ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2012-09-13 11:57 am
ratherastory) wrote2012-09-13 11:57 am
Entry tags:
Just A Broken Lullaby 1/4
[Master Post]
"Do you really think now is the appropriate time for this?"
Sometimes Steve wonders if he sounds as prissy and condescending as he thinks he does. It's just that, inevitably, Tony seems to know all his buttons and the exact sequence in which to push them in order to work him into a state of internal frenzy. For instance, taking twenty minutes to fiddle with something on his armour right after they've been called in for a briefing by Director Fury, thus guaranteeing they'll be a few minutes late. Stark is always late, of course, though never by more than a few minutes: just enough so that he can be the last one in the room and make a grand entrance. It drives Steve crazy, partly because he hates being late, hates having attention drawn to himself, and partly because he knows Tony does it on purpose because of those first two things.
Tony flashes him a grin from where he's still sitting on a stool at his workbench. "Almost done, Captain OCD. You wouldn't want me to leave a literal chink in my armour before heading out, would you? I'm sure that your Standard Safety Protocols wouldn't stand for that."
"Look, for the last time I don't have any—oh, why do I bother?" Steve throws up his hands and turns away. Instinctively he feels the projectile coming at his head and sidesteps in time for the grease-soaked rag Tony threw at him to miss him entirely and land with a wet splat at his feet. "Oh, very funny," he turns back, rolling his eyes. "Throwing filthy things like a monkey. Very mature, Stark."
Tony grins, eyes twinkling. "Oh, c'mon, Capsicle. Where's your sense of whimsy? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you sprang from Nick Fury's head fully-formed, like Athena, only she had a better sense of humour."
"You're a child," Steve spits, exasperated. "It's like you never grew up at all."
To his surprise, the amused look fades from Tony's face, his expression closing off, unreadable. "And what would you know about that, exactly?"
Steve's taken aback, but before he can answer, an alarm starts beeping shrilly, and Coulson's voice sounds in his ear. "Captain, we've got a situation."
Tony grins at him, the same awful, fake grin he reserves for cocktail parties and press conferences he doesn't want to attend. "Tell you what, Captain, instead of making judgements about things you know nothing about, how about you lead us into battle against the bad guys?"
There's no time to figure out just what went wrong, here. They'll sort it out after the latest threat has been neutralized, Steve decides, switching on his comm link.
"Avengers, assemble!"
"Why do you do that even when we're all in the same building?"
Steve rolls his eyes. "Just come on, would you Stark? We'll finish this later."
"Whatever you say, Cap," Tony says, the smirk audible in his tone.
Steve is beginning to think that, despite what anyone might say, he's doomed never to finish any of his conversations with Tony at all, a lifetime of unfinished business.
~*~
It’s in the nature of battle for things to go to Hell in a handful of seconds, but somehow it takes Steve by surprise almost every time. He's learned to roll with the punches, whether it be to rethink his tactics and send half his men to flank a heretofore unseen artillery nest, to order an orderly retreat, or, when necessary, to redirect a plane right into the Arctic Ocean if it means saving the world. Still, it doesn't mean he's in any way used to the terrible spike of adrenaline that accompanies the unforeseen, the way his heart tries to crawl its way into his mouth, the sudden certainty that this is the moment when the serum's going to fail once and for all and his lungs are going to shut down from the stress.
This time proves to be no exception. Although now he’s surrounded by a team composed of what are arguably the most powerful and capable people on the planet, even they aren’t entirely immune to the energy draining weapons that the giant—whatever the hell these things are—are aiming at them. Well, Thor might be immune, but none of the Avengers are truly willing to put that to the test. If anything, the creatures sort of look like praying mantises, and while Steve isn’t exactly an expert in entomology (and wouldn’t Hank Pym come in handy right about now?), he’s pretty sure that mantises—praying or otherwise—don’t come equipped with death rays.
The team is holding its own. Like all giant bug creatures (and, really, how weird is his life that Steve has experience with more than one kind of giant bug creature), their weakness is mainly in their legs, which break surprisingly easily when attacked at the joints. They make a horrible sound of crackling exoskeleton when they fall, but fall they do, and Thor and the Hulk are cheerfully smashing their way through the thickest part of the—what’s the plural form for that, anyway? Horde? Swarm? Column? Steve takes a second to shake himself, annoyed that he’s getting to be just as bad as Tony for letting his thoughts run away with him in the middle of combat. Somewhere off to his right he catches a glimpse of flashing black and red as Natasha springs effortlessly through the air, aiming bullets at leg joints with deadly precision. Clint, perched on a nearby rooftop, is doing an admirable job of shepherding all the creatures with exploding arrows, forcing them into a bottleneck of narrow streets where they make even easier targets.
"We got a straggler," Tony’s voice comes over the com link as Steve takes the legs out from under one of the mantises. "Shit, it’s heading straight for a school bus. I got this," he says before Steve can so much as open his mouth.
Then again, he would have directed Tony to try and head it off anyway, so there’s not much point in saying anything anyway. He catches his shield on the rebound, brings down two more of the things just as the same kind of weird portal that opened up earlier in the afternoon in order to unleash the monsters on the unsuspecting city opens once more. The mantises, as though obeying a signal only they can hear—and who knows, it’s as good an explanation as any—turn away slowly, heading back for the portal, and Steve seizes the opportunity.
"Head them off! Hawkeye, Black Widow, I want all these things off the streets in two minutes."
"Roger," Natasha replies just as Clint answers, "Two minutes? Hell, I’ll give you one."
Thor and the Hulk are already doing their parts, dodging the flailing limbs and, more importantly, the increasingly frequent rays being aimed at them. Hulk goes as far as to pick up the creatures and bodily toss them back into the void, while Thor avails himself of Mjölnir to achieve the same effect.
"Iron Man, we’re herding them back to where they came from. Can you get yours in here?" There’s no answer, and Steve feels his heart skip a beat in his chest, even though theoretically the serum is supposed to prevent that from ever happening. "Iron Man, do you copy? Tony?"
There’s a terrible crash from behind him, and Steve whips around in time to see the straggler Tony was after smash against the corner of a building and come down amidst a pile of rubble, long limbs twitching, a smoking crater where the back of its head used to be. He breathes a sigh of relief—if it’s dead, then Tony must be okay—and turns his attention back to where the last of the mantises are disappearing through the portal, which then vanishes with a deceptively quiet Pffwt!
For a few seconds there’s silence, punctuated by the occasional patter of still-falling stonemasonry. Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Good job, everyone. Check in, please."
The Hulk doesn’t really check in, of course, but the sound of angry roaring kind of takes care of that anyway. Besides, Steve has a visual on him, and he can already see that it won’t be long before he returns to being Bruce.
"I am well, and thank you for your concern!" Thor booms into his mouthpiece, apparently forgetting just how much that hurts other people’s eardrums. Steve makes a mental note to remind him of that later. "I shall remain with our friend the Hulk until he regains his other form."
