Chapter Text
Popular theory said that it took 42 muscles to smile. Tony was feeling the protest of every single one of those muscles at the moment, and he doubted that his smile - half-assed as it was - was all that convincing when he said, "It won't be that bad, Rhodey. It's fine."
"Yeah? You look about as fine as that time I found you passed out on the floor of Alpha Epsilon," Rhodey said, crossing his arms with only a slight wince.
"You promised you would never bring that up again!"
Rhodey ignored him, as was Tony's life, and added, "I don't like this. I don't like this one bit. Bring Ross here; tell him I'll stand in."
"He's not going to accept that," Tony said, because that was easier than pointing out that Rhodey was not a caregiver. He'd been there the day that MIT did the re-tests prior to graduation, and Rhodey - the lucky bastard - had come out as a blank slate. Rhodey was stubborn, though; even in the middle of trying to re-learn to walk and partial paralysis, he'd do whatever it took to put one over on Ross. The problem was, Rhodey wouldn't be able to give Tony what he needed (no one would, now) and they both knew it.
"Then we'll come up with some other explanation. Maybe -"
"Don't. Don't say it." Tony held up a hand to forestall the inevitable. "Pepper isn't a caregiver, and even if she was, I would never ask her to do that."
"Yeah, that's the problem," Rhodey said, scowl deepening.
"It's fine," Tony repeated. Maybe if he said it often enough, he would believe it. He stood up, adjusting his suit jacket. "I have to go."
"Tony -"
"Fine," Tony said firmly, pasting on another smile, and fled the room before Rhodey could come up with a more convincing argument. Not that it would take much at this point. This had "BAD IDEA" written all over it in glaring red letters. He'd always resented the fact that he was a biological Little, but it had never seemed like a more insurmountable problem than it did now. It was enough to make him miss the days when his biggest issue was that the Board of S.I. didn't like having a Little as their chief engineer.
He hadn't given into that side of him in weeks. Months. Not since -
The suit hit the ground, taking Tony with it, and he was sprawled on his back, gasping, as Captain America - no, as Steve straddled him. There was anger written across Steve's face, and he brought the shield up over his head: the flash of pure terror that went through Tony was the last straw, and all of the emotions swept away his control as cleanly as a tidal wave. As Steve started to bring his arms down and Tony flinched, that single word slipped into the air between them, shaky and tearful, and Steve's face changed into horror but it was too late because the shield was already slamming into Tony's chest -
Sunlight, bright in his eyes, snapped him out of the flashback just in time to see the car pulling up to the door. Still hidden by the walls, Tony scrabbled at his chest as a physical reminder that his wounds were long since healed and tried to remember how to breathe.
General Ross got out of the car, followed by a tall, slender man. Ross entered first, of course, zeroing in on Tony instantly. "Stark!" he boomed, voice much too loud.
"General," Tony managed, forcing the panic down. Hiding it away, just like he hid everything else. He couldn't afford to be weak right now. It was bad enough that Ross was assigning him a caregiver, as though Tony were physically a child as well as mentally (sometimes). He just thanked every god he could think of that any physical or electronic records of Tony's Little age had died when SHIELD fell instead of being dumped on the internet. Ross had no idea just how young he really was, and for that Tony would be eternally grateful. It also meant that, even if this caregiver turned out to be the best guy in the world, Tony would never allow himself to be Little around him.
This would be a real shit show if Ross ever found out the truth. Tony would lose whatever meager foothold that he had managed to gain. He just had to keep holding it together. All the time. He could do that.
"This is Captain Talbot," said Ross, indicating the man standing just behind him. "This is your new caregiver."
"Stark," Talbot said. He didn't look like the kind of warm, friendly caregiver that decorated the pamphlets Pepper used to drop on Tony's desk. His eyes were dark and cold, and he wasn't smiling. He looked like the last thing he wanted was to deal with a Little of any kind.
