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Chapter Text

Steve Rogers hadn't expected to end up in a stable, long-term relationship in his life. He'd been told by multiple partners that he was terrible at them. His lifestyle wasn't suited for them -- a common issue for superheroes -- and more importantly, he wasn't the best at talking about his feelings or dealing with emotionally challenging situations. That he might end up in a stable relationship with not one but two people at the same time was beyond his wildest dreams, but that was what happened, and it was all thanks to Natasha Romanova.

Natasha was the one to ask him out. He'd always admired her, her strength of character, her unsurpassed skills as a spy, and her no-nonsense manner. He also felt like she understood him better than most people: they had both grown up in a world different from the one they now lived in, and no matter how many years passed, they struggled to fit in. Obviously, she was also breathtakingly beautiful. She often used that beauty as a weapon, and knew everything about enhancing it with make-up, intricate hairdos and the most flattering clothes, but to Steve, she was the most attractive when she wasn't doing any of that, on slow mornings in the Mansion, lounging about in sweatpants and a t-shirt, her auburn hair falling in careless curls.

The Avengers were so close to one another in almost every possible sense that Steve already felt like he shared most of his life with them. A few of them, he would've happily shared all of his life with, including his bed, but he'd thought such hopes were entirely unrealistic, until Natasha had gone and asked him out to dinner.

He'd been dating her for a few months when she asked him the second question, the one that changed everything. They were in bed, which was where most of their more serious relationship conversations tended to take place, time alone being the rare luxury that it was.

She said, "Steve, I've been thinking. How do you feel about threesomes?"

Natasha was usually straightforward when she wanted something. That was one of the many things Steve liked about her. "Just in general? I'd say that'd depend on who it's with," he said.

"What about committed relationships with more than one partner?" she went on.

Steve raised his eyebrows, taken by surprise. The first question had been playful enough that she could've just been asking out of curiosity, but this sounded more purposeful, and more specific. "Are you thinking about someone in particular?"

Natasha placed her hand on his cheek, turning his face towards her, with a knowing smirk on her lips. "Yes, and I know you are, too."

"What're you talking about?" Steve said, though he could already guess the answer.

"It's okay, this is what I was trained for. I know how to read people. I can't help it. Besides, you're so obvious, I bet even Hank can see it. You've been pining after Tony for as long as I've known the two of you. Is there some reason you've never acted on that?"

Steve felt a blush spreading over his face. He hadn't thought it was that obvious, and he hadn't expected her to notice. She was entirely right, of course. He'd been fascinated from the moment when he'd first found out Tony was Iron Man, and over the many years they'd been friends and teammates, his feelings had only grown stronger. Still, he'd certainly never planned on acting on those feelings, because he knew it was a one-sided crush, no way around that. Tony always had a girl on each arm. He'd never be interested in Steve. Besides, Steve was serious about his and Natasha's relationship, and so far, it had been an exclusive one.

At least she didn't seem offended or jealous, and the way she'd started the conversation -- that was pretty promising, wasn't it?

"Uh," Steve said. "I've just always thought he wouldn't be interested?"

Natasha huffed in disbelief, and shook her head. "Really? You can't possibly be that oblivious! Of course he would be! Just as much as you are! I thought maybe the two of you had talked about it and come up with some hare-brained reason why it was a bad idea, or hooked up and found out it didn't work."

"No, we haven't," Steve said sheepishly. "I just… You really think he'd be up for it?"

"I know he will be," Natasha declared. "And so am I."

Steve could have them both. He didn't have to choose just one. Sometimes, he really loved the 21st century.

* * *

Natasha was pleased with how things were working out so far. She wasn't nearly as manipulative as people always assumed; she definitely hadn't asked Steve out for the first time thinking that it was the first step in setting up the triad she'd secretly been dreaming of, but she couldn't deny that the thought had been at the back of her mind. She'd watched Steve and Tony dance around one another for such a long time, and she'd always been drawn to both men, so different, each attractive in their particular ways.

That she'd approached Steve first had been more due to suitable circumstances than anything else, but in hindsight, if she had been following some devious master plan, this would've been the way to go. She hadn't known where Steve stood when it came to non-monogamy, and she had been aware that Tony was open to all sorts of relationship configurations, which meant that asking Steve first made a lot of sense.

Unsurprisingly, the first time the three of them ended up in bed together was kind of awkward. Although they had taken the time to talk through their preferences and limits beforehand, both Tony and Steve were still tiptoeing around one another. It almost seemed to Natasha as if they were worried that any misstep might somehow break the scene.

"Both of you," she said, placing a hand on each of the men's cheeks and sitting up between them. "Come on, try and relax. This isn't a competition, or some kind of a puzzle to solve. The point is to explore. Let yourself do that."

She shifted her hand behind Tony's neck, and pulled him into a lingering kiss, like she'd wanted to do for so long, enjoying the rough feeling of his beard against her skin and the surprisingly gentle, tentative way he responded.

She then turned around to Steve, and kissed him in turn. He placed a soft hand on her back, his face smooth against hers, the familiar touch of his lips more intense, his tongue sliding to meet hers.

Natasha sat back, so that Steve and Tony were facing one another. "Now, you two. Kiss."

The two men stared at one another for a beat longer, those perfect opposites, Steve's blond hair and super soldier musculature to Tony's dark hair and leaner frame, both equally striking. Then, as if on cue, they leaned towards one another, Tony's hand settling between Steve's shoulder blades, Steve's hand in Tony's hair, and they finally kissed, after all the years of endless longing looks.

It was obvious how much they were enjoying it, clinging together, eyes closed. Natasha found herself holding her breath. If this wasn't both the hottest and the most touching thing she'd witnessed, she didn't know what was.

"Yes, that's so much better," she purred as the men finally broke off.

* * *

There was a second time, and a third time, and a fourth. Sometimes, it was all three of them in one tangle of limbs where Steve wasn't always sure who he was touching or whose hands were on his skin -- not that he really cared, because he loved both his partners equally. Other nights, one of them would sit back and watch; Natasha seemed particularly fond of ordering the two men around and enjoying the show, and neither Steve nor Tony had anything against that.

Amidst the fun, there were several conversations on the nature of their relationship.

"I assumed you just wanted me as a guest star, to, you know, spice up things in the bedroom," Tony admitted, after their second night together.

"Why would you even think that, Tony?" Steve exclaimed, unable to contain the shock. It felt insulting that Tony would see him or Natasha that way.

"There's nothing wrong fundamentally wrong with that," Tony pointed out. "It's something plenty of couples like."

"Well, it's not what we were thinking," Steve said firmly.

"I'm sorry if you got that impression, because that was never the idea," Natasha said. She placed a soothing hand on Steve's bicep, and leaned closer to Tony, to press a soft kiss on his cheek. "Of course, you never know how these things work out, but I thought we already made it clear that we're serious about this. All three of us, together."

* * *

The other Avengers reacted in varied ways when they learned of the triad. Jan was overjoyed, Hank genuinely surprised. T'Challa seemed to have been expecting this all along. Clint tried to poke fun at them a few times, but some sharp words from Natasha made him cut it short. Thor asked if this was common practice on Midgard, as he hadn't come across it before, and was treated to a long lecture on polyamory from the Vision, who had clearly studied the topic extensively.

They weren't the only Avengers to come out with similar news. Jan and Hank got married first, then T'Challa and Ororo, followed by Clint and Bobbi. No one had expected Clint to want children, but clearly, they'd all been wrong. His son Francis was the first of the Avengers' kids.

Steve had never seriously considered having children, and he knew Tony and Natasha hadn't, either; none of them had thought they'd ever have the time nor the opportunity to live anything resembling a normal life. But finally, after years and years of fighting off supervillains, monsters and aliens, the world had become a more peaceful place, and for the first time in Steve's life, the thought of settling down and starting a family no longer felt unrealistic.

It was the night after the team had gathered to celebrate the birth of little Francis that Steve, Natasha and Tony made their decision.

"I've been thinking about it a lot, lately. If we want kids, I doubt there will ever be a better time," Natasha said, settled comfortably on the couch between Steve and Tony, her head against Steve's shoulder, her legs on Tony's lap.

Steve thought of the tiny bundle Clint had been holding, and the look of affection and pride in his eyes, an expression he'd never even imagined seeing on Clint's face. He had always thought he couldn't have that, that it was something for other people.

"I think," he said slowly, "that I would love to be a father."

Tony looked at him wistfully. "I like kids, but I don't think I'm dad material. In any sense of the word."

"I think you'd do great, Tony," Steve said, smiling back at him, reaching to squeeze his shoulder. He'd seen how considerate Tony was every time they met young fans on the streets, and how his eyes lit up when he got to interact with them.

"How would it even work, with the three of us?" Tony asked, not returning Steve's smile.

"The same way as everything else works," Natasha said, turning around to curl up against Tony. "From where I'm standing, I'd be the most privileged mother in the world, with not one but two co-parents sharing the sleepless nights and diaper duty."

* * *

The baby would be Natasha and Steve's. Tony refused to even discuss the other alternative. He wasn't convinced he'd be a good parent, and he appealed to the fact that Steve and Natasha were both about as close to human perfection as anyone could be, while he, himself, had a number of undesirable traits to go with his admittedly genius intellect.

Natasha couldn't help but think that Tony was so adamant in his opinions partly because he still believed he wasn't an equal in the triad, but playing a supporting role to her and Steve's relationship. She didn't know what more she could say to reassure him. She hoped that given enough time, Tony would grow to accept that they loved him just as much as they did one another.

She had some misgivings of her own, as well. She wasn't sure how good a mother she would make. She didn't even remember most of her own childhood, and she'd never been particularly good with kids -- from what she'd seen, both Steve and Tony seemed to have a sort of instinctive ease with them that she didn't feel. Then again, Natasha imagined that thoughts like these must be universal in people planning to become parents. It was always unexplored territory, and one could never be truly prepared for everything.

She was more of a realist than an optimist, but despite the occasional moments of doubt, she was convinced they could handle this. Between the three of them, they'd faced so many global threats that surely they could also manage parenthood.

They had many discussions about baby names, but mostly for girls. Very early on, they concluded that if it was a boy, they would call him James, after Steve's friend Bucky, and Tony's friend Rhodey. Natasha had nothing against this. The last name would be Rogers, either way. Both she and Tony felt their surnames had too many negative associations to them.

They decided that they would teach the child to call Steve dad, and Tony would be papa, and if anyone ever dared to question their parenting decisions, they'd be facing a super soldier, a super spy, and a genius with power armor.

* * *

James Rogers was born with the brightest blue eyes and a head full of brilliant red hair, and Steve had never witnessed such perfection. He saw the newborn cradled in Natasha's arms, her smile so tender that their enemies might not have recognized her, and then in Tony's gentle embrace, his eyes full of love, not the least trace of care or worry on his face.

When he held the child himself, Steve couldn't help feeling a little anxious; he knew how strong he was, and he was terrified he'd harm the fragile newborn. But baby James smiled at Steve, waving his tiny arms, and there and then, with Tony and Natasha by his sides, Steve thought that everything he'd been through in his life, the War, the decades in the ice, every fight, every struggle, had been worth it, since it had led to this one perfect moment.