"Much appreciated. Black Widow? Hawkeye?"
"Present," Natasha says softly. "I’m not hurt."
"Same here," Clint volunteers. "Is it me, or was that weirder than usual?"
"I fail to see how, friend!" Thor opines, and Steve winces and wonders if Tony might be able to do something to regulate his volume control specifically.
He’s waiting for Tony to say something sarcastic at that, but there’s nothing. Steve raises a hand automatically to his ear, even though there’s no need—Starktech works as advertised, always. "Tony? You okay? Check in, please."
"I see him—shit, he’s down!" Steve can hear the sudden tension in Clint’s voice. "I got him, corner of Marine and 3rd, I’m on my way!"
Steve’s already running, but Clint has a head start on him. By the time he gets within range Clint is already in place, a dark silhouette standing above the red and gold armour lying on the ground. Steve is by his side in seconds, his mouth already moving to ask why Clint isn’t helping him, when he sees exactly why Clint hasn’t moved. The armour is empty. It's a scorched, half-melted mess, lying in an ungainly heap on the ground, but there's no sign of its usual occupant. The breastplate is the only part that hasn't been affected by the heat, but it's cracked in a way that's all but guaranteed to make Tony bitch about having to perform repairs later.
"Oh my God," Steve breathes. The empty armour is uncomfortably reminiscent of a corpse—especially without the light of the arc reactor to give it the semblance of life—and he has to resist the impulse to shiver. It’s not Tony, he reminds himself. It’s just a large hunk of metal when Tony’s not in it.
"What the hell?" Clint turns to him, his expression a mixture of worry and confusion.
"I don’t know. He must have had to eject, or whatever," Steve says. He doesn’t really understand all the mechanics of how Tony’s suit comes off and goes on. "Did anyone see him get hit? If one of those rays got him… who knows how the armour would have reacted. Fan out, he can’t be far."
The only person who doesn’t join them in the search is Bruce, still disoriented and being checked over by paramedics after his transformation. Under Steve’s instructions they begin searching in a grid pattern, the coms silent, everyone too worried about what they might find to say anything. Steve keeps expecting Tony to saunter out from behind a building, all swagger and cocky grin and sarcastic quip about how touched he is by their obvious concern. Of course nothing of the sort happens, and Steve’s heart starts beating an increasingly erratic tattoo against his ribcage until, finally, Clint’s voice comes back over the coms.
"Uh, Steve? I think you’d better come see this."
"Did you find him?" he starts jogging toward Clint’s location, puzzled by the hesitation he can hear in his voice.
"Uh… just get here, would you?"
Steve puts on a burst of speed, arriving in time to see Natasha coming toward him, the expression on her face nothing short of a smirk. "What’s happening? Is Tony okay?" he asks, and she lifts one shoulder in the sort of infuriatingly Russian half-shrug he’s come to expect from her in situations like this.
"See for yourself," she points down the narrow alley behind her, where he can just make out Clint, who’s dropped to a crouch next to a large rusting dumpster.
As he approaches, Steve hears Clint talking in low and urgent tones to someone or something behind the dumpster, too quietly for him to decipher what he’s saying. To his surprise, though, a moment later he hears another voice, high-pitched and shrill with fear.
"Don’t touch me!"
"Come on," Clint says a little louder, his tone wheedling. "Just come out of there, okay? No one’s going to hurt you." He glances at Steve. "A little help, here?"
It has to be a child, and Steve immediately feels a pang of pity, right up until he hears the next words. "My daddy doesn’t pay ransoms, you should know. There’s no point trying to kidnap me."
Clint snorts and moves out of the way as Steve approaches. "I got nothing, here."
"Tony?" Steve steps up, trying very hard to keep his jaw from dropping at the sight of a small boy, swimming in Tony Stark’s oversized AC/DC t-shirt. His pants and shoes are long gone, and his face is smeared with dirt, hair askew, but there’s no mistaking the glow of the arc reactor under his t-shirt, nor the familiar spark in his eyes. "Good Lord."
Tony’s eyes widen until they seem to swallow his entire face, and he goes very still, like a rabbit gone to ground. At least he doesn't seem visibly injured, so that's a start.
"Tony, do you know who I am?" Steve asks, keeping his tone gentle. He sinks to a crouch, so as not to alarm the boy, and is relieved when Tony nods wordlessly. Thank goodness for small mercies. "So you know we’re friends, right?" That gets him a slightly incredulous stare.
Natasha clears her throat from right behind his left shoulder, startling him. "Um, Steve, Tony knows that you’re Captain America. Right, Tony?"
Tony’s gaze slides toward her, then back toward Steve, and he nods again, and that’s when Steve gets it. This Tony has no idea that he’s just Steve, that Tony himself is Iron Man, that he and Steve are colleagues, that they're part of the greatest team of superheroes the world has ever known. This Tony is just a confused, frightened kid trapped behind a dumpster by a bunch of grown-ups he doesn’t know, and damn if that doesn’t break Steve’s heart just a little.
"Okay," he says, forcing some cheer into his tone. "In that case, you know I’m one of the good guys, right? Good," he says, when he gets another nod, then holds out his hand. "How about we take you home?"
Tony looks uncertain. He glances down at himself, then scrubs then back of his hand against one cheek, smearing more dirt there than before. "Daddy’s going to be mad if I go home like this."
Damn it. "Tony, how old are you?"
"Six and three-quarters."
Steve has dealt with enough little kids as Captain America, so he dutifully whistles in admiration. "Wow. You’re pretty big, all right. Practically a grown man, am I right? Listen, Tony, I promise we’ll get this all sorted out, okay? I just need you to trust me."
It might be cowardly, but he doesn’t want to have to be the one to explain to a kid who’s barely old enough to be in school that his father has been dead for years, not if he doesn’t have to. If they’re lucky, then whatever this is will wear off before too long, and the point will be moot. He pulls off his mask, not missing the way Tony’s face lights up a little, and holds out his hand again.
"My name is Steve, and I’m a friend of your father’s. I would very much like to be your friend, too. Would that be all right? Would you like that?"
At that, Tony very gingerly uncurls from where he’s pressed up against the dumpster, reaches out and slips one tiny hand into Steve’s. He lets himself be hoisted onto Steve’s hip and clings to his chest, bare feet dangling as Steve strides purposefully out of the alley and back toward where he knows Agent Coulson will have a car waiting for them. Sure enough, a black sedan is already idling, and Coulson raises one questioning eyebrow when he sees them coming.
"We’ll need to arrange to have the suit brought back separately," Steve tells him, shifting Tony a little so he’ll be more comfortably settled on his hip. "We’ve had a bit of a complication."
"So I see. What happened?"
Steve shakes his head ruefully. "I have no idea."
~*~
Tony starts to drowse in Steve’s arms within minutes of getting in the car, plainly exhausted, and doesn’t so much as open his mouth during the ride back except to cough quietly a couple of times, presumably the lingering results of breathing in whatever toxic crap tends to hang in the air after a battle.
