Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony’s managed to piss him off again. This time, he doesn’t remember exactly what he did, but the way Howard’s veins are bulging from his temples or the way his face turned a brilliant shade of red tells him that he is unbelievably pissed. Tony tries backing away from him, knowing exactly what’s coming if he doesn’t get away. But his footsteps aren’t quick enough and Howard rounds on him within seconds.

“What did I tell you this morning, boy?” Howard snarls, grasping and the front of Tony’s worn t-shirt, the fabric stretching and the elastic of the collar emitting an ominous ripping noise.

His question makes the blood drain from Tony’s face. Right. This morning. He had been sleeping in his room when Howard burst in, door creaking on its hinges. The vehemence in which he entered the room made sirens go off in Tony’s head, his eyes snapping open quickly, all vestiges of sleep vanishing and giving way to pure, heavy fear that curled uncomfortably in his chest. He already stank of alcohol. Its nauseating stench permeated through the room and into Tony’s nose, making it crinkle in disgust. It made the sirens in his head blare even louder, though. Alcohol never, ever meant well for him.

“Tony, listen to me right now.” His voice was no nonsense, but the slur to his words almost offset its meaning. “I am working in the lab today. Under no circumstance do I want to be interrupted.”

“Yessir,” Tony answered. No problem, he wouldn’t want to talk to him anyway. Or see him. Or hear him. So, Tony agreed readily, hoping to rid his room of Howard for the next day, if he was lucky.

“Good. Now get your ass out of bed, you lazy piece of shit,” He muttered as he turned and walked from the room, footsteps unsteady. He slammed the door shut behind him and the force of it rattled the entire room. Tony glanced at the clock to see 8:12 blinking back at him in large red letters. He groaned and rolled over, willing himself to go back to sleep, but his heart was beating too quickly and his mind was racing too fast. Finally, at around 9 o’clock, Tony dragged himself from bed. He had work he had to complete for Howard, too.

Tony thinks back to that morning, the interaction rushing back to him. He doesn’t know how he forgot about it, but seeing Obie towering over him at the front door, demanding that he go get his father, to stop everything he’s doing, to run, to…

Obie’s never laid a hand on Tony, but he’s big and he’s loud and he’s best friends with fucking Howard, so he’s not too keen on him either. So when Obie comes in, a jumbled hurricane of words and gestures and excitement, it’s like every sane thought in Tony’s head leak out of his ears and drop to the floor, shattering into pieces there. He jogs down to the basement, where Howard’s lab is. He knocks on the door, but receives no answer. So, with a shaking hand, he reaches for the knob and turns it, entering the room.

“Howard,” he calls, just trying to fulfill Obie’s demands of getting Howard upstairs right away. “Obie’s here. Looking for you.”

And that’s how he ended up in this situation. Howard’s face pressed up close to his, putrid breath ghosting over his face. Crazed eyes glare at him.

“What. Did. I. Tell. You?” he repeats.

“T-to not come in here,” he stutters, knowing what’s coming.

“Then why, pray tell me, are you in here?” His voice drips with venom.

“I- Um,” he falters. He forgets what he’s doing here for a couple seconds. What is he doing here? He should know that disturbing Howard is an awful idea, but his mind is blank. Fear wraps itself tight around him, paralyzing his thoughts and his body. What the hell is he doing here? He remembers just as the first fist makes contact with his stomach. He crumples protectively over his middle, gasping and wheezing.

“Obie- Obie’s here,” he coughs from his knees as tears leak from the corners of his eyes.

Howard grabs a fistful of hair from Tony’s scalp and yanks on it, making it so they’re looking each other in the eye.

“Pathetic,” Howard spits when he notices the tears trailing down Tony’s flushed cheeks. He kicks Tony in the chest with his heel, knocking the boy on his back, his head connecting with the floor and making stars burst in front of his eyes.

“I said ‘under no circumstances am I to be interrupted.’ Did I not?” He says, but Tony can barely hear him over the ringing in his ears. “Didn’t I say that, boy?” He repeats when he realizes he’s not getting an answer from Tony, accompanying his words with a kick to his ribs. Tony hears the crunch before the excruciating pain begins, but it only takes a second for his side to catch up with his ears. He screams. It’s a hoarse, awful sound.

“Yessir,” he pants when he gets his voice back. Breathing sends fire running up and down his side.

“Then what the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” He stomps his foot over Tony’s ankle, effectively breaking it. Tony howls from his supine position, black encroaching on his eyesight. He’s starting to feel really, really tired.

“Obie,” he whispers, the words barely making it past his slack lips. The last thing he remembers is Howard’s fists pummeling into his chest, his fancy rings slicing through his tattered shirt and deep into his flesh.

When Tony wakes, it’s to bright lights and a cold, unforgiving floor beneath him. His entire body throbs in time with his heartbeat, which is alarmingly fast and irregular. His breath comes out in pants, but he feels like he’s not getting any oxygen into his lungs. Not to mention the fire that ignites throughout his body on every inhale and exhale. Eventually, after what feels like hours, he manages to calm himself enough to take in his surroundings. He’s still in the lab, lying where Howard must have left him after the beating. His chest is bleeding still and he’s lying in a small, warm pool of it. Howard’s nowhere to be seen and Tony feels the slightest bit of relief. He’s still having trouble breathing and his heart feels fluttery and weak and he’s in so much pain, it’s almost unbearable. Howard not being there means he can’t get beaten any more, but it also means there’s no one to get him to a hospital. Jarvis is off today because it’s Sunday and he won’t be back until tomorrow morning. He’s sure he needs the hospital, though, no matter how many times he’s refused to go in the past after Howard’s beatings. He’s never felt this awful, this weak. This close to death.

“Help,” he cries weakly. Just the simple act of calling out makes his vision go gray and distorted. He shifts a little to try to get more comfortable, but it jars his broken ankle and likely broken ribs and chest and every other bone in his body and he passes out again.

When he wakes up again, he’s surprised. He didn’t think he’d last very long in the condition he’s in. Jarvis is hovering above him, his concern evident in every feature of his face.

“Oh, Anthony, thank God,” he says, relief washing over him. “The ambulance is on its way. Please hold on.”

Jarvis’s voice calms Tony more than anything else in the world. He knows that Jarvis will handle everything and he can just relax. He feels better already.

“Love you, J,” he whispers. He still can’t really breathe, and whispering is the best he can do. Christ, he feels so unbelievably weak.

“I love you too, Anthony. Please, stay with me.”

Tony’s eyes roll into the back of his head, though, as he blacks out again.

When Tony awakes again, he’s in the hospital. He can smell the antiseptic and he can feel the mattress beneath him. Much better than the cold tile of Howard’s lab. He feels floaty and disconnected from his body. Drugs, then.

“Jarv,” he says hoarsely without opening his eyes. He smacks his lips together slightly, trying to rid his mouth of its dryness. He notices he has an oxygen mask over his face and that might be contributing to the dryness he’s feeling.

“Sorry, Tony. I’m not Jarvis,” an unfamiliar voice says. He cracks an eye open to look at the intruder. It’s a woman with fair blonde hair, dressed in a nurse’s uniform. “You’re in the ICU. Jarvis would’ve been here if he could, but we don’t allow visitors here.”

Tony nods, eyes drooping drearily.

“What happened?” he murmurs, forcing himself to stay awake. He doesn’t remember how he ended up here, and his head hurts too much when he tried to think about it.

“You were hurt pretty badly, hon,” she tells him. That’s all she says, but Tony’s already losing his battle to sleep.

He wakes up another four times within the next three days, but he doesn’t remember them. They all go similarly; Tony asking for Jarvis then, upon realizing he’s not there and only a nurse is, asking what happened. The fifth time he awakes is the time he actually remembers.

“What happened?” he asks the nurse keeping an eye on him after she explains that Jarvis can’t be here, but she assures him that he’s still anxiously pacing in the waiting room. That he’s barely left the hospital within the last few days since Tony was brought in.

“You were beaten, badly,” she informs him. “I’ll have the doctor come and tell you more now that you seem somewhat coherent.”

The nurse leaves, the curtain separating him from the other patients swaying in the wake of her exit. He tries to take stock of his injuries but his head feels too heavy to lift to see and his body is mostly numb. He could be missing both legs and not know it.

Only about a minute after the nurse left, the doctor enters.

“Hi, Tony. I’m Dr. Tierney and I’m in charge of your care,” she introduces. “I want to tell you about your condition, but if any of it becomes too much, you let me know.”

Tony nods and gives her a weak smile, the best he can conjure up. He’s too tired to even bother opening his mouth. Dr. Tierney clears her throat and holds his gaze for a few seconds, lips pursed. She’s obviously trying to figure out how to present all of the information to him.

“Your ankle was broken severely,” she starts. “We had to surgically place two pins in it to stabilize it. The cast will likely remain on your leg for a long time, but we can discuss that more in depth later.”

Tony wilts at this. He’s glad it’s his leg instead of arm or hand; he wouldn’t be able to work without those. But, it still sucks.

“Now, the next part is a little more complicated. Due to all the trauma your chest endured, you have some myocardial contusions. This essentially just means that there is some bruising on your heart. I know that sounds really bad, but it’s not life-threatening and you’ll most likely make a full recovery,” she assures him. “But it does mean that you’ll feel weak for a while, and we had to put a tube in your side to drain the fluid. And some of your ribs are cracked, so it’s likely painful. We are going to try our best to have a good pain management plan for you.”

Dr. Tierney continues to speak, but Tony’s long since stopped paying attention. Myocardial contusion. Chest tube? It’s all a lot to take in, and the doc was right, he is weak and exhausted. He doesn’t want to hear about the awful condition he’s in any longer.

“And what about Howard?” he asks breathily, cutting Dr. Tierney off from whatever she was saying. His words are lost in the oxygen mask, however. She approaches him and gently lifts the mask, asking him to repeat himself.

“Howard?”

The doc’s face clouds over. “He’s being taken care of,” she tells him. “In the meantime, you are going to be placed with a foster family. Melinda, the social worker assigned to your case, will come by later to fill you in on more of the details. For now, though, you just rest. You’ll be here a while longer.”

Tony listens to her, letting his eyes finally shut, exhaustion taking over him.

Chapter Text

Tony learns, the next time that he awakes, that Howard did not get locked away for child abuse. He was under the impression that they finally caught him, this time, in the act. His social worker, Melinda, had told him the whole story. The government had been building up a case against Howard for some white-collar crime for years now, and they just finally managed to get enough evidence to indict him. While Tony was lying, as close to death as he’s ever been, in the deep recesses of the mansion, Howard had been arrested.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Melinda had said to him. “I know it’s difficult to know your father is in trouble, especially during such a trying time for you.”

After Tony discovered that they still didn’t know his father was the real culprit, he came up with a cover story. Again. Just like all the previous times he had to go to the hospital for an injury or ten. He tripped down the stairs, accidentally shut his hand in a drawer, lab accidents. This time he said some jerks came in looking to rob the mansion and lab, but found him down there and wanted to keep him quiet. And that DUM-E managed to run them out before they were able to take anything too important. The police tell him that they’re going to look into it, and find the people who did this to him. He knows there will be no evidence for them to trail after, though, and that it’s certainly a lost cause. He says that he was too out of it at the time to remember any identifying characteristics of the men, but he still vividly remembers Howard’s rage-filled features as his fists bore down on him.

At this point, he knows that what Howard does is wrong. That a father shouldn’t hurt his child. But, for some reason that Tony’s never wanted to think about too much, he still loves his father. He’s the only surviving family he has, after his mom’s death. Plus, there are some good times, however few and far between. And anyway, if Tony just behaved himself and did what he was supposed to and didn’t make Howard angry so often, he wouldn’t have to go through the beatings. He brings it onto himself, and there’s no reason to get Howard into deeper trouble than he’s already in, just because Tony’s being a little pussy about it.

“Tony, are you listening?” he hears Melinda’s voice say, though it sounds like it’s muffled behind a wall of clouds. Tony shakes his head slightly, hoping to clear his thoughts to better focus on what his social worker is saying.

“I’m sorry,” he says instinctively. “What were you saying?”

She purses her lips at him and it makes him wilt slightly. He really excels at disappointing people.

“I was saying that your foster parents would like to come to visit you later today, if that’s okay with you,” she says evenly, seemingly not too annoyed by him.

Tony nods his head, swallowing hard at his suddenly dry mouth. If his foster parents want to come meet him, that’s fine. He’s not going to be a nuisance and deny them their wants, especially for agreeing to take in a brat like him. He knows, at the very least, that it won’t be for too long. Howard always manages to slip out of his responsibilities and he never has to live up to any of his mistakes, so Tony knows he won’t be in jail for much longer. Soon, Tony will be able to return home.

“Great!” Melinda smiles warmly at him, so he smiles back. He thinks it might waver on his face, but she doesn’t comment on it. “They’ll probably come by around lunch time so they can eat with you and keep you some company. I’ll be back around then, too, to make sure you’re all settled in.”

She leaves after that, and Tony slumps back in his bed. He’s been in the hospital for about a week now, and his chest tube had come out earlier that morning. He’s feeling a little better in some aspects, in that he isn’t quite as weak, but he’s in more pain. They’ve been trying to gently wean him off the morphine because addiction is a concern, but his injuries are extensive and painful, so it would be cruel to take him off entirely. However, the lower dosage has been weighing on him. His pain’s been ramped up and it’s becoming harder to sleep to just keep it at bay for a little while longer, but the doctors have ensured him that it just means his heart’s getting better and that he should just keep trying to take it easy.

It also hasn’t helped that Jarvis hasn’t been able to stick around much, too busy helping the police and lawyers with Howard’s trial and keeping the mansion together in Howard’s absence. He has more important duties to take care of, certainly. So Tony tries desperately not to be disappointed or clingy by asking Jarvis to stay just a few minutes longer. But, he is getting bored and lonely. Melinda can only stay for so long as well.

That’s why Tony’s having mixed feelings about his foster parents coming. He doesn’t know these people, though they probably know at least some things about him. How he got his ass handed to him on a silver platter and how he’s likely a handful, coming from a rich and famous household, after all. He’s nervous that they’ll see right through him and see how he’s not worth the trouble, like Howard has always seen right off the bat, but he’s also itching for the company. For a friendly face.

He must drift off for a while, a welcome reprieve to his constant pain, because the next thing he knows, Melinda is knocking gently on the door frame and entering his room.

“Hey. Phil and Clint are in the lobby, waiting to meet you. I just wanted to make sure you were still up to it,” she tells him.

“Sure,” he says hoarsely, his voice grating on his nerves. He reaches for the cup of water on the bedside table, biting back a groan at the stretch of his aching ribs as he extends his arm, and takes a few sips to clear his throat. “You can send them in.”

“Okay. I’m just going to introduce you and I’ll stay in here for a few minutes to make sure everything’s okay. I’ll be back.”

As he watches Melinda disappear through the doorway, he takes a deep breath to steel himself. He can feel his hands trembling faintly. He’s so incredibly nervous. He’s not ignorant; he knows what oftentimes goes on in the foster system and he knows it’s not pretty. That’s simply another reason he never wanted to snitch on Howard. He might get the occasional beatings, but at least he still has his tech and a roof over his head. It could just as easily be that he got beatings in some foster family’s house with leaky ceilings and dirt for pillows. He knows it could be worse. Thinking about what could be does not seem to calm his nerves. Not one bit.

While he’s busy working himself up into a fit, Melinda reenters the room, with two men in tow. The first is wearing a bland suit to match his facial expression, but he has soft eyes that tell Tony that he’s probably not as bad as he looks. Then, there’s a blond man beside him who’s absolutely beaming at Tony. Something about the men instantly makes his tightly-wound muscles relax just the slightest bit. They look… well, they look harmless. Nothing like the sharp lines and furrowed brow that Howard always carried. Nothing like the hatred that always gleamed in his eyes. But maybe it’s just a matter of time before Tony puts that look in their eyes, as well.

“Tony, this is Phil,” Melinda introduces, gesturing to the first man. “And this is his partner, Clint.”

Tony’s lying almost flat on his back on the bed when the group enters, and he suddenly realizes that it’s an astoundingly vulnerable position to be in. He quickly braces his hands on either side of his body and pushes himself up with a pained grunt. His ribs are jostled at the change of position and his weak arms shake with the effort of pushing himself up. He swears he can feel fresh blood seeping through the stitches of the wounds on his chest, but he thinks he may just be imagining it. He’s sweating by the time he meets their eyes again, but at least he’s in an upright position this time.