* * *

James had not been the first child to be born to Avenger parents, nor was he the last: there was also Azari, son of T'Challa and Ororo, heir to the throne of Wakanda, and a few years later, Jan and Hank's child, Henry Pym Jr.

Thor, who had disappeared to Asgard several years earlier, returned to introduce his golden-haired daughter, Torunn. More subdued than they had ever seen him, Thor explained that his father, Odin, had passed, and it would now be Thor's time to step to the throne. The times were uncertain and restless, and he thought it would be better for Torunn to stay with the Avengers for some time. They solemnly swore to look after her as one of their own.

The kids were the best thing to ever happen to the Avengers -- and yet, one could also say that the kids led to their downfall.

Tony and Hank both felt very strongly that they needed to protect the children, worrying that although the world seemed to have settled in a lull where the villains knew better than to rear their ugly heads, this might not last. Several other Avengers expressed concern that their plans were too drastic, but the two men, stubbornly clinging to their ideas, didn't listen. They dug up an old project Hank had been working on, an artificial intelligence that could keep the peace when the Avengers were otherwise occupied.

The project was called Ultron.

The two geniuses were too smart. They did their work too well. When Ultron rebelled, there was no stopping him. The Avengers fought as fiercely as they ever had, but Ultron knew their weaknesses, and adapted to their every strategy.

The final battle was fought in the ruins of the Mansion, and the Avengers' most important goal was to keep Ultron away from the children. Even if all else failed, they had to ensure the children survived. Perhaps, in the future, they could achieve what the Avengers hadn't, and defeat this foe who was too much for Earth's Mightiest Heroes.

They were all prepared to give their lives for the children, and in the end, they did.

* * *

Everyone else had already fallen. Vision and Clint were nowhere to be seen, probably buried in the smoking ruins and rubble. T'Challa, Jan, Hank and Natasha all lay unmoving on the ground. Steve tried not to look at them, because if he allowed his eyes to linger on Natasha's pale, blood-flecked skin and her closed eyes that would probably never open again, he would be distracted from the most important fight he'd ever fought.

Steve and Tony were the last ones left.

Tony was still fighting, shooting blasts that barely slowed down the near invulnerable robot and dodging the return fire, but Steve could see his armor was badly damaged, and knew that he wouldn't last long. There was only one thing they could do, just one last command left that Steve needed to give.

"Tony!" Steve shouted. "Tony, you have to go. Get the kids and go."

"Steve, no! I can't leave you!" Tony cried out.

"You must. There's no one else. Please, go. Keep them safe," Steve pleaded.

There was a sound very much like a sob in reply, but no further words, as Tony flew away. The last Steve saw of him was a red and gold flash diving into the ruins of the house where Steve had spent the best years of his life.

Steve wasn't about to give up. He wouldn't accept defeat, even if there was very little hope left. He put all his rage and despair into the fight, using every ounce of strength he had, to buy Tony as much time as he could.

It only took one mistake on his part, one fraction of a second when he faltered and didn't bring up his shield fast enough. Ultron's energy blast hit him full in the chest, drowning everything in a red haze.

Chapter Text

Tony had lost everything.

He'd lost Steve and Natasha. He'd lost all the other Avengers. He was the last one left.

The world was burning around him, and it was all his fault. Ultron was his fault. He'd killed everyone. He'd had everything he could ever have wanted, and he'd ruined it.

He'd even failed the kids. He hadn't saved them all.

All five of them should've been safe in the basement shelter beneath the Mansion, but by the time Tony had gotten there, Francis had been gone. There had been no time to go looking for him. Tony had known Steve could only keep Ultron from coming after them for so long, and if Ultron followed them, it would all be for nothing. He'd had no choice but to leave with only the four of them: Azari, Torunn, Pym, and James.

He tried to tell himself that this wasn't the end, and that there was still hope. The children were alive -- well, the four of them, anyway -- which meant that there was a reason he was still alive.

As Iron Man, he'd spent his days trying to protect the world and everyone in it. Now that he'd failed at that so spectacularly, he had a new task to focus on. Instead of everyone and the world, he would dedicate every second of his remaining years to the four little ones who had no clue of the tragedy surrounding them.

* * *

The kids were what kept him sane during the early years of their exile, hidden in the middle of snowy mountains in Greenland, far from any inhabited areas.

When the Vision showed up, so badly damaged it took days to put him back together, Tony was sorely tempted to ask him to stay. That way, he'd at least have another adult to talk to, someone more tangible than Jocasta to keep him company. He didn't do that, though. This wasn't a time to be selfish. He needed to know what was going on in the world, and there was no one else better equipped for that task. Vizh had to leave, which meant he became just another disembodied voice relaying more and more bad news every day.

There was so much on his mind, the guilt so heavy that at night, with the children were asleep, he thought he'd suffocate under the weight of it. Tony barely slept, himself, and he longed for a drink so, so badly. He just wanted to forget it all and not feel, even for a little while. If he had been all alone -- but he wasn't. Four others depended on him, and he couldn't let them down, like he'd let down every other person in his life.

During the days, there was so much to do that he had no time to think of anything beyond the practicalities, and that was how he kept going in spite of the chokehold that remorse had on him. It was a full-time job and then some, setting up the hidden base and figuring out how to make it sustainable, all the while seeing to the needs of four toddlers.

They started out with just the quinjet, which he'd managed to crash-land next to a heavily damaged, abandoned helicarrier for easy access to spare parts, one of the main reasons why he'd headed in this particular direction. But they were going to stay in this place for years, maybe decades, and this clearly wasn't a satisfactory living arrangement for the long run.

Tony began building, and he built, and built, and he never really stopped.

He built them a hut that was more comfortable than an aircraft to live in. Of course, he also had to devise a water filtration system, and lights, and good insulation and heating were crucial in the climate, and it took a lot of energy to run everything. Luckily, he happened to be the sort of person who could build a power plant from scratch.

His plans kept growing more ambitious as he went. They couldn't live on rations forever, so he decided he should set up a biosphere: a large, controlled environment dome where he could grow some of their food. It'd be nice to have some open space for the kids to play in, with some trees, maybe a lake. He didn't want them growing up without a single green living thing around them.

At this point, he needed more raw materials than he could get from the helicarrier, which meant traveling further afield. Scavenging for parts was risky, but then, what in their lives wasn't? He spent a lot of time upgrading the stealth features of his armor, and he was always cautious. Come to think of it, he'd probably never been as cautious about his own safety. He couldn't get injured or incapacitated, because the children needed him.

He did everything he could to make sure that their hideout was impenetrable to any scans Ultron could throw at it, and that he could see any approaching enemies from miles away. He still worried that it wouldn't be enough. More things to keep him awake at night.

* * *

Young as they were, the kids had already begun to show their powers and personalities. Azari was the calmest of them, but would sometimes zap Tony with an electric charge that made his hair stand on end, clearly taking after his mother. Torunn was by far the loudest, and broke all the toys Tony built, until he began to make them with specs to survive an encounter with the Hulk. Pym, the youngest of the lot, was a happy kid who smiled a lot, but he was also terribly accident-prone, always putting his fingers where he shouldn't, giving Tony more and more gray hair by the day.

Then, there was James. Considering who his parents were, it was no wonder James was incredibly stubborn. He often glared at Tony with a disconcerting amount of defiance for someone so young he could barely string together a sentence.

Tony didn't teach any of them to call him father, or dad, or papa. That would've been wrong. He taught them to call him Tony, and he made sure they knew who their parents were. He told them stories of the past, of the King of Wakanda and his Queen, the Giant and the Pixie, the mighty warriors of Asgard, and the Spy and the Soldier. He probably painted them as perfect and flawless beyond how they had been in real life, but then, they had been the truest of heroes. They deserved as much.

He wondered if the kids noticed how his voice shook when he was speaking of these people.

He told the kids of everyone they'd lost, and the world that was no longer there. He told them of the threat of Ultron, though he never mentioned how Ultron had come to be. He even told them of Iron Man, the Knight, but he didn't say that was him. It wasn't him, anymore. That had been him in a different life. Maybe he still wore the armor, but he had no right to call himself the Knight, after everything he had done.

* * *

The kids grew, and Tony did what he knew he must. He gave them the gear and weapons their parent's would've wanted them to have. Azari would be the next Black Panther; Torunn had her sword that only the worthy could wield; Pym had the tech to grow and shrink that his father had invented, worked into a costume his mother had designed; and James had his energy shield. Holding it high, looking proud, his chin up, his auburn hair gleaming under the sunlight filtered through the dome of their biosphere, he resembled his parents so much that Tony almost couldn't bear to look.

He taught them to fight. He hated that he had to, but considering the state of the world, there wasn't much choice. Although he still talked with Vizh about taking down Ultron every now and then, he didn't really believe they could do it. They both relied on technology, and that was what Ultron knew best. They wouldn't stand a chance.

One of these days, Tony wouldn't be around anymore, and the world would still be ruled by evil robots. The kids needed to know how to hold their own.

Often, he felt like a drill sergeant. It was all wrong. He loved these kids, every single one of them, and he wanted them to have, if not a normal childhood, then at least one they could look back on fondly. The children weren't soldiers, despite their powers. He tried to make it more like a game, an activity that they shared together. He still thought they must hate him.

The kids should've had their real parents, their mothers and fathers, who would've done the job so much better than Tony ever could.

Before everything had fallen into ruin, Tony had thought he'd be the fun uncle to the kids, the one with all the cool toys. Both to the other Avengers' kids, and to James. He'd never really been able to think of himself as James's father. Even if the world hadn't ended, he would've been a secondary guardian. Steve was the father. Steve would've been a perfect father, firm in his principles, yet kind. An example for James to look up to, something Tony would never be.

"You're not my dad," James said, more than once, when Tony was scolding the kids for misbehaving.

"No, I'm not, but he told me to look after you, and that's what I'll do," Tony said, struggling to keep his voice steady, even though those words pierced his heart, sharper than any shrapnel ever had.

* * *

With the kids old enough to look after one another, Tony found himself with more time on his hands. As always, he spent that time building things. He made a memorial at the center of their biosphere, a fountain with a stone for each Avenger. In the vault below, hidden from the children, he created the Iron Avengers, a mechanical tribute to the team he had lost, and the final line of defense in case all his other safeguards failed. He hoped he'd never actually need to use them against Ultron; their technology would be vulnerable to his corrupting influence.

He put a lot of work into every detail, from Steve's shield to Thor's golden hair, doing several long-range trips to look for parts that he lacked. He needed to go out in the armor every now and then, anyway, for food and other essential supplies, and to make sure he didn't fall out of practice. He needed to be prepared to fight, just like the kids were.

The vault where he kept the Iron Avengers became like a mausoleum to the friends he had lost, and he realized that had been something he had missed. He didn't have graves to visit. He tried not to think about what Ultron might've done to the bodies of his fallen team.

* * *

When he saw his reflection in the mirror, he could barely recognize himself. He didn't think the other Avengers would have. He looked old. How long had it been? Ten years?

It had been an inevitable fact that Natasha and Steve aged slower than him. He'd always thought they'd outlive him by decades. How wrong he'd been.