Steve tries to insist that they return to the Stark mansion, where Tony agreed to host them all in what Steve can only view as a moment of temporary insanity. Or, more accurately, a moment in which Tony was more insane than usual.
"If you want to have him examined, you can at least have it done in familiar surroundings and not in one of those sterile rooms at S.H.I.E.L.D.," he tells Coulson. "He’s already terrified enough as it is without adding that to the trauma."
Coulson shakes his head, though. "Out of the question. Think about it," he says, then glances down at the kid resting against Steve's chest, eyes at half-mast, skinny legs sticking out from under the now-oversized AC/DC t-shirt, and deliberately lowers his voice. "We don't know what caused this. Are you really willing to risk it being something potentially life-threatening? At S.H.I.E.L.D. we can at least get him checked out by a doctor, make sure he's not immediately at risk. After that you can take him home if you want. Sir," he adds belatedly.
It takes a lot for Coulson to contradict him. They usually see eye to eye anyway, and even when they don't Phil tends to defer to his decisions. Steve has never been particularly comfortable with that, always concerned that he's somehow taking advantage of Phil's obvious admiration for the idea of Captain America. He's never sure if Phil agrees with him or if he just wants to agree with his childhood hero, especially after Steve worked diligently with Nick Fury and not only replaced all of the collectible Captain America cards that were damaged during the attack on the helicarrier, but made a point of autographing every single one in indelible marker.
In short, if Coulson is fighting him on this, it's because Steve is probably wrong and is too close to the situation to see it clearly. He just hates the idea of dragging a frightened little kid through the cold corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D. He remembers all too well waking up in that little room, hearing the echoes of a game he could still remember so vividly it felt like he'd only been there a few days before, and finding it was all fake, just a façade propped up by the cold steel and plastic of an organisation whose preferred place is in the shadows. The idea of making anyone else go through that, well, it makes him feel more than a little sick to his stomach. But Phil is right. It makes no sense to risk Tony’s health just in case he doesn’t like being at S.H.I.E.L.D. for a few hours.
"Where are we going? Um, sir?" Tony asks quietly. The honorific appears to be an afterthought, the product of Tony remembering a little too late that he's supposed to be polite to his elders.
"We're going to take you to get looked at by a doctor. Do you remember anything that happened?"
"There was a monster," Tony's voice drops to a whisper, so quiet that Steve has to strain to hear him. "And a big ball of light."
"That's right," he says, and to his surprise Tony relaxes a bit at that. That's when he realizes that Tony wasn't expecting to be believed, that he was expecting to be told not to make up stories. "Did it hurt you?" he asks, and is relieved when Tony shakes his head.
"No. It was like the time I messed with the wires in Daddy's lab and I got a shock and Daddy got really mad at me. My chest feels funny."
"Funny how?" Steve looks him over, but it's not like he's remotely medically qualified, and Tony looks the same as ever, if a lot smaller and younger. "Does it hurt?"
Tony shrugs. "It just feels funny. What is that?" he pokes at the arc reactor under his t-shirt with one hand.
"Uh, it's an arc reactor. I'm not sure how it works, but you should leave that where it is. It's helping to keep your heart working properly."
The boy narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. "What's going on? Everything's different. Nobody ever tells me anything, but I know something's going on. Why aren't we going home? Where's my daddy?"
It figures. Tony didn't become a genius overnight, he was born that way. Steve should have known that he wouldn't be able to keep much from him, not in the long run. "Uh. Okay, yeah, things are different. I'll make you a deal: you let yourself get checked out by the doctor we're going to, and once we're sure you're okay then I'll take you home and I'll explain everything. Deal?"
"Mommy usually lets me get ice cream after the doctor's," Tony says shrewdly, and Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile.
"I don't see why we need to mess with tradition." He holds out his hand and Tony shakes it solemnly.
"Okay, deal."
~*~
Tony gets a clean bill of health from the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors and a new set of clothes. They're sterile-looking black pants and a white t-shirt through which the blue glow of the arc reactor shows up even more starkly than before, but at least they fit him. Steve doesn't even want to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. has spare sets of children's clothing to hand, but he's not about to question it right now. They don't have shoes his size, but outfit him with a pair of slippers made out of what's probably some sort of high tech material whose name Steve wouldn't even be able to pronounce.
While Tony's getting checked out by a team of doctors and put through a battery of tests and scanned by a bewildering assortment of machines, Steve finds himself sequestered in an office with an overwrought Nick Fury and a quietly worried Phil Coulson. By the end of it they're no closer to figuring out just what happened or what went wrong, and reluctantly they agree with Steve's suggestion that they simply wait and see for now, that perhaps Tony's condition is temporary and will resolve itself with time. The lab techs need to run tests before anything else can be determined, in any event, and everyone otherwise seems to be in agreement that Tony will be better off at home, in familiar surroundings.
Against his better judgment Steve decides it'll be faster to take Tony home on his bike and park at the back of the mansion away from prying eyes. He finds a helmet the right size and drives well below the speed limit, and Tony is delighted, bouncing slightly on the seat in front of him and asking him a million questions about how old the bike is, how it works, whether it's been refurbished, and whether or not he's ever considered upgrading some of the parts.
"I have, actually," he says to that last question as he's lifting Tony off the bike. "It's had a few upgrades already. I'd explain, but I think you understand it better than I do already. You ready for that ice cream?"
Tony nods enthusiastically, then looks at the back door. "The security system is different."
"That's right," Steve is thankful that Tony already programmed it to recognize all of the Avengers' retinas for the scans, rather than just his own and Pepper's, because the door clicks open instantly, allowing them access to the house.
It takes a bit of fussing to set Tony up in the kitchen, mostly because the house hasn't been set up to accommodate a child for a good thirty years or more. JARVIS proves helpful in finding an adjustable stool from the workshop so that Tony can sit at the counter in the kitchen, kicking his heels unselfconsciously against the legs of the stool. He tucks happily into a bowl of vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles (Steve can only assume either Thor or Clint is responsible for the presence of any kind of sprinkles in the pantry), spoon held carefully in his right hand in a way that suggests that Maria Stark spent a lot of time teaching him proper table manners.
"So I guess you must have a lot of questions," Steve says, glancing at the clock and ruefully realising that he's essentially just fed the boy ice cream for dinner.
"Uh-huh." Tony looks like he's got so many questions he doesn't even know where to begin asking them.
"How about you tell me exactly what you remember, and we'll go from there?"
"I already told all the doctors what I remember," Tony says mutinously. "Why doesn't anyone want to tell me anything? Something's wrong, right? Did I time travel?"
Steve starts at that. "What? Why would you think that?"
Tony digs his spoon back into his ice cream, takes a bite, and cocks his head. "For one, you're here," he says, ticking it off on his fingers in a way that's eerily reminiscent of his older self. "You're supposed to be dead, or missing. Daddy's been looking for you for decades, and the last I knew, he hadn't found you. For two, everything's different, and better. The cars are smaller and have better shapes and I can hear the motors running better. We didn't have a security system that used your eyes before, and the house talks, now. The medical equipment the doctors used wasn't like the usual stuff, either. The TVs all have flat screens. Besides, I saw a movie poster when we were out on your bike that said it was 2012."
