wearing the suit, but thankfully it wasn’t awkward to sit in it.

The machines around them beeped softly. Steve was hooked up to only the one – a heart monitor – but it still made Tony’s heart ache at the mere sight of it; he watched the display ping, trying not to panic. He was never going to get used to the sound of it.

Bucky slunk into the room, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He was wearing a grey sweat suit and slippers, and looked like he was about to drop to the floor at any moment. He grabbed his abandoned chair and pulled it over so he could sit beside Tony, collapsing into it with a tired oomph.

“He’s fine, you know. There’s no need to look so damn glum,” Bucky said.

Tony shook his head. “I should have been here,”

“You couldn’t have stopped him from charging off after the Skull like a moron,” Bucky grunted. “Believe me – we tried to get him to back the fuck off, but he didn’t want to let the Skull get away. We only agreed to let him tag along, instead of knocking his boney ass unconscious, because we figured the Skull might come out in the open if he knew Steve was around,”

“So you used him as bait,” Tony said, his insides going numb. He looked up from the floor and locked eyes with Bucky. “You used him as bait?”

“Technically?” Bucky looked away, his face pale, his expression drawn. “Yes. We took the risk. We didn’t want to do it, but it was the only way we could convince him to stick with us,”

“He was that angry, huh?”

“He wasn’t listening,” Bucky grumbled. “He was threatening to go off on his own with nothing but a gun and his shield.”

“Can he even lift his shield?”

Bucky gently smacked Tony in the back of the head. “Very funny. Just don’t let him hear you say that,”

“How bad is he hurt?” Tony sighed, rubbing his head. He supposed he deserved it. If he had been here, Steve wouldn’t be in a hospital bed. He glanced down at his helmet where it sat nestled between his feet.

“Personally, I think he got off easy,” Bucky muttered.

“Oh? Natasha told me a bit, but I wanted to hear it straight from the doctors,” Tony said.

“I’ll tell you what they told me,” Bucky grunted, nodding towards Steve. “He’s going to be uncomfortable as hell when he wakes up but he probably won’t be bedridden for more than a week this time.” Bucky ran his fingers through his greasy hair and winced. Steve wasn’t the only one sporting wounds, it seemed. Bucky’s skin was littered with bruises old and new. The ones on his neck and wrist were shaped like fingers; the one on the left side of his chin was more of a misshaped blob than anything and was turning a nasty shade of purple.

“He’s drugged up, I take it?” Tony asked, smiling crookedly.

“Heavily. He put his back out, cracked some ribs and took a nasty blow to the head. The medic who checked him out said we were lucky he didn’t have a concussion or brain damage,” Bucky muttered darkly. “I think they were surprised to see him alive, honestly,”

“He looked that bad?” Tony asked, looking up.

“He always looks pretty bad when he’s hurt. He’s so fucking small, it always feels like a feather could kill him,” Bucky shrugged. He reached out and ran his fingers through Steve’s hair, revealing a neat set of stitches. “They’re precautionary – but they’re there. He’s lucky they didn’t have to shave his entire head,”

Tony groaned into his hands. “He’s not going to be happy about being stuck in a bed,”

“He’s used to it,” Bucky grunted. “He’ll get over it. All he needs is the right someone to keep him company.” He winked at Tony and leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet up onto the mattress.

Tony scowled. “Yeah, because seeing me is going to make him so happy,”

Bucky scowled at Tony. “What are you talking about? Steve likes you,”

“No,” Tony grunted, reaching for his helmet, “He doesn’t. He hates my guts,”

“Oh please,” Bucky snorted, knocking Tony’s hands away from the helmet. “He wants you here. Believe me.”

“Let’s agree to disagree on that one,” Tony grumbled. He rubbed a gauntleted hand over the bridge of his nose. Clearly, Bucky had taken one too many blows to the head too. Had everyone on the Avengers been knocked in the head today?

“How did the arm work out for you? I’m assuming it’s still there,” Tony said, happy to change the subject to something he could deal with.

Bucky yawned. “Oh, it worked like a dream, but it sticks a little now.”

“What?” Tony grunted. “What did you do to it?”

“I didn’t do anything,” Bucky grumbled. “Ok, fine,” he said, shifting in his chair. “I used it to block a couple of steel batons and now it slows down when I raise it above my head,”

“Great,” Tony sighed. “I’ll factor that into the next build designs. Must withstand blows from steel batons. Anything else you want me to change while I’m at it?”

“I wouldn’t mind it being a bit lighter,” Bucky said, rubbing at his flesh-and-blood-shoulder.

“Has it always done that?” Tony asked. He lifted his head and opened one eye, unwilling to devote more energy to the discussion. “Does it fuck up your other shoulder?”