"Talbot," Tony returned. He would never be able to call the man 'Captain'. "I appreciate the forethought, but I'd like to point out that I really don't require a caregiver, General. I've had a lot of experience in -"
"Save it, Stark. I have no use for a half-dropping superhero that could go Little at any time. Talbot is here to keep you under control, and, when you drop, his orders are to get you out of sight by whatever means are necessary. If you refuse, I'll consider it treason. There is an empty jail just waiting to be filled, remember."
In the wake of the shield grinding through titanium gold-alloy, the silence was shocking. Steve rolled off but reached back, and Tony flinched away. It took everything he had to pull himself together, and his voice still carried a hint of a waiver when he spoke again. The moment was over. In a matter of minutes Steve and Bucky were gone and Tony was alone, alone on the floor with the tears building under his skin until the pressure was unbearable, until he could summon up the strength to crawl out alone -
"Understood," Tony croaked. His hands were shaking; he shoved them in his pockets, hoping that the move looked at least semi-casual. "But I assure you, this isn't necessary."
"That's my decision to make, not yours. Now get a move on, there's a press release with your name on it. And you better say the right words, you hear me?"
"Yeah," Tony said quietly, dropping his gaze. "I hear you."
--
Officially, Steve maintained that he'd done the right thing. Made the right choices. Bucky was free, even if he'd opted to be frozen for a little while, and that was the most important thing. Logically, he knew that.
It was usually at night when his conviction wavered, because that was when he dreamt. It didn't even have to be a nightmare; sometimes, the worst dreams were the memories he had of the tower. When it was just the original team, the six of them living under one (enormous) roof, and Steve had been pretty damn happy. He had a fantastic team, he got to protect the world on a regular basis, and - for the first time ever - his instincts towards being a mother hen had been given free rein. What he and Tony had was never fully defined, but Steve would never forget the first time that big brown eyes looked up at him and a timid voice called him 'Daddy'.
Shame, then, that that memory would be forever tainted of the last time he'd heard that word.
"Fuck," he said out loud, shattering the stillness of the Wakandan night. He wished more than anything that he could get drunk. No, he wished that it hadn't come to this: that maybe, somehow, things could've turned out just a little differently. That he could be sitting back at the tower, or at the facility, with a warm body cuddled into him and Bucky by his side. The way it should have been.
Instead, he was on the outskirts of Wakanda. Clint and Wanda were sleeping in a tent nearby - or at least they were supposed to be asleep, but Steve doubted that they were. No one was sleeping well lately. The stress of everything had set off Wanda's Little side; she wasn't nearly as young as Tony, about seven years old, but Clint was doing a good job of taking care of her. Sometimes Steve wanted to push Clint aside and offer Wanda comfort himself, just to get rid of this insatiable itch under his skin, and at other times he hated himself for even thinking of it. Tony couldn't be replaced that easily.
"I know it's bad when you start cursing," said Sam, slinging himself down beside Steve. "Wanna talk about it?"
"No," Steve said shortly.
Sam's gaze was entirely too knowing. "Figured out what we're going to do yet?"
"No."
"Know where we're going to go?"
"Would you stop asking questions?" Steve said, irritated. They were fugitives now, all of them, and if Ross caught up to them, they'd be thrown back in jail. He didn't want that for any of his team. Sometimes he wondered if maybe he should've left them there, though he'd never say as much out loud: they'd have been safer there, at any rate.
"Hey, just trying to make conversation. You've been so tied up in knots for the past three months that I'm startin' to wonder what's brewing in there, that's all."
Steve sighed, anger draining as quickly as it had come. "I'm sorry."
Sam just nodded. "Is this about Stark and that caregiver?"
"No," Steve said for the third time, and this time it was such an obvious lie that he regretted even trying.
"Maybe you and Stark should talk."
"I left him a letter. And a phone. If he wanted to talk -"
"Yeah, after everything that happened I can see why he'd be dying to talk to you."
Steve glared half-heartedly. If only Tony wasn't a Little. If only Steve wasn't a caregiver. If only they didn't match up so well. If only. The words beat a familiar temp through Steve's brain until he wanted to slam his own head against the ground just to get some peace. He didn't regret what he'd done. He still thought that he was right, and that the choices he'd made had been for the best.