“Hello,” he greets them, trying to smile through the pain that he’s just inflicted on himself.

“Tony,” the first man, Phil, says. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

“Yeah, man,” the other, Clint, pipes in. “We’ve heard all sorts of awesome things about you. We’ve been begging Melinda here to let us come meet you for a while now, but she said you needed some time to heal before having new visitors. Now, I’m thinking she may have had a point.”

Tony sags a little at the man’s words. Maybe that’s another reason why Jarvis hasn’t come by more. Tony’s just some weak baby that cannot keep good company. It makes sense. He’s fallen asleep during Jarvis’s visits more times than he can count and it’s not like he’s been very good at maintaining interesting conversation with the meds fogging half of his mind and the pain dealing with the other.

“Hey, he didn’t mean anything by that. He just puts his foot in his mouth sometimes. You’ll have to get used to it,” Phils tells him, softly. It’s a change from the anger that Howard’s voice always harbors. Clint, however, squawks at his words and draws in a sharp breath, acting like he’s offended.

“I’m sorry,” Tony mutters, keeping his eyes trained on his hands that are now folded in his lap. He can’t look at them in fear of them noticing the tears that have started to grow behind his eyes.

“No need to apologize, Tony,” Clint says. “He’s not kidding, you know. I do stick my foot in my mouth pretty often and you’ll have to call me on it. I never mean to step on any toes or hurt any feelings.” Clint had stepped closer to Tony’s bed during his little spiel, dragging Phil by his hand in the midst. He vaguely notices Melinda still standing in the doorway, ready to intervene if anything really starts to go south.

“You didn’t hurt my feelings,” Tony says, maybe a bit petulantly. He’s certainly not going to admit it, even if he kind of did. Stark men are made of iron, after all.

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t have wanted to,” Clint smiles at him. “It really is great to finally meet you.”

At this, Tony finally looks up at the two men, their faces warm and welcoming and standing just far enough from his bed that he doesn’t feel threatened about their presences towering above him. It’s enough to make him smile, their consideration.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he replies with that tiny, genuine smile on his face. It’s a start.

Chapter Text

It’s only a few days later that Clint and Phil bring Tony home. Melinda had gone by the mansion the day before to pick up some of his clothes and books to bring to his temporary home, so at least he didn’t have to go back there himself. He’s thankful for that; he doesn’t quite know if he’d be ready to step foot in the place where his freshest nightmares were born so soon, and he doesn’t know if he could face Jarvis now, either. He’s only been by once after Tony met his foster parents and Tony’s starting to think that his avoidance is deliberate rather than just being busy at this point. He just wishes he knew what he’s done to push Jarvis away so that he can apologize and get his best friend back.

As it is, Tony’s currently sitting in the back of the car, his leg propped up on a pillow on the seat and his back pressed up against the door. It’s very uncomfortable for his ribs and the cuts that mar his chest, and each bump and pothole makes his vision gray for a moment, but he’s dealing with it. He tries to ignore the worried looks Phil keeps shooting him in the rearview mirror and make as little noise as possible.

It was tense, leaving the hospital. Tony was snappish, a culmination of pain and frustration at not being able to walk on his own, instead having to sit in a wheelchair and be led outside like an invalid. And Jarvis hadn’t come to say goodbye. He knows this is not the way he should be treating his temporary family, especially not right off the bat when they could decide to just send him back or throw him to the wolves. He just could not, for the life of him, hide his foul mood behind his normally impenetrable mask. On the bright side, Tony had finally been released from the hospital and breathed in fresh, crisp air for the first time in what felt like years.

“Hey, Clint,” Tony inquires, trying to lighten the mood that he’d so easily made heavy. “Can you turn up the music?”

They’d been playing Dean Martin since they pulled from the lot, though Tony didn’t really pick up on the fact until they were well on their way. He remembers his mother listening to this particular artist when he was a kid and it soothes his frayed nerves, if only a little.

Clint does so, a small smile lighting up his face.

“You a Dean Martin fan?” Clint asks, like he’s actually trying to lighten the mood as well. It’s nice that Clint’s playing along and not holding a grudge at Tony’s insolence toward the men as they were leaving the hospital.

“Yeah, I guess,” he replies, maybe a little wistfully. He fails to mention his mother, but he can feel Phil’s eyes boring into the side of his head through the rearview mirror again. He doesn’t say a word, though.

Tony watches as the bustling city of New York fades to the suburbs and then to rural land. In what feels like an eternity and no time at all, the car pulls gently into the driveway of a nice home, fit for a large family. Tony sucks in a deep breath and holds it there, paying no mind to the burning in his chest. He knows that there are other kids in that house. Other kids, who, if they are like everyone that Tony attends school with now, will hate him. He may have gotten Clint and Phil to like him (hopefully. After this afternoon, he’s not so sure), but the same definitely does not have to be said for the kids. If he remembers correctly, there are four other kids, all similar in age to him, give or take a year or two.

“Tony? Are you ready to go inside?” Phil asks as he opens the back door of the car opposite of Tony. He must catch onto Tony’s hesitance, so he slides into the back seat beside him while Clint busies himself unfolding the wheelchair from the trunk and gathering his bags.

“It’s okay to be apprehensive,” Phil tells him, disturbingly sincere. “I know it can be intimidating to join a household full of strangers, but I think once you meet the others, you’ll feel better. They’ve all been through a lot, but I think you’ll find that they’re all just big softies at heart.”

This makes Tony smile a little. At least Phil understands where Tony’s coming from, and the encouragement is a nice change. He’s used to being told he’s being too much of a pussy and to suck it up and get on with it. He never really thought about what normal, loving parents would say to their kids in trying situations like this.

“Okay, yeah. I’m ready to go in,” he says.

Phil smiles that bland smile of his and clambers out of the car, joining Clint by the trunk. Clint wheels the chair around to the door Tony’s been leaning against and knocks on the window to let Tony know he’s about to open the door. When it’s open and Tony gets a good look of the chair, he grimaces.

“Do you think we could just forego the chair for now?” He doesn’t admit that it makes him feel like a target, and like the other kids will look at him weirdly. “I just… I think I would feel better going in on my own.”

Phil and Clint exchange a look, but they ultimately seem to come to the same conclusion. They’re good at that, having silent conversations and agreeing upon something. Tony’s known these guys for all of a few days, and he’s already seen it occur a handful of times. He’s impressed, really.

“We don’t like it,” Clint tells him, “but we’ll allow it, just this once.”

Tony knows they’re letting him do it for some obscure, good parenting reason, but he doesn’t dwell on it for too long. He’s sure he wouldn’t figure it out on his own anyway.

Phil goes to grab his pair of crutches from the trunk, which were supposed to be saved for a week or so from now, when his ribs were healed sufficiently and the stitches in his chest removed. Not to mention, getting some of his strength back from his weak heart. However, they’re a welcoming sight at the moment. He holds them as Clint helps Tony unfold from the car and stand, his injured leg held carefully from the pavement. The simple movement of standing makes Tony exhausted and he second-guesses his decision. Too late to turn back now, though, his stubborn mind tells him. Phil hands him the crutches and assumes his position behind Tony, hands held out precariously as if Tony will fall on his ass. Wouldn’t be much of a surprise, he supposes.

It’s slow going, and Tony’s panting like he's just run a marathon when they reach the front door, but it feels good to be moving on his own steam. Clint steps in front of him to push open the front door and to hold the screen door open behind him, granting Tony access to the house. Phil follows behind. When Tony sees the sight that greets him, he lets out a startled laugh.

The kids are all standing in a line in the living room, seemingly from smallest to largest. It’s a peculiar sight and Tony can’t help but blurt out, “What is this, The Sound of Music?” He realizes that’s not the right thing to say as he watches the previously smiling faces of the kids turn into something much less welcoming. He’s always had an astounding ability to make others hate him, right off the bat.

“Better to look like cute Austrian kids than you,” the only girl says scathingly. Her words aren’t particularly hurtful, as Tony knows exactly how horrible he looks at this moment, but the way she says them drips pure vitriol. He flinches back, avoiding their eyes and biting his lip. God damn it, he’s fucked this up already.

“Natasha,” Phil snaps at the girl, his tone warning.

“Sorry, Papa,” she mutters, not sounding apologetic at all.

“It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” he tells her, and she turns to Tony and apologizes again, sounding no more sincere the second time around.

“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have said that either…” he trails off. He takes a glance back up at the kids, but they don’t seem very much more inclined to greet him.

Clint clears his throat, obviously trying to break some of the tension. “So, uh, this is Natasha, James, Steve, and Thor,” he introduces from smallest to largest child. If Tony didn’t already feel so out of place, he might’ve laughed again at that. “And, kids, this is Tony.”

“Tony! It is great to finally meet you,” the largest one, Thor, says. He seems to have shaken off Tony’s initial comment. “We have heard much from our fathers about you over the past few days. Alas, I suppose we may have overdone it on the entrance, and it was an honest joke.”

“Yeah, that’s Thor. He’s from Norway and he’s going to college there, these days. He’s just here for winter break, but his accent’s gotten worse, if possible, since he went back. It’s good to meet you,” The other blond, Steve, says.

“Likewise,” Tony says, a hint of a smile gracing his face again. Maybe he didn’t fuck this up royally just yet.

“I’m James,” the final boy says as he flicks his long hair out of his eyes, “but you can call me Bucky. No one calls me James but the old men here.” He throws a thumb over his shoulder, pointing at his parents as they start putting down all of Tony’s belongings. Phil shoots him a fake warning look and Clint just huffs out a laugh at him, shaking his head at Bucky’s words.

Tony laughs a little then, which reminds him of how much pain he’s currently in. The blood has all worked its way down to this ankle, which is throbbing in time with his heart. His ribs aren’t happy much with the crutches tucked beneath his arms and his single functioning leg is trembling with the effort of holding up his body weight. He tries to keep the grimace off his face, but he can’t do much about the sweat dribbling down the back of his neck.

“It’s great to meet you all, too. And, um, thanks for letting me intrude on your home. I’m sure it’s not easy to do that,” he addresses them all, trying to keep the tightness from his voice. Natasha scoffs quietly at this, and this time both Clint and Phil shoot her a look. She looks entirely unbothered. She’s a handful, that one, Tony’s sure of it.

“Hey, Tones, why don’t you sit down?” Clint suggests as he begins to herd the kids from the living room. “Kids, you should all go do your homework so we can all have dinner together later.”

Tony notices that Thor doesn’t put up any argument, although he likely doesn’t have homework to do if he’s home for the holidays. He supposes that the other kids are definitely still in high school and therefore might have another week left of school before Christmas comes. Nonetheless, he’s thankful that they’re all ready to leave him alone to let him gather himself in private for a few moments.

He sinks down on the nearest couch, not able to bite back his groan this time. Son of a bitch, does he hurt. The next thing he knows, two pain pills and a bottle of water are being thrust at him and the crutches are dragged away to be put in some corner for a while longer.

“Take these,” Phil prompts. “It’s passed the time for your dose. I’m sorry that we didn’t think about it sooner. We will stay on top of that in the future.” Phil’s still holding out the proffered gifts in outstretched hands. Tony flushes in embarrassment.

“Can you please just… just put them on the arm of the couch,” Tony pleads, his eyes begging Phil not to ask. He has the decency to not even falter in placing the bottle and pills beside Tony. Doesn’t even shoot him a weird look. Tony’s incredibly thankful; he wouldn’t have wanted to come up with some excuse on the fly. He certainly would not tell him how Howard’s fucked him over in the lab so many times that he refuses to take anything from anyone, no matter how harmless he knows it is. Boy, is he fucked in the head.

Clint comes back in the room then, two cookies in tow, that he almost tries to hand Tony. But then, after seeing the pills on the couch and shooting Phil an inquiring look, he places them down instead. “It’s best to not take them on an empty stomach, but I don’t want to spoil dinner for you, either,” he explains. Tony thanks him and eats the cookies, downing the pills and water afterward.

“Now, why don’t you rest,” Phil suggests. “We’re going to make dinner and we’ll wake you when it’s ready. Then, we can show you your room afterward. It’s just going to be tough to get you up the stairs, so it’s probably best if you stay on the couch for now.”

Tony nods his assent and gets comfortable on the couch. He drifts off in a matter of moments, the day’s events taking a toll on his battered body.

It can’t be long before the nightmares kick in.

Howard is a towering figure above him and Tony comes up to only his waist. Howard’s laughing at him and his beady red eyes are gleaming with mirth. Tony doesn’t understand what’s so funny at first, but then he looks down at himself and sees that there’s a burning hot soldering iron sitting in his hands. It’s burning him, but it’s seemingly stuck to his hands. A whine works up his throat, but he refuses to let it out because he knows Howard will only find it more amusing. He can’t help the tears that prick at his eyes, though.

“You’re pathetic, boy,” Howard snarls at him. “Can’t even hold a fucking soldering iron.”

Then, Howard starts in on him. His huge size makes it so that Tony can’t fight back in the least, although he knows he wouldn’t retaliate anyway, knowing it would just make the beating worse overall. He’s begging, pleading for Howard to stop when-

He wakes up with a bit-off scream. He’s shot up from his position on the couch and he curls protectively over his aching ribs then, his chest heaving. His heart is fluttering and weak in his chest, beating way too fast for his liking. His limbs feel frail and numb. Tears stream down his face, though he wipes them from his cheeks quickly when he hears footsteps approaching from the kitchen.

“Tony? Did you-” Clint calls as he walks into the living room. “Oh… sweetheart,” he murmurs when he sees the position Tony’s in. It’s not hard to figure out what was going on in here, Tony supposes.

Clint sits beside Tony on the couch and Tony’s quick to scramble away. He’s already grown to trust Phil and Clint, really, but his mind is all jumbled with a mixture of Howard and pain and he just doesn’t know how to feel right now. That’s his instinct, is to get as far away as possible.

“Please. Please,” he begs, but he doesn't know what he’s asking. Doesn’t know if he wants Clint to come closer or to leave him alone. Tears continue to fall from his traitorous eyes and he finds that he can’t stop them. He’s still heaving, but air doesn’t actually seem to be entering his lungs, which serves to freak him out even further.

“Tony, please, breathe with me. In, one, two, three…” This goes on for a while. Tony vaguely registers Phil coming in at some point and sitting on the loveseat on the other side of the room, doing nothing other than offering some silent support. He doesn’t notice the exact moment when Clint takes his hand and places it over his strong, steady heartbeat, but when he realizes it, it serves to calm him considerably. When he finally comes back to himself, both Clint and Phil are looking at him with sympathy. He takes a deep, shaking breath and avoids their eyes. His heart rate has slowed considerably, but he’s still feeling incredibly shaky and out of it.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “You can go back to cooking. It won’t happen again.”

Clint shushes him, not unkindly. “May I hold you?” he asks.

Tony glances at him, trying to gauge his expression. He doesn’t look like he’d be angry if Tony refused, but he’s not so sure that he does want to refuse. He nods his head warily. Clint approaches slowly and wraps Tony up in strong arms, holding him steady.

He can practically feel Clint conversing with Phil through looks over his head, but he’s too exhausted to try to decipher what’s going on. Soon, Phil stands up and walks back to the kitchen, almost too silently for Tony to hear.

Chapter Text

He must drift off again, in Clint’s arms this time. He wakes up to Phil calling up the stairs to his kids that dinner’s ready. Tony hears the thumping of eight feet racing to get downstairs, so Tony scrambles from the hold that Clint has on him. He’s unsure of how the others would react if they knew Tony was wrapped in their father’s arms, too much of a pussy to handle some stupid nightmares on his own. He knows jealousy would consume him if he ever saw his father showing open affection to other children who were not his own, and he doesn’t want to do that to these kids.

Clint seems reluctant to let him go, but offers no resistance nonetheless. As the kids barrel down the stairs, Tony attempts to gain his composure and act like he wasn’t doing anything wrong. The look on Clint’s face tells him that it was okay, that maybe the kids wouldn’t care, but Tony’s not willing to take that risk.

As the kids pass through the living room on their journey to the kitchen, Steve and Bucky give him easy smiles while Natasha ignores him altogether.

As Thor passes, he exclaims, “Tony, come join us for our nightly feast! Papa makes the best meatballs in all the realms!”

This makes Tony smile a little, the tight ball coiled in his chest unfurling just the slightest bit. Maybe it won’t be so bad with Thor acting as a buffer between Tony’s stupid mouth and the others.

“You hungry?” Clint asks from his position beside him. God, is he hungry. He’s been living off hospital food for the past two weeks and the pasta smells delicious. Tony gives him an eager nod and goes to stand, a gentle hand on his shoulder stopping him.

