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A stack of folders slams onto the table in front of Tony Stark, snapping him out of his early morning daze. “Wha,” he starts, but then stutters to a stop when his eyes land on the folders.
“Did you know about this?” He hears Steve asking him calmly, a steely edge to his voice. Panicked brown eyes look up to meet narrowed blue. “I…” Tony begins, only to be cut off by Steve. “You knew about this, didn’t you?”
Tony looked away and snorted. “With Howard as a parent, how could I not?” He asked, draining the last of his coffee. Knowing this was not a conversation he wanted to have, especially with the rest of the team all gathered in the kitchen with them, Tony stood up. “I don’t know where you found that Cap, but I suggest you burn it and forget about it.”
“Sit down, Tony.” Steve said, not intending to let the other man escape.
“No can do, Capsicle.” Tony huffed, rolling his eyes. “It takes a bottle of whiskey and a near death experience before I can even think about doing the whole emotional talk thing. Considering the fact that it’s nine AM, and there’s nary a villain in sight, I’ll pass. Now if you excuse me, some of us have jobs to get to.”
“Sit. Down. Now.” Steve ordered, and for the first time in over twelve months of acquaintance, their team mates watched in shock as Tony obeyed.
“Guess you can teach an old dog new tricks,” Clint muttered into his coffee, wincing as Natasha smacked the back of his head. “Mind sharing with the rest of the class?” She drawled.
Not bothered by the audience, and determined to make his point before Tony’s next escape attempt, Steve flipped open the top folder, picking up the first page. “I finally decided to go through the boxes Howard saved for me,” Steve started. “I figured they would all be full of my army paperwork, and Howling Commando related documents. And they were, for the most part, so imagine my surprise when I came across these folders…” He trailed off, looking at the paper. His eyes softened for a moment, before looking up to glare at the surprisingly silent resident genius.
“Don’t,” Tony said, not bothering to look up. The normally talkative and animated man was quiet and resigned. “You’ve got my attention. You want to talk? We can talk later. But I can’t do this right now.”
“You can’t do this right now?! When can you do this? We have known each other for a year now, Tony. When were you planning on telling me?” Steve demanded. “Guys!” Bruce cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm down. “I think we’ve all had enough riddles and drama for one morning. What on earth is going on?”
Looking back at the paper in his hands, Steve began to read. “Certificate of Live Birth. Name: Anthony Edward Grant Rogers.” Several gasps sounded in the room, but he ignored them and continued. “Date of Birth: August 15th, 1945. Mother: Howard Anthony Walter Stark. Father: Steven Grant Rogers.”
There was no noise in the room, as everyone digested the information revealed. “How is that even possible?” Bruce questioned, finally breaking the silence. “Even with today’s advances in medicine, that’s impossible.”
“Are we all just going to ignore that the seemingly virtuous paragon of American morality was actually doing the dirty with a man back in the 40’s, and somehow became Howard Stark’s baby daddy?” Clint quipped, earning him another smack.
“It’s all in here.” Steve said, ignoring Clint and laying out the folder’s contents. “Howard’s journals talking about his attempts to recreate the Super Soldier Serum when he didn’t join the Commandos on missions, and notes about his self experimentation. Then there are papers from after I took the plane down talking about discovering the extra organs one of the serums created, and his pregnancy. Finally there’s a journal from Tony’s early infancy, and an updated birth certificate listing Maria Collins Carbonell Stark as his mother, Howard as father, and an updated date of birth of May 29, 1970.” Steve look pained at this point, and took a deep breath, closing his eyes.
Natasha moved closer, and started flipping through the documents. “So how does someone born in 1945, find themselves with a 1970 date of birth?” She asked, looking at Tony. “You look good for a man pushing 70.” The humor fell flat, but the corner of Tony’s mouth quirked acknowledging the attempt.
“Howard found out the hard way that serums created attributes aren’t passed genetically.” Tony answered softly. “I inherited a weak immune system instead, and was dying at three months.” Steve flinched, and made a pained noise at this. “Howard found a way to cryogenically freeze me, until he could find some way to reverse the damage. After he married Mom, they staged a pregnancy and defrosted me. The original birth certificate was never filed, and Aunt Peggy was the only other person who knew about Howard’s pregnancy.”
“When were you going to tell me?”
Steve’s repeated question re-fueled Tony’s fire, causing the man to jump from his seat. “I knew men worth ten of you,” he roared, referring to Steve’s comment from their disastrous conversation on the helicarrier a year prior. “I grew up listening to Aunt Peggy’s stories about my Papa, the hero. I idolized you, I worshiped you! You weren’t just a war hero, you were MY hero.” He said, brokenly. “The older I grew, the more Howard drank. Here I was the living legacy of Captain America. Steve Rogers’ only child. But I looked like Howard, and had his brain. You were the yardstick by which I was measured,” he said, glancing at Steve. “I could never measure up. Howard took great pride in telling me how disappointed you would be; that you would be ashamed to call me son. I started to resent you as I got older, but a small party of me still held out hope that my Papa would come home. That maybe then Howard would stop drinking, and we would all be happy.”
Shaking, Tony took a breath, and barreled on. “Fast forward to a year ago, when I find out you’re alive. I finally have a chance to meet you. Armed with nothing but an unfair character assessment done when I was dying from palladium poisoning and also struggling with post-torture PTSD, you had your mind made up about me, and in our first full conversation went and validated everything Howard told me.” Tony began walking toward the elevator, and watched as it opened.
Steve’s eyes were watering at this point, and he hung his head in shame, unable to argue. “Tony, I’m…”
“I’ve spent this past year trying to prove you wrong; to prove Howard wrong. I figured if I couldn’t earn your approval and acceptance by becoming your friend, then what’s the point? So to answer your question, Pops? Never. I was never planning on telling you that I’m your son.” With that he entered the elevator, leaving everyone in a stunned silence.
And if Steve Rogers dropped to the floor and cried, nobody judged him in his moment of grief.