He'd already looked older than his partners when James had been born. Back then, he'd made sure to cover any emerging gray hairs, even though Natasha had said he could pull off the salt and pepper look, and Steve had claimed it'd make him look distinguished. What would they say now, Tony wondered, with his hair flowing in long, snow-white locks that he only occasionally cut to keep them from reaching his shoulders, his equally white beard constantly growing out of shape. He'd lost weight, too, living on the limited amount of food that they had. It was difficult enough to make sure the kids got all the nutrients they needed. He could manage on a little less himself.

He had no need to keep up appearances. There were no other people in his world except for the kids, and he didn't expect to meet another living soul during the rest of his days.

* * *

Like most bad things that had happened to Tony and the people that he loved, the end of their peaceful years in Greenland was his fault. He should've been far more careful when he'd set up the vault and the Iron Avengers. Somehow, no matter how well he'd thought he knew the kids, he had still managed to underestimate their smarts and their curiosity. Another example of how he just wasn't very good at such things.

While Tony was distracted trying to fix the Vision, who'd made a surprise appearance, terribly damaged, the kids snuck into the vault after him, and accidentally set off the launch sequence. Seeing the Iron Avengers take off was beautiful, and it broke his heart. He knew that they wouldn't last against Ultron's assault, and that they would lead Ultron straight to the doorstep of the hideout.

All Tony could do was to usher the children towards the quinjet, carrying the Vision's head with them, because there would be no time to rebuild his body now. He trusted them to follow what would most likely be his last words to them, the same order Steve had given Tony all those years ago: leave, and stay safe.

He told them he'd follow right behind them. A white lie, he thought.

He'd always expected to die like the other Avengers, to spend his last moments defending the kids against Ultron. Give his life for them. It would be a fitting end.

Even after years of wearing the armor barely once a month, donning it still felt familiar. It gave him an illusion of control and power. How easy the human mind was to fool. He knew he was rusty, and no match for Ultron.

He only had to hold back Ultron long enough that the kids got away. He saw them make it to the quinjet, and he fought. He didn't pull his punches or try to conserve his power reserves. He went all out, gave it everything he'd got.

He wondered if this was how Steve had felt, during his last stand-off against Ultron, but probably not. Tony was all too aware that he was losing. Steve wouldn't have thought like that.

It didn't take long until Ultron had him on his knees, defenseless, most of his armor gone. All he could do was to hold his head up high -- even when the Iron Avengers, now hijacked by Ultron, landed around him, to highlight how completely he had been defeated.

There was no hope for him, but there was still hope for the world. The kids had escaped.

* * *

Ultron didn't kill him.

He woke up in Ultron's lair, shackled, feeling like every last drop of energy had been squeezed out of his aging body.

For a few minutes, he was genuinely surprised -- he hadn't expected to live -- but when Ultron showed up to gloat, it made perfect sense. Of course Ultron hadn't killed him. Ultron knew who he was, and he knew of the kids. He realized the kids were a threat, and he knew that the way to get at the kids was through Tony.

The kids would be fine, he told himself. He'd taught them how to survive, and they would take care of one another. They were old enough to manage on their own, and the Vision was with them, guiding them to safety. They would be a thousand miles away by now.

Except that they weren't, Ultron told him, and showed him a video feed of the children, who were fighting Ultron's forces that very minute, within the walls of Ultra City.

The kids were coming after him.

Tony couldn't contain his despair. They were so much like their parents. All too much. The brave, foolish children. To see them on the screen, struggling to fight foes that outnumbered them tenfold, was far worse than any physical torture Ultron might come up with.

There was physical torture, too, of course. Ultron did everything he could to make Tony talk, but Tony never did. There was no amount of pain that could make him betray the children he'd dedicated his life to. He had nothing left to lose. He'd already made his peace. He wasn't afraid to die.

* * *

It turned out he'd had too little faith in the children. They rescued him. For a second time, one might say. The first time, they'd rescued him by simply being there. This time, it was in the literal sense; thanks to everything he'd been through, he was too weak to even stay on his feet, and Torunn had to carry him out.

While he berated the kids for being careless and walking straight into Ultron's trap, he couldn't have been prouder. They'd even recruited help, and that help was a group of survivors led by none other than Francis Barton.

Clint hadn't died in the final battle against Ultron, Tony learned. Clint had rescued Francis, and outlived most of the Avengers for several years until finally being defeated and joining the ranks of his fallen comrades. So, Clint was dead, just as Tony had thought he was, but Francis lived on, carrying the name of Hawkeye, and many of his father's character traits.

Even more surprisingly, Tony also found out that Betty and Bruce were still alive.

For a passing moment, Tony wondered if he'd been wrong about everything. Vision had lived, and Hawkeye, and even Bruce. Maybe others could have survived, too, scattered and hiding in different parts of the world? Sure, he had never seen any trace of them, but the times were chaotic, communication nonexistent. Could it be?

He was being foolish, he told himself. He hadn't seen Hawkeye on the battlefield, when everything had ended, and Bruce had never even been there, but he'd seen Natasha, T'Challa, Jan and Hank fall with his own eyes. They had all been unconscious, if not already dead -- he hadn't stopped to check. There had been no time. He knew Steve had fallen, as well. He'd heard Steve cry out over the radio when Ultron's blast had hit him.

Had they been alive and out there, they would've found a way to contact him. No matter how difficult the times were, Natasha would've figured out how to reach him and the children. Steve would've traversed the continent on foot to find them.

They were gone, and they weren't coming back, while Tony had survived, yet again.

Ultron was still out there, looking for them, and there was no telling what the future would hold. Tony decided that he finally needed to come clean to the children. They deserved to know the truth about him, as ugly as it was.

He told them he'd made Ultron. He didn't mention Hank's part in the events. Hank had paid for everything with his life, and Tony couldn't soil Pym's memories of his father like that.

He expected them to get angry, to shout at him, and to walk away. Amazingly enough, they didn't. Francis was the only one who spoke up. He blamed Tony for Clint's death, which was only right. He knew that was his fault. He bowed his head, and let yet another wave of guilt wash over him. Even if he was used to it, it never got any easier.

* * *

Against all odds, they won: they defeated Ultron.

They faced the Iron Avengers and Ultron out in the desert, where Bruce had been hiding for all these years, and together with the Hulk, the Avengers' children prevailed where their parents had failed.

Tony had little to do with the victory. He didn't have his armor, and he was knocked out halfway through the fight. The last thing he remembered was falling; the kids must've saved him, yet again. When he came to, Ultron was a smoking pile of spare parts. Torunn, as heroic as her father had been, carried those remains all the way to outer space to make sure they couldn't self-repair again, finally ridding the world of the threat Tony had helped unleash.

He couldn't quite believe it was real. Perhaps that was why he felt more weary than triumphant.

* * *

Clearing Ultra City of the remaining enemies was easy after Ultron had been eliminated: his army was uncoordinated, like a beehive without its queen. One by one, they took out the machines. Tony hadn't had the time to cobble together new armor, which meant he had to take the back seat, wielding improvised weapons. He guided the children to attack the vulnerable parts of the robots, to do as little damage as possible. They could repurpose most of the tech in the days to come.

Deep beneath the Ultron's stronghold, below the trophy room and the hall where he had held Tony prisoner, they found what must be most secret part of the entire complex. The security was impressive even by Ultron's standards, the amount of overlapping layers of locks and booby traps telling in plain words that whatever was held here was of the highest importance. What could it be? The control center? A backup copy of Ultron himself? His most dangerous weapon? Whatever it was, it must be something they needed to destroy.

They broke methodically through all the safeguards, and found a room filled with coffins.

There were six of them, with transparent glass, resting at an angle, almost as if to set their occupants on display, and -- Tony couldn't breathe.

This was not real. This couldn't be happening.

Their costumes had been taken to be laid out amongst the other trophies on the higher levels, leaving them in their underwear, looking exposed and vulnerable. Tony wasn't sure if the children could even recognize them. When they'd last seen these people with their own eyes, they'd been too young to remember it -- except, of course, for Francis.

Francis rushed to where Clint rested, splaying his hand over the transparent surface. "Hey! My dad's here!" he exclaimed. "Are they dead? Why would Ultron keep them like this?"

Clint looked a little older than the others, his face more lined. As he would, since he had been taken years later than them.

"I think that's my dad, and this is my mum," Pym said, his voice full of wonder as he gaped at Jan, and crouched to check the display in the side of her coffin. "I don't think they're dead. This thing says her heart is beating."

"What's going on, then? Are they sleeping?" Azari asked, standing by T'Challa, sparks dancing on his skin.

"Some kind of suspended animation, I guess?" Pym suggested. Always so smart.

"They're not dead! Just like my father is not dead, but lives on in Asgard!" Torunn declared. "All the Avengers still live!"

James had been silent so far, looking from Natasha to Steve. Now he turned towards Tony, and the accusation was heavy in those eyes that were just like Steve's. "Did you know they were alive, Tony?"

Tony tried to say "No," but it was more a gasp than a word.

In the twelve years that Tony had spent taking care of the children, for all the anguish he had felt, he had never shed a single tear in front of them. Now, there was no stopping it.

He fell on his knees in front of Steve's sleeping figure, and cried.

Torunn was the first to walk over to him, kneeling next to him and wrapping her arms around him. Azari followed, placing himself by Tony's other side, a hand on his back. Pym sat in front of Tony and put his arms around Tony's waist.

Francis and James stayed in the background, Francis looking awkward, James still glum.

"James," Torunn said, her voice gentle, but insistent.

His expression finally softening a little, James followed the example set by the three other children, and reached out to hug all of them.

Chapter Text

Steve woke up, and the first thing on his mind was that he needed to stall Ultron for as long as he could -- he may have been knocked out for a few minutes, but now he was conscious again, and he wasn't about to give up. He swung his fist before he could even focus his eyes.

"Steve! Steve, stop, it's okay," a vaguely familiar voice told him, and a hand landed gently on his shoulder.

Steve blinked, trying to make sense of what was around him. Crouched above him were three old people, maybe in their seventies, two men and a woman.

"It's okay, you're safe," the man closer to Steve repeated, and looking into his dark eyes, Steve finally recognized him, though his face had many more lines than the last time Steve had seen it. These weren't some unfamiliar elderly people.

"Bruce Banner?" he asked, confused. Bruce hadn't been anywhere near to the battleground -- the Hulk had left the Avengers long before Ultron's rise to power.

"Yes. You're with friends," Bruce assured him.

What on Earth was going on? Where was Ultron?

The woman whose hand rested on Steve's shoulder must be Betty. She also looked much older than she should've. Moving his gaze past the two unexpected people by his sides, he took in the third person, who stood a few steps behind with his arms crossed. His hair was white, as was his beard, and every angle on his gaunt face seemed to speak of terribly difficult times, but his bright blue eyes were so very familiar.

Steve leaped up to him, pushing Bruce and Betty aside.

Was this some kind of evil magic? Time travel? An alternate universe?

"Tony," Steve said, and placed a hand on Tony's all too hollow cheek.

"Steve," Tony said, his voice broken and raw, and reciprocated Steve's gesture, running his thumb over Steve's cheekbone. There was more pain and longing on his face than Steve had ever seen, and yet, looking into his eyes, there wasn't the slightest doubt in Steve's mind that this was his Tony, not one from another timeline or dimension.