Steve laughs a little incredulously. "Wow. Nothing at all gets by you, does it?"
"So I time-travelled?"
He debates lying for a moment, then decides against it. "No. I mean, I don't think so. As far as we can tell, you just got... changed. This morning, you were an adult, and then something happened to change you back to how you were as a child."
Tony pokes thoughtfully at his ice cream, and Steve can see his mind struggling to process the idea. It's a lot to take in, even for a genius, and Tony's only a little boy. He drops his spoon into his bowl with a clatter, folds his hands in his lap, looking particularly small.
"Are my parents dead?"
"I'm afraid so," Steve forces the words past his lips, but Tony just shakes his head, features pulling into a scowl.
"I don't believe you. You're lying!"
And with that, he jumps down from his stool, lands lightly on his feet, and is gone, disappearing through the kitchen door and into the house.
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Damn it."
~*~
It takes a while to find Tony. It's a very big house, and Tony's a very small boy, and on top of it all Tony knows the mansion better than Steve does, even if his memories are about thirty years out of date. Eventually Steve remembers that the house is actually equipped with an AI and smacks himself repeatedly in the forehead before looking for the nearest access panel. He knows it's not necessary to talk to the panels, but he feels weird just talking to the empty air all the time, and JARVIS doesn't seem to mind.
"Master Tony is in his father's old study, Captain."
"Thank you. Is he all right?"
"He appears physically unharmed, though distressed. Would you like me to provide a reading of his vital signs?"
"No, thank you, that's not necessary. I'll go in and talk to him."
To his relief, Tony is not only exactly where JARVIS said he would be, he's not even crying. Instead he's climbed up onto a chair and is intently looking at a framed article on the wall behind Howard's old desk. There's a picture of Howard atop the article, front and center, next to a teenaged Tony, alongside a much newer-looking Dummy. Howard is smiling at the camera, showing off the gleaming first-prize trophy his son just earned, while Tony is glancing sidelong at his father, his expression pleased but uncertain, as though he's waiting for Howard to look back at him.
To Steve's surprise, Tony turns back to him. "Daddy says you never lie," he says quietly.
It's the sort of thing that surprises Steve to hear, even to this day, all these things people believe about Captain America. That he never tells lies, is never afraid, that he always does the right thing. As though he's somehow better than everyone else, when all Steve has ever tried to do was get through the day without everything going to hell on him. Right now, for instance, he hates himself just a little bit for the slump in Tony's shoulders.
"C'mere," he says, and is more than a little relieved when Tony lets him pulls him into a hug. Tony holds himself very still, but leans a little bit against him and doesn't protest when Steve rubs circles on his back. "I know it's a lot to take in all at once."
"Who's gonna take care of me now?" Tony asks, and Steve honestly has no idea what to say that's going to make this any better.
"I will," he promises, for whatever's that worth, and hugs Tony a little harder. He can feel the kid shaking a bit with the effort not to cry. "And all your friends here. We're not going to let anything happen to you."
"Steve?" A soft, feminine voice comes from behind them. "JARVIS told me you might be—oh."
He looks up to see Pepper standing in the doorway to the study, hand held to her mouth. Her hair is pinned in a bun, but a few strands have come loose to frame her face. She must have just flown in from her meeting in Atlanta, because she's still dressed in a neatly pressed dark grey suit with a peach-coloured ruffled blouse, complemented with a single cameo on a silver chain around her neck. Steve has never quite figured out how she always manages to look pulled together no matter the circumstances.
"Tony?" she asks, unable to hide her surprise. "Oh my God," she repeats. "I couldn't believe it when they told me. Um, hi," she says when Tony slips out of Steve's arms and makes his way over to her. "I'm Pepper."
Tony has to tilt his head at an almost impossible angle to look at her, but he flashes her a big smile, revealing a set of perfect, pearly little teeth. "You're pretty."
Pepper blushes a little and smiles back, dropping to a crouch in front of him. Somehow she manages not to make it look patronising. "You haven't changed all that much, I guess. Has Steve been explaining things to you?"
"Yeah. So are you the grown-up me's girlfriend?"
Pepper rolls her eyes. "Grown-up you doesn't like to define relationships. You about done looking around in here?" she asks, and Tony nods, accepting the deflection. "You want to see where your room is now?"
"Okay."
"You must be pretty tired, huh? It's been a long day already, and it's not even over. Want a ride?"
Tony doesn't answer, but Pepper seems to take it as acceptance, because she lifts him onto one hip and lets him wrap both arms around her neck to steady himself. Suddenly at a loss as to what to do with himself, Steve trails after them, feeling a little like an abandoned golden retriever and more than a little foolish in the process.
He probably should have realised that Tony wouldn't recognize his bedroom. "It wasn't in here before," he says, staring dubiously at the king-sized bed, which is fitted with very expensive white sheets that only rarely get slept on for more than a couple of hours at a time.
"You moved into a bigger room when you got older," Pepper tells him. "Your old room is still there, but you turned it into a guest room. You want me to ask JARVIS if any of your old things are still in the house? Toys and clothes and stuff?"
Tony rubs at the casing of the arc reactor, staring at his feet. "Am I going to stay like this?"
"We don't know. I don't think so, though. Probably not. We're going to try to fix this."
Tony tugs a little on his t-shirt and nods once. Pepper strokes his hair and, to Steve's surprise, Tony leans into her touch a little. "There's a pair of pajamas ready for you already, and we'll find some new clothes for tomorrow. I know it's early still, but if you're tired you can sleep for a while. We'll deal with everything else in the morning."
"Mommy always tucks me in." Tony's voice doesn't waver this time, but Steve feels a lump form in his own throat anyway.
Pepper gives him a quick squeeze. "I know, but just for now you're going to have to make do with me and Steve, okay?"
She lets Steve help Tony into a pair of pajamas, sensing in that uncanny way she has, that having a woman help with this part of his bedtime routine might not be welcome so soon after the news that Tony is never going to see his mother again. Even if Tony, like most kids his age, doesn't seem to quite grasp the finality of death yet. The arc reactor is glowing brightly against Tony's chest, looking bigger than ever. Or maybe it's just that Tony is so small, like this, that Steve can see all his ribs sticking out just beneath his skin. He looks impossibly tiny in the huge bed, so far off the floor that Steve actually gives him a boost so he can scramble up, the comforter pulled up around his waist like a poor imitation of a thick snowfall.
Steve pulls the comforter up over his shoulders. "You think you can get some sleep?"
"I don't know." But the boy's eyelids are already drooping, and he's asleep in seconds, much to Steve's relief.
He looks up to see Pepper watching them both, bottom lip caught in her teeth. "What now?"