“Just let me help you for now,” Clint tells him. He grabs Tony’s arm and wraps it over his broad shoulders before grabbing Tony by the waist and tenderly pulling him up. Tony’s head swims for a moment, but Clint just stands with him until the sensation passes. Then, they make their awkward way to the kitchen, looking like they’re doing a demented version of a three-legged race. It’s weird, having an adult other than Jarvis be considerate of how he feels and helping him.

Clint settles Tony down at the head of the six-person table, everyone’s eyes plastered to him. He knows that he must be a sight to behold; his black eye is almost gone, but the yellowing of the bruise just might be uglier than it had been when it was fresh. Plus, their father just carried him in like a limp mouse that the cat just brought in from the garden. Not a pretty sight, indeed.

“So, um,” Tony starts, a meager attempt to get them talking and their eyes off of him. “What do you guys do for fun in a place like this? We’re definitely not in the city anymore.”

Bucky snorts at that, nodding along with Tony. “Yeah, it took Stevie and me some getting used to, too. We were born in Brooklyn, you know, and comin’ out here just about bored us to death.”

“Hey,” Clint interjects, “I’m offended!”

“Oh, come on dad. You have to admit there’s not nearly as much to do out here,” Steve defends.

“Aye, but I enjoy milking the cows and tending to the chickens early every morning!” Thor exclaims. Tony’s jaw just about drops to the floor. Is he going to have to work like a farm boy now that he’s here? That just won’t fly with him, not for a second.

“Oh my God, the look on your face,” Natasha laughs, the sound of her giggle high and resoundingly girly. Tony feels his eyes get impossibly wider. How is this his life?

“They’re just messing with you, Tony,” Phil finally says, pulling Tony out of his stupor. “We had a goldfish once upon a time, but that’s the extent of the animals we keep around. Someone thought it would be a good idea to release Georgie into the pond down the street,” he says, staring pointedly at Steve, “and we knew we couldn’t have any more pets around here after that.”

Steve looks abashed for a moment, before mumbling, “His life must’ve sucked in that tiny fishbowl.”

“Yeah,” Bucky pipes in, “and now he’s as big as a trout!” He holds up his hands to emphasize how big the fish had gotten in that pond, and that’s when Tony sees it. That metal prosthesis.

Tony’s always been fascinated with advanced technology. It’s no secret. He is, after all, the son of one of the biggest weapons manufacturers in the world. He’d built a circuit board at the age of four, and an engine at seven. However, building weapons has never been something that he strived to do. He’s always been more interested in phones and computers and other things that would actually improve a person’s quality of life. Like prosthetics. He’d never brought the idea up to his father, though, because he knew what the outcome of that conversation would be.

“Wow,” Tony lets slip out, fascinated. He’s openly ogling at Bucky’s prosthesis, which he vaguely registers as rude, but he’s too captivated to care. The metal plating seems seamless and sleek. His fingers seem to be able to move without any pulley system or effort, really. “Can I get a closer look at that?” he wonders, scooting to the edge of his chair so he can get closer. “I bet that’s some clinical trial model, isn’t it? I’ve never seen anything like it before. Does it have tactile sensors? Can you feel heat and cold?” He reaches out, enthralled, dying to get a better look.

Bucky yanks his arm back and haunches over, seemingly to hide his upper body behind the wooden table. His expression is guarded and brooding. Everyone around the table seems to hold their breath, tense and uncomfortable.

“Hey, would you back off, rich boy?” Natasha pipes up when it’s clear no one else is going to. “We get that you are an entitled ass and have no idea what boundaries are, but that does not mean-”

“That is enough,” Phil snaps, no-nonsense. Both Tony and Natasha flinch, though Tony’s is more of a full body thing while Natasha seems more surprised than anything.

“May I be excused,” Bucky says, and it’s not a question. Not really. Clint nods his assent and Bucky gets up and walks away, his chair screeching loudly in the silent room.

“I’m sorry,” Tony whispers, choked up a little. He’s not going to cry in front of these people, though. Of course not. He’s held it together in situations much, much worse than this. He is not going to fall apart.

Both Steve and Natasha stand up and storm from the room, probably to chase after Bucky and make sure he’s okay. Thor follows, but not as angrily and not before shooting Tony a sympathetic look. It makes Tony choke up even more, that small act of kindness, but he aggressively holds the tears back. Fuck!

“Just take a deep breath, Tones,” Clint tells him. He hadn’t noticed that his breath was coming in short, fast pants. He tries to comply with Clint’s words, but the air stutters in his lungs.

“Come on. You can do it,” Phil encourages from the other side.

It takes a few minutes, but Tony eventually calms down. He’s really been a huge nuisance to this whole family since the moment he stepped in the door. Everything that comes out of his mouth seems to be the wrong thing to say and now it looks like every single member of this family hates his guts. He knew it was bound to happen from the beginning, but he didn’t think he’d fuck it up so spectacularly, so quickly. He can’t even keep himself from freaking out, even though it’s all been his fault from the beginning.

“Are you okay?” Phil asks him. Nothing but concern shines in his eyes, and it makes Tony laugh bitterly.

“Why are you asking me?” he spits. “I just managed to set your kids off. Shouldn’t you be talking to them?”

Clint and Phil shoot each other an indecipherable look across the table.

“No, they’ll be okay,” Clint tells him, his attention turning back to Tony. “They have each other. It looks like you don’t have anyone…”

Tony flinches back again. God damn it! He grits his teeth, bears them at the men. They can really see right through him, no problem. He’s always thought that Jarvis would have his back, no matter what, after his mother’s death. But, it seems like he doesn’t even have that anymore. He’s just as alone as he’s ever been. It’s humiliating, not having a single person who cares about him. And Clint’s just pointed it out, right here at the dinner table, days after meeting Tony. Targeting what Tony’s felt has always been one of his biggest weaknesses, without even having to get to know him first.

“Whatever,” he hisses. He stands abruptly, not really thinking about what he’s going to do once he’s upright, just knowing that he wants to get the fuck out of there. However, his medication seems to take that moment to wear off and it feels like someone just punched him in the gut. All the breath expels from his lungs in a split second and it takes everything in him not to double over right there.

“Whoa,” Phil says as he stands to help Tony sit again. “Relax. I think this was one of those situations where Clint stuck his foot in his mouth again. You were just supposed to ignore him when this happened again, remember?”

It’s not a bad attempt to lighten the mood, but Tony’s just not with it enough to try to play along.

“I’m sorry,” he reiterates. “I shouldn’t have… I shouldn’t have done that with the prosthesis. I have a habit of making people uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, really, Tony. It’s clear that you didn’t mean to upset Bucky. He’s just been sensitive about it for a while, and he doesn’t like it to be pointed out. As long as you don’t do it again intentionally, and maybe apologize to him yourself, all is forgiven,” Phil says. “He’ll get over it. He’s a resilient one.”

Tony nods miserably.

“Will you bring me upstairs now, please? I think I’d like to just go to bed.”

It’s messy, getting up the stairs. He has Phil on the left of him and Clint on the right, but the stairs aren’t quite wide enough to hold all of them comfortably, so they have to go up a little crookedly. It’s clear that the men are being as gentle as possible, but it’s still painful and slow going. They take him to the bathroom so he can brush his teeth and wash his face, and then they show him to his room. It’s pretty empty and the sheets and walls are bland white, but it’s more spacious than he’d anticipated. He’s just grateful that none of the other kids had come out of their rooms while he was traipsing around. He wouldn’t have wanted to deal with that with how exhausted he is.

When Phil and Clint lay Tony down on his new bed, they get to work fluffing his pillows and making a comfortable mound for him to prop his injured leg up on. He usually hates to sleep flat on his back, preferring to lay on his sides, but that’s not an option right now. He still finds himself lulling to sleep with no qualms, Clint and Phil still fluttering around his room.

He swears he feels the press of dry lips to his forehead and gentle fingers brushing their way through his hair before he drifts off entirely, but it’s probably definitely just a dream.

Chapter Text

Tony wakes to boisterous laughter emanating from downstairs. He blinks slowly, trying to gather his bearings. He cannot recall a single time that he ever woke to the sounds of happiness, so it’s different, to say the least, but also kind of nice, too. He slowly pushes himself up to lean against the headboard of the bed when his eyes catch on a few items sitting on the nightstand beside him.

There’s a glass of water, a breakfast bar, and two pain pills, along with his phone and a note that has both Phil and Clint’s numbers on it. It tells him to call when he wants to come downstairs so the men can come fetch him. He feels his face heat in embarrassment, but he pushes it down because he knows he’ll have to be asking for help for a while yet; it’s best to just get used to it now.

He downs the bar, medication, and water before scooping up his phone. Somewhat unsurprisingly, he has no missed call or text notifications. He’s never had many friends at school or otherwise. Sure, there are kids that he talks to in class, but none that he’s ever interacted with outside of school. No one he could actually count on. He was, however, hoping to hear from Jarvis. Even a quick text to see if he settled in okay would’ve been nice. Hell, he would’ve taken a simple hello. Alas, there’s nothing.

Just then, another round of giddy laughter bubbles up the stairs, and Tony’s heart aches this time at the sound. The happiness does sound beautiful, but it leaves the bitter taste of jealousy on the tip of his tongue in its wake.

He decides to take matters into his own hands, right then and there.

Tony scrolls through his meager contacts before settling upon Jarvis’s. His thumb hovers over the call button, hesitating there momentarily, before ultimately pressing it. He pins the phone to his ear with a trembling hand and he bites the thumbnail of his other while he waits.

After the third ring, Jarvis’s voice echoes over the line. “Young sir?” He says.

“Jarv,” Tony says, voice thick. “Um, how are you?”

“I’m well,” he replies but doesn’t continue. The silence stretches between them, putting Tony even more on edge. What the hell is going on with Jarvis?

“What the hell is going on?” he asks when he can’t take the silence any longer, voicing his unending concern. “What have I done, Jarvis? I’ll fix whatever it is, I swear. I just need to know-”

Jarvis cuts him off with a sharp, “Anthony.” Tony swears he hears a sniffle on the other end of the line. “You have done nothing wrong. Nothing. And I am so sorry if I have made you feel otherwise.”

This makes Tony reel a bit. “Then what’s going on?” He doesn’t say what he’s thinking, lest he makes the man feel guilty or obligated to… well, to care about him. But he wants to scream and shout. He wants to ask why Jarvis would abandon him now, when he’s scared and hurt and living with fucking strangers that probably hate his guts.

“I’m afraid that I’ve failed you, Anthony. I cannot stop thinking about you, lying on the floor of the workshop. I cannot stop thinking about what would have happened if I had come any later. This could have been prevented, and because I have done nothing regarding how your father treats you, I-”

This time, Tony cuts him off. “You know that there’s nothing you could have done,” he stresses. They’ve been over this a million times and the result is always the same, if not ideal.

“If you did anything, Howard would have your head and I’d be even more screwed. You know-” his voice cracks, but he carries on, pretending neither of them heard it. “You know that I’d be lost without you, and if Howard fired you…”

“I’m sorry that I have not been around,” Jarvis says again. “I should have known that it would have upset you. I simply let the guilt consume me and cloud my judgment. Seeing you so unwell in the hospital only served to make me feel further culpable.”

“Are you serious right now, Jarv? I would be dead without you!” Tony exclaims, incredulous.

He can see why Jarvis might feel bad about knowing about the abuse and not taking action, but he wasn’t kidding about them having gone over it a million times. Howard would manage to sweep it all under the rug and take out his anger on Tony, and Jarvis would end up with his head on a stick. It’d probably even get positioned at the front gate as a warning to others who tried to interfere, or something.

“I’m afraid that my inaction before the… Incident,” he says distastefully, “led to the proceedings. If I had just-”

“Seriously, you have got to stop with the guilt shit,” Tony commands.

“Language, young sir,” Jarvis murmurs, a small glimpse of normalcy finally shining through.

“Yeah, yeah, old man. What I’m trying to say is that I don’t blame you for any of this. Just having you around is enough for me. Please, just- just, don’t disappear on me again. That’s what you should really feel guilty about.”

It’s meant to be a joke to lighten the mood, but it’s obviously all too raw still.

“I am truly sorry,” Jarvis tells him, achingly sincere.

“It’s nothing, really. I’m just glad I got to talk to you, finally.”

After that, they talk for a few more minutes. Jarvis is still subdued, but Tony can’t blame him much for it, he supposes. If the roles were reversed, he’d probably feel guilty too, however misplaced and unwanted it really was. Jarvis asks him how he’s doing and how the foster family is, and he fibs and says he feels great and that the family is really welcoming and nice to keep him from worrying. It’s a half-truth; Phil and Clint have been nothing but kind to him, though he’s still weary because he’s well aware that outward appearances can be deceiving. He knows Jarvis doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t call him on his shit anyway.

They discuss Howard’s trial for a long while as well. Tony hadn’t been keeping up with the news at all since the so-called Incident, but Jarvis tells him that it’s been posted on every channel and site possible. Howard’s going down for double-dealing and being in cahoots with known terrorist organizations and Stark Industries is taking a heavy hit. Tony is shocked at the revelation; his father is many things, a patriot being high up on the list.

Jarvis tells him that Obie’s been taking over for the company and helping with the trial, which is one big whole mess. He says that with the amount of outrage and publicity the trial and Howard have been getting over the past two weeks, he wouldn’t be surprised if it turned into the next “Trial of the Century.” Tony laughs at that but Jarvis doesn’t, so it makes him very, very nervous. Jarvis may not have been kidding. Tony tries not to think about it too much after that. God, what a shit show.

When they hang up, after Jarvis promising he’d visit sometime when he got a chance, Tony calls Phil. He’d debated on which man to call, subconsciously knowing that it really wouldn’t matter, but not wanting to hurt any feelings or something. He’d settled on simply calling the first number listed on the note.

“Good morning, Tony,” Phil says as he enters the room, Clint trailing after him and greeting him as well.

“Morning,” Tony replies.

The two help him to the bathroom and then downstairs to settle him, once again, at the kitchen table with all of the others. They had kept up friendly conversation with him upstairs, but the silence that settles upon the table is deafening. No more are the joyous laughs and light conversation. Thor doesn’t seem to be around, but Bucky’s avoiding his eyes while Steve and Natasha glare unremorsefully at him. Tony really, truly ruins everything that he comes in contact with.

“So, Tones, what do you want for breakfast?” Clint asks him, breaking the quietness. He and Phil are puttering around the kitchen, both oblivious to the looks Steve and Natasha are shooting Tony as their backs are turned to the table. “We have eggs, bacon, and toast. Some cereal too. I could make you an omelet if you want,” continues Clint when Tony doesn’t answer immediately.

“Eggs and toast are okay,” Tony says, his eyes still skittering around the others’. “And, um, do you guys have coffee?” he tacks on.

Phil turns from his position at the sink washing dishes at that. “We usually don’t let the kids, other than Thor, have coffee. You’re just still young.”

Right, of course Tony ended up somewhere that coffee is going to be denied for him. He doesn’t know why he’d expected anything different. Clint, however, pauses at the crestfallen expression Tony must be sporting.

“I guess we can make an exception, just this once,” Clint says, shooting Phil a look.

“Are you serious?” Steve exclaims angrily at that. “That’s not fair!”

“Yes, I am sure that he has never heard the word no before in his life. Why must you continue this trend?” Natasha adds. They’re both fuming. Bucky still hasn’t looked up from his bowl of cereal.

“That’s enough from you two,” Phil commands. He’s not harsh about it, but it’s clear that he means no nonsense. Steve’s jaw clenches with a click.

And as much as Tony would love to have coffee. God, he might kill to have coffee, honestly. With how exhausted he constantly feels, he knows there’d be no better cure. Plus, he hasn’t had access to any at the hospital and he misses it, frankly. But, he knows that keeping the peace here is definitely a higher priority than coffee. No matter how much it pains him to admit it. If someone had told him yesterday that he’d voluntarily turn down coffee the next day, he’d’ve laughed in their face.

“No, I understand,” Tony says, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “If those are the rules, I can follow them.”

At this, Bucky looks up with something akin to… respect? Tony’s sure that he must be imagining it because what he had done yesterday couldn’t be repaired by one tiny gesture as easily as that.

“For what it’s worth,” Tony continues while Bucky’s eyes are still on his, “I’m sorry for what I did yesterday. I should have known better than to be invasive like that, and I promise it won’t happen again.”