As confused as he was by the situation, Steve reacted instinctively, and leaned closer. Tony responded to the obvious invitation, placing one hand on Steve's back and pulling him into a kiss that felt downright desperate in its intensity, as if Tony were afraid Steve might disappear into thin air any second.

"Eww, what?" a childish voice complained somewhere behind them. "They're kissing!"

Startled, Steve drew back. A dozen paces from them stood five teenagers. The one who had spoken was the shortest, a dark-haired kid in a costume very much like Jan's. Next to him stood a girl with flowing blonde hair whose armor seemed like a miniature, feminine take on Thor's; a young man with a bow slung across his back who looked just like Clint; and one who could've been a younger version of T'Challa in his black suit. And then there was a red-headed boy with a black jacket trimmed in crimson. Considering the other kids and looking at his face, with strikingly familiar features, Steve didn't have the slightest doubt of who this might be.

"Tony -- what's going on?" Steve stammered. "James?"

"Dad," James said, looking back at Steve, clearly just as stunned as Steve was.

"Twelve years, Steve. We lost. I thought you were dead," Tony said.

Twelve years. Calling to mind how Tony had looked before, just a blink ago, when they had faced Ultron together, he thought Tony had aged far beyond that. Those twelve years must have been long. "We lost. Is Ultron still after us?"

"We defeated him!" Torunn announced. "Ultron is no more!"

Tony smiled at her proudly. "Indeed. They did it, Steve. It's all over. It's finally all over."

* * *

Natasha woke up in a future that she had never thought she'd see, with Steve and Tony standing by the side of what she soon learned was a stasis pod Ultron had placed her in. In terse words, his voice wavering, Tony, white-haired and haggard, told her that twelve years had passed, and that Ultron had finally been defeated. The details, he said, should wait until everyone was awake, and they could move to a place more hospitable than their enemy's former stronghold.

One by one, they roused the rest of the Avengers. Jan, Hank and T'Challa came around confused, but otherwise unharmed -- it appeared that the injuries they had suffered in combat had healed over the long years they had spent in suspended animation. As for Clint, he had only been asleep for a few years, and seemed more surprised to see the other Avengers alive than to see his son.

Seeing the children and how they had grown, realizing how much she had missed of their lives, was as painful to Natasha as seeing how Tony had changed.

The children approached their parents with varying amounts of enthusiasm: while Francis stood by Clint's stasis pod as they woke him up and was the first to greet him, and Pym jumped to hug both Jan and Hank as soon as he could, Azari hesitated, and it was T'Challa who acted first, pulling his son into his arms. James seemed the most unsure and puzzled of all, eyeing Steve, Tony and Natasha with a deep frown, keeping his distance. In unspoken agreement, she and Steve respected that. Clearly, he needed more time to get to grips with having all three of his parents around.

As soon as all six Avengers were conscious, on their feet, and dressed in the shabby but warm clothes their rescuers had brought, Tony said, "I think we're all done here. Time to retreat back to base."

The children reacted to Tony's words instantly, with James taking the lead. "Okay, back to base we go! Azari, Pym, go scout ahead and make sure there are no stray machines. Torunn, with me at the front, Hawkeye at the back.The rest of you, stick together."

Steve cast an amused glance at Tony, who shrugged. "Takes after his parents. I'd do as he says."

"But they're kids," Steve complained. Natasha wasn't surprised he'd feel reluctant to follow and let the little ones take the most dangerous positions. That was entirely against his nature.

"Do I need to remind you that they're kids who've just defeated Ultron? They know what they're doing," Tony assured him.

In the end, they settled for a formation that was something of a compromise: both Hawkeyes, younger and older, at the back, Steve by James's side at the front, together with Torunn, and Natasha and Tony right behind them, followed by Bruce, Betty and the rest of the Avengers.

* * *

It was one thing to hear that Ultron had won and that over a decade had passed; it was another thing entirely to witness the consequences firsthand. They walked through miles of metal-lined passages, with inactive robots and other monstrous machines scattered here and there. This was a cold world, entirely lifeless and mechanical, and to think that this was the where James and the rest of the children had grown up in was heartbreaking.

After a few hours of walking at a relatively gentle pace, first along metal walkways, then through gloomy, decrepit tunnels that must've been a part of sewer and underground networks, they emerged in a large hall that Steve recognized. It was the Main Concourse at Grand Central, and it seemed to be inhabited by dozens of people. The signs of human life, from blankets to worn-out toys, made the space look much cozier than the mechanical city above, but it was clearly a wartime refuge, a desperate hiding-hole for the last remnants of a rebellion. Even though that rebellion had turned out successful, it wasn't a cheerful place, reminding Steve of the horrors of war he'd witnessed lifetimes ago

"Home, sweet home," Clint exclaimed as he entered at the end of the procession, and Steve wasn't entirely sure if it was sarcastic or not.

"This is where they grew up? With you, Clint, Bruce and Betty?" Steve asked Tony, keeping his voice soft so the kids wouldn't hear how dismayed he was about that.

"No, no, not here," Tony replied, sounding defensive. "Only Francis, and the other adults. The four kids and me, we were hiding a little further away."

That gave Steve pause. He put his hands on Tony's arms, turning him to bring them face to face. "Tony -- are you telling me it was just you and them? You raised the four of them on your own?"

"Yes. I did." Tony looked down, hanging his head, shoulders hunched. "I did my best, for what it was worth. I know they deserved better."

"God, I can't imagine how that must've been," Steve said, shaking his head, no less shocked by this revelation than at the idea that the kids might've spent their childhood in this shelter. Twelve years. Tony had thought everyone was dead, and he'd brought up the kids all by himself. That was -- no wonder he looked old beyond his years. "Obviously I don't really know them yet, but what I see are four incredibly brave young people. I think you did great."

"I guess you'll find out, when you learn to know them," Tony shrugged, looking unconvinced.

* * *

After a quick introduction to the premises, they all picked seats of their choice in the hall to finally, properly go over what had happened over the years most of the Avengers had missed. Instead of sitting with their parents, the children seemed to instinctively stick together, settling on piled-up mattresses close to the wooden box Tony was sitting on.

The first thing they found out was that Tony had been the sole guardian of the children all along. Natasha had already overheard as much when Steve had asked Tony about it, but the others hadn't, and there were muffled sounds of shock and disbelief all around. Tony had always had the most doubts about parenting out of the three of them, and it was impossible to imagine how he had felt when he'd realized he would need to raise four children as a single parent.

She couldn't help but wonder about James, and how Tony had explained the triad to their son. Going by the confusion she'd seen on James's face earlier, she suspected she might not like the answer.

"Jocasta was there, too, of course, and the Vision," Tony explained, clearly trying to downplay it to all the stunned Avengers staring at him. "He was indispensable, keeping an eye on the outside world, though this lot whose living room we're borrowing were so well hidden that we never saw a blip of them."

"Well, the Scavengers had me and Francis," Clint spoke up, patting his son on the shoulder, "and being here right under Ultron's nose meant that a single slip-up could be fatal. You saw where it got me."

"Where is Vizh, by the way? Why isn't he here?" Hank asked.

"He's around, he's just currently lacking a body," Tony said apologetically. "I'm going to fix that, as soon as I have the time to gather the parts I need. There's going to be a lot of fixing and building to do, but of course he has first priority."

"There's a lot of fixing and building to do, but you won't have to do any of it alone, Tony," Jan reminded him. "We'll all help as best we can."

"Yes! We can all help!" Pym accompanied his mother enthusiastically.

* * *

Later, when the first flood of questions had been dealt with and they had eaten a simple meal that must've made a terrible dent in the survivors' supplies, Natasha grabbed Steve and Tony by the sleeve, stating that they needed to talk in private. Steve agreed that it was about time; many of the questions he wanted to ask were not the sort he'd want to voice in front of everyone.

Tony took them to a space that had clearly been a shop selling clothes back in the day. All the racks had long since been emptied of clothing, but the windows and walls were still mostly intact, unlike in other nearby stores.

Tony leaned against the counter, crossing his arms, looking from Steve to Natasha, his face very serious. "Why do I feel like this is going to be an interrogation?"

"Of course it's not," Steve assured him. All Steve wanted was a chance to properly catch up on what they'd missed, and to see where they stood, concerning their relationship. Twelve years was a long break, after all.

"Do you have something to hide?" Natasha returned, giving Tony a sharp look.

"I don't," Tony said. "Of course I don't. Never, from the two of you."

"Then answer this: you didn't tell James about us, did you?" Natasha asked.

"I told him the truth," Tony said, facing Natasha as defiantly as he might an actual interrogator. "I told him that the two of you are his parents."

Natasha sighed, and it seemed like she must've already guessed as much.

Steve wasn't sure he'd gotten that right. "What? You're saying you never told him about the three of us?"

"I didn't," Tony admitted.

That was like a punch in the gut. Steve hadn't suspected that at all. Suddenly, the kids' confusion over their kiss made much more sense. If Tony had never told any of them about the relationship the three of them had shared -- but why wouldn't he have? Certainly Tony had never been ashamed of it!

"But it was something we all agreed on!" Steve exclaimed. "All three of us would be parents together, all equal! Why would you keep that from him?"

Tony stepped forwards from the counter, standing up to face Steve. "What was I supposed to say? Single him out? Tell him to call me father when everyone else just called me Tony? Explain that every other kid has two parents but he has an extra one, and that just conveniently happens to be me? That would've made no sense."

"It would've been the truth!" Steve exclaimed. "How're we going to explain it to him now? When he's grown up thinking that it was always just me and Nat?"

"Well, I didn't know this would happen, did I?" Tony said, his eyes flashing. "If I had known -- if I had ever as much as suspected -- if the Vision had picked up the tiniest clue, I would've come looking. Then you could've been around and seen the kids grow, and they would've had a proper childhood with proper parents, and not just me. But I didn't know. You were dead, both of you, all of you, you were all gone, and I mourned for you, and -- suddenly you're there and for you, it's as if nothing has happened, but that's not true. Not for me. Not for the kids." Tony placed one hand in the counter, leaning against it, breathing hard.

Natasha stepped closer to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right, Tony. Of course it's not as if nothing has happened. Everything is different, but we can work things out, okay?"

"I don't know that we can," Tony said, his voice flat. He pushed Natasha away, and stormed out of the room.

Steve moved to rush after him, but Natasha grabbed him by the arm. "Steve, no, let him go. It's been a long day, and he's spent most of it telling us about years that can't have been easy. I shouldn't have cornered him like this. It was too soon for this conversation."

* * *

Tony wasn't used to days like this. He was used to a life that was, ironically enough, more stable than what they'd had before Ultron: a life where days tended to be the same, and he knew where he stood regarding the people in his life. The unexpected return of these ghosts from the past had thrown him completely off balance. He didn't know how to handle it at all.

He managed to traverse the Main Concourse without anyone stopping him, and he headed out of the shelter. He needed space. Thankfully, the sentries didn't ask him what he was up to or where he was going, because he didn't really have a good answer.