“Yeah,” Bucky grunted, letting his arm drop. “I don’t think the guys who built it thought about how heavy it is. I guess they just figured the problems would work themselves out somehow,”

Tony snorted and closed his eye again. “Figures.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn. With Steve safe, and Hydra chased off with their tails between their legs, there wasn’t much left for him to do, and he was tired of thinking about upgrades for Bucky’s arm. Steve didn’t really need an honor guard – not with Bucky here – but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. He supposed a nap wouldn’t get him in too much trouble. He ordered the suit to lock itself down so he wouldn’t fall out of the chair and let himself drift off to sleep.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice cracked.

Tony jerked awake and looked around, trying to get his bearings. The nightmare he had been having was gone, run off by Steve’s voice, but from what he could remember it had been filled with endless oceans. He scrubbed a hand over his face tried to ignore the sound of Bucky sniggering at him.

“Hey,” Tony croaked, moving closer to the bed until his knees were pressed up against the side of the mattress.

Steve was lying on his back; he grimaced in pain when he tried to sit up, apparently unaware of his injuries. The dopy grin on his face made it seem as if he was having the time of his life. He reached out, making an ill-advised grab for Tony’s hand and missed. He frowned and tried again, his fingers just skimming Tony’s gauntleted hand. He gave it a third shot and then noticed Bucky. “Oh,” he mumbled, pulling his arm over his chest. “Sorry,”

Sorry?

Tony felt a little like he had walked in on a conversation that had started without him. Why the hell was Steve apologizing to him? He was the one who had flown off and left the team to deal with things by themselves – it hadn’t been Steve who had left. He hung his head and stared down at the suit’s knees, wishing he knew what to say to fix things.

“What the fuck are you sorry for?” Bucky grunted, saving Tony the work of thinking up something to say. He pushed his chair back and stood up, stalking around the bed so he could throw himself down on the mattress beside Steve. Apparently now that Steve was awake he had no qualms about lying down.

Steve grimaced when the bed bounced under Bucky’s added weight. “I don’t know,”

“He’s not sorry,” Bucky said, closing his eyes. “He’s just being an idiot. Ignore him.”

Tony smiled weakly. “It’s me who should be saying sorry. I shouldn’t have left,”

“It’s fine, Tony,” Steve mumbled, his eyelids slowly drooping. He gave his head a shake and then winced. “What happened to my head?”

“You hit it,” Bucky chuckled. “You don’t remember?”

“I remember,” Steve said sullenly. “I was just wondering.” He reached up to touch his hair and heaved a sigh when Bucky slapped his hand away.

“No touching!” Bucky said.

“It’s my hair!” Steve slurred.

“You’ve got stitches! Stop fiddling with them!” Bucky growled.

Tony stood up and pushed the chair away. Well, if they were going to start arguing, he might as well make himself comfortable. He had a feeling he was going to be here for a while.

Steve sighed softly, turning his head so he could watch Tony. “You’re leaving already?”

“Nope,” Tony said quickly, moving towards the nearest wall. He ordered the armor to open up and stepped out, returning to the chair. He cracked his back before he sat back down and stretched his arms over his head, trying not to yawn. “You’re stuck with me.”

Steve smiled softly. “Yeah?”

“I’m afraid so,” Tony said. He made himself comfortable in the chair, but didn’t put his feet up on the mattress; his work boots were still too caked with sand, and while he could have taken them off, it would be easier to jump into the suit with them still on. He hated getting glass and rocks stuck in his bare feet, and it was always nice to have a layer between him and the metal of the Iron Man’s boots in case of emergencies.

“Tony?” Steve mumbled, his eyes drooping shut. “Are you still here?”

“I’m here, Steve,” Tony said, taking Steve’s hand in his.

“Good.” Steve fell asleep smiling.

The smiles didn’t last. The moment Steve woke up again, almost a full day later, he was ready to go after the Skull and furious that he couldn’t. He glared at everyone who came near his bed and spent most of the morning muttering under his breath about how Tony and Bucky should be out tracking the Skull instead of babysitting him. Natasha stopped by to visit and then retreated to her own floor to recuperate. Her burns had been superficial, and her hair had taken the worst of the damage.

Tony tried to keep the negativity in the room at bay by bringing down books he knew Steve liked; it worked for a few hours, but soon Steve was back to being grouchy.

Undeterred, Tony tried again, bringing in a television so Steve could watch movies. That worked a bit better, but after a while Steve grew tired of it too and returned to the books. Eventually Bucky got tired of Steve’s muttering and retreated to his own room.

Tony worked while he sat at Steve’s bedside. He ordered in ten cases of different snack foods, making sure to get a little bit of everything Steve had liked as a child; worse come to worse, he could always just eat the stuff himself, he reasoned and he had more than a few friends that would help him out if he couldn’t finish it all. God knows he needed the food. His cupboards were bare, and Jarvis had only just ordered in more food. With so many new mouths to feed, he had a feeling their usual shipments would be far too small. He approved another order for more food on his tablet, making sure every floor had a fully restocked larder. Every cupboard would be stuffed to the brim by the time he was done.

