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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."

Chapter Text

"Ross knows you've been in contact with him. With all of them. And you know what, I bet that if you'd just tell him where Captain America is things would go a lot more smoothly for you. I bet he would even buy you a new toy. Wouldn't you like that?"

Tony didn't lift his head. He wasn't sure he could