He kept going until he found a suitably quiet, lonely and mostly dry corner of the sewers, and sat down against a wall, burying his face in his hands.

He knew he should be happy, overjoyed about the return of the people he'd loved dearly and whom he'd thought long dead, and on some level, he was, but deep down, he mostly felt numb and dazed. Had he spent so much time without adult company that he'd lost the capacity to feel like he should?

Never, during the twelve years he had lived with the kids, had he dared to hope that the Avengers might be alive. He had dreamed about them, sometimes. The dreams had usually been focused on Steve and Natasha being disappointed over how Tony had been raising the kids, and typically ended with everyone else going away, leaving him on his own. So, really, his dreams had always been textbook-obvious manifestations of his feelings of inadequacy. The very feelings that had taken over his mind right now.

Was there any reason for Steve and Natasha to want to be with him anymore? He wasn't the man they'd used to know. He was old, and he'd been through too much. And the kids -- the kids no longer needed him for anything. They had their real parents now, those amazing parents they'd only heard stories of, suddenly real and tangible and there for them. None of them needed Tony. He was obsolete, a reminder of dark days now left behind.

"Tony? You shouldn't be out here alone. It's not safe," a familiar voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"James," Tony said, looking up to see the teenager approaching in determined strides. "It's fine. I can take care of myself."

"Can you? I'd hate to have to rescue you again," James said, deadpan.

Tony huffed and shook his head. "I'll be fine. I just need some time alone. You should go back."

"Not without you," James announced, and sat down next to Tony, leaning on the wall with his hands behind his head. "I can wait. Take all the time you need."

"It's not exactly 'time alone' with you sitting there," Tony pointed out.

"Tough luck," James said, and Tony knew nothing he said would make him budge.

Tony blew out a breath and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the teenager sitting next to him and to pick up his thoughts again. The idea that the kids would abandon him suddenly felt far-fetched and melodramatic with James by his side.

It took perhaps all of five minutes before James spoke up again. He didn't quite have Steve's sulking skills yet. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure. You can always ask me anything," Tony said, even though he had an inkling about what the question might be, and that made him anxious.

"You, mum and dad," James began, just as Tony had feared he would. "What's going on between the three of you?"

Tony had never thought about explaining any of this to James, since there had been no need to, not with everyone else dead. After the brief conversation with Steve and Natasha, if one could even call it that, he'd left with the thought that they'd probably end up telling James about it together, in carefully planned words. He wasn't prepared for this.

He could just stall, but that would be against his principles. One thing he'd always held on to was that the kids could talk to him about anything, and that he'd do his best to answer all their questions, no matter how difficult -- aside from a few special cases, like Ultron. Of course, he had often given simplified answers, but he'd never resorted to saying that they'd know when they were older.

When it came to relationships, Tony had taught the kids that while most people tended to be with one partner at a time, this was by no means the only valid relationship configuration, and he'd given a number of examples. So, it wasn't as if the concept of polyamory was completely new to James.

Maybe he should just rip off the band-aid and be done with it.

"The three of us were in a relationship," Tony said. The truth, plain and simple.

"Like, in love?"

"Yes. In love. As close to married as you can get without actually signing any papers," Tony tried to explain. "Steve and Natasha are your biological parents, but I was always going to be a co-parent as well."

"But you never mentioned anything like this," James said, still frowning. Tony had expected him to react with anger or disbelief or both, instead of this contemplative response. The kid had grown so much over the last couple of days, Tony almost couldn't believe what he was hearing.

Should Tony give James the same half-truths that he'd given to Steve and Natasha? Clearly he couldn't pour it onto the teenager how he'd never felt like he would've been an equal parent.

He looked away from James, at the empty, gloomy corridors surrounding them, and answered, "They were gone anyway. I didn't think it'd matter. It was easier not to explain. Everyone had their parents, and everyone's parents were dead. I didn't want you to feel different, and -- it just didn't feel right to me. I would've felt like I was trying to pose as your father," Tony blurted out. That was more than he'd meant to say, but there, it was done.

James remained silent after that. When Tony turned to look, he saw that James still didn't seem angry, but neither was he any less puzzled, maybe even more so, deep in thought.

"Why would you think that?" James finally asked. "You wouldn't have been posing. Maybe we've never called you dad, but you're still the closest thing to a parent that any of us have had," he added without waiting for a reply, his eyes meeting Tony's, piercing and perfectly honest.

For the second time during the day, Tony was so overwhelmed with emotion that he felt like he couldn't draw breath, just staring at James, trying to blink back tears. Never in a million years would he have expected to hear that from the moody boy who used to constantly complain whenever Tony asked him to do anything.

"James -- I -- thank you," he stammered, for lack of more coherent words.

"Is it okay if I hug you now?" James asked.

"Of course it is," Tony managed.

Looking ever so slightly awkward but clearly determined to do this, James shuffled closer, and wrapped his arms around Tony.

It was by no means the first time that one of the kids hugged him, but aside from earlier today, when they'd found the Avengers in stasis, none of them had ever reached out to him like this.

It helped. It really did. For a moment there, he could believe that the kids weren't going anywhere. If only he could convince himself that the adults could sort everything out, too.

* * *

Steve had thought he couldn't have been more surprised when Tony and James returned to the shelter together, clearly in a better mood than they had been before: Tony looked less upset, and James, less suspicious. He was in for another major surprise, though, as the two went on to tell him and Natasha that they had had a chat, and Tony had brought James up to date on his parents' relationship.

Steve had fully expected it to take several more conversations between himself, Natasha and Tony to work things out, and then to break the news to James together, but Tony had just skipped all of that. Steve might've felt a little annoyed, but he really couldn't, when amazingly enough, James seemed to be taking the revelation in stride.

"This really doesn't change how things are for me. Tony's been one of my parents for as long as I've known him, anyway," James said, no trace of uncertainty on his face.

Although Steve knew one conversation wouldn't have magically changed them into a functioning family, this was a good start, and made him very happy.

It had been a long and emotionally taxing day, and it was time for the Avengers and the other people inhabiting the shelter to turn in for the night. Most couples among their number chose to retreat to farther reaches of the abandoned station for privacy. The kids huddled together in one corner, while Steve, Tony and Natasha claimed the shop where they'd talked earlier as their bedroom.

Their bed was an arrangement of thin mattresses and moth-eaten blankets on the dusty floor. The last time Steve had gone to sleep with his partners, it'd been in their luxurious king-sized bed in the Mansion, with James in his crib in the adjacent room. The disconnect between then and now was unreal. If only he could wake up in the morning next to Natasha and Tony, whose hair would be dark instead of white, and find out that Ultron and everything after that final battle had all been a bad dream.

They settled on their mattresses with Tony in the middle. Steve felt nearly as nervous as he had when the three of them had first shared a bed, but he also had his mind set on making up for the years and years of closeness and touch that Tony hadn't received, and Natasha seemed to have the same idea. She started by pressing a soft kiss on Tony's cheek, and Steve put an arm around Tony, holding him close.

Instead of relaxing between them, Tony tensed, letting out a shaky sigh. "Maybe this was a bad idea. You don't need to do this, you know."

Steve instantly let go of him, worried that he'd made Tony uncomfortable, though he'd never even intended to go beyond cuddling. "Sorry. If you don't want to, that's fine, of course," he said. "We can just sleep."

"Unless the reason you don't want to is that you think we don't want to touch you," Natasha added.

"Can you say, in all honesty, that you do?" Tony asked, looking from her to Steve, his face glum. "I know I'm not exactly the sexy playboy I used to be anymore."

"That's nonsense, Tony. You're gorgeous," Natasha said, combing her fingers through Tony's hair, and then running them along the side of his face. "A different hairstyle and a few new crow's feet don't change that."

That, of course, was an understatement on Natasha's part. There was no denying the marks the years had left on Tony's face, and every time Steve looked at Tony, he couldn't help feeling sad, and guilty for everything that Tony had had to suffer through alone. Still, Natasha was right: Tony might look different, but he was still handsome, and his features were still familiar. Steve would just need to get used to this. He could do that.

"They really don't," Steve said. "Besides, you do know that it's not your looks that make you attractive, don't you? It wasn't your pretty face that made me fall in love with you, all those years ago. It was your mind," he pressed a kiss on Tony's forehead, "and your heart," he placed another, lingering kiss at the hollow of Tony's throat.

Tony chuckled aloud, and put his hand on Steve's chin to bring them face to face again. "I think what made me fall for you must've been that you're a ridiculous sap," he said, and kissed Steve on the lips -- but even as he did so, the look in his eyes was more wistful than hopeful, let alone happy.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Steve woke up in a reality that was just as bleak as the one where he'd gone to sleep. The world he had known didn't exist anymore, and the only way to reclaim anything like it would be through years and years of rebuilding. There was so much to do that if Steve actually stopped to think about, it soon began to feel overwhelming. How could they even hope to set right the utter chaos Ultron's reign had left in its wake?

Out of all of them, Tony was probably the busiest in the days that followed. His first priority was to give Vision a functioning body again, the second to piece together his armor, and everyone else's weapons and costumes, acquired from Ultron's trophy room in varying states of disrepair. Then, he wanted to fix all the salvageable aircrafts he could get his hands on. The only way to get in touch with survivors would be to go physically look for them, since any kind of telecommunication had been a sure way to gain Ultron's attention. Hank and T'Challa offered their help in the engineering tasks, of course, but regardless of that, Tony was so single-mindedly focused on his work that Steve barely saw him. Some things clearly hadn't changed over the years.

While the tech-oriented Avengers focused on repairs, the rest of the team took up surveying their surroundings. On the surface, at a glance, Ultra City seemed to bear little resemblance to the ruins of New York that it had been built on, but the city was so familiar to Steve that he could easily figure out where each street had run. They spent their days walking around, trying to see which buildings could be restored to their pre-Ultron state or otherwise converted to human housing, taking out any remaining, stray machines, and looking for resources for their rebuilding efforts. The kids always came along on these excursions, which gave Steve a much-needed opportunity to try and get to know them better. He didn't feel like he was getting very far, though.

"There used to be a really nice ice cream parlor right here," Steve pointed out one morning, to James and Pym who were walking alongside him. "Made the best milkshakes."

"Tony sometimes made us milkshakes," Pym said dreamily.

James rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, or what he called that, anyway. Probably nothing like the real deal."

"I'm sure they were great," Steve said, feeling like a fool for not thinking about how these kids hadn't even seen a single ice cream parlor in their lives. "Anyway, I'm sure it won't take long until we've got proper ice cream freely available again. Give it a few years."

"I think there's more important stuff to worry about than ice cream," James said, but then instantly looked away from Steve, biting his lip -- obviously embarrassed he'd spoken his mind.

"Yes, you're right," Steve said quickly. "Let's get on with this."

Steve knew the kids had spent their lives hero-worshipping him and the rest of the Avengers, and that he could never quite live up to the unrealistically perfect ideas of him that they must have. Still, even knowing that, every time they frowned at him in confusion made him feel like a failure, and he couldn't work out how to make things better, except by spending time with them and trying to be his best self.

