Work Text:
The team watched in horror as a hard hit sent Tony crashing down to the Earth.
“Shit!” Steve cried, making his way toward the fallen Iron Man. In the span of a few scant minutes, he viciously beat down the four creatures nearest him, whipped his shield through five more, and finally hauled out his otherwise untouched gun to shoot the final three. The others watched in shocked silence as he re-holstered his gun and started prying an unconscious Tony out of his suit. “What the....” Clint started.
“I’m taking my son home,” Cap stated. “Scan for stragglers. Widow, call in the cleanup crew. Debrief in 30.” Finished with his task, he scooped Tony into his arms, and stalked off.
“Mama bear mode,” Bruce said as he walked up with his palm outstretched. “The Hulk’s anger has nothing on a pissed off parent.”
A wide eyed Clint and Natasha each handed a twenty over to Bruce. As it turns out, there was something to make Captain Cool Head cuss. “Double or nothing, Tony throws an epic temper tantrum over Cap’s mother henning.” Clint tried.
Bruce rolled his eyes. “No bet. That’s one showdown I’ll be glad to miss.”
~*~*~*~*~*~*
The post battle showdown was rough, but ended on a much milder note than the team had expected.
“I’m not a kid!” Tony yelled
“No, you’re not a kid, you’re my kid.” Steve shot back. “You cannot expect me to just ignore that. I can’t and I won’t, but don’t think so little of me to assume that I didn’t care before. You were my teammate first, and I’m not a heartless man. I care if any one of you gets hurt under my command. If someone is injured, I feel like it’s a failure on my part. But knowing now that you’re my son?” Steve swallowed past the tight knot in his throat. “It’s personal now. I know this is strange for you; I get it. If you want space, I’ll give you space. The ball is in your court. But Tony? When I watch you get shot out of the sky, I’m helping you whether you think you need it or not. If you won’t give me that much, I’m taking it. That’s mine. That’s my job, and I’ve been cheated out of it long enough!”
Tony stared in shock, as Steve turned and stormed out of the room. “I – why do I feel like an ass now?” He asked, not bothering to look at his eavesdropping teammates.
“Because you are one! You are seriously the dumbest genius I’ve ever met.” Clint replied, making Tony scoff. “He’s your dad, Tony. He loves you, and he’s frustrated because he wants to build a relationship with you, but has no idea how to get past your shield.”
That gave Tony pause. “Loves me? He’s only known about this for a couple of months!”
“You could use that same argument about newborns, but that’s not how it works. That first look, that first touch, the first breath of shared air…it’s instantaneous, and unconditional.”
“Ok, Dr. Phil. How do you know so much about this?”
Clint shrugged. “What do you think I do with my downtime between missions? Daytime TV doesn’t watch itself.”
Natasha, who had been silently observing, laid her hand on Clint’s elbow. “You’re still pretty beaten up, Stark. Sleep on it,” she said, tugging the archer into the waiting elevator.
~*~*~*~*~*~*
After a near sleepless night, the next morning found Tony contemplating the ceiling above his bed. He couldn’t help but reflect on Clint’s words. There was a wall for each year of his life, wrapped like an iron band around his heart. ‘Stark men are made of iron,’ he heard the memory of Howard whisper. But he’s a Rogers too, right?
Steve Rogers wore his heart on his sleeve. It seemed like a weakness, but Captain America shouldered it like his shield; wore it with pride as protection, as weapon, as strength. Tony had always admired that about Steve. He could feel the stirrings of the little boy locked away in his heart, desperately wanting to break free.
Tony climbed out of bed, and began getting ready for the day. His mind was buzzing, puzzling over this strange and foreign puzzle. Mechanics he could do, but people? He knew he was socially and emotionally stunted. His childhood had been spent with books, instead of toys or other kids. Teenage years were spent in the adult world of college laced with booze and underage sex. And his adult years? The time he wasn’t hiding behind a well crafted mask was spent alone at the bottom of a bottle.
He was dressed now, clothed in a suit he had long associated as armor, yet he could feel the links in the imagined chainmail weakening. Steve had been giving him space, yet Tony could see the poorly disguised desperation in his blue eyes. Decades of walls were weak against the visual reminder that he wasn’t the only person fate had short changed. Steve had lost just as much as he had in this raw deal.
Memories of childhood filtered into his mind; of the touch starved little boy he was, yearning for affection. There were nights of silent tears into his pillow when hurt or sick, wishing for comfort, and unappreciated projects in want of paternal praise. His papa was here now though. The man he spent his formative years in want of was mere floors away, aching to make that connection. Wanting to be a family, and offer those comforts his son had long been denied.
Families were strange creatures. You had the creepy uncle nobody talked about in polite company, your gossiping aunts, some cousins with loose morals, and the weird ones Grandma prayed would “come to Jesus”. Not that Tony would know from experience. His parents were practically strangers, Steve was 10,000 leagues under the sea, and any other relatives were estranged or long dead. He never knew what he as missing out on until the first time he met Rhodey’s family. Mama Rhodes came to collect her son for Thanksgiving, and couldn’t bear the thought of his young roommate spending the holiday alone.
Tony learned the warmth of a hug that weekend. Kisses to the cheek, affectionate hair ruffling, and fond pats to heads and shoulders were given freely and often in the Rhode’s household. And now? Tony had the chance at this for himself, right? A shot at having the father-son relationship he always envied after watching Rhodey and his dad. Steve had put the ball in his court.
As if Archimedes himself, Tony reached his ‘Eureka’ moment, realizing what he needed to bridge that gap between him and his father. Snatching up a jacket and keys, he made his way to the elevator. He hoped he could remember where Edwin Jarvis had stored the old boxes, because he knew the contents would be the perfect olive branch. After all, what parent didn’t love baby pictures?