Astonishingly, Bucky shoots Tony a barely-there smile and mumbles, “it’s cool.” The looks that Steve and Natasha shoot the boy are incredulous. It’s clear that they’re not looking to forgive Tony as easily. He kind of knows the feeling though; it’s much easier to forgive when something bad happens to himself, but if someone ever hurt Jarvis, he would not be so easily placable.

“Kids, why don’t you go get ready for school,” Clint says. “We need to talk to Tony.”

Tony feels his heart drop, though neither of the men look upset with him. But, he knows from experience that looks can be deceiving. He’s often been in situations where he didn’t think he could’ve possibly done anything to set Howard off, and his outward appearance showed not even a glimmer of anger, when fists started striking down upon Tony. Mostly, these occurrences happened after board meetings or having company over, such that Howard had to behave himself. The kids being in the room could be the equivalent of that and the thought sends a nervous shiver down his spine.

He’s already so injured; he can’t fathom how much damage they could do to him right now.

The others march up the stairs and Tony’s almost sad to see them go.

“So, we were thinking,” Clint says as he sits down on one side of Tony, Phil on the other. Tony’s heart rate quickens and the air starts to feel thin. They’re cornering him.

“We want to enroll you in school here,” Phil continues. “We aren’t sure how long you’ll be staying here yet, but we think that it would be best for you to not fall too far behind.”

Tony falters at their suggestion. He doesn’t know why the question blindsides him so drastically. It does make sense that he shouldn’t fall too far behind, even if it doesn’t really matter with his intellect. He’d be in college already if it wasn’t for Howard being a jealous fuck. But, he’s sure that Phil and Clint would like him out of the house sometimes so they can go back to doing… well, whatever it is that they do without his pathetic ass there to hold them back. Damn, though, he really doesn’t want to have to subject himself to the hell that is high school. Especially not in his condition. He’s not going to voice that and go against Phil and Clint’s wishes.

“Sounds like a plan,” he says. They look surprised as his easy acquiescence.

“Great!” Clint says with a smile. “Thor was going to drive the others to school today so that we can head to work for a few hours. How would you feel about going in with him and getting a tour?”

Tony feels himself blinking maybe a bit faster than what is strictly normal. He forces himself to stop and he pulls his jaw back up from the ground with some effort. This is definitely not how he’d expected his day to go. They’re already trying to throw him to the wolves and he’s barely even settled in yet. He’s injured for God’s sake, does he really have to? He swallows, his throat contracting with a click.

“Hey, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, Tony. We thought maybe you’d go a bit stir crazy with nothing to do around here all day, but it’s entirely up to you. We can push it off for a few more days if you’d be more comfortable,” Phil tells him, disturbingly understanding.

Tony’s just about to take Phil up on his offer when Thor comes banging in the front door.

“Family!” he bellows. “Who’s ready to go to school on this fine morning?”

“Thor left early this morning to pick up his girlfriend, Jane, from the airport,” Clint informs him, fondly rolling his eyes at his largest son while he explains. “I’m sure he’s in a great mood. They haven’t seen each other in a while, being away at school and all.”

Thor joins them at the table as Clint finishes up his explanation.

“So, are you joining us today, Tony?” Thor asks him. “I was told that I might be escorting you around the high school today. It will be great fun! It has been quite some time since I have traversed its hallways, but it is always a joyous occasion.” There’s a huge smile on his face and goddamnit if he isn’t the most ebullient person Tony’s ever met. It’s infectious.

“Yeah, sure,” he hears himself saying. “I’ll go.”

Chapter Text

Clint and Thor help to load Tony and his things into the car while Phil goes and tries to corral the others. His wheelchair is seated snuggly between some footballs and jumper cables in the trunk. As much as he hates to admit it, he’s going to have to let Thor push him around the hallways of the school in that thing because he’s just not strong enough to hobble himself yet. He tries not to think about the embarrassment that he’s going to go through because he knows he’ll chicken out if he does. Best to just get it over with, afterall.

“Okay,” Clint addresses Thor. “You know the drill. No speeding, seatbelts on, and keep the music down. Call us if you need anything.”

Thor rolls his eyes. “Yes, Dad, I have known the drill for quite some time now. We will be safe.”

“And Tones?” Clint addresses him this time, moving to the backseat window to have better access to Tony. “If you feel too overwhelmed or in pain or anything, you let us know, okay? We will come running, I hope you know that.”

A lump forms in Tony’s throat. These people really seem to care and it is just so bizarre.

“Right, okay,” Tony tells him. “Thank you.”

The kids start pouring out of the house’s front door then so Clint backs away from the car to make space for them all to get in. By the look on Natasha’s face when she opens the back door opposite of Tony, they weren’t aware that he was coming with them. Wisely, though, she says nothing to him in front of Phil and Clint. She slips in the back and sits next to him in the middle seat, but makes sure to not sit close enough to touch. Steve slides in next to her as Bucky occupies the passenger seat. Then, they’re off.

As soon as Thor turns the car off their street, Steve speaks up.

“So, what, are you already coming to school with us or something?” he almost spits.

“And so what if I am?” Tony shoots back, sick of taking their shit. Phil and Clint aren’t around to punish him for being an ass to their kids anyway, so Tony knows now is the time to retaliate and figure out what their problem with him is, so that he can try to make amends later. He knows it’ll be tough to live with them if they’re entirely antagonistic to each other all the time.

“It is a load of shit, is what it is,” Natasha snaps back, clearly unhappy. She’s got quite the mouth on her, for being a sophomore. Tony bares his teeth, ready to tear into her, but he’s interrupted by Thor.

“Siblings, can we all just settle down?” Thor says from the driver’s seat. “Tony has done nothing wrong that he has not apologized for since arriving with us. What is with all this hostility? Have you forgotten the difficulties we endured when we came to live with Dad and Papa?”

Steve has the good grace to look at least a little ashamed, but Natasha looks more petulant if anything. Tony’s eyes flick to Thor and he scrutinizes the side of his head, shocked at the turn of events.

“Yeah,” Bucky chips in. “We haven’t given Tony much of a chance, have we?” He hasn’t turned around to look back at the three of them from his place in the passenger’s seat, instead choosing to watch the scenery fly by. It unsettles Tony a little because he can’t gauge his facial expression. Doesn’t know if he’s saying it mockingly or not, what with the relatively monotone inflection of his voice.

No one says anything to that, either. He thinks it’s better off that way, just maybe. He finds himself drifting off against the window a few minutes later, his exhaustion constantly plaguing him and dragging him into oblivion.

It takes no time at all for a nightmare to start up. It’s short and muddled, so Tony doesn’t remember the details when he wakes up. He does know that it had to do with Howard, though, and that he comes back awake with a jerk and a gasp. He’s panting and sweating in the backseat, three pairs of eyes plastered to him. Thor’s hands are gripped tightly around the steering wheel, though, and Tony knows that if he weren’t driving, he’d be staring too.

“You okay, Tony?” Bucky says after a moment when Tony’s breathing evens out a bit.

Tony gulps down one more lungful of air and nods his head in the affirmative. He is fine; he doesn’t even remember what the dream was about. It’s still kind of difficult to shake the sudden surge of adrenaline and residual fear, though, and the feeling of his weak heart fluttering uncomfortably in his chest.

“I’m fine,” he says after one more moment.

“Shall I pull over?” Thor asks, certainly suspicious of Tony’s shaky answer.

“No, no, it’s fine. Seriously,” he says, only a little bit more convincingly that time. Steve and Natasha are still staring at him like he’s grown a second head. “Can you stop staring?” he says, not nicely.

Their eyes immediately snap away and it just adds to the tense atmosphere in the car.

“We’ve all been there,” Bucky tells him. “It’s okay to not be okay. We, of all people, should know that.” This time, Bucky turns in his seat to look pointedly at Steve and Natasha.

Thor nods along with that, humming agreeably. “Aye, we understand. You are mighty brave for facing those cowards in your own home, but there is no shame in haunting memories following.”

Tony’s heart drops to his feet when Thor first says that, thinking that they somehow know what Howard’s been doing to him all these years. Then he remembers his cover story. The cowards are the robbers, of course.

“I’m really fine,” Tony says stubbornly, not willing to talk to these strangers about what he’s gone through. Especially not if he’s gonna have to lie about what actually happened. Nothing cathartic in that, really, is there?

Steve and Natasha still haven’t said a word, but their eyes are back on him. They’re still staring when they pull up to the school, but Tony doesn’t have it in him to yell at them again.

“You should all go,” Thor tells them. “Tony and I will stay out here a moment longer to gain our bearings.”

It’s sweet that Thor’s lumping himself in with Tony, acting like they both need to get their heads on straight. Tony knows that is not the case, though. He watches as the siblings begrudgingly leave the car and trudge up the stairs to the entrance and disappear through the doors.

“Thanks, Thor,” Tony says, voice gravelly. “For everything, really. It sorta feels like you’ve been the only one on my side through all of this.” Phil and Clint have been nothing but kind to him as well, but he’s still iffy on whether they’re as trustworthy as they appear.

Tony feels his face heat in embarrassment. He’s not often one for this touchy-feely bullshit, but he knows that he owes it to Thor. Plus, he thinks that his pain medication might be contributing a little to his loose tongue.

“I know that my siblings have not made it easy for you, and for that, I apologize. Natasha is fiercely protective of our family and she has oftentimes viewed strangers as interlopers, particularly within our home. Steven has always been hot-headed and stubborn as an ox and he is never quick to forgive if he feels that you have wronged his family.”

Tony breaks eye contact at that, feeling ashamed of his crude examination of Bucky’s arm at the dinner table. God, it was only last night. It feels like that happened a million years ago.

“You did nothing grievous,” Thor is quick to assure him, however. “You merely let your curiosity get the better of you and it happened to upset Bucky. Once you realized your mistake, you apologized. I fear that my siblings are not treating you fairly. If they had been treated with such contempt when they first came to our home, I know that they would not have handled it as graciously as you are.”

“I don’t know if I’d call it gracious-” Tony starts, but Thor cuts him off.

“You have not been deliberately cruel, afterall. I will try to talk some sense into them.”

That makes a genuine smile light up on Tony’s face. It feels nice, being hopeful, however fleeting it may be.

“I can’t thank you enough. Seriously,” Tony says.

“Do not thank me yet,” Thor replies, but he has a smile on his face so Tony thinks it just might not be so bad.

“Now, are you ready to go in, or do you need a moment longer?”

“Let’s do it,” Tony tells him.

When they get inside, Thor leaves Tony sitting outside the office while he runs to the bathroom, claiming that the coffee he drank this morning while waiting for Jane was running right through him. Tony’s just a little bit jealous that Thor had coffee to begin with, but he says nothing.

Classes apparently don’t start for another few minutes, so there are some kids still roaming about. It’s pretty quiet, though, and even voices that are whispering seem to echo through the halls right to where Tony is stationary in the wheelchair. That’s why Natasha and Steve’s voices are so prominent, even though Tony can’t actually see them around the bend.

“I’m just saying,” he hears Steve say. “We’re being harsh on him. He’s obviously messed up from that robbery, too. Not to mention all the crap that’s been going down with his dad. We should just, I don’t know, try to be a little nicer.”

“You are not wrong,” Natasha replies, though Tony has to strain a little to hear her softer voice. She sounds contemplative. “I will attempt to be nicer in the future.”

Tony can’t even be upset that they’re talking behind his back. It’s nice to think that maybe they’re giving him another chance, and that’s before Thor even had the chance to talk to them. There’s certainly hope for him yet.

Tony’s still sitting with a ghost of a smile on his face when Thor returns.

“And why are you smiling so?” Thor asks as he approaches.

“Just excited to get this tour on the road!”

He is, in fact, not excited to get this tour on the road. He’s intimately familiar with getting ridiculed and scrutinized and he knows it’s only going to be worse out here in Hicksville where he knows no one and they don’t know him either. Best to just keep his head down and get it over with, though.

“Aye, let us get going then. Principal Fury knows that we were coming and I believe he is waiting for us,” Thor tells him while he assumes his spot behind Tony, pushing the chair. They start their way into the office. “And by the way,” Thor whispers as they approach the secretary, “Do not say a word about the eyepatch. Fury is very much so sensitive about it.”

Tony nods his affirmative, wondering what the hell he’s gotten himself into.

Thor chats with the secretary for a bit before she sends them into Principal Fury’s office. When they go in, Tony can feel his eyeballs trying to pop out of their sockets. Fury is a towering man wearing all black clothes topped with a leather jacket and an eyepatch that accentuates the sternness of his face. He does not look the type to be sensitive about anything.

“Thor, Stark,” he greets. “Please come in.”

Thor rolls him in and closes the office door behind him before taking a seat in front of the desk.

“Hello, sir!” Thor greets when he’s settled into the chair. “It is marvelous to see you again.”

Fury rolls his eye and nods. “Wish I could say the same, Mr. Odinson, but that would be a lie,” he drawls. Tony’s kind of taken aback. Who is this guy to speak to Thor like that? But Tony looks over at Thor to see what his reaction is, and Thor’s grinning like an idiot.

“I see you are still bitter of the senior prank, sir,” he all but laughs.

Fury grunts, but says nothing at that. “Bruce Banner is on his way to escort you today. I can’t trust you around the school by yourself, so I’ve brought in my most reliable student to keep you in line,” Fury tells them, glaring at Thor all the while. This Bruce kid sounds like a wet blanket.

As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door and a mousy-looking guy enters. He’s kind of unremarkable at first glance, but Tony sees the intelligence shining in his eyes behind his glasses after his cursory glance.

“Hey,” he says, “I’m supposed to give you guys a tour?”

“That’s right,” Fury tells him, answering for Thor and Tony. “I want you to show them the gym, cafeteria, and your science classroom. Then bring them back here and you can return to class.”

With that, they’re off.

“So, Bruce,” Tony starts as they’re making their way down the main hall toward the gym and cafeteria, “Brucie, Brucie-Bear.”

Bruce rolls his eyes from his place walking next to Tony’s chair, Thor still propelling them along.

“Yes, Tony?” he says exasperatedly.

“Do you like it here? Give it to me straight. Should I be running for the hills or should I give it a shot? Thor seems to like it here, but Thor was a jock and high school’s always better for the jocks, am I right?”

“I resent that,” Thor mutters but there’s no heat behind it. He knows it’s true.

“It’s high school, Tony. I don’t think there’s such a thing as having a pleasant high school experience when you’re a huge science nerd like me.”

“Well, that doesn’t bode well for me then, huh,” Tony replies.

Bruce rolls his eyes again. “You’re trying to tell me you’re a geek, too? Yeah, okay.” He’s clearly doubtful of Tony’s scientific abilities.

Tony’s about to say, like, yeah, duh, I’m Tony Stark and I’m better at science than you’ll ever be but something stops him. If Bruce is doubting that he’s a nerd, that must mean he has no clue who he is. Whose kid he is. And he’d like to keep it that way, if possible. There’s nothing good that comes from being perceived as a rich, snobby brat. Steve and Natasha proved that to him enough.

“I might surprise you, Brucie-Bear,” he settles on and calls it a day.

They go to the gym and the cafeteria, which are adjacent to each other, with no drama. They’re nice spaces, but they could be nicer. Tony’s not going to complain, though. This is a public high school as opposed to the private one he attended back home, so of course it’s going to be a little less flashy than what he’s used to.

Their next destination is Bruce’s classroom. He’s currently excused from this class so that he can show Tony and Thor around, so they walk in right in the middle of a lesson.

“Ah, you must be Tony. And hello there, Thor,” the teacher greets when they step into the classroom. “I’m Mr. Yinsen and this is our AP chemistry class. Why don’t you say hello class?”

The class greets them in an unenthusiastic manner, characteristic of high school students. It almost makes Tony laugh at how typical it is, but he reigns it in. That’s when he hears the whisper.

“That’s Tony Stark, isn’t it?” one kid whispers to another. It spreads throughout the room quickly, like wildfire. Next thing Tony knows, some kid’s shouting up to the front of the room.

“Hey, Tony, how’s it feel knowing your dad’s a terrorist?” some faceless student mocks.

It’s kind of a punch to the gut. He’s been trying to avoid thinking about his father and about the trial and it’s kind of just like putting a bandaid over a gaping hole in a water tank. It might help for a little, but he knows he’s ready to blow at any aggravation. He glances over at Bruce, who’s looking at him like he’s an alien now. He’s definitely put two and two together with the comment, finally realizing who he actually is. The mortification that’s plastered on his face doesn’t help matters.