The kids certainly never sought Steve out. Instead, they kept going back to Tony. Whenever they found something exciting on their reconnaissance trips, they'd rush to tell him about it as soon as they were back at base. No matter how busy Tony was and how he never seemed to have time for Steve, he always had time for the kids, and the kids always looked more at ease around him than they did with their biological parents.

Steve had always thought Tony would be great with kids. Now that he was seeing it every day, it made him even more fond of Tony, and did nothing to help with his regret that he couldn't seem to get through to Tony himself. But it was just as with the kids: Steve didn't know what to do, except to be there, and to wait.

While waiting, all he could do was to spend his days wandering around the city with the others and his nights with Tony and Natasha, pretending that things were all right, when everyone could tell they weren't.

He didn't realize he'd subconsciously been heading in a specific direction until one afternoon he found himself standing in front of burned ruins surrounded by high metal walls, in a neighborhood that was as dear to him as the streets where he'd grown up.

Just like Ultron had preserved their bodies, gear and costumes as trophies of his ultimate victory, he had also preserved their home, or what little was left of it. The Mansion was an utterly depressing sight: very nearly burned to the ground, with only a few sections of walls left standing. Steve expected the underground floors must have remained in better shape, but it would probably take an entire day just to clear a way to enter them.

"What do you think?" Steve asked Tony and Natasha that night, as they lay close to one another on their makeshift bed. "Fixing it is going to be a lot of work, but I think it's doable."

Tony sighed heavily. "I'm not sure that makes any sense. From how you describe it, the place is in such bad shape, it'd probably be less work to just demolish what's left and start again, or better yet, go live somewhere else entirely." The look on his face as he spoke was preoccupied, and the words halting, as if it pained him to say them -- as if he wasn't really speaking of the Mansion at all.

It hurt to hear Tony say that. He was wrong, he had to be. They could rebuild. They could rebuild everything: their home, their relationship, their family, the world. They had to believe in that. If they didn't, what was the point of doing anything at all?

Steve took Tony's hand in his. "It would be less work, for sure, but it was our home. I, for one, would like to go back, no matter how difficult that might be. I thought you'd want that, too, and I didn't think you'd be so quick to give up." If his voice came through a little aggravated, that was only right, because he was.

"I'm not giving up," Tony said. "I'll help. Of course I will, as soon as I'm done with the repairs that I'm working on right now. But you know, some things just can't be fixed, no matter how much you want it."

Tony rolled over and curled into himself, turning his back to Steve, who was lying in the middle. Steve wanted to wrap Tony in his embrace, to convince him that there was nothing that wasn't beyond mending, but he wasn't sure if that would be welcomed, so he stayed as he was, on his back. Natasha put her hand on Steve's shoulder and pressed herself closer to him.

"There's a third alternative," Natasha said, her voice soft but determined. "Take down what is broken, and rebuild on the foundations that are still there."

* * *

"They're not like I imagined them," James said, looking up from his book.

He was sitting by the wall close to Tony's bench, in the workshop Tony had set up for smaller projects. All the kids were regular visitors, but while Pym and Azari often came to tell about something that had happened or to ask him about something they'd found, and Torunn seemed to be visiting mainly to keep tabs on Tony, which was incredibly touching, James was the one who stayed the longest. He'd show up, take whatever comfortable seat he could find, and spend hours reading or doodling, just being there, rarely speaking much.

Tony wasn't sure what had made him speak up now, and he wasn't entirely sure who James was talking about, although he had a good guess. "The other Avengers, you mean?"

"Yeah," James said. He flipped his book closed, and crossed his arms around it.

"Of course they're not," Tony said. "They're not the characters from your bedtime stories, they're real people."

"I know. It's not just that. They keep talking to us like we're five years old," James went on. "And when we're outside together, they won't let us out of their sight for one second. It's so annoying."

Tony stared at the circuit board he'd been working on, struggling to keep his face composed. "That's because they're your parents and they care. That's kind of the thing they're supposed to be doing."

"But you're not like that," James said.

That's because I'm not really your parent, Tony didn't say.

He'd never before considered that he might've been too lenient with the kids. He'd always thought he was quite strict. He'd only let the kids roam freely in the biosphere dome because that had been a controlled, safe environment he'd built himself. What James was saying now, though, suddenly made him feel like he'd stolen the kids from their parents. They'd gotten so used to him, despite all his faults and shortcomings, that they couldn't recognize how much better off they'd be with the people they really belonged with.

He just couldn't get anything right, could he?

Maybe he should've told the kids the truth about himself much earlier, told them that he'd built Ultron and that it was his fault their parents were gone. They wouldn't have liked him, then.

He obviously wasn't going to pour his heart out to James. For all that he knew that James wasn't five, James was still a teenager, and he didn't need to be burdened with Tony's problems.

"I've had more practice," Tony said. Somehow, he managed to keep his voice level. "Keep in mind that the last time they saw you, you weren't even five, and to them, that was just days ago."

"I know," James said, sounding unconvinced. "I just hope it won't take them another twelve years to get over it."

"I'm sure it won't," Tony said. He grabbed the soldering iron, indicating that he needed to focus on his work, hoping that James would take the hint.

James opened his book, and went back to reading.

Even as he worked, Tony couldn't stop thinking about the conversation. He'd been aware of how the kids were struggling to adjust to the situation, every bit as much as he was, and how their parents seemed frustrated at how awkward things were. He just hadn't considered that maybe he was at the center of the issue. Maybe the kids couldn't adjust to the new circumstances, because he was always around to remind them of how things had been before.

Maybe he should get out of the way, so the others could have a fresh start. That felt like a good idea.

As he always did, he stayed in his makeshift workshop well past midnight. That way, by the time he retreated to their room, Natasha and Steve were at least half asleep, and he could avoid ending up in yet another conversation that turned into a row, or left him fighting back tears, or both.

He could have slept somewhere else, of course, but he didn't want to -- he wanted to be close to them. He loved them. There was no better place on the planet to sleep than next to the two of them. And yet, he just couldn't help thinking about how this wasn't going to last. They all knew things weren't quite right between them, or rather, between him and Steve, and as much as he wanted that to change, he didn't believe it would. He couldn't be who Steve wanted him to be. There was no turning back time. So, he'd slip in late every night to curl up against Steve's broad back or his face buried in Natasha's hair, and cling to this while he still had it.

Tonight was different, though. Tonight, he was going to have to risk a few words.

"I've been thinking," he began, as he'd settled more or less comfortably next to Steve.

"What's that, Tony?" Steve asked, his voice not sleepy at all.

"This aircraft I've been working on should finally be ready to go tomorrow evening. I'm thinking, the day after, I should take it on a test flight and pay a visit to the hideout in Greenland. There are lots of useful supplies there. I could take a few days to sort it all out. Maybe a week," Tony explained. It made sense for him to do it. It was something that needed to be done, anyway.

"We could all go," Steve suggested. "I'd like to see the place."

"It's almost entirely destroyed, there's not much to see," Tony said quickly. "You should stay here. With the kids."

"There's no reason for you to go alone, though," Natasha said. "It'd be safer not to."

Tony had guessed they'd be like this, and he had an answer prepared. "I've been doing these things alone for twelve years. Nat, Steve, I need the space, all right? I need some time on my own." That wasn't even a lie. Even if it wasn't his first reason for wanting to go, he wouldn't mind not having to actively avoid people all the time.

"Tony…" Steve started.

"Besides, it's not like I need your permission to go," Tony added, with finality.

* * *

It was painful for Natasha to watch how Tony and Steve seemed to be drifting only further apart as the days went by. Even before they'd become an item, the friendship between the two men had been deep. They'd often been at odds about some particular issue here or there, but they had always understood one another -- and now, they no longer did. Steve was clearly trying to reach out for Tony, but maybe he was trying too hard, trying to force something that could only happen over time. As for Tony, she wasn't convinced he was even trying.

She liked to think that the rift between her and Tony wasn't quite as deep as the one between him and Steve. They talked often enough, and sometimes even cuddled, just casually, with Tony taking a break from his work to sit with his head on Natasha's shoulder.

Whenever she talked to Tony about Steve, Tony was fairly open about how he felt things were just too different, and how he thought Steve wanted to turn back time and go back to something that didn't exist anymore. Perhaps he wasn't far from truth there.

When she talked to Steve, Steve seemed frustrated above all else, confused about what he was doing wrong, and worried about how Tony seemed to be constantly withdrawing further and further away.

Natasha had no clue where Tony's sudden plans for a field trip had sprung from, but they made her uneasy, and Steve seemed to be feeling the same way.

"You don't think he's -- you know, thinking of doing something drastic, do you?" Steve asked her over breakfast. Tony had long since vanished to tie up the aircraft repairs.

"No, I don't think he's suicidal," Natasha said bluntly. There was no need to dance around the word. The thought had also crossed her mind, but from what she'd seen of Tony, she wasn't overly concerned. His behavior was actually less self-destructive now than it had often been in the past. "Still, I don't like this."

"Me neither. Someone should go with him. Who knows what he might run into, out there," Steve said. "He's clearly decided he's going alone, though, and I sure can't convince him not to. You might have more luck."

They needed to do something. She didn't want Tony flying off and disappearing for weeks or months because of some misguided impression that the others, Steve most of all, didn't want him around.

It struck her then that this could be an opportunity to start solving things, instead of something that made them worse.

"I doubt I could, either, but maybe we shouldn't even try," she said. "Maybe this calls for a stealthier approach."

* * *

This was silly.

Steve had never liked covert missions very much, and even though they did have their purposes, there was quite the difference between infiltrating an enemy base and hiding from Tony. He wasn't convinced this was the best of ideas, but Natasha was right. Talking hadn't gotten them anywhere, because it was all too easy for Tony to avoid it altogether. Whenever Steve managed to catch him, Tony tended to end up walking out before Steve could say half of the things he wanted to.

He waited for Tony to leave the aircraft for a moment, and snuck in. The craft was one of Ultron's, and resembled a quinjet more than any regular kind of airplane -- Steve suspected it had been built using repurposed quinjet parts. The passenger compartment looked vaguely familiar, and Steve had no trouble finding a storage closet to hide in. It was a tight fit, incredibly uncomfortable, but it'd do the job. He'd suffered worse.

From his hideout, Steve couldn't see what was going on in the passenger compartment at all. He heard someone walking about, and the sound of metal hatches opened and closed. He held his breath, hoping Tony wouldn't find him before they took off. The whole point was for Steve to wait until they were far enough from base that Tony wouldn't just turn around instantly when Steve revealed his presence.

Finally, the low rumble of the engines reverberated through the metal around Steve, and he felt them begin to lift off. It was quite smooth, and considering the terribly cramped position Steve was in, he was grateful for that. Clearly, Tony had done a good job with his repairs, as always, and was piloting the craft expertly.

As Steve waited, seeing nothing and hearing nothing beyond the steady background noise of the aircraft, he kept going through the conversation that was to come in his head. He knew it was a futile exercise: he couldn't really anticipate how Tony would react to him stowing away. Maybe he'd refuse to talk about anything at all, and this would've been pointless. But Steve had to at least try, because he clearly, despite repeated attempts, still hadn't managed to convince Tony that he understood things were different. That even if he wasn't used to this new status quo yet, even if every single time he as much as looked at Tony broke his heart because it reminded him of how terribly wrong things were, he was working on it. He could get over it.