Thor and the Hulk still weren’t back; they were sequestered in SHIELD – which meant they were standing guard and making sure Hydra wasn’t going to appear from the sewers or some other unlikely place. They were going to be hungry by the time they made it back, and food needed to be easy to find. He did not want to have to pay for more construction if the Hulk had a temper tantrum because he couldn’t find enough to eat. It had happened once so far and he wasn’t letting it happen again.

Steve looked up from his copy of the Hobbit; it was dog-eared and the one book he had requested by name. It had come from Tony’s personal library. “You don’t have to stick around, you know,” Steve said.

“I know,” Tony said, his eyes still on his tablet. He went back to scrolling through lists of food while shopping for an extra freezer at the same time. They were going through plenty of meat these days and it would be worth the investment. He changed webpages and continued searching for the seemingly mythical brand of mushy peas he knew Steve loved.

Oh!

Here they were!

And they were on sale!

He added ten boxes of mushy peas and went on to look for pork and beans, Rhodey’s favourite lazy-man meal.

“Tony,” Steve sighed, setting the book down in his lap. “Shouldn’t you be doing something else? I’m sure Bucky wouldn’t mind the company,”

Tony looked up from his tablet, aghast at the mere thought of spending more time alone with Bucky. They saw each other practically every hour these days. He wanted some damn Steve-time, not Bucky-time. “Why the hell would I want to spend time with Bucky? He’s just going to harass me about his arm – it’s nice here. I’d rather work where it’s quiet,”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look,” he said. “I get that you think you need to keep me company, but I’m fine – really,”

“Everything I need to do, I can do from here,” Tony said with a shrug. “It’s not a big deal.”

“Tony,” Steve said, his voice strained.

“What?”

“You don’t need to sit here with me.” Steve lifted his book up again, turning back to the page he had started reading. “I’m fine. You should be out looking for the Skull,”

“I’ve got Jarvis doing that,” Tony said, breezily. “He’s doing the exact same things he would do if I was in my workshop – believe me. The bots might be missing me but he’s not,”

“Fine,” Steve muttered, turning the page.

Tony went back to staring at his tablet, frowning. He was pretty sure he had been on his best behavior today, so why did Steve want to get rid of him? Had he said something wrong? He was tempted to check with Jarvis just to be sure, but then a thought struck him. Maybe it wasn’t him. Maybe it was the lack of food making Steve so irritable.

Could that be it?

Could it be that simple?

Well, there was only one way to tell for certain. He glanced at the clock on the tablet. They hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and it had been over three hours since then. If he was right, getting something to eat would put Steve in a fantastic mood. He worked quickly and ordered in burgers, making sure to pick the biggest, greasiest ones he could find. He added extra fries and milkshakes to their order and sent it out. After a few minutes he got up, pretending to stretch his legs. “I’m going to go grab lunch,” he said, tucking his tablet under his arm.

Steve lowered his book. “I can help,” he said, moving to get out of bed.

Tony smiled and turned around, moving over to the bed before Steve could wrestle the blankets off of his legs. “It’s fine, Steve,” he said, hoping to god his voice sounded soothing instead of irritating. “I’m just going to take the elevator down to pick it up, ok? You don’t need to come with me. I didn’t order that much.” He smoothed the blankets down, his hands skimming over the tops of Steve’s boney knees.

Steve’s face flushed. He looked away and crossed his arms over his chest, knocking his book off the side of the bed in the process. Tony stooped down to retrieve it, and handed it back.

“I’m not an invalid,” Steve said, taking the book and throwing it across the room.

Tony scowled. “Why the hell did you do that?”

“Because I can get it myself,” Steve said, stubbornly tugging at his blankets. “I’m supposed to walk around every couple of hours. I can pick up a goddamned book!”

“Alright,” Tony said. “Go get your book. I’ll go get lunch,”

“Fine,” Steve said. His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he struggled with the sheets. He managed to get one leg free and started working on freeing the next. “See? I can do it,”

“I know you can,” Tony sighed. He made his way down the hall and stepped into the elevator. “Take me to the front desk, Jarvis, and warn me if Captain Stubborn manages to hurt himself,”

The elevator doors closed.

With a bag of burgers and fries in one hand and a tray of milkshakes in the other, Tony made his way back into the Medical Wing. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Steve lying sprawled on the floor.

Shit!

“Steve?” Tony’s voice sounded strange in his own ears. He forced himself to remain calm and still.

Steve looked up at him from the floor. His face was pale and drenched in sweat, his cheeks flushed with humiliation. “I’m fine,” he grunted, trying to get up. The book was a few feet away, within reach of his fingertips, but somehow he hadn’t managed to grab it yet. He gritted his teeth and inched closer, dragging himself across the floor.

Tony bitterly pushed down his need to help. He wheeled the overtable between his chair and the side of the bed and set their lunch down before the grease could melt clean through the paper bag. He watched Steve out of the corner of his eye, knowing that if he helped now, he’d never hear the end of it. Still, it hurt to watch Steve dragging himself across the floor. Tony had hurt his back on more than one occasion and knew just how much it sucked to be unable to stand.