“I… Um-” he mumbles, but he can’t find and words to say. He feels numb and out-of-body. That’s never a good sign.

“Aw, is the poor rich boy gonna cry?” another voice calls.

Tony distantly hears Mr. Yinsen calling for them to all be quiet and that Justin must stay after class and Bruce and Thor are talking to him in low, soothing voices but he can’t hear over the roaring in his ears and he can’t see through the spots in his vision and-

Then they’re out in the hallway again, the three of them.

“Tony, please, you must breathe,” Thor urges gently.

Tony gulps in a huge, shuddering breath. It clears his foggy mind just a little.

“Thor, can you go get some water for him? I’ll stay here,” Bruce says.

Thor starts to trot down the hall, disappearing in mere seconds.

“I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” Bruce says as he breathes evenly and deeply, letting Tony follow. “But I have these awful anger issues. Well, I had them. Until I was sent to court-mandated therapy after I beat up some kid who broke my science fair project. I was taught these breathing exercises to calm me down, amongst other things, and I can control myself no problem now.”

Tony’s feeling a little better at the end of the story, his breathing matching Bruce’s all the way.

“Thanks,” Tony says shakily after another moment. He’s not sure if he’s thanking him for helping him calm down or for sharing what is clearly a private story even though they’re practically strangers. Even though Tony is Tony Stark, son of terrorist and privileged asshole.

Thor comes back then and hands Tony the water. He sips on it greedily as they make their way back to the office to sign out and go the fuck home.

Even though he had a meltdown toward the end there, in front of a whole class of ruthless kids, Tony doesn’t think it was a complete disaster. As close as it could get to a complete disaster, sure, but not all for naught. Tony thinks he may have found a friend in Bruce Banner.

Chapter Text

By the end of the week, the stitches in Tony’s chest have been removed and the cuts are healing nicely, but they’ll leave twisting scars anyway. His ribs are still a bit tender, but it’s unfortunately something that he’s intimately familiar with, so he’s able to push the discomfort to the side without any qualms. He’s retired from the wheelchair and moved on to the crutches, which is both a blessing and a curse. He finds himself more exhausted than before, but it’s a kind of nice exhaustion, like after a hard workout or something. It’s liberating, being back on his own two feet.

The other kids are officially on winter break and Christmas is coming up soon. It’s been kind of fun living with this family, Tony thinks, when the holidays are coming up. He can vaguely remember celebrating Christmas as a kid when his mom was still alive, but that was a long time ago. All he has now are hazy memories of being happy and the knowledge that he will never feel like that again. At least, that’s what he’d thought up until this point.

The others have been surprisingly nice to Tony. He was under the impression from the beginning that they’d lay off him a little bit after hearing Steve and Natasha talking in the hall, plus knowing that Thor planned on talking with them. However, he didn’t think that it would be such a drastic, one-eighty change right away. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop for the past couple days, their demeanor setting him on edge entirely, but he’s starting to settle down a little. They still don’t have his trust, not by a long shot, but he’s stopped looking over his shoulder quite so often.

“Tones, come help us decorate the tree!” he hears Clint call from downstairs.

He’s been in his room for a few hours fiddling with specs on his phone. He knows that it’s pointless, probably, considering his father is likely going to prison for a long, long time and will probably bring down Stark Industries with him, but it’s something to do. Soothes his frayed nerves. As fun as a lot of the Christmas tradition has been, it’s overwhelming when in years past, he hadn’t even uttered nor received a single ’Merry Christmas’ from anyone other than Jarvis.

“Coming,” he calls back down. He’s figured out a relatively painless way to get down the stairs himself, thumping all the while. It’s only about a minute before he finds himself downstairs with the others.

It’s a sight to behold. Every single family member is standing around a slightly raggedy tree with Santa hats sat upon their heads. There’s a speaker playing some dumb carol or another and, dear God, does Tony smell cookies? It genuinely does not get more wholesome than this.

“Well, if it isn’t the goddamn Brady Bunch!” Tony laughs from behind the bannister of the stairs. As soon as the words leave his mouth, though, he’s holding his breath. It’s oddly evocative of the first time he stepped into their home and immediately put his foot in his mouth. The others have been nicer to him, sure, but is this crossing a line? They’re clearly all enjoying themselves right now and they probably don’t need his dumb ass to come in and fuck it all up. He needs to learn to stop running his mouth…

“Language,” Steve says, although not sternly, at the same time that Natasha says, “We are better than the goddamn Brady Bunch, Tony.”

It’s quiet for a moment, but then everyone bursts out laughing. Even Phil, whose laughter seems to be even more rare than Natasha’s. Tony tentatively smiles, not really knowing if he’s allowed to laugh with them.

“Why don’t you come join us?” Phil says after everyone settles down. “We even have a hat for you.”

Sure enough, Phil is holding out a matching Santa hat, waiting for Tony to take it. He finishes his journey down the stairs and approaches Phil, willing himself to just take the hat from the man’s hands. He tentatively reaches out, but his hand is shaking so he retracts it back to his side, hoping that no one’s noticed.

“I- Um…” he stutters, embarrassed at his weakness. Phil gives him a knowing look and sets it down on the coffee table, allowing Tony to pick it up himself. He slides it on his head and turns to the others, who are all looking at him with different expressions of confusion written all over their faces. They quickly hide it before the situation can genuinely get awkward, though.

“So, we usually watch a Christmas movie after we finish decorating the tree,” Bucky informs him as he picks up an ornament from the box beside him. It’s an angel, but one of the white, feathery wings has been replaced by a metal duplicate. It’s elegant in its own way and Tony finds himself kind of staring at it, mesmerized, before he comes back to himself. This behavior is pretty much exactly what upset Bucky before. He really keeps making the same mistake twice; what the hell is wrong with him?

“Dad and Pops got this for my first Christmas that I spent here with them,” Bucky says when he catches Tony’s eyes. He’s clearly not upset this time, either, which has Tony a little dumbfounded. He’s not gonna question it, though.

“Which is why we got you this,” Phil says from close behind him. Tony flinches minutely, not having expected Phil to sneak up behind him. He turns around to face him quickly, hoping that no one had noticed his adverse reaction.

The ornament that Phil’s proffering is a snowman with all the regular attributes: a hat, carrot nose, and pipe. However, there’s a glowing blue heart right in the middle of its midsection. It’s a peculiar color for a heart, but Tony supposes it matches nicely with the winter theme. It’s kind of them to have bought him an ornament like this, like Tony is just like all of the others, but he doesn’t know how it pertains to him. Maybe this is them trying to tell him that he’s got a cold heart, or something. It would make sense.

Clint must see the faint confusion that Tony’s exhibiting, so he’s quick to explain.

“We figured, as much as you don’t like to show it, that you have a big heart. We joked that this was proof that Tony Stark has a heart.” Clint’s smiling when he says it, and a glance at the others reveals that everyone’s mirroring that particular sentiment. None of them seem angry or bitter at all.

“Thank you,” Tony says as sincerely as he can. This time, he manages to take the gift from Phil’s hands, though his own still shake when he does so. He doesn’t miss the smug look that Phil shoots Clint, but he doesn’t comment on it.

He hobbles over to the tree and places the ornament off to the side where it won’t be too intrusive. He’s sure that there will be better ornaments to put in the best spots.

“I come bearing cocoa!” Thor announces when he enters the room. Tony hadn’t even realized he left in the first place. He’s carrying a tray with seven steaming mugs on top of it and he settles it on the side table beside the couch. The whole family swarms the tray and picks up their respective mugs, all chattering away happily as they do. It makes Tony’s apparently existent heart swell in his chest. This is the first time he’s been a part of a happy family in a long goddamn time.

They all settle down to watch Rudolph, squeezed together on a couch that should realistically only fit six. Therefore, Tony is smushed between Steve and Bucky’s giant biceps. It’s kind of nice, really.

When the movie is over, it’s almost midnight and the kids are all sent up to their rooms with explanations that Santa won’t come if they don’t go to sleep soon. There are plenty of rolled eyes at that, but no one actually says anything about Santa not being real. It’s cute that they kind of keep up pretenses anyway. Tony remembers telling him at five years old that Santa wasn’t real and to grow the fuck up, goddamn it, Tony. It’s been a while since he’s even played along with it.

When Tony lays down, he shoots off a text to Jarvis, wishing him a Merry Christmas. He’ll call tomorrow to actually talk to the man, he thinks as he drifts to sleep.

Tony wakes up at the sound of his bedroom door banging open against the wall. It frightens him greatly, considering he was drifting in a vague nightmare right before that. It’s reminiscent of Howard stomping into his room to lecture him or beat him or both, and he finds that his instincts react more quickly than his brain when he’s still half asleep like this.

He rolls off his bed, landing on the carpet with a harsh thump, before scrambling under the bed frame. His ribs and his leg are throbbing painfully from the impact and his haste to get away and his breathing is coming in short, shallow pants. His eyes frantically search the darkness that is the underside of his bed, waiting fearfully for Howard’s hands to grab at him.

“Tony?” a soft voice calls. “It’s just me, Bucky. Steve’s here too. We just wanted to come wake you so we could go open presents.”

Bucky’s voice snaps him out of his complete state of panic, but Tony’s still riled up from the whole encounter.

“Leave,” he pants, not managing to get the whole phrase out in his first attempt. “Leave me ‘lone,” he begs.

“Okay, we’re going to step out and give you space, but we’ll be back in a moment to make sure you’re okay,” Steve’s voice says this time.

Tony hears their footsteps backing out of his room, his door shutting behind them with a gentle click. He takes a deep breath, trying to get his bearings together. Shit, he just freaked the fuck out in front of the two boys. They already thought he was fucked up, and now they’re bound to think he is even more so. He’s really not been making good impressions here.

He doesn’t know how much later it is when Clint and Phil enter his room, but he doesn’t think it’s more than a few minutes. They announce their entry with soft voices and they settle on the floor on one side of his bed, making sure to not block his exit.

“Tony, can you come out so we can make sure you’re okay?” Phil asks gently. After a moment of debate, Tony makes his way out from underneath the bed. He’s really in some significant pain now, so he has to move slowly and deliberately.

“There he is,” Clint smiles when Tony fully emerges. “Do you want to tell us what just happened? Are you okay?”

Tony shakes his head in the negative, technically answering both questions in one go. He’s really not okay, and he’s sick of pretending that he is. But, that doesn’t mean he’s gonna pour his heart out to these men who probably won’t give a shit to him in a few months. They’re only fostering him after all.

“I’m fine,” he says after he calms a little more, knowing that they would think he was just saying no to wanting to tell them what happened.

“I hope that you know we’re here for you, no matter what,” Clint tells him. He’s looking a little teary-eyed and damn it, this isn’t what Tony wanted. He didn’t want to upset everyone on fucking Christmas Day.

“I’m sorry,” Tony tells them both.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Phil replies. “Whenever you’re ready to come down, please do. It looks like Santa came.” They both leave the room, leaving the door open behind them.

Tony can hear the laughter of the others from downstairs. He doesn’t want to go down there with his miserable ass and ruin the holiday. He doesn’t want to see the stupid gift that Phil and Clint probably got him to make it so he doesn’t feel excluded entirely from the festivities. He’s not naive enough to believe that they really got him gifts, not when he hasn’t even gotten any from his own father for the past decade. Why would they even bother? He doesn’t want to think about how it’s the holidays and he doesn’t even have any real family to spend it with. He’s about to continue on his downward spiral when his phone on the bedside table rings.

He scoots on his ass over to his phone and checks the caller ID. It’s Jarvis. It makes the frustration and sadness that’s been building up in Tony’s chest all morning melt away just a bit. Jarvis called first, like he actually maybe really wanted to talk to Tony.

“Hello?” Tony greets when he answers the call.

“Master Anthony! Merry Christmas!” comes the reply.

“Thanks, you too. What are you up to today?”

They chat for a bit. Tony learns that Jarvis has the day off and he and his wife, Ana, are making their way out to her parents’ house for gifts and dinner. Jarvis learns that Tony had already been gifted a meaningful ornament from his foster family, which Tony is sure makes Jarvis’s opinion of them skyrocket. They make sure not to discuss Howard or the trial or Obie or the company. It’s a nice conversation, and it gets cut too short after ten minutes, but Jarvis has to go get ready for the day of travelling. They bid each other goodbye and Merry Christmas again before hanging up. Tony’s practically glowing by the end of the conversation.

Now’s the moment of truth, though. He needs to go down there and face his foster family before they come searching for him again. He’s nervous. He’s sure that they’ve all talked about what’s transpired this morning by now, and he’s sure that they’re going to be pitying and upset to have someone as fucked up as him intruding on their holiday. He sucks up all his self-doubt and tucks it away, hoping that it’ll stay nestled deep in his chest until at least tonight.

He heaves himself off the floor with no small amount of pain. He’ll have to ask Clint and Phil if he can have some more pain medication when he gets downstairs. They’ve made sure to monitor how much he’s been consuming since he got to their house, which is probably very smart and responsible of them, even if Tony’s embarrassed that he has to admit that he’s in pain enough to need it.

He shuffles his way to the bathroom first to take care of all his business before beginning his anxious trek downstairs. He hears everyone quiet down as he thumps on each stair. He swears he can feel cold sweat trickling down the back of his neck.

“Merry Christmas, Tony!” they all cry when he’s within eyesight. It’s another surreal scene.

They’re all lounging about, bodies draped over one another with a sign of trust and familiarity that Tony’s envious of. The lights on the tree are luminous and ignite the room in a warm cream color. There are still a good amount of unopened presents sitting beneath it, though there’s a good amount of wrapping paper strewn about as well. Snow falls gently outside the large windows but it doesn’t seem to be sticking to the pavement. They’re all wearing their Santa hats again.

“Merry Christmas,” he says back, weakly. This is uncharted territory for him.

“Here, you should open mine first,” Clint says, pushing a messily wrapped present toward him.

He stares at the man, mouth gaping.

“Then mine. It’s obviously the best one,” Natasha adds.

Everyone seems to pipe up after that, offering Tony gifts. Really, showering Tony with gifts. He’s so incredibly surprised and overwhelmed that he feels tears prick at his eyes. He’s mortified.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks him, his keen eye the first to notice his watery eyes.

Tony clears his throat before lying saying, “I just think I might be due for some pain meds.” It’s a good excuse, if Tony says so himself.

Phil quickly scrambles to the kitchen and brings him back a glass of water and two pills. He downs them before opening his gifts, all eyes on him.

He goes to sleep that night, feeling the happiest he’s been since his mother had died.

Chapter Text

Tony wakes two hours before his alarm. He spent the night tossing and turning, unable to slow his racing brain long enough to let him sleep. He’s officially starting school today and his nerves have clearly gotten the best of him. After what happened when he was visiting the school before break, he’s sure that his first day is going to be stressful. Add in his exhaustion and frustration from not being able to sleep, and you’ve got a huge recipe for disaster. He lies there for the next two hours before his alarm starts to blare at him, thinking about all the ways today could go wrong. By the time he’s dragging his sorry ass out of bed, he’s anxiety-ridden and jittery and absolutely not prepared for this personal hell he’s about to get into.

When he goes downstairs for breakfast, only Phil and Clint greet him in the kitchen. Phil calls to him happily from his position at the stove where he’s cooking eggs and Clint grunts at him, slumped over the table. It’s clear who here is a morning person and who is not. Tony decides he’s going to join Clint today, considering how crappy and shaky he’s already feeling. When he mirrors Clint’s posture at the table, thumping his head down loudly on the wood of the table, Phil shoots him a concerned look.

“Are you okay, Tony?” he asks, brows drawn. Tony draws in a shaky breath and tries to paste a smile onto his face.

“All good,” he replies, praying for him to stop asking questions.

“You look pale. Is your leg bothering you?” There’s something about the genuine solicitude he’s exuding that makes Tony irrationally mad. It’s as if his already shaky brain says, ‘How dare this man care about me, when no one else ever has? Who does he think he is?’ and he finds himself snapping.

“I said I was fine, didn’t I?” he snarls. The pure vitriol dripping from his voice makes Clint’s eyes pop open in shock, but Tony barrels on regardless. “Why don’t you save the concern for your kids; they’re the ones who are actually fucked up!”

“You watch your mouth,” Clint snaps at him darkly, suddenly wide awake. He leers at Tony threateningly.

Tony scoffs and stands, his chair scraping noisily along the floor. “Whatever,” he mutters as he begins to crutch away. A hand on his shoulder stops him, though, the grip of the fingers just a bit too tight. He panics, flashes of Howard’s furious eyes and fists racing through his mind.