"That guy isn't taking care of him," he said slowly, haltingly.
"How do you know?"
"I just do," Steve snapped, because there were some things too private even to be shared with Sam. It was in the little things. The way that Tony held himself too stiffly during the press conferences. The obvious, deep circles under his eyes that suggested he wasn't sleeping, not to mention the way he was guzzling caffeine by the cupful. The way that Tony's clothing hung on him, too loose by far. The meek, almost cowed way he acted whenever Ross was around, or the way he would tense even more when his caregiver - Talbot? - got too close.
Something was wrong there. Tony didn't trust easily for obvious reasons (and why would he, a cruel voice in Steve pointed out, when the last person Tony trusted had ended up nearly beating Tony to death?), and it was equally obvious that Talbot had been put into place by Ross. Probably as a way to both control Tony and watch over him and make sure he wasn't doing anything that Ross didn't approve of. But all that meant that Tony was even less inclined to let himself be Little. If anything, Tony would be doing the exact opposite. He'd be going overboard, pushing himself to the absolute limit, no matter what it took.
Steve had seen him like that before, back when the team first formed after the Battle of New York. He would never forget the spectacular drop in the middle of a team night, either. Tony might have had (too much) practice at pretending to be big, but he couldn't push aside his biology forever. It was dangerous, for one thing, and extremely self-destructive. Sooner or later, a drop was inevitable, and then he would be left vulnerable and alone. Or worse, with this Talbot guy. It set Steve's teeth on edge to think of anyone else caring for his baby, much less someone chosen by Ross.
"Then what are you going to do about it?" Sam asked, and he sounded so damn reasonable.
"Nothing," Steve said, looking back at the fire. "It's not my place anymore." He got up and poured water on the fire, stamping a foot over the wood to make sure that it was really out. Sam took the hint and disappeared into his own tent, leaving Steve to crawl into his sleeping bag alone.
He didn't sleep.
It was another two months before he saw Tony in person. This whole time, the press had been absolutely buzzing with curiosity. By that time, Fury had gotten into contact with Steve and set them up in a safe house. Steve was absolutely unsurprised to get the invitation to be on a talk show opposite Tony. At first he'd rejected the idea completely, but the urge to see Tony again proved to be too strong. With a written promise that Steve would not be arrested if he agreed to show up, Steve made the trip back to New York alone.
It was strange to be back in the city again. Everything had changed so much, but New York was still the same. Stranger too, how comforting that was. After Peggy died, Steve was left feeling completely adrift, like he had nothing tethering him to the future. Saving Bucky had changed that temporarily - but it was funny now to think that even without Bucky, he still had a place here. Standing in front of what used to Avengers Tower, though that was in name only, it hurt to remember what he'd so easily forgotten.
The press in general made Steve uncomfortable. Talk shows were worse, though he was a fair hand at dealing with them. He showed up at the studio almost an hour late, but they were so thrilled he'd followed through on his promise to come that no one said a word. He was dressed, made up, and brought to the green room exactly five minutes before the show was due to start.
And there, in that cramped green room, was the first time that Steve saw Tony again.
"Tony," he said, fingers tightening on the cards that a P.A. had stuffed into his hands at the last minute.
It took Tony a moment to answer. His gaze was funny, kind of distant, when he looked up at Steve. "Rogers."
That hurt, though Steve supposed he could've expected it. "How have you been?" he asked. It wasn't what he wanted to ask. But even if he could make the right questions come out, he couldn't ask them with Talbot standing right there in the corner of the room.
"I'm okay," Tony said. He pasted on that fake smile that had always driven Steve crazy. The press-ready, plastic smile that wasn't even close to the real Tony Stark. "And you?"
"I'm good. Everyone's good," Steve said. He tried to catch Tony's eyes, but Tony wouldn't look right at him. "How is everyone on your side?"
He didn't mean it the way it came out, but Tony clearly took it that way. The plastic smile vanished, replaced by a cool expression, and Steve was bracing himself for what was about to come out when the door swung open and the P.A. stuck her head in.