~*~
[Part 2]
"Do you really think now is the appropriate time for this?"
Sometimes Steve wonders if he sounds as prissy and condescending as he thinks he does. It's just that, inevitably, Tony seems to know all his buttons and the exact sequence in which to push them in order to work him into a state of internal frenzy. For instance, taking twenty minutes to fiddle with something on his armour right after they've been called in for a briefing by Director Fury, thus guaranteeing they'll be a few minutes late. Stark is always late, of course, though never by more than a few minutes: just enough so that he can be the last one in the room and make a grand entrance. It drives Steve crazy, partly because he hates being late, hates having attention drawn to himself, and partly because he knows Tony does it on purpose because of those first two things.
Tony flashes him a grin from where he's still sitting on a stool at his workbench. "Almost done, Captain OCD. You wouldn't want me to leave a literal chink in my armour before heading out, would you? I'm sure that your Standard Safety Protocols wouldn't stand for that."
"Look, for the last time I don't have any—oh, why do I bother?" Steve throws up his hands and turns away. Instinctively he feels the projectile coming at his head and sidesteps in time for the grease-soaked rag Tony threw at him to miss him entirely and land with a wet splat at his feet. "Oh, very funny," he turns back, rolling his eyes. "Throwing filthy things like a monkey. Very mature, Stark."
Tony grins, eyes twinkling. "Oh, c'mon, Capsicle. Where's your sense of whimsy? If I didn't know any better, I'd swear you sprang from Nick Fury's head fully-formed, like Athena, only she had a better sense of humour."
"You're a child," Steve spits, exasperated. "It's like you never grew up at all."
To his surprise, the amused look fades from Tony's face, his expression closing off, unreadable. "And what would you know about that, exactly?"
Steve's taken aback, but before he can answer, an alarm starts beeping shrilly, and Coulson's voice sounds in his ear. "Captain, we've got a situation."
Tony grins at him, the same awful, fake grin he reserves for cocktail parties and press conferences he doesn't want to attend. "Tell you what, Captain, instead of making judgements about things you know nothing about, how about you lead us into battle against the bad guys?"
There's no time to figure out just what went wrong, here. They'll sort it out after the latest threat has been neutralized, Steve decides, switching on his comm link.
"Avengers, assemble!"
"Why do you do that even when we're all in the same building?"
Steve rolls his eyes. "Just come on, would you Stark? We'll finish this later."
"Whatever you say, Cap," Tony says, the smirk audible in his tone.
Steve is beginning to think that, despite what anyone might say, he's doomed never to finish any of his conversations with Tony at all, a lifetime of unfinished business.
~*~
It’s in the nature of battle for things to go to Hell in a handful of seconds, but somehow it takes Steve by surprise almost every time. He's learned to roll with the punches, whether it be to rethink his tactics and send half his men to flank a heretofore unseen artillery nest, to order an orderly retreat, or, when necessary, to redirect a plane right into the Arctic Ocean if it means saving the world. Still, it doesn't mean he's in any way used to the terrible spike of adrenaline that accompanies the unforeseen, the way his heart tries to crawl its way into his mouth, the sudden certainty that this is the moment when the serum's going to fail once and for all and his lungs are going to shut down from the stress.
This time proves to be no exception. Although now he’s surrounded by a team composed of what are arguably the most powerful and capable people on the planet, even they aren’t entirely immune to the energy draining weapons that the giant—whatever the hell these things are—are aiming at them. Well, Thor might be immune, but none of the Avengers are truly willing to put that to the test. If anything, the creatures sort of look like praying mantises, and while Steve isn’t exactly an expert in entomology (and wouldn’t Hank Pym come in handy right about now?), he’s pretty sure that mantises—praying or otherwise—don’t come equipped with death rays.
The team is holding its own. Like all giant bug creatures (and, really, how weird is his life that Steve has experience with more than one kind of giant bug creature), their weakness is mainly in their legs, which break surprisingly easily when attacked at the joints. They make a horrible sound of crackling exoskeleton when they fall, but fall they do, and Thor and the Hulk are cheerfully smashing their way through the thickest part of the—what’s the plural form for that, anyway? Horde? Swarm? Column? Steve takes a second to shake himself, annoyed that he’s getting to be just as bad as Tony for letting his thoughts run away with him in the middle of combat. Somewhere off to his right he catches a glimpse of flashing black and red as Natasha springs effortlessly through the air, aiming bullets at leg joints with deadly precision. Clint, perched on a nearby rooftop, is doing an admirable job of shepherding all the creatures with exploding arrows, forcing them into a bottleneck of narrow streets where they make even easier targets.
"We got a straggler," Tony’s voice comes over the com link as Steve takes the legs out from under one of the mantises. "Shit, it’s heading straight for a school bus. I got this," he says before Steve can so much as open his mouth.
Then again, he would have directed Tony to try and head it off anyway, so there’s not much point in saying anything anyway. He catches his shield on the rebound, brings down two more of the things just as the same kind of weird portal that opened up earlier in the afternoon in order to unleash the monsters on the unsuspecting city opens once more. The mantises, as though obeying a signal only they can hear—and who knows, it’s as good an explanation as any—turn away slowly, heading back for the portal, and Steve seizes the opportunity.
"Head them off! Hawkeye, Black Widow, I want all these things off the streets in two minutes."
"Roger," Natasha replies just as Clint answers, "Two minutes? Hell, I’ll give you one."
Thor and the Hulk are already doing their parts, dodging the flailing limbs and, more importantly, the increasingly frequent rays being aimed at them. Hulk goes as far as to pick up the creatures and bodily toss them back into the void, while Thor avails himself of Mjölnir to achieve the same effect.
"Iron Man, we’re herding them back to where they came from. Can you get yours in here?" There’s no answer, and Steve feels his heart skip a beat in his chest, even though theoretically the serum is supposed to prevent that from ever happening. "Iron Man, do you copy? Tony?"
There’s a terrible crash from behind him, and Steve whips around in time to see the straggler Tony was after smash against the corner of a building and come down amidst a pile of rubble, long limbs twitching, a smoking crater where the back of its head used to be. He breathes a sigh of relief—if it’s dead, then Tony must be okay—and turns his attention back to where the last of the mantises are disappearing through the portal, which then vanishes with a deceptively quiet Pffwt!
For a few seconds there’s silence, punctuated by the occasional patter of still-falling stonemasonry. Steve takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. "Good job, everyone. Check in, please."
The Hulk doesn’t really check in, of course, but the sound of angry roaring kind of takes care of that anyway. Besides, Steve has a visual on him, and he can already see that it won’t be long before he returns to being Bruce.
"I am well, and thank you for your concern!" Thor booms into his mouthpiece, apparently forgetting just how much that hurts other people’s eardrums. Steve makes a mental note to remind him of that later. "I shall remain with our friend the Hulk until he regains his other form."
"Much appreciated. Black Widow? Hawkeye?"
"Present," Natasha says softly. "I’m not hurt."