“Don’t touch me,” he cries. “Let go of me!” He scrambles away as panic claws at his chest, not looking back to see who had grabbed him, and he brushes past Steve and Bucky on his way out. He doesn’t catch the looks on their faces, but he can feel their gazes heavily on his back as he flees.

He ends up hiding under his bed. He wanted to go somewhere dark and still and quiet, and he considered the closet for a split second before shooting the thought down with a full body shiver. It’s too reminiscent of the times Howard had locked him in the dreaded cupboard for crying too much in an attempt to get him to shut up after particularly harsh beatings. So, under the bed it is.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he hears a gentle knock on the door and Thor’s voice calling his name. He doesn’t answer, but the door creaks open slowly anyway.

“Anthony, are you in here?” Thor asks quietly. It’s not often that Thor isn’t absurdly loud, and it always catches Tony by surprise when he’s like this. He doesn’t have it in him to answer, though.

“Your crutches are leaned against the bed. I know you are here. You mustn’t talk but I urge you to listen.” His feet shuffle closer before he sits on Tony’s bed, the frame dipping slightly under his considerable weight. It’s clear that Thor knows just where Tony is hiding.

“I understand how difficult it is, going to a new place with seemingly no allies. But that is just the thing, you have allies in us. In your family. Pushing us away will help no one, least of all yourself. We would like to help you, if you would let us. You do not have to be alone in this new chapter of your life, if you simply choose not to be. Now, I am going to go warm up the car so I can drop you all off at school. I hope to see you down there in a few minutes.” With that, Thor stands and leaves the room, closing the door with a soft snick behind him.

Tears prick at Tony’s eyes, though he refuses to let them fall. He’s just so exhausted and embarrassed by his outburst and anxious. He just can’t shake the feeling that something dreadful is going to happen and he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to face Phil and Clint. If he’ll be able to face any of them, after saying what he had. The day’s barely begun and he already wishes it were over.

After a few more moments of wallowing, he shuffles himself out from under the bed. He pulls himself from the floor with a poorly suppressed groan, his still-healing body protesting his stay on the floor. He’s really gotta stop crawling under the bed, ‘cause it seems like it’s doing more harm than good.

Tony takes as deep a breath as his ribs will let him to help steel his resolve before he sets off downstairs. Time to face the music.

Only Phil and Clint are in the living room when he goes downstairs, the others having already gone out to the car. Phil gives him a soft smile, but Clint only looks on impassively, lips pursed just slightly.

“Have a good day at school, Tony,” Phil says. Clint stays silent, though a slight frown forms on his face.

“Thanks,” Tony replies, hobbling past them. Once he reaches the door, his hand resting on the handle, he pauses. “I’m-” he starts before cutting himself off, needing to take another deep breath to ease the shakiness from his voice. “I’m sorry for how I acted this morning,” he says in a rush, not looking back to see their reaction or leaving them enough time to reply before he steps out into the bitter cold chill.

When he climbs into the back of the car, no one says anything to him but Thor shoots him a reassuring smile in the rearview mirror. They ride in silence for the short duration of the trip aside from the radio playing softly in the background. It’s nice because it gives Tony some time to calm himself, but it’s bad because that means the others are mad if they’re not talking, even to each other. After what he said in front of Steve and Bucky this morning, he doesn’t blame them. He’s also almost positive they told Natasha what happened, if the sideways glances she keeps throwing him are any indication.

When they get to the school, Thor wishes them a good start to the semester and they trudge inside.

“I can walk you to your first class,” Bucky offers to Tony as soon as they step within the second set of double-doors. Steve and Natasha shoot him slightly startled looks, but nod their assent anyway.

“I’ll see you guys later, then, I guess,” Steve says.

“Yeah, have a nice first day,” Natasha says to the both of them. “We’ll see you at lunch.”

With that, the two are off, lost quickly in the sea of students. Tony tries not to act too shocked that Natasha just (kind of) offered him a seat at their lunch table, but he’s not sure he manages too well by the smirk Bucky is shooting him.

“Let’s get going, or else we’ll be late,” Bucky tells him. They start their trek down the halls at a slow pace, accommodating Tony’s crutches.

“About what I said this morning-” Tony starts before Bucky cuts him off.

“It’s fine. Well, it’s not completely fine, but we’ll get over it. We all have freak-outs sometimes, ya know?” Bucky shoots him an inquiring look. Tony didn’t know, not really, but he nods along anyway.

“Well, I’m sorry anyway. And I didn’t mean it,” he offers.

“Water under the bridge, kid,” he smirks again, full well knowing that they’re the same age. “Okay, here we are. This is your first class. Mr. Lang is a good guy, if a bit of a goof. Stevie and I’ll be right down the hall, and Nat’s just upstairs if you need anything. Someone’ll come get ya after class is over. Good luck in there. And… try to smile at least once, it’ll make people think you ain’t so mean.” He laughs and gives Tony a pat on the back before he strolls off down the hall.

The warning bell rings just as Tony steps inside the room. He takes a seat at the back of the room, one of the few unoccupied ones that there are. He finds himself scanning the room for Bruce, but he doesn’t see him. He’s disappointed but it’s unsurprising, considering how big this school is.

“Okay everyone, listen up,” Mr. Lang hollers over the buzz of a lot of kids talking. The noise downs down considerably. “We have a new student joining us today. Tony, will you please stand up?”

Tony is mortified, to say the least, but he stands anyway, his casted leg hanging lamely. He feels extremely exposed but he’s going to try not to piss off any teachers or other students on his first day, so he does as he’s told.

“This is Tony Stark,” Mr. Lang starts. He doesn’t seem to notice the quiet gasps and looks of recognition, but Tony sure does. “Please welcome him to our school and try not to drive him nuts like you guys do to me,” he smiles and most of the kids laugh. “You can sit now.”

Tony drops to his seat hastily, eager to get everyone’s prying eyes off of him.

The rest of the class goes by uneventfully. They have to do some partner work and Tony’s forced to work with the guy seated next to him. His name’s Justin Hammer and Tony knows right off the bat that the kid’s a prick, with all the bragging he’s doing. When they’re done with their activity, Tony turns away from him and doesn’t say another word for the rest of class. He can’t wait to get out of here and move onto the next class.

When the bell rings, Tony’s the first one out of the room. It didn’t go horribly; no one mocked him or humiliated him in front of the whole class, but it’s not like it was fun either. He sees Steve walking toward him and he’s relieved.

“Hey, how was it?” Steve greets when he gets close enough to be heard over the roar of voices.

“Okay, I guess. How was yours?”

“Same old, you know,” he answers. “Buck fell asleep within the first five minutes and didn’t wake up until the lesson was over. So, new semester, same old Bucky. It’s almost comforting.”

They start to walk to Tony’s next class, keeping up easy conversation the whole way. It’s as if the scene Tony made this morning didn’t bother Steve in the least and he’s grateful for that, though he makes a mental note to apologize when they get home. It definitely is helpful, having some friends here already. Thor was right. It makes Tony wonder if the older boy said something to them all this morning before they set off for school.

“Lunch is after this block, which is down this hall to the left,” Steve points as he talks. “We usually try to rush so we can get our seats or else they get stolen, so is it okay if we just leave you to find us? We like to sit in the back right corner.”

Tony nods his assent and tells him he’ll see them all at lunch. The next class goes by just like the first, uneventfully. He’s never been keen on english class, and the teacher, Ms. Hill, seems like she kind of has a stick up her ass. She doesn’t make him introduce himself to the whole class, though, so he thinks she’s probably alright.

By the time lunch comes around, Tony is starving. He’d skipped breakfast this morning and since there hadn’t been any disasters during the day so far, his anxiety had started to ease. With that came the appetite.

When Tony steps out into the hall after the dismissal bell, the hallway is a mob scene. He thought it was bad before, but the lunch rush is infinitely worse. People are bolting around and bumping into people; they’re even rowdier than before if possible. It makes crutching around more difficult because he has to be careful not to crush anyone’s toes in the massive crowd.

He’s almost at the entrance of the cafeteria when it happens. A tall girl with strawberry blonde hair has her nose buried in a novel with a missing book jacket and she’s striding with purpose toward the cafe. There’s a guy trailing after her, trying to have a conversation despite the girl clearly being too invested in her novel to be listening.

“What if I told you I slept with your sister?” he shouts over the rumble of everyone else talking.

That makes the girl twist sharply, her shoulder slamming into Tony’s and causing the crutch he has in his grasp go flying. He stumbles and his casted leg makes hard contact with the ground to try to catch him, but it collapses under his weight, causing him to careen toward the ground. He hits with a loud smack! and it makes the whole hallway go impossibly quiet.

“Shit, man, are you all right?” the same boy questions, rushing to help Tony back up.

He’s not really all right; his leg is throbbing unbearably and his chest is aching in a way that feels like his ribs had been broken for a week, not like they’ve been healing for over a month.

“I’m fine,” he manages to grit out between clenched teeth. The boy grasps both of Tony’s wrists and hauls him up with what seems like no effort. Damn, the guy is strong. Tony’s dizzy with the change in position, but a few steady breaths help him regain his bearings.

Tony looks up to see the strawberry blonde looking at him with a horrified look on her face. Then he looks around and notices that what seems like the entire school is looking at him, some people even going as far as to laugh at him. Dread and embarrassment wash over him. Unable to stand there and bear the scrutiny for any longer, he starts to hobble off into the cafeteria, using the wall for support. His missing crutch lays uselessly on the floor behind him.

It must only take the girl a moment to snap out of her stupor because he doesn’t get far before she’s scrambling up to him, crutch clenched tightly in one hand, novel in the other.

“I am so unbelievably sorry,” she apologizes. Tony would’ve noticed the tears gathering in his eyes if he wasn’t so busy trying to keep himself from falling into a full-blown panic attack. His skin is crawling at the thought of all those people staring at him and mocking him. As if his name and father didn’t give him bad enough of a reputation, now he’s going to be known as the kid who got taken down by some girl on his first day.

“Yeah, well,” he mutters, keeping his eyes trained on the ground as he powers on. Deep breaths.

“Come on, man,” the boy who helped him up says, “she’s trying to apologize. Please let her or else I’m going to have to put up with her guilty whining for the rest of the semester.”

“He’s right, you know,” she sniffles. She extends the crutch out to him and it makes him stumble back against the wall. He cannot take it from her, not for the life of him. Her face crumbles further at his reaction.

“Okay, you don’t have to be so insensitive. It was an honest mistake,” the boy says, getting kind of angry now. It’s all too much and Tony can’t keep the panic bubbling up from his chest down any longer. He’s in pain and, even though the crowd has dispersed significantly, he knows there are still people watching, people laughing. This girl is crying and holding the crutch out for him to take and the boy is angry. He’s been on edge all dayIt’s all just too much.

He slides miserably to the dirty floor of the cafeteria with his back up against the wall and his bad leg extended out in front of him. His breath is coming in short gasps, but no oxygen seems to be entering his lungs and what little does get in burns in his chest and his ribs. He can’t do this.

“Tony!” a voice calls, but it sounds distant. “Come on, we’ve been over this before. Follow my breathing.”

A hand grasps his and brings it to a skinny but solid chest. It’s expanding and contracting slowly, rhythmically.

“What’s going on?” another voice, familiar, asks.

“Is he okay?” That one is definitely Natasha.

“He just needs a minute. He’ll be fine.” Tony can feel the vibration of the person’s chest when he speaks. It’s kind of calming.

Once Tony calms enough to open his eyes again, he sees that there are six people gathered around him, blocking him from the view of the rest of the cafeteria. He feels nothing but grateful for that. Then, he notices that his hand is still resting on none other than Bruce Banner’s chest. And that his family as well as the girl and boy from earlier are all standing there.

“I’m sorry,” Tony says to all of them. He didn’t mean to cause a scene, again.

“Tony, you’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” Natasha tells him vehemently. “Why don’t we get you out of here?”

He nods in the affirmative and Steve and Bucky haul him up, supporting his weight on both sides. Natasha carries his crutches and Bruce says something quietly to the girl and boy before following behind Tony.

“Who were they?” Tony asks when they get out into the now deserted hallway.

“Virginia Potts and James Rhodes,” Bucky answers. “They’re pretty nice once you get to know them. Virginia seems like she’s prissy right off the bat, but she’s actually totally badass.”

“Yeah, and Rhodes is pretty funny once you get past that ROTC bullcrap,” Steve adds.

Tony hums interestedly, happy to have the normal conversation to act as a distraction.

“Hopefully they don’t think I’m a complete freak,” Tony says.

“Nah, they’re not really the type to judge. Unless you’re like, a total druggie, then Virginia might judge. But that’s it,” Bucky explains.

“I’m sure Rhodes would judge if you burnt the American flag, too,” Natasha chimes in.

“Well, who wouldn’t?” Steve exclaims, seemingly outraged.

“Alright, Captain America, don’t get your star-spangled panties in a twist,” Tony laughs.

They all laugh right along with him.

Tony thinks that maybe, hopefully, this school thing won’t be quite as much torture as it seems with these four by his side.

Chapter Text

It’s approximately six weeks after what Tony likes to call The Incident, where he happened to meet his new best friends under not so great circumstances, newly dubbed Rhodey and Pepper, and everything’s going surprisingly well. Too well, almost. It only serves to make Tony feel like something really bad is looming because he’s never been this content and, dare he say, happy for such a long time. Things at his foster home have been great; he and Clint had a discussion about everything that went down the day of The Incident and resolved it pretty easily. There were apologies from both ends and tears from only Clint’s.

His cast had come off his leg a mere two weeks previously. It had been such a severe break in the beginning and it turned out that it had been damaged again from The Incident, which set back his recovery quite a bit. The muscle beneath had been atrophied and the leg itself sore, but physical therapy had been working slowly but surely, so his limp wasn’t as pronounced anymore. He’d been warned that his limp may never entirely go away, but he’s determined to work hard and get back to 100%, no matter what the doctors say. It’s helped in school to not stick out like a sore thumb anymore, too.

Some of the kids at school had been pretty cruel at first, sure, but Tony’d expected that, being the child of a so-called terrorist and all. The worst of them all was undoubtedly Justin Hammer, who taunted him at any opportunity he had, but Tony didn’t let it get to him. The kid was just a weasel and that was that; he was nothing to really get upset over. Surprisingly, though, there were a lot of kids that seemed genuinely nice, like T’Challa and Sam Wilson. It’s not like they’re good friends like Bruce and Pepper and Rhodey, but they’re decent people to pass time with in class.

He also hasn’t even been flinching from loud voices or quick movements much anymore. He’s only had one panic attack since The Incident and it was only after a surprisingly vivid nightmare of Howard beating him for being upset over his mother’s death. Even then, the nightmares have been few and far in between, so he just chalks it up to a hard night and nothing more. He thinks that he trusts Phil and Clint and even all the other kids (as much as a person like Tony can trust), though he hasn’t seen Thor in a few weeks due to him going back to college after winter break had finally ended. He didn’t think he’d ever get to this point, but here he stands. He’s also been getting better with accepting things that are handed to him, though he still struggles with it from time to time.

All in all, everything is going well. Too well.

Tony’s sitting at the desk in his room finishing up his chem homework when his phone rings. There’s no one who could be calling other than Jarvis or maybe one of his three new friends, so he answers it without looking at the caller ID, a smile on his face.

”This call will be recorded and monitored. You have a collect call from,” a pause and a crackle of static before Howard’s voice, curt and cold as always, announces his own name. ”Would you like to accept this call?” the robotic voice asks.

All the blood drains from Tony’s face and he feels lightheaded and dizzy. He takes in a huge gulp of air and swallows hard to try to steel his resolve. He doesn’t know why he hadn’t seen this coming earlier and he’s kinda mad at himself for not being prepared for it.

“Yes,” he stutters out after a few moment’s pause. He hopes his voice doesn’t sound as shaky on the other end as it does in his room. Then, Howard’s voice comes over the line, clear as day. Tony’s not sure why, but he expected the phones in prison to be poor quality. Apparently not.

“Anthony?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s me.” He doesn’t say anything more and silence falls for eight, nine, ten seconds before Howard speaks up again.

”Listen, I wouldn’t be asking if it weren’t important,” he stresses, ”but I need your help. Obadiah set me up.”

Tony scoffs and rolls his eyes. It makes his heart swoop for a second to so blatantly disrespect his father, then he remembers he can’t hurt him. He’s in prison and probably would be for a long, long time. There’s no need to fear him, out here. “Right,” he drawls, “Call me if you ever want to just talk, like a normal father to son. Or maybe to apologize.”