"We're ready for you," she chirped, so obnoxiously happy that Steve cringed inwardly.
"Great," Tony said, flashing her a smile. "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
The talk show was an unmitigated disaster. Not to the public. Oh no, Steve was positive that the public would be eating it up. He'd discussed what he was going to say with Fury and Natasha at length, and he was ready with both a calm, reasonable defense of Bucky and his refusal to sign the Sokovia Accords. Tony had clearly had a lot of practice as well, because every word that came out of his mouth was a load of bullshit written by someone else - someone, Steve strongly suspected, that was either General Ross or very close to him. Not a single word sounded like anything that Tony would actually say. It was all so much more complicated than just "it was the right thing to do".
Needless to say, Steve was pissed by the end of it, but he didn't have the luxury of leaving immediately like Tony did: he had to stick around and make nice with a dizzying amount of people before he could escape backstage. He was half-expecting that Tony would've left already, but when he asked around he was told that Tony and Talbot had gone back to the green room. Steve backtracked to the room, head spinning with all of the things he wanted to say and all of the things he didn't know how to say -
He didn't expect to walk in on Tony having a panic attack while Talbot stood over him, hand around Tony's wrist in a bruising grip.
"Get up," Talbot was saying in a low, angry tone. "Ross is waiting. If you do this here, you -"
"Let go of him," Steve barked, words out before he could stop himself. Maybe he should have waited. Maybe he should have let Talbot continue; should have whipped out his phone and recorded what was going on so that they would have evidence. Neglect, child abuse, Little abuse, whatever you wanted to call it. It was happening.
"Excuse me, I am his caregiver, and this is none of your concern," Talbot said. He still hadn't let go of Tony's wrist. If anything, his grip tightened, and Tony whimpered.
Yeah, that was it. Steve gripped the collar of Talbot's uniform with one hand and forearm with the other. He squeezed tightly enough that Talbot flinched and released Tony. Steve wanted dearly to break the man's face, but he settled for strong-arming Talbot across the room and literally kicking him out. He slammed the door behind Talbot with satisfaction, anger still burning through him. He wanted to do so much more, and if they hadn't been in such a public place he might very well have.
"Tony," he said, turning around, aching. He wanted to hug Tony. He wanted to pick up his Little and take him somewhere safe. He wanted to -
"Why did you do that?" Tony asked. His voice was shaky. He was still gasping for breath, still trembling even though he was trying to hide it. His hands were clenched into fists, but even his acting wasn't enough to conceal just how on edge he was.
"He was hurting you!"
"I was fine. I don't need you pushing your nose in where it doesn't belong! This is what you do every damn time and I'm sick of it!"
The quiver in Tony's voice stopped Steve cold. They couldn't have this argument, not here, not when Tony was like this. Steve could see the signs as clearly as though someone had laid them out for him: Tony was minutes, maybe even seconds, away from dropping completely. He was exhausted and scared and so strung out that it was, frankly, a miracle that he wasn't just curled up crying on the floor at this point. Steve couldn't think of any other Little who would be capable of handling this much stress.
Tony never ceased to amaze him.
"Okay," he said, figuring it was time to change tactics. "Okay, you're right. I got mad, but I should have asked you if you were alright before I reacted."
Tony squinted at him, not looking convinced, and finally shrugged. "Whatever. I have shit to do." He stood up, knees buckling and almost sending him right back down on the seat.
"Tony -" Steve had to stop himself from reaching out, mostly because he didn't think Tony would react well if he tried.
"Get out of the way, Steve," Tony said, hunching his shoulders a little. Somewhere along the way, he'd washed off the make-up that they had to wear for television. The circles under his eyes were shockingly prominent; he looked thin and sick under a weight too heavy for anyone to carry alone.
"Please don't leave like this, Tony. I - we're still friends. I want to help out."
Tony laughed, though he cut the sound short when it started to sound more like a sob. "Friends? I'm not naive enough to believe that. And help me? How exactly do you expect to do that when Ross is gunning for your head on a platter? Besides, I don't need any more of your help. I'm capable of dealing with this all on my own, thanks. It's what I deserve, and besides at least if I'm alone, I can be sure I won't end up with a shield coming down at my head."