"Same here," Clint volunteers. "Is it me, or was that weirder than usual?"
"I fail to see how, friend!" Thor opines, and Steve winces and wonders if Tony might be able to do something to regulate his volume control specifically.
He’s waiting for Tony to say something sarcastic at that, but there’s nothing. Steve raises a hand automatically to his ear, even though there’s no need—Starktech works as advertised, always. "Tony? You okay? Check in, please."
"I see him—shit, he’s down!" Steve can hear the sudden tension in Clint’s voice. "I got him, corner of Marine and 3rd, I’m on my way!"
Steve’s already running, but Clint has a head start on him. By the time he gets within range Clint is already in place, a dark silhouette standing above the red and gold armour lying on the ground. Steve is by his side in seconds, his mouth already moving to ask why Clint isn’t helping him, when he sees exactly why Clint hasn’t moved. The armour is empty. It's a scorched, half-melted mess, lying in an ungainly heap on the ground, but there's no sign of its usual occupant. The breastplate is the only part that hasn't been affected by the heat, but it's cracked in a way that's all but guaranteed to make Tony bitch about having to perform repairs later.
"Oh my God," Steve breathes. The empty armour is uncomfortably reminiscent of a corpse—especially without the light of the arc reactor to give it the semblance of life—and he has to resist the impulse to shiver. It’s not Tony, he reminds himself. It’s just a large hunk of metal when Tony’s not in it.
"What the hell?" Clint turns to him, his expression a mixture of worry and confusion.
"I don’t know. He must have had to eject, or whatever," Steve says. He doesn’t really understand all the mechanics of how Tony’s suit comes off and goes on. "Did anyone see him get hit? If one of those rays got him… who knows how the armour would have reacted. Fan out, he can’t be far."
The only person who doesn’t join them in the search is Bruce, still disoriented and being checked over by paramedics after his transformation. Under Steve’s instructions they begin searching in a grid pattern, the coms silent, everyone too worried about what they might find to say anything. Steve keeps expecting Tony to saunter out from behind a building, all swagger and cocky grin and sarcastic quip about how touched he is by their obvious concern. Of course nothing of the sort happens, and Steve’s heart starts beating an increasingly erratic tattoo against his ribcage until, finally, Clint’s voice comes back over the coms.
"Uh, Steve? I think you’d better come see this."
"Did you find him?" he starts jogging toward Clint’s location, puzzled by the hesitation he can hear in his voice.
"Uh… just get here, would you?"
Steve puts on a burst of speed, arriving in time to see Natasha coming toward him, the expression on her face nothing short of a smirk. "What’s happening? Is Tony okay?" he asks, and she lifts one shoulder in the sort of infuriatingly Russian half-shrug he’s come to expect from her in situations like this.
"See for yourself," she points down the narrow alley behind her, where he can just make out Clint, who’s dropped to a crouch next to a large rusting dumpster.
As he approaches, Steve hears Clint talking in low and urgent tones to someone or something behind the dumpster, too quietly for him to decipher what he’s saying. To his surprise, though, a moment later he hears another voice, high-pitched and shrill with fear.
"Don’t touch me!"
"Come on," Clint says a little louder, his tone wheedling. "Just come out of there, okay? No one’s going to hurt you." He glances at Steve. "A little help, here?"
It has to be a child, and Steve immediately feels a pang of pity, right up until he hears the next words. "My daddy doesn’t pay ransoms, you should know. There’s no point trying to kidnap me."
Clint snorts and moves out of the way as Steve approaches. "I got nothing, here."
"Tony?" Steve steps up, trying very hard to keep his jaw from dropping at the sight of a small boy, swimming in Tony Stark’s oversized AC/DC t-shirt. His pants and shoes are long gone, and his face is smeared with dirt, hair askew, but there’s no mistaking the glow of the arc reactor under his t-shirt, nor the familiar spark in his eyes. "Good Lord."
Tony’s eyes widen until they seem to swallow his entire face, and he goes very still, like a rabbit gone to ground. At least he doesn't seem visibly injured, so that's a start.
"Tony, do you know who I am?" Steve asks, keeping his tone gentle. He sinks to a crouch, so as not to alarm the boy, and is relieved when Tony nods wordlessly. Thank goodness for small mercies. "So you know we’re friends, right?" That gets him a slightly incredulous stare.
Natasha clears her throat from right behind his left shoulder, startling him. "Um, Steve, Tony knows that you’re Captain America. Right, Tony?"
Tony’s gaze slides toward her, then back toward Steve, and he nods again, and that’s when Steve gets it. This Tony has no idea that he’s just Steve, that Tony himself is Iron Man, that he and Steve are colleagues, that they're part of the greatest team of superheroes the world has ever known. This Tony is just a confused, frightened kid trapped behind a dumpster by a bunch of grown-ups he doesn’t know, and damn if that doesn’t break Steve’s heart just a little.
"Okay," he says, forcing some cheer into his tone. "In that case, you know I’m one of the good guys, right? Good," he says, when he gets another nod, then holds out his hand. "How about we take you home?"
Tony looks uncertain. He glances down at himself, then scrubs then back of his hand against one cheek, smearing more dirt there than before. "Daddy’s going to be mad if I go home like this."
Damn it. "Tony, how old are you?"
"Six and three-quarters."
Steve has dealt with enough little kids as Captain America, so he dutifully whistles in admiration. "Wow. You’re pretty big, all right. Practically a grown man, am I right? Listen, Tony, I promise we’ll get this all sorted out, okay? I just need you to trust me."
It might be cowardly, but he doesn’t want to have to be the one to explain to a kid who’s barely old enough to be in school that his father has been dead for years, not if he doesn’t have to. If they’re lucky, then whatever this is will wear off before too long, and the point will be moot. He pulls off his mask, not missing the way Tony’s face lights up a little, and holds out his hand again.
"My name is Steve, and I’m a friend of your father’s. I would very much like to be your friend, too. Would that be all right? Would you like that?"
At that, Tony very gingerly uncurls from where he’s pressed up against the dumpster, reaches out and slips one tiny hand into Steve’s. He lets himself be hoisted onto Steve’s hip and clings to his chest, bare feet dangling as Steve strides purposefully out of the alley and back toward where he knows Agent Coulson will have a car waiting for them. Sure enough, a black sedan is already idling, and Coulson raises one questioning eyebrow when he sees them coming.
"We’ll need to arrange to have the suit brought back separately," Steve tells him, shifting Tony a little so he’ll be more comfortably settled on his hip. "We’ve had a bit of a complication."
"So I see. What happened?"
Steve shakes his head ruefully. "I have no idea."
~*~
Tony starts to drowse in Steve’s arms within minutes of getting in the car, plainly exhausted, and doesn’t so much as open his mouth during the ride back except to cough quietly a couple of times, presumably the lingering results of breathing in whatever toxic crap tends to hang in the air after a battle.