He feels sick to his stomach after he says it. A scoff might not be too much of a crime, but he can almost picture Howard sending an assassin to kill him or something for that comment. He might have crossed a line. He really hopes not. His thumb hovers over the end call button when Howard snaps at him.

”Listen here you ungrateful brat, and you listen closely,” he spits, making Tony flinch at his icy tone. Even through the phone and behind bars, Howard really gets to him. ”Stane has been dealing under the table. It’s taken me longer than it should’ve to figure it out, and Lord knows I didn’t want to believe it, but it must be true. I can’t collect the evidence I need here, so you have to. He won’t expect you to do any digging; he wouldn’t think I’d entrust something so big to you. I’m sure he’s taken your access away from the encrypted databases, but I know you’re good enough to get back in. You need to find what you can and bring this fucker down.”

Tony sits there, shocked to his core. Howard is speaking with nothing but conviction in his voice.

“And why should I help you?” he asks. If Howard gets exonerated, absolved of all crime, that means Tony goes back to living with him. Back to a living nightmare. A shiver dashes down his spine and cold sweat gathers on his brow.

”Maybe because I’m your fucking father? Or if that’s not good enough for you, how about the thousands of innocent lives that Stane will end when dealing our weapons under the table? You remember that Jericho missile that you helped design? You want that in the wrong hands, hands that aren’t the US Military’s? Buck up, you little shit, and take care of this.” Howard pauses for a moment and Tony uses the silence to try to absorb what he was just told. Then Howard continues, his voice softer and more pleading than Tony’s ever heard. ”Please, Anthony. This is bigger than you. Think of the greater good if you can’t do it for your old man.”

He doesn’t think he’s ever heard Howard plead for anything in his life. Not a single time, not even in the mangled car when he watched his wife struggle to take in a breath for the last time. Tony remembers that vividly because he had begged and pleaded his mother to stay with them, to be okay-

His head is spinning with the gravity of the situation weighing down on his shoulders. He slumps in his chair, a jackhammer pounding behind his eyes. He’s never been overly fond of Obadiah Stane, but he’d never in a million years think that the seemingly boisterous man could be behind something so sinister.

“Okay,” he concedes, finally. How can he say no to that? Even if it turns out that Howard’s just lying to get out of prison, or even if he truly does think Obie’s the bad guy here, who is he to mess around and not check it out? If it does turn out to be true and Tony doesn’t do anything about it, the blood of those innocent people would be on his hands just as much as Obie’s. Being a bystander is just as bad as being a perpetrator and all that jazz, right? “Yeah, okay. I’ll look into it.”

”Good. That’s good, son.” Howard clears his throat. ”I trust that I don’t have to tell you to keep this to yourself? Do not tell a soul.”

“Yessir,” Tony replies.

”And Tony?”

“Yeah?”

”Be careful.”

Chapter Text

“Hey Tones,” Rhodey greets, dropping down onto the bleacher beside him. “We just saw you sitting out here by yourself on our way out.”

“Yeah, what’re you up to?” Pepper asks as she sits down on the other side of him.

Tony had told Bucky, who had taken over driving everyone to school after Thor’s departure back to school, to not wait up for him after school. They had been walking toward their classes after lunch together and Tony knew he’d have to come up with an excuse as to why he wouldn’t be home until late and to get his foster family off his back. He thinks he said something about doing science with Bruce after school at his place, but he’s not exactly sure. The day’s been not much more than a blur.

During English class that day, Tony had excused himself to go to the library to perform some ‘independent’ work. It was all good with Hill since it was a friday and Tony already completed his in class assignments, and the stern teacher had a soft spot for him for some unknown reason. He’d brought a flash drive in with him that had the beginnings of some impressive code that could get him into pretty much any server he could get his hands on, though he still had some work to do on it before it was ready to go. When he’d finished, he slipped the device into his pocket and it’s been weighing heavily there for the remainder of the day.

“Tony?” Rhodey’s voice prompts. Tony visibly shakes his head, trying to bring himself fully back to the present. “You okay, man?”

He looks at the two of them, their eyes displaying nothing but concern for him, and it makes his heart swell.

“I have to do something that’s probably pretty stupid,” he tells them. “And I could use some help.”

Pepper rolls her eyes playfully at him, smiling that little smile of hers. “If you want us to help you onto the school roof so you can throw pebbles at Fury again, it’s not happening.”

Tony shakes his head, not even a glimpse of a smile upon his lips, which just serves to make his friends’ frowns deepen. He knows he can trust these two to help, but it’s more of a matter of if he’s endangering them or not. The last thing he wants to do is push away his two newest friends by getting them into some deep trouble, but he doesn’t think he has any other option. He doesn’t have enough money for a bus ride there and back and he’s not even sure how the transit system works anyway. He can’t ask anyone in his foster family, either, because they’re too nosy and will ask too many questions that Tony won’t be able to answer. Bruce is preoccupied preparing for an upcoming biology convention and he’d told Tony he probably couldn’t hang out at all this weekend. Pep and Rhodey on the other hand…

“I need a ride to Stark Industries in the city. There are just a couple things I need to check up on.”

“Well that doesn’t sound too stupid to me. In fact, you checking up on some work might be the most responsible thing I’ve ever heard you do,” Pepper tells him.

“Right,” Rhodey agrees with a laugh. “Plus, Jeanette’s got a basketball tournament in Jersey this weekend so my family is out of town and left the car with me. I’m down for a little road trip.”

That’s how Tony finds himself situated in the back of the Rhodes’ family van, chewing on his nails anxiously as they make their way into the city. He’s doing a pretty good job of keeping up normal conversation with them if he says so himself, but Rhodey’s shot him a couple concerned glances in the rearview mirror throughout the ride. He hasn’t said anything, though, and Tony thinks that’s just fine.

It feels like an eternity but also like no time at all before they pull up to the Stark Industries building. Night had fallen upon the city during their trip and Tony knows it’s late enough that Obadiah should be long gone. His godfather was never one to stay at the office past five o’clock, whether he had to continue to work at home or not.

“Okay, do you guys wanna go get some food or something while I’m in there? I should only be about an hour so you can come grab me after?” Tony asks as he pulls the car door’s handle.

“Yeah, man, sounds good. We’ll be back in a bit,” Rhodey says.

“But call if you’re ready before then,” Pepper adds.

With a nod and a smile in thanks, Tony’s off.

His heart’s in his throat as he approaches the front entrance, sunglasses securely in place. He’d figured a hat would make him stick out more than anything in a business attire workplace, but no one would bat an eye at some prick wearing a suit and sunglasses inside. So, when he’d packed a bag this morning before leaving for school, those were essential items.

His hands tremble as he grasps the handle, but he wills them to stop. He reminds himself that he’s probably not going to find anything bad and that Howard was just trying to get into his head for the thousandth time in his life. And what’s the worst that happens if Obie finds out? He scolds him and tells him to leave? Big deal. He’s still terrified anyway.

He follows the same path as he has his entire life to get to Obie’s office. He has to swipe a keycard to gain entrance to specific floors and hallways on his way there, but it’s no problem because Tony prepared for that. When he was younger and realized there were places that had restricted access to him, he’d created a badge that would bypass that. His father had never found out, thank God, so he thinks it’s probably pretty legit. Soon enough, he’s standing outside of Obie’s office, the door towering menacingly in front of him.

The sound of metal scraping on metal resounds loudly in the hallway while Tony deftly picks the lock. It almost makes him laugh how easy it is and vaguely thinks that if Obadiah really had something to hide, he’d have a biosignature lock or something on the door. He glances around to make sure no one’s around before he slips into the room and closes the door behind him. Inside is a large corner office with floor to ceiling windows on both walls and a sleek glass desk with dual monitors sitting atop it. Tony is hit with a wave of nostalgia as he remembers getting sent in here to be watched by Obie on days where Jarvis was out sick or taking a vacation day. Not much has changed, including the potted plant that sits in the corner of the room, although it’s grown taller now.

Seeing the plant is what spurs Tony into action. He remembers puttering around the office and digging through the dirt of the plant when he was particularly young and stupid. His mother had tutted at him for getting himself and Obie’s office all dirty and Howard had fumed, though his mom acted as a buffer between them. He also remembers that he came across a small camera sticking out from between the leaves of the plant and he’d been trying to pry it apart with his bare hands when he was caught.

Moral of the story: Tony knows there are bound to be cameras in the office even if he can’t see them and he needs to take them out quickly.

He approaches Obadiah’s desk cautiously, as though the man himself might jump out of the monitors and grab him by the throat. Ridiculous, he thinks, but it doesn’t do much to stop him from being apprehensive. He plugs the flash drive into the proper port and silently prays for it to work, although he doesn’t pray too hard because he knows he’s good. Within seconds, he’s into the computer.

He quickly hacks into the cameras, setting them all on loop and deleting any footage of him entering the building and office. Obie has six cameras that capture each nook and cranny of his office and it sends a shiver down Tony’s spine, knowing that there are so many metaphorical eyes on him that he can’t see. Knowing that Obie is paranoid enough to need so many cameras. Does he have a good reason to be so paranoid?

He’d designed the drive to go straight for the most deeply buried files first because no one keeps their top-secret dirt anywhere easily accessible. Tony’s dismayed when the first file that pops up is schematics of a lower-quality missile of Stark Industries’ with paper trails dealing with a group called Ten Rings stationed in Afghanistan. Some of it is in english, but most of it is in a language Tony doesn’t recognize.

His heart hammers frantically in his chest as he commands the computer to translate the page. His eyes skitter over the words, soaking in all the information. There’s correspondence between Obadiah and a man called Raza, saying how Howard is getting too close and how they have to take care of it. When the next shipment is coming, how they will send payment when they know it’s safe. That Stane needs to pick up the rate of the shipments or their fragile deal is off. Tony rubs his eyes with his fists, hoping it’ll clear away the nightmare in front of him, but when he opens them again, the computer still reads back the same information.

He hears the heavy footsteps out in the hallway too late. Within seconds of hearing the first steps, the door is being flung open and a furious Obadiah Stane is standing in the frame.

“Tony, my boy” he says with false cheer, a menacing smile splitting his face in two. “What are you doing here? Did you think I wouldn’t be monitoring my workplace at all times?” His teeth grind as he says it, but the smile is still plastered on his face.

“O-Obie,” he stutters out as sweat trickles down his neck. “I just, um. I figured I’d come check up on a few things. Been a while since I’ve visited.” It comes out weak and shaky to his own ears, so he’s sure Stane won’t be buying it. He maintains eye contact, though, and slips the drive from the computer and up his sleeve with slow and deliberate movements. Stane’s eyes don’t flicker down once, too busy staring him down.

“Is that right?” Stane questions as he sidles closer to the desk, closer to Tony.

“Yes sir,” he affirms, more solid this time, though his fear hasn’t abated one bit.

Stane’s close enough now that he braces his hands on the desk, leaning closer to Tony. His hot breath ghosts over Tony’s cheek as he whispers, “You better not be lying.” Then, in a flash of movement, Stane’s meaty hands grab onto Tony’s lapels and jerk him out from behind the desk, throwing him unceremoniously to the floor. Tony lands with a grunt as all breath expels from his lungs and he’s left gasping for air.

The computer screen still displays all of the encoded files and Stane only has to take one glance to know that Tony’s seen everything.

“God damn it, Tony!” he bursts, arms flung into the air angrily. “Fuck!”

Stane paces for a moment before he turns on Tony with nothing but rage in his body language. Tony watches helplessly from his place on the floor. He assumes that trying to escape might only make the situation worse, although he has no clue what he’s going to do to get out of it.

“Let’s go,” Stane snarls as he grabs Tony’s upper arm and hauls him to his feet. He stumbles for a few steps as he tries to keep up with Stane’s long strides, but then he gains his bearings and digs his heels into the floor.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” he growls, trying to tug his arm out of the iron grip it’s held in to no avail. This is not good. This is so not good.

“I suggest you stop fighting with me, right now,” Stane directs in a dark voice that promises pain if Tony disobeys. It’s enough to still his struggles because he’s heard that tone too many times with Howard and it’s never once ended well for him. Then, Stane’s dragging him off, through abandoned hallways and out through the back door where a nondescript van is waiting for them. He gets tossed in through the back doors and Stane follows him in, slamming the doors shut with an air of finality.

Tony tries kicking at him, then, while his back is turned slightly toward the doors. Stane intercepts his foot and twists it painfully in his fist, causing Tony to stop in his tracks. He’s just glad he had the forethought to use his good leg to do the kicking.

“I am not fucking around here, Tony,” he growls, voice deep and menacing. Stane flings Tony’s foot away and grabs for a black duffel to his right, pulling out a zip tie. He grabs for Tony’s hands but Tony twists and turns this way and that, trying to avoid him at all costs. That’s when Stane back hands him, hard. His vision fades momentarily and he feels his body slump to the floor of the van detachedly. Using Tony’s daze to his advantage, Stane secures Tony’s wrists and ankles together and gives them a sharp tug for good measure. Then, a black cloth bag is placed over the entirety of Tony’s head, which only adds to his disorientation. His breathing starts to pick up, panic bubbling up in his chest as he thinks of Rhodey and Pepper, who will think he just ditched them and will leave him with Stane. There’s a prick in his neck and then darkness.

When he wakes up, he’s alone. Or at least he thinks he’s alone due to the eerie silence, but it’s hard to tell with the bag still secured over his head. His mind is incredibly foggy and it’s only seconds before he passes out again.

The next time he wakes up, it’s to the shocking feeling of ice cold water being poured by the bucketload over his head. He coughs and splutters, but the bag is soaking and gets caught in his mouth and is this what waterboarding feels like? When he starts to feel lightheaded, the bag is torn from his head and he blinks blearily in the harsh light. He’s still zip tied, but he’s now tied down to a wooden chair as well.

“Sorry,” comes a slight chuckle that doesn’t sound apologetic at all. “Sometimes I forget that water and cloth over the mouth and nose don’t mix well.”

Tony coughs harshly a few more times, still trying to clear the burning water from his lungs. It feels like a million little teeth gnawing at him from the inside out. He swears he can feel his heart stuttering unnaturally in his chest, seemingly trying to escape the pain that’s engulfing it.

“Now, Tony, I’m not normally one to get my hands dirty,” Stane says as he emerges from behind Tony. He’s still dressed in a bespoke suit, looking nothing like he just kidnapped a child. “But it seems to me that you’ve left me no choice. Tell me everything that you saw on that computer, and spare no details.”

“I swear I didn’t see a thing,” Tony lies. He doesn’t elaborate at all because he knows that over explaining is a dead giveaway to a liar. Stane rolls his eyes and bears his teeth. It makes Tony very uneasy, but he keeps himself from wriggling in his chair and tries to put on a brave front. Stark men are made of iron, after all. He’s had plenty of practice acting brave when all he wants to do is cower and run, and this may be the most important time to put on that front.

“Want to try that again?”

“No sir,” Tony answers. He wriggles his wrists a little to see if the zip ties give him any leeway. They don’t, not one bit, but he feels a hard lump in the crease of his elbow that can’t be anything other than the flash drive which makes him suppress a smile. He just hopes it wasn’t soaked in the abrupt wake up call.

Stane backhands him, again, though it must not be as hard as the first time because Tony still clings to consciousness easily. His head throbs mercilessly and he can feel blood pool on his tongue from where his teeth sliced his cheek. This time he doesn’t suppress the smile, letting his captor get a good look at his blood-stained teeth and smugness.

“Why?” he asks as innocently as he can. “You got something to hide?”

That makes Stane mad. So incredibly mad. But Tony doesn’t regret it despite the pain he’s likely to be on the receiving end of. Angry people tend to make mistakes.

“I really didn’t want to have to kill you, kid, but I’m not sure you’re leaving me much of a choice,” the man grits out. Then, a phone rings inside Stane’s pocket. He checks the ID before answering.

“Give me a minute,” he tells the person on the other side of the line.

Then, he kicks Tony square in the chest, toppling the wooden chair over and bringing the entirety of Tony’s weight down his zip tied wrists and cracking his head hard on the concrete floor. Tony registers the pain briefly before he passes out again.