Steve winced. "Tony..."
"Move, Steve."
What else could Steve do? He obeyed, stepping aside and letting Tony walk out of the room past him, even though every instinct in his body was screaming at him to scoop Tony up and take him away somewhere safe. Somewhere he could just cuddle with Tony while the rest of the world moved on around them, the way they used to. He missed that so badly it physically ached.
He might have done it, too, but Tony was wearing both the bracelets to call the suit and the wristwatch that could turn into a gauntlet. Touching him now would mean receiving a repulsor blast to the face, not to mention bringing the whole security team down on them. Plus whatever goons Ross had hanging around. It would be one thing if Tony agreed to leave with him peacefully, but that wasn't going to happen anytime soon.
On auto pilot, Steve followed and watched as Tony went right up to Talbot and spoke a few words. Talbot smirked in Steve's direction as he and Tony walked out.
Needless to say, Steve wasn't thrilled when he (after a the long and complicated drive, considering how many times he had to double back and lose Ross's agents) walked into the safe house and found Fury waiting for him. "I'm not in the mood right now," he said tightly, shedding the suit jacket he'd been wearing.
"I don't remember caring," Fury replied, crossing his arms. "Which is a stance you should be very familiar with, Captain."
Steve set his jaw, looking up with a glare. "I don't need to explain myself or my decisions to you."
"No, you don't seem to feel the need to explain to anyone. You and Stark are both cut from the same cloth," Fury said. "In particular you, Captain, are a hypocrite. I seem to recall standing in a barn house kitchen and listening to you lecturing the team on how you don't like secrets. And how secrets between teammates aren't healthy. Ring any bells?"
"That was different," Steve muttered, knowing it was a weak defense. He and Fury had had this argument before. Several times now. It mostly ended with Fury yelling at him until Steve got mad and stormed out of the room. The first time Natasha pointed out that he was acting like a teenager getting scolded by his father, he'd had to stop himself from punching her.
"Different because it was Stark and not you? You don't get to have different standards from the rest of us. Neither of you went about this situation the right way." Fury sighed, unfolding his arms. "Look, I didn't come here today to make another attempt at pounding this through your thick head. I came to ask you about Stark. How is he?"
Steve lifted his head, wary. "Not good. He's not sleeping or eating. Close to a drop. And that caregiver is a useless piece of shit."
"Bordering on abuse, right?" Fury said, something complicated between anger and weariness passing over his face. He looked very old. "I've had my suspicions. Some of my agents confirmed it. But none of them can get close enough to Stark, not that he would be willing to confide in them even if they did. We don't have any proof. I don't suppose you could supply that."
"No," Steve said, suddenly regretting his hasty actions even more. Now more than ever, he wished he'd taken the time to record Talbot and Tony.
"Of course not. This is just fucking fantastic."
"Can't you do something?"
"Without proof? What exactly would you like me to do, Rogers? I'm not exactly the government's most trusted person right now either, though at least I don't have charges of treason and several arrest warrants hanging over my head. I can't get close enough to Stark to say hello, much less speak to him about matters Ross wouldn't want us speaking about. And forget any video surveillance. Much as I hate to admit it, Ross isn't that stupid. He has Stark exactly where he wants him and he's not going to give that up easily."
"So you're saying it's hopeless?" Steve asked, an edge in his voice. He wasn't prepared to accept that answer.
"No, I'm saying it would've been a hell of a lot easier if you hadn't been so fucking stupid," Fury said crossly.
"What do you want me to say?" Steve demanded. "I don't think an apology is going to fix things now."
"It would be a damn good start. But I'm not the one you need to apologize to." Fury raised an eyebrow at him before turning, coat sweeping out behind him as he stalked out of the room. His words floated back: "We're going to extract Tony Stark, Rogers, and if you want to be his friend, never mind his caregiver, you better start getting your head out of your ass. I have dozens of safe houses all over the world and plenty of caregivers who would love to care for an abused, traumatized Little. You're not nearly as important as you think you are."