Steve tries to insist that they return to the Stark mansion, where Tony agreed to host them all in what Steve can only view as a moment of temporary insanity. Or, more accurately, a moment in which Tony was more insane than usual.
"If you want to have him examined, you can at least have it done in familiar surroundings and not in one of those sterile rooms at S.H.I.E.L.D.," he tells Coulson. "He’s already terrified enough as it is without adding that to the trauma."
Coulson shakes his head, though. "Out of the question. Think about it," he says, then glances down at the kid resting against Steve's chest, eyes at half-mast, skinny legs sticking out from under the now-oversized AC/DC t-shirt, and deliberately lowers his voice. "We don't know what caused this. Are you really willing to risk it being something potentially life-threatening? At S.H.I.E.L.D. we can at least get him checked out by a doctor, make sure he's not immediately at risk. After that you can take him home if you want. Sir," he adds belatedly.
It takes a lot for Coulson to contradict him. They usually see eye to eye anyway, and even when they don't Phil tends to defer to his decisions. Steve has never been particularly comfortable with that, always concerned that he's somehow taking advantage of Phil's obvious admiration for the idea of Captain America. He's never sure if Phil agrees with him or if he just wants to agree with his childhood hero, especially after Steve worked diligently with Nick Fury and not only replaced all of the collectible Captain America cards that were damaged during the attack on the helicarrier, but made a point of autographing every single one in indelible marker.
In short, if Coulson is fighting him on this, it's because Steve is probably wrong and is too close to the situation to see it clearly. He just hates the idea of dragging a frightened little kid through the cold corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D. He remembers all too well waking up in that little room, hearing the echoes of a game he could still remember so vividly it felt like he'd only been there a few days before, and finding it was all fake, just a façade propped up by the cold steel and plastic of an organisation whose preferred place is in the shadows. The idea of making anyone else go through that, well, it makes him feel more than a little sick to his stomach. But Phil is right. It makes no sense to risk Tony’s health just in case he doesn’t like being at S.H.I.E.L.D. for a few hours.
"Where are we going? Um, sir?" Tony asks quietly. The honorific appears to be an afterthought, the product of Tony remembering a little too late that he's supposed to be polite to his elders.
"We're going to take you to get looked at by a doctor. Do you remember anything that happened?"
"There was a monster," Tony's voice drops to a whisper, so quiet that Steve has to strain to hear him. "And a big ball of light."
"That's right," he says, and to his surprise Tony relaxes a bit at that. That's when he realizes that Tony wasn't expecting to be believed, that he was expecting to be told not to make up stories. "Did it hurt you?" he asks, and is relieved when Tony shakes his head.
"No. It was like the time I messed with the wires in Daddy's lab and I got a shock and Daddy got really mad at me. My chest feels funny."
"Funny how?" Steve looks him over, but it's not like he's remotely medically qualified, and Tony looks the same as ever, if a lot smaller and younger. "Does it hurt?"
Tony shrugs. "It just feels funny. What is that?" he pokes at the arc reactor under his t-shirt with one hand.
"Uh, it's an arc reactor. I'm not sure how it works, but you should leave that where it is. It's helping to keep your heart working properly."
The boy narrows his eyes at him suspiciously. "What's going on? Everything's different. Nobody ever tells me anything, but I know something's going on. Why aren't we going home? Where's my daddy?"
It figures. Tony didn't become a genius overnight, he was born that way. Steve should have known that he wouldn't be able to keep much from him, not in the long run. "Uh. Okay, yeah, things are different. I'll make you a deal: you let yourself get checked out by the doctor we're going to, and once we're sure you're okay then I'll take you home and I'll explain everything. Deal?"
"Mommy usually lets me get ice cream after the doctor's," Tony says shrewdly, and Steve has to bite the inside of his cheek not to smile.
"I don't see why we need to mess with tradition." He holds out his hand and Tony shakes it solemnly.
"Okay, deal."
~*~
Tony gets a clean bill of health from the S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors and a new set of clothes. They're sterile-looking black pants and a white t-shirt through which the blue glow of the arc reactor shows up even more starkly than before, but at least they fit him. Steve doesn't even want to know why S.H.I.E.L.D. has spare sets of children's clothing to hand, but he's not about to question it right now. They don't have shoes his size, but outfit him with a pair of slippers made out of what's probably some sort of high tech material whose name Steve wouldn't even be able to pronounce.
While Tony's getting checked out by a team of doctors and put through a battery of tests and scanned by a bewildering assortment of machines, Steve finds himself sequestered in an office with an overwrought Nick Fury and a quietly worried Phil Coulson. By the end of it they're no closer to figuring out just what happened or what went wrong, and reluctantly they agree with Steve's suggestion that they simply wait and see for now, that perhaps Tony's condition is temporary and will resolve itself with time. The lab techs need to run tests before anything else can be determined, in any event, and everyone otherwise seems to be in agreement that Tony will be better off at home, in familiar surroundings.
Against his better judgment Steve decides it'll be faster to take Tony home on his bike and park at the back of the mansion away from prying eyes. He finds a helmet the right size and drives well below the speed limit, and Tony is delighted, bouncing slightly on the seat in front of him and asking him a million questions about how old the bike is, how it works, whether it's been refurbished, and whether or not he's ever considered upgrading some of the parts.
"I have, actually," he says to that last question as he's lifting Tony off the bike. "It's had a few upgrades already. I'd explain, but I think you understand it better than I do already. You ready for that ice cream?"
Tony nods enthusiastically, then looks at the back door. "The security system is different."
"That's right," Steve is thankful that Tony already programmed it to recognize all of the Avengers' retinas for the scans, rather than just his own and Pepper's, because the door clicks open instantly, allowing them access to the house.
It takes a bit of fussing to set Tony up in the kitchen, mostly because the house hasn't been set up to accommodate a child for a good thirty years or more. JARVIS proves helpful in finding an adjustable stool from the workshop so that Tony can sit at the counter in the kitchen, kicking his heels unselfconsciously against the legs of the stool. He tucks happily into a bowl of vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles (Steve can only assume either Thor or Clint is responsible for the presence of any kind of sprinkles in the pantry), spoon held carefully in his right hand in a way that suggests that Maria Stark spent a lot of time teaching him proper table manners.
"So I guess you must have a lot of questions," Steve says, glancing at the clock and ruefully realising that he's essentially just fed the boy ice cream for dinner.
"Uh-huh." Tony looks like he's got so many questions he doesn't even know where to begin asking them.
"How about you tell me exactly what you remember, and we'll go from there?"
"I already told all the doctors what I remember," Tony says mutinously. "Why doesn't anyone want to tell me anything? Something's wrong, right? Did I time travel?"
Steve starts at that. "What? Why would you think that?"
Tony digs his spoon back into his ice cream, takes a bite, and cocks his head. "For one, you're here," he says, ticking it off on his fingers in a way that's eerily reminiscent of his older self. "You're supposed to be dead, or missing. Daddy's been looking for you for decades, and the last I knew, he hadn't found you. For two, everything's different, and better. The cars are smaller and have better shapes and I can hear the motors running better. We didn't have a security system that used your eyes before, and the house talks, now. The medical equipment the doctors used wasn't like the usual stuff, either. The TVs all have flat screens. Besides, I saw a movie poster when we were out on your bike that said it was 2012."