Chapter Text

Chapter 11

When Tony wakes up, he’s once again upright and zip-tied to a chair. It’s the kind of dark that seems to close in on you. His eyes are wide, scrabbling to find a glimmer of something, but he feels his breathing picking up when there is nothing but blackness. His head is pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat and he finds himself questioning if this clawing darkness is his new norm, if that knock on the head did some irreparable damage. Before he can really begin to freak out, though, he catches a faint sliver of light glowing from under what he assumes is a door. It’s a very narrow slit and far away from where he is sitting so it’s easy to miss, but it’s there. He breathes a sigh of relief and slumps slightly in the chair, as far as the bindings will allow him.

Now that he knows he can see, he tries to focus on gathering other information. The air has a cold nip to it, with a lingering musty dampness that almost promises to bring illness with it, and it is very quiet. When he strains his ears, he thinks he can hear faint murmurings of faraway voices, but it’s very difficult to know if it’s just his mind playing tricks on him or not. He almost hopes there are people around because he’s feeling something like desperation creeping into his mind; being locked in cupboards in his youth felt a lot like this, what with the darkness and quiet and looming feelings of failure and loneliness. He wouldn’t mind some sort of company, even if it’s not the good kind, just to feel like he’s not so alone. He used to be more capable of disregarding the unwanted feelings that solitude brought him since he was almost always alone, but he’s gotten more used to having people around and maybe even caring about him. He almost curses his newfound weakness, but ultimately does not since it means he’s learning how to be more human again.

He tries to push the uneasy feelings away, even as they carve themselves a spot in his ribcage, and takes a deep breath. He thinks that if he were able to see more clearly, his exhale would be visible. A shiver is sent down his spine and it reawakens the throbbing of his head. He doesn’t think he’s wearing his sports coat anymore and his dress shirt is not doing much to keep him warm. With a start, he remembers the flash drive that is supposed to be in his sleeve. He knows it was there before, but that was back when he still had his coat and he does not think Stane would be stupid enough to not search him thoroughly. Vaguely, he wonders if Stane is even still around because he certainly has no clue where he is currently.

Tony starts pressing his arms to his sides, trying to feel for the telltale hardness of a flash drive in his sleeve, but his heart drops when he feels nothing but smooth skin and bone. It’s disappointing, although that might not be a strong enough word to describe what he’s feeling, but he tries not to dwell on it for too long. The flash would only be pertinent to have if he manages to get out of here alive, which he’s kind of iffy on, so it’s going to be a later problem.

He once again tests his bindings with low hopes since there was no give last time, and he finds that nothing has changed in that department. His ankles are zip tied to the legs of the metal chair and his hands are bound behind him and woven into one of the slats on the back of the chair, so he’s stuck pretty good. He even thinks that the chair is probably anchored to the ground since it doesn’t seem to budge at all when he shifts his weight. It’s probably not ideal, but he’s almost glad for it when he remembers Stane kicking the previous chair down and the pain that followed.

Running out of ideas and feeling anxiety spreading from his chest outward, Tony starts shouting.

“Stane!” he cries out as loud as he can. It sends a spike through his head at the gaping of his jaw and sudden burst of sound. “Get in here, you coward!”

He’s met with nothing but the suffocating silence that seems somehow quieter in the absence of his voice. For a moment, he wonders if he even shouted in the first place or if he was just imagining it. The rasp in his throat and pain in his head are indicators that tell him otherwise.

He keeps this up until his voice has gone completely hoarse, which might not actually take a long time considering the dryness of his throat and excessive thirst, but it sure feels like a long time to him. He eventually gives up and closes his eyes. It’s unsettling that there is virtually no difference whether they are open or not, but he doesn’t let it get to him. Besides, he’s been in similar situations in the past, kind of. And he’s always survived them before, no matter how many times he thought he wouldn’t. He tries not to think about the glaring dissimilarities between those past situations and this, though, because this one is much more dire than being tossed in a simple cupboard in his own home.

He evens his breathing and tries to think of his new home, which now consists of Jarvis and his foster family and Bruce and Pepper and Rhodey, as he drifts off to sleep once again.

He wakes once more when he hears voices approaching. He thinks he hasn’t been asleep long since he was in such a light slumber, but it’s hard to predict the passage of time in this hellscape. He perks up a little, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t just asleep, as he listens to the footsteps getting closer. When the door cracks open, light floods in from the outside and practically blinds him, so he squeezes his eyes tightly shut to block it out.

“Tony, my boy,” Stane’s distinctive voice says. Tony still hasn’t opened his eyes against the bright lights, so he can’t gauge his expression. He sounds like he’s in a relatively jovial mood, though, which unsettles Tony more than if he were angry. Angry is predictable; happy certainly is not.

“Sorry about the accommodations,” he says conversationally, like Tony’s just staying in his half renovated guest room or something. “I didn’t really know what to do with you, so I brought you here, where I could think on it before I came to any hasty decisions.”

At this, Tony cracks an eye open to try to look Stane in the eyes, but his sight is blurry with tears and his pupils haven’t adjusted enough to the light yet so he’s nothing more than a shadowy figure.

“Oh, no worries,” Tony says, attempting to keep his tone just as light. “Sometimes I want nothing more than to sit in a dark, cold room to decompress. I can’t thank you enough for the opportunity.”

Stane barks out a laugh at this, clearly amused with the situation.

“You wouldn’t have to be here if you weren’t a conniving little prick, but some things never change, do they? Anyway, we’re here now, so there’s no point in dwelling on the past.” Tony finds he’s finally capable of opening his eyes and he sees a man standing beside Stane, though they’re both backlit from the light entering through the door, so he can’t make out any distinct features. He tries glaring at them but wouldn’t be surprised if it looks like nothing more than a squint. “I know that you know things that you shouldn’t, and I think you’re smart enough to know what that means.”

Tony nods his head numbly. Yeah, he can venture a guess, and it’s not pretty. Stane nods along seriously as well, like he’s put a lot of thought into it.

“I was pretty set on just killing you and getting it over with, but my friend here had a better idea. One that I just couldn’t pass up, you see. What you might not have guessed is that you can still provide some use to me, a surprise to us all,” he smiles and Tony can see the flash of light off his unnaturally straight veneers and he feels like a fish getting eyed up by a hungry shark. “Howard has never really let anyone get close enough to his work to decipher his blueprints, but you have. I have no doubt that you won’t be able to even graze the surface of what he was up to, but my hands are tied and you fell right into my lap, so it looks like it was meant to be. What do you think?”

Tony scoffs internally while trying to keep his face stoic. Everyone always underestimates him because of his age, but he can keep up with Howard pretty well. Maybe it was beaten into him a little, but it still counts. Whatever Stane’s little project is, though, Tony knows he wants nothing to do with it, so he’ll play dumb here just like always.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tony says. That makes Stane smile that shark-like smile again that makes Tony’s hair stand on end like lightning is about to strike.

“You will soon enough, my boy. Let me and my associate here show you what we’ll need.” The mystery man beside Stane comes over and cuts Tony’s bindings before hauling him to his feet and dragging him out of the room.

It turns out that what they need is patches to the Jericho missile. Tony had helped his father design it over a year ago, but he remembers there being issues that they could not surmount at the time. He tries not to think about the frustration that Howard exuded and the lashings (both by tongue and physical) that he was on the receiving end of in those times. Anything that Tony had done right was brushed over as a lucky break, and anything either of them had done wrong were chalked up to Tony being incompetent or idiotic. He had been thrilled initially when his father had brought up the topic of getting Tony’s assistance on it, finally getting his chance to prove his worth, but it had been short lived.

Now, Stane wants Tony to fix the issues, and he’s confident that he could without the looming presence of Howard standing over his shoulder and scoffing at every idea he throws out. However, he knows what would happen if he were to complete the project since skimming through those files on Stane’s computer. He knows that the Jericho would be going straight into the wrong hands and would harm countless people, just like Howard had claimed over the phone. God, that had felt like a lifetime ago.

Tony is quick to tell Stane no. Under no circumstances will he help. Over his dead body. But Stane did not like that.

“Make sure he does as he’s told,” Stane tells his ‘associate,’ who Tony now knows is called Raza. And Raza does.

Tony had always been under the assumption that he’s strong, despite his many faults. Losing his mother at a young age and being there to witness it had hardened him in a way that he doesn’t think many have experienced. Then, having to deal with the wrath of his father in the following years on his own had left some irreparable damage. He’s always thought he would be able to survive anything life threw his way. That was before he was tortured, though.

The first time his head plummets under the water, he tries to keep his cool. Freaking out will just tire him further and force him to inhale, which he wants to avoid at all costs. The longer they hold him under, though, the harder it is to remain calm. He doesn’t know how long he’s under, but his chest starts spasming with the desperate need to breathe, and that’s when he starts thrashing in earnest. Finally, when he feels like he will not be able to take it for even another second, the strong hands gripping his shoulders and neck and back of his head drag him up toward the surface where he can gulp down a fresh breath of air.

He’s inhaling again when they force his head back into the water, so he’s already sucking in water before he’s even had a chance to hold his breath for a moment. The water trails fire down his chest and he feels like he’s imploding. He thinks he may be screaming but he doesn’t know, nor does he particularly care. His limbs are leaden and his head feels like it’s splitting in two and he realizes that this must be what it feels like to die. He thinks he should be more upset about it, but if that’s what it takes for this pain to stop, he is more than willing to welcome it.

Then, he’s thrust out of the water again. He feels like he’s expelling gallons of water and it hurts almost as much on its way out as it did on its way in. He finds himself mumbling to them that he’ll do it, he’ll do it. Anything to stop this horrid feeling. His face burns with shame. He is weak and cowardly for it, but he can’t do this again.

“Okay, I’ll do it,” he says to Raza, clearly this time. He glares at him from beneath his lashes, sopping wet hair dripping onto the cold concrete beneath their feet. His chest still heaves and burns dreadfully.

Raza claps his hands on Tony’s shoulders, making him flinch, and he smiles broadly.

“Good choice,” he says.

They sit him in a room that he thinks is probably pretty similar to the first room he had been in, though he’s not really sure since it had been so dark. It’s still cold and damp and he realizes that the reason for this seems to be because it’s a cave. It’s been fitted with doors and work lights and such, so it doesn’t entirely feel like a cave, but it is still blatantly one. There are also cameras everywhere, watching his every move. He had tried messing with one pretty early on, but another man who was not Raza but spoke with the same accent, had come in and given him a pretty good beating, so he doesn’t attempt it again. Fine, they can watch him as he builds himself an escape route right in front of their faces while keeping them none the wiser.

He has any tools and equipment he would need to fix and build the Jericho at his fingertips, and anything that he doesn’t, they will get for him, but building the missile is not something he actually plans on doing. He has been creating blueprints that look like a missile to the untrained eye, but in reality will be a series of targeted explosive devices similar to claymores to help him eradicate any obstacles in his way, and a sonic taser that will in theory temporarily paralyze anyone who is within hearing range of the device. The explosives he has full faith in, but the sonic taser is a little iffier. He’s always been pretty confident in his inventions, but his life and potentially many others’ lives are on the line here, so it’s got to be perfect. Because of this, it is taking him a long time to create, on top of the stresses of being held in captivity without the proper clothing to keep him warm or substantial meals or friendly company, he has to keep it looking like he’s actually working on the Jericho when he is, in fact, not.

At the end of a month, by his count, of being in captivity, he can feel a shift. Everyone is getting impatient and more frustrated. They do not usually hit him for no reason, but today they are. Raza enters with swift strides and he strikes Tony, open-palmed, in the face. It sends Tony crashing to the ground, stunned. He does not try to get up in fear of making him any angrier. Stane follows him in at a slower pace, seemingly unaffected by the tension that hovers in the air.

“I’m getting irritated, Tony,” Stane says with a placid smile on his face that belies the terseness of his words. “I feel like we have given you plenty of time and resources, and yet you have given us nothing in return.”

“I’m working as fast as I can,” Tony is quick to assure. “It’ll be done soon. I just need a few more days, I swear.”

“One more day. You do your best to have it done by tomorrow, or you will not like what follows.”

With that, Stane gestures for Raza to leave the room before following him out, the metal door slamming shut behind them.

Tony gets up from his position on the ground and lets out a weary sigh as he sits down. He would have liked to have more time to test out the in-ear hearing protection he made to defend against the sonic taser, but he will just have to make do. Everything else should be properly in place and it’s kind of down to now or never.

He hunches over his work so the cameras aren’t getting a full glimpse of what he’s up to as he does his final checks before he lies down on the cot in the corner of the room, trying to get some rest before he implements his escape plan. He is restless for a long time, the plan rolling through his mind over and over again, but he finally is able to fall into a fitful slumber.

When he wakes up, he knows that it’s time. He gathers the hearing protection, pulling them from a larger part that made it seem like they were simply components making up a bigger piece of the missile, and puts them in his ears. They give him the disadvantage of not being able to hear anything at all, which kind of makes his head feel like it’s stuffed with cotton and unbalances him slightly, but it’s worth it if it means the sonic taser won’t incapacitate him. He pulls the taser and explosive devices from other pieces, similar to what he had done for the ear protection. He places the explosives in a makeshift sling bag he fashioned from whatever fabric scraps he could get his hands on.

He positions the first explosive device in front of the door and positions himself behind the heavy metal table on the other side of the room before activating the remote device. He doesn’t hear the explosion at all, but he can feel the ripple of it in the air and the rattling of the door blasting off under his feet. It’s a good sign, he thinks.

He peeks out from behind the table and sees a group of his captors rushing into the room, guns drawn. He activates the sonic taser, heart pounding in his chest in anticipation, and they all drop, stiff as boards and pale as can be. He smiles triumphantly, indulgently, but only for a second since this is only the first step. He has no clue what is waiting for him outside of that door. He grabs one of his captors’ guns on his way through the door, needing to peel it from very stiff fingers, and checks to ensure the safety is off before moving on.

He moves through what he discovers actually is a collection of cave tunnels, thankfully being able to stun anyone in his path with the sonic taser. If he had to shoot, he thinks he’d be able to considering that these people have kidnapped and tortured him throughout the past month, but he does not want that on his conscience if he can avoid it.

He keeps going, blindly. He does not know if the turns he makes are the correct ones, or if he’s even making any progress. He thinks he is, though, since he keeps coming across new doors that he has to destroy before he can proceed. After blowing up the sixth door, he sees light at the end of the tunnel, literally. The tunnels have been lined with artificial lights, but the light streaming in looks to be mid-afternoon lighting. He rushes toward the exit, the taste of freedom on the tip of his tongue, when something hits him hard from the back, sending him sprawling on the ground. The gun and sonic taser in his grip are thrown from his grip and his hands scrape brutally on the rough surface, although the sting doesn’t even register in his panic. He doesn’t know what happened since he can hear absolutely nothing with the ear protection in, but in an instant, he’s dragged so he’s facing no one other than Stane, who is shouting something that Tony can’t decipher in his deafness.

It turns out that it doesn’t really matter, since Stane starts punching Tony, over and over again. Each strike snaps Tony’s head to the side, first swelling his eye, then busting his lip, then breaking his nose. The hearing protection gets flung from his right ear in all the commotion and it adds to his disorientation when he’s suddenly deaf in one ear and not in the other. Finally, the pummeling stops and Stane stands, huffing with the effort of the beating. He adds in a kick to Tony’s ribs for good measure.

“I don’t know how you managed what you did, my boy,” Stane grunts out as he moves over to where Tony’s taser and liberated gun are, “but you’re proving more trouble than you’re worth. And I’m done.” He turns and walks a few paces to bend and pick up the gun. Tony just watches on from behind one swollen eye, feeling defeated. He shifts slightly, at least trying to get comfortable if he’s about to be executed, and he feels the explosive devices still in the sling bag underneath him. He wriggles his fingers into the bag, thankfully coming in contact with one of the devices without needing to move much and draw attention to himself.

“I really didn’t want to have to kill you,” Stane says conversationally as he turns back to Tony, aiming the muzzle in his general direction but without any conviction yet. “You were family, you know. As much as a little brat like you could be.”

Tony scrambles around in the bag a little, trying to find the detonator for the devices. Stane is inspecting the gun he has in his hands, seeming to not want to look at Tony, lost in contemplation. He thinks maybe even someone as evil as Stane doesn’t want to see the damage he has done and is about to do to someone who was once ‘family,’ but for whatever the reason is, Tony is thankful. Finally, his fingers wrap around the detonator.

“Well, you left me no choice unfortunately. Goodbye, Tony,” he says, then raises the gun to point directly in between Tony’s eyes, looking at him for the first time since the beating. Tony throws an explosive device in his direction, praying that the directional charge will point the right way, and lets the detonation off. There’s a bright flash of heat and light and the sound of crumbling rock before everything goes black.