He still loved Tony. He wasn't sure what Tony felt for him, anymore, and that also hurt. He needed to sort this out so badly, and to do that, he needed to stay calm and not get pulled into another shouting match.

He waited for over two hours, with the physical discomfort of being stuck in a tiny space nowhere near as trying as his frayed nerves. He was stuck wondering whether he'd waited long enough to make an appearance or if he should hide until they landed, as torturous as that'd be, when there was a muffled clank from elsewhere on the craft, instantly followed by Tony's approaching footsteps. Clearly, that had been nothing to do with Steve, but he froze and held his breath anyway.

Steve heard Tony knock on the metal, and then the creak of something opening, and --

"James?" Tony cried out.

"Hi, Tony," came the reply, confident and defiant.

"What do you think you're doing? You shouldn't be here!" Tony's voice rose in both volume and pitch as he spoke, and Steve could picture the incredulous look on his face.

"You shouldn't be here, either!" James declared. "You shouldn't be going anywhere alone, not anymore. It's dangerous, it's unnecessary, and I won't let you."

"I need to. I need to be alone, and you need some time without me constantly looking over your shoulder," Tony insisted. "I'll be fine. I'm going turn around right now and take you back to base, before the others start to worry."

"My brothers and sister know I'm here, they'll tell the adults as soon as anyone notices I'm missing," James said.

"But you should be with your parents and not with me," Tony said, with an almost desperate tone to his voice.

Steve realized this was his cue; it would be stupid to hide any longer. He stretched his limbs, stiff from the hours he'd been stuck in this tight space, and pushed the door open.

"Looks like to me that he's with his parents. Two out of the three of them, anyway," Steve announced as he made his appearance.

Tony turned to face him, his mouth falling open in shock. "Steve?"

"Dad!" James exclaimed, just as surprised as Tony.

"Yes, and James is right," Steve said. "There's no reason for you to do this alone. If you just wanted space, you could've gotten that back in New York, where it's safer."

"Steve -- James -- did you plan this?" Tony stammered.

"I didn't know he was going to be here," James said, glaring at Steve almost angrily.

"I'll confess this was Natasha's idea, not mine," Steve admitted.

"She's not hiding somewhere, too, is she?" Tony eyed the surrounding vessel suspiciously. "Did she set you up to this?" he asked James.

"Mum had nothing to do with me being here," James said. "I just knew I had to do something when you told us you were going."

"I had no idea James would be here," Steve said. "If I'd known, I'd have told him not to come."

"That's not fair!" James complained. "I have every right to be here, same as you."

"But you're..." Steve began, then stopped before he'd said 'just a kid', because that wasn't fair. That was exactly the mistake he kept making; he knew how capable James was. Still, he felt that James, even more than Tony, should've stayed where it was relatively safe, and he certainly didn't like how this foiled his plans to get some one-on-one time with Tony.

Tony bowed his head and buried his hands in his hair. "This isn't right. Neither of you should be here."

"But we are," James said, "and since we're here anyway, you've got two options: either we all go back, or we all stay. You were going to fly home, to the shelter, weren't you? Dad should see the place. I'd like to show it to him."

"I'd like to see it," Steve said. He really did. Maybe it'd help him understand things. Now that he thought about it, his instant gut reaction of annoyance aside, maybe this could actually be a happy coincidence, spending time with both Tony and James. "Think of it as a road trip. What do you say, Tony?"

Tony looked up again, his gaze going from Steve to James, his lips quirking in something that suspiciously resembled a smile. "I'm stuck with two of the most stubborn people that have ever lived, and you're asking that as if I've got a say in the matter."

* * *

Tony slumped back into the pilot's seat, and pinched the bridge of his nose. Steve and James took seats behind him, and for a moment, everyone was quiet. Tony didn't really have much to say; he was still angry at both of them for stowing away, and half considering whether he should just call it quits on this excursion.

This was not at all how things were supposed to be. Steve and James were supposed to be bonding with one another and Natasha, not with him. More than that, he didn't know if he could actually handle this, being stuck in close quarters with Steve, and he wasn't sure if James being around would make things better or worse.

He could turn the craft around, but even if he did, his original idea would've failed: there was no way Steve and James would let him take off again, alone, after this. He'd either go with them, or not at all.

On the plus side, if he'd wanted Steve and James to do some father-son bonding, maybe they could do that now. The rest of the kids weren't here and would actually be spending time with their biological parents, just like Tony had wanted them to. Since Natasha knew that Steve was here, and the other kids knew James was here, no one would panic about their disappearance.

"It's so empty out there," Steve noted, his tone subdued.

Tony glanced out of the windows. Far below, the land was just as he knew it from countless forays into the outside world: the signs of battles were here and there, destroyed buildings and barren ground. There were no cars on the partly overgrown roads, and the cities and villages they saw were devoid of people, the survivors hiding as best they could, trying not to draw the attention of Ultron's forces. They didn't know of Ultron's defeat yet. Soon, once the Avengers had gathered enough supplies and repaired enough vehicles to be actually able to help people, they would set out to contact everyone they could find, but they weren't quite ready yet.

"I knew it would be," Steve went on. "Still, it's -- it's so different. So quiet."

"I can't imagine what it used to be like," James said. "Just the people living in Ultra City..."

"New York," Steve corrected sharply.

James huffed. "Right, New York. Anyway. The people living in New York, the Scavengers, that's a bigger crowd than I'd ever seen in my entire life. Thinking that all this," he waved a hand at the window, "would've been full of people, queues of cars, someone living in every apartment on every floor of those big houses," he shook his head. "I've seen it on TV and read about it in books, but it sounds like an alien planet to me."

Tony had seen both, and for a moment there, the contrast felt devastating. How could they imagine that the world could reach any semblance of normalcy again? Too much was lost forever. Too many dead. Everything broken. He'd used to be a futurist, but he'd lost sight of the future.

"It might never be quite like that again," he said, his voice toneless in his ears.

"It will be better than this, though," Steve said firmly.

Eventually, they reached their destination. Tony hadn't been sure what he'd find; he'd told Steve that the shelter was in ruin, but that'd been a white lie, since he had no idea what Ultron had done with the place. It turned out to be mostly intact, except for the hole in the dome. Of course, that meant that the environmental controls were lost, everything covered in snow, all the plantlife dying. It was a sight as sad as the lifeless, empty lands they'd flown over, but at least the buildings were mostly intact.

"This is where you lived?" Steve asked as they climbed out of the aircraft, their footsteps crunching in the snow.

"It was a lot nicer then, but yeah," James said. "Welcome home, dad."

* * *

Steve had thought he was prepared. He’d known what had happened. He’d known that the world was in ruins after Ultron. He'd known to expect the devastation he'd see, but he still hadn't really grasped it. Somehow, he'd thought it wouldn't be as bad outside of New York, but it was. Perhaps even worse.

To think that this was the world Tony and the children had lived in for over a decade -- his breath caught in his throat, as if there was a hand crushing his windpipe. There could hardly have been a more concrete reminder that the world he'd known didn't exist anymore. This was a change far more shocking than the one he'd witnessed after he'd woken up from the ice, all those years ago.

The shelter Tony had built was another kind of shock. He hadn't heard any detailed descriptions of it, and the size of the place was awe-inspiring. They landed through a hole in a massive dome into a clearing close to several houses, and all he could think of was that Tony had built all of this on his own. There was a circular area surrounded by frozen waterfalls and tall stones engraved with symbols depicting each Avenger, like some kind of a memorial. By its sides, the buildings were empty and dark, in the grayish late afternoon light from a cloudy sky. Still, while Tony's lips were pursed and his brow furrowed, the look on James's face when he looked at them was fond.

Steve tried to picture the place with the dome intact, with leaves in the trees, the water of the fountain cascading down. A sheltered little world of its own for the children to play in, much cozier than the war-wracked ground outside. He could think of many places worse than this to grow up in. One could claim the streets where he'd spent his childhood hadn't been as nice as this place must've been while it had been intact.

Tony led the way, crossing the open space to press his hand against the Iron Man symbol in one stone, and the center of the snow-covered platform they stood slid open to reveal stairs leading down. As they entered, lights blinked on automatically around them.

"Tony! Good to see you again. I was worried," a familiar, feminine voice greeted them. "James. Captain Rogers?"

"Jocasta," Tony said warmly. "I missed you too. Glad you're all right. You won't believe what's happened."

"Hello, Jocasta," Steve said, feeling more surprised than he probably should've. Of course she'd still be around.

"Everything more or less functional here?" Tony asked.

"Except for the dome, only minor damage to aboveground structures, and that is mostly from the weather," Jocasta said. "Ultron just wanted you. How have you been? What of the other children?"

"Everyone's fine. Everyone you know. Ultron's gone, and the Avengers, they're all fine. Alive. The other children are with their parents," Tony explained.

"That is great news!" Jocasta's voice sounded as happy as any human voice would. "Will they also be visiting soon?"

"Better than that. We'll take you back to New York with us. We're rebuilding," Tony said. Steve was pleased to hear him speak like he meant it, and believed it.

"I'd be happy to help with that," Jocasta said.

"For now, though, it's been a long day, and I bet everyone's hungry," Tony said. "I'm sure there's still enough stuff in the pantry to come up with a half decent dinner. I'll get started on that. James, you give your dad the guided tour."

James took his task seriously, and showed Steve everything, from the common spaces in the large building above, to the bungalow he'd shared with the other kids. Steve was amazed at how normal it all seemed: James's room looked like he'd have expected any teenager's room to be, with posters on the walls and books strewn about. James showed the grounds around the buildings, as well, pointing out many places where they'd used to play, and the fields where they'd used to spar.

During that first evening, Steve talked more with James than he had in all the time since he'd woken up, and though at the beginning, it was awkward, it was slowly starting to feel less so. Steve asked a lot of questions, and James seemed happy to talk about everything, about what books he'd liked to read, and how they'd watched all the movies and shows from the video library Tony had set up. He told of how they'd sometimes built snowmen in the winter, and how they'd gone camping deeper in the woods in the summer. It sounded good, it sounded like the sort of childhood Steve would've wanted them to have, had he been around himself -- and that they'd had all this, with Ultron's shadow hanging over the world, was downright miraculous, except that the miracle was one man.

He desperately needed to set things straight with Tony, and he wanted to grab Tony by the shoulders and yell at him about how incredible this all was, how no one could possibly have done a better job with the kids than Tony had, but obviously he couldn't do that with James around.

Over an hour later, they returned to the underground part of the shelter to find Tony waiting with a meal that was a step up from most they'd eaten in their base at Grand Central. As they sat around the table, Steve commenting on what he'd seen, James accompanying with his point of view, and Tony listening raptly, a small smile on his lips, it occurred to Steve that this was how he wanted things to be. How it'd feel to be a family.

After dinner, they spent the remaining hours of the day planning what they needed to do during their stay. Cataloguing everything in this shelter, from the kids' possessions to the considerable amount of tech that Tony had built, deciding what to take with them, and packing it appropriately, would take several days. Even then, they'd probably need to leave a lot behind and come pick it up later.