Steve laughs a little incredulously. "Wow. Nothing at all gets by you, does it?"
"So I time-travelled?"
He debates lying for a moment, then decides against it. "No. I mean, I don't think so. As far as we can tell, you just got... changed. This morning, you were an adult, and then something happened to change you back to how you were as a child."
Tony pokes thoughtfully at his ice cream, and Steve can see his mind struggling to process the idea. It's a lot to take in, even for a genius, and Tony's only a little boy. He drops his spoon into his bowl with a clatter, folds his hands in his lap, looking particularly small.
"Are my parents dead?"
"I'm afraid so," Steve forces the words past his lips, but Tony just shakes his head, features pulling into a scowl.
"I don't believe you. You're lying!"
And with that, he jumps down from his stool, lands lightly on his feet, and is gone, disappearing through the kitchen door and into the house.
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Damn it."
~*~
It takes a while to find Tony. It's a very big house, and Tony's a very small boy, and on top of it all Tony knows the mansion better than Steve does, even if his memories are about thirty years out of date. Eventually Steve remembers that the house is actually equipped with an AI and smacks himself repeatedly in the forehead before looking for the nearest access panel. He knows it's not necessary to talk to the panels, but he feels weird just talking to the empty air all the time, and JARVIS doesn't seem to mind.
"Master Tony is in his father's old study, Captain."
"Thank you. Is he all right?"
"He appears physically unharmed, though distressed. Would you like me to provide a reading of his vital signs?"
"No, thank you, that's not necessary. I'll go in and talk to him."
To his relief, Tony is not only exactly where JARVIS said he would be, he's not even crying. Instead he's climbed up onto a chair and is intently looking at a framed article on the wall behind Howard's old desk. There's a picture of Howard atop the article, front and center, next to a teenaged Tony, alongside a much newer-looking Dummy. Howard is smiling at the camera, showing off the gleaming first-prize trophy his son just earned, while Tony is glancing sidelong at his father, his expression pleased but uncertain, as though he's waiting for Howard to look back at him.
To Steve's surprise, Tony turns back to him. "Daddy says you never lie," he says quietly.
It's the sort of thing that surprises Steve to hear, even to this day, all these things people believe about Captain America. That he never tells lies, is never afraid, that he always does the right thing. As though he's somehow better than everyone else, when all Steve has ever tried to do was get through the day without everything going to hell on him. Right now, for instance, he hates himself just a little bit for the slump in Tony's shoulders.
"C'mere," he says, and is more than a little relieved when Tony lets him pulls him into a hug. Tony holds himself very still, but leans a little bit against him and doesn't protest when Steve rubs circles on his back. "I know it's a lot to take in all at once."
"Who's gonna take care of me now?" Tony asks, and Steve honestly has no idea what to say that's going to make this any better.
"I will," he promises, for whatever's that worth, and hugs Tony a little harder. He can feel the kid shaking a bit with the effort not to cry. "And all your friends here. We're not going to let anything happen to you."
"Steve?" A soft, feminine voice comes from behind them. "JARVIS told me you might be—oh."
He looks up to see Pepper standing in the doorway to the study, hand held to her mouth. Her hair is pinned in a bun, but a few strands have come loose to frame her face. She must have just flown in from her meeting in Atlanta, because she's still dressed in a neatly pressed dark grey suit with a peach-coloured ruffled blouse, complemented with a single cameo on a silver chain around her neck. Steve has never quite figured out how she always manages to look pulled together no matter the circumstances.
"Tony?" she asks, unable to hide her surprise. "Oh my God," she repeats. "I couldn't believe it when they told me. Um, hi," she says when Tony slips out of Steve's arms and makes his way over to her. "I'm Pepper."
Tony has to tilt his head at an almost impossible angle to look at her, but he flashes her a big smile, revealing a set of perfect, pearly little teeth. "You're pretty."
Pepper blushes a little and smiles back, dropping to a crouch in front of him. Somehow she manages not to make it look patronising. "You haven't changed all that much, I guess. Has Steve been explaining things to you?"
"Yeah. So are you the grown-up me's girlfriend?"
Pepper rolls her eyes. "Grown-up you doesn't like to define relationships. You about done looking around in here?" she asks, and Tony nods, accepting the deflection. "You want to see where your room is now?"
"Okay."
"You must be pretty tired, huh? It's been a long day already, and it's not even over. Want a ride?"
Tony doesn't answer, but Pepper seems to take it as acceptance, because she lifts him onto one hip and lets him wrap both arms around her neck to steady himself. Suddenly at a loss as to what to do with himself, Steve trails after them, feeling a little like an abandoned golden retriever and more than a little foolish in the process.
He probably should have realised that Tony wouldn't recognize his bedroom. "It wasn't in here before," he says, staring dubiously at the king-sized bed, which is fitted with very expensive white sheets that only rarely get slept on for more than a couple of hours at a time.
"You moved into a bigger room when you got older," Pepper tells him. "Your old room is still there, but you turned it into a guest room. You want me to ask JARVIS if any of your old things are still in the house? Toys and clothes and stuff?"
Tony rubs at the casing of the arc reactor, staring at his feet. "Am I going to stay like this?"
"We don't know. I don't think so, though. Probably not. We're going to try to fix this."
Tony tugs a little on his t-shirt and nods once. Pepper strokes his hair and, to Steve's surprise, Tony leans into her touch a little. "There's a pair of pajamas ready for you already, and we'll find some new clothes for tomorrow. I know it's early still, but if you're tired you can sleep for a while. We'll deal with everything else in the morning."
"Mommy always tucks me in." Tony's voice doesn't waver this time, but Steve feels a lump form in his own throat anyway.
Pepper gives him a quick squeeze. "I know, but just for now you're going to have to make do with me and Steve, okay?"
She lets Steve help Tony into a pair of pajamas, sensing in that uncanny way she has, that having a woman help with this part of his bedtime routine might not be welcome so soon after the news that Tony is never going to see his mother again. Even if Tony, like most kids his age, doesn't seem to quite grasp the finality of death yet. The arc reactor is glowing brightly against Tony's chest, looking bigger than ever. Or maybe it's just that Tony is so small, like this, that Steve can see all his ribs sticking out just beneath his skin. He looks impossibly tiny in the huge bed, so far off the floor that Steve actually gives him a boost so he can scramble up, the comforter pulled up around his waist like a poor imitation of a thick snowfall.
Steve pulls the comforter up over his shoulders. "You think you can get some sleep?"
"I don't know." But the boy's eyelids are already drooping, and he's asleep in seconds, much to Steve's relief.
He looks up to see Pepper watching them both, bottom lip caught in her teeth. "What now?"
~*~
[Part 2]