For the night, Tony suggested they sleep underground. Though it wasn't the coziest part of the shelter, and James said the kids hadn't even known it was there until the very last day when they'd had to flee, it was the warmest alternative. The above-ground buildings had been abandoned and unheated for weeks. Underground and on the floor was what they were all used to by now, anyway. They gathered armfuls of mattresses and blankets, and made their beds on the metal flooring of Tony's workshop.

His mind reeling with everything he'd seen during the day, Steve knew sleep wouldn't come easily. It didn't help that he'd grown used to having Natasha and Tony by his sides, and now they were all on separate mattresses, Tony closer to him, James in another corner of the room.

Clearly, Tony couldn't sleep either; Steve was still awake when he got up and slipped out of the room. James seemed fast asleep, not reacting to Tony's departure. Steve didn't hesitate but got up, grabbing his coat and heading after Tony.

The complex seemed eerier at night, with the lights dim, the metallic walkways and corridors calling to mind Ultron's base. The quiet was broken by a creaking sound that echoed through them, and Steve realized it had to be the hatch that had covered the stairs, leading outside. He hurried that way.

The night air outside was biting cold, the surroundings dark but for the moonlight filtering in through the dome. In that faint light, he saw Tony sitting on the stairs in front of the main building, a blanket over his shoulders, his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his clasped hands. Steve walked over and sat down next to him.

What should he say, now that they were finally alone? Tony insisted that Steve wanted to turn back the clock and go to back to what didn't exist anymore. Natasha had told Steve a few times that she thought he was trying too hard, that he needed to give Tony more room, that he was coming through impatient and demanding.

In the end, he decided not to say anything at all. He would give Tony the chance to talk first, if he wanted to.

They sat there, in silence, their shoulders not quite touching, for several minutes.

Tony did talk, eventually. "This was home," he murmured, his eyes not on Steve but facing the looming shapes of frosty trees in the distance. "If you talk to me about home, I don't think about the Mansion. I think about this place."

"It seems like a good place," Steve said. "You've done an amazing job, building all of this. Was that why you wanted to come back here? Because you missed it?"

"No," Tony said instantly, but didn't continue, as if he'd already said too much.

"Then why? I want to understand. You keep telling me I don't, so help me."

Tony breathed out, shoulders hunching. "The kids. I -- I felt like I shouldn't be there, reminding everyone of the past. Distracting them from their real parents."

If that wasn't one of the stupidest things Steve had heard, he didn't know what was. Sure, he struggled with the kids himself, but that had nothing to do with Tony. "You're not distracting them! You're also one of their real parents, not just to James, but to all of them. I don't claim to understand them, but obviously you're the one familiar person they have in an unfamiliar situation! Of course they're seeking your company."

"I know that, but maybe it's not just them. Maybe I'm clinging to them when I should step back. They've been my entire life for twelve years. I took care of the kids, I built things, I made sure we were safe and would live to see the next day. That was all that was left. I didn't think there would ever be anything else. I thought I'd die here, Steve," Tony said, his voice wavering at the last sentence. "I didn't think there was a future for me. I hoped there would be one for the kids, but I didn't expect to be around to see it."

Steve had known things had been bleak, but somehow, he still hadn't realized that'd been how Tony had seen his life. It made sense, though. Why would he have expected anything else, when he'd thought everyone else was dead?

He couldn't not touch Tony any longer, the need to hold him an almost physical ache. Steve put an arm around Tony's back, slowly, giving Tony the opportunity to push him away. Tony didn't, but shifted closer instead, leaning against Steve.

"I guess we both have to learn to adapt to how things have changed," Steve said, rubbing soothingly at Tony's upper arm. "You do have a future, now. Together with the kids. We all do."

Tony turned to look at Steve, his eyes cold in the moonlight. Steve didn't let go of him, but he braced himself for the harsh words he'd know would come.

"Do we? The three of us -- the two of us?" Tony asked. "I see the way you look at me, and it's all pity and regret. That's not a future. That's not a relationship. You're looking at me and hoping to see someone else. We can't go on like that. I certainly can't."

Steve bit back the angry words that first came up. He couldn't fail this. This was the chance he'd been waiting for; he had to get it right.

"That's what you think you see," he said steadily. "Maybe some of that is true. I can't help the regret. I regret that you had to go through all of this alone. I regret missing those years and not being there for you and for the kids, even if I had no choice in that." He moved his hand up from Tony's shoulder, burying it in Tony's long, white hair. He was getting used to that. This was Tony, now. "I'm not going to lie and say I don't miss how things were. I do. Things were good, weren't they?"

"Can't disagree with that," Tony said, his voice stifled. "The best days of my life."

"But I know it's in the past," Steve went on. "Maybe it's taken me some time to accept it. Sometimes thinking about it makes me sad, but I don't want you to be someone else. I want you to be you. The man who built a home for our children and saw them through the end of the world. You're incredible, and I love you, Tony."

He waited for Tony's reply with baited breath. It felt as if everything hung in the balance; as if this were the single point in time that decided whether there still was a future for them, like Steve had said there would be.

Tony slid a hand to the back of Steve's neck. "And I love you, Steve, and always will," he said, and leaned in for a kiss.

When their lips met, a warmth to make one forget about the cold night, there was no hesitation. Steve saw no wistfulness on Tony's face, and he hoped there was no regret or pity in his own eyes, because he certainly didn't feel either.

* * *

That night, Tony slept better than he had in over a decade, with Steve's arms around him.

For the first time since he'd set eyes on Steve again, he felt like this was real. Steve still loved him, old and broken as he was. He really did. Not as a reminder of the happy past, but as he was, whether he deserved it or not.

They could start again. There was a future.

James was still curled up in his corner with his eyes closed when Tony and Steve woke up, though Tony suspected he wasn't really sleeping. When he joined them for breakfast, he greeted them with "Morning, dads," and Tony couldn't help but smile. Steve smiled, too, and it was beautiful, and oh, how he'd missed that.

It took three days until they had gone through everything and were ready to head back. They were good days. Not perfect, of course -- to start with, Natasha wasn't there, and Tony missed her, as did Steve -- but she had probably known what she was doing, sending Steve with Tony and not joining in herself. Tony shuddered to think he'd considered turning back and not coming here at all. Things would've been very different.

Once they saw her again, back in New York, Natasha welcomed them with an expectant look. "So, did you have fun, boys?"

"It was okay," James was the first to answer, in what Tony knew to be as high a compliment as the teenager could possibly give. "Next time, you should come, too."

"I'd love to," Natasha said, smiling warmly at him, and then looking from Tony to Steve, her eyebrows raised.

"Couldn't agree more," Tony said.

"I learned a lot," Steve said, the grin he gave speaking volumes. "It was good."

The time for a longer conversation about what had happened was at night, as usual, with Natasha sandwiched between the two men.

"So, you two kissed and made up?" she asked playfully, one hand clasping Tony's, the other on Steve's cheek.

"That's one way to put it," Steve said.

"As accurate as any. Thank you," Tony said, and took hold of her hand to kiss her knuckles. "You and your devious plans. I don't know where we'd be without you, Natasha."

Steve turned his head to kiss her palm. "Not together, that's for sure."

"Well, you know, I'm mostly acting out of self-interest," Natasha said. "I want both of you, and I want us all to be okay. You think we can do that?" she asked, turning to face Tony, and though her lips were smiling, her eyes were serious.

"I think we can," Tony said, meaning every word.

A large, warm hand landed on Tony's shoulder -- Steve, reaching out to him. "I'm sure we can," Steve said.

Tony shifted even closer to Natasha, and reached to put his arm around both her and Steve, pulling them as close as he could, Steve's muscled back beneath his palm, Natasha's skin soft against his face.

"I missed you both so much," Tony said. He hadn't really said it before, not like this, not like he should've, because he'd been too worried that they didn't want him, that they might leave any moment. He'd been wrong. They weren't going anywhere.

They stayed like that for a good while -- Tony's right arm was starting to fall asleep, stuck awkwardly under him, and he imagined Steve and Natasha couldn't be too comfortable either, but he didn't want to move. Steve was running his hand up and down Tony's back, and Natasha was pressing kisses on his face, and he thought, maybe a night or two from now, they could do more than just kiss and cuddle. He would be very much all right with that.

For the first time since the world had ended, he was really looking forward to the future.

* * *

A few days later, they brought down the remaining, burned and battered walls of the Mansion; it didn't take long, with Tony in his armor and Hank in Giant-size. Steve did a lot of the lighter lifting. Even the Hulk helped.

The Avengers spent most of their days flying missions around the country, contacting any survivors they could find, telling them of Ultron's defeat, but every now and then they took a day to work at the construction. What they built wasn't going to be a copy of the old building. That would've taken them much longer to finish, and they didn't have the raw materials. Even with the less ambitious plans, it was slow work. Steve didn't mind. It was something they were all doing together, including the kids, even if they were often distracting more than helping.

Steve found he almost missed the time when the kids had still looked up to him so much they had barely dared to talk to him. Now, he found himself the target of daily practical jokes, and got into regular arguments with James. Tony assured him this was business as usual, and meant he was doing everything right.

Tony was still working constantly, so Steve didn't see much of him during the days, but every time Steve paid him a visit, he was happy to chat. All those long hours were bearing fruit, too, resulting in radios, computers, and several more aircrafts.

T'Challa and Azari took one of the planes and flew to Wakanda, and to everyone's joy, returned with Ororo, who, like Tony, had believed all the Avengers had died, and spent the past twelve years mourning the loss. They learned that the other continents had suffered less under Ultron's rule, overall, and with communications restored, there were soon offers for help in the rebuilding effort from all over the world.

One of the first European parties to arrive included an entirely unexpected familiar face. The moment Clint wrapped his arms around Bobbi was the first time any of them had seen him cry.

Both Steve and Natasha soon found themselves spending more time organizing and leading others' work than working with their own hands, but there was always the one building project they kept going back to. The Mansion was the Avengers' private undertaking, not something the world needed, and they wanted to keep the outside help to a minimum.

Though Steve occasionally wondered if they'd ever finish it, the day eventually arrived when every last door and window was in place, and the only thing left to do was to clean off the dust and carry in the furniture that had been built elsewhere.

Before heading back to Grand Central for one more night, they stopped in front of their new home-to-be, admiring their work. Natasha stood in the middle, Steve and Tony by her sides, with James in front of them.

Looking around him, Steve could see all the other Avengers. T'Challa, Ororo and Azari were standing next to one another, not far from the four of them. Jan, Hank and Pym were already walking away slowly, the Vision hovering behind them. Clint and Bobbi were smirking at Torunn and Francis, who sat side by side, their backs against a wall, very obviously not wanting to be disturbed.

Not everyone had lived in the Mansion back in the day. Now, they all would, and in addition to the adults, there would also be the five teenagers, who took up at least as much space as the adults did. Probably more.

"It's going to be a bit crowded," Steve noted.

"It's a little smaller than the old Mansion, but I'm sure we'll fit in just fine," Natasha said.

"I was going to say it's way bigger and fancier than our old home!" James declared, and then added, "No offense, Tony," casting a quick glance at him.

"None taken," Tony said, patting James on the shoulder. "I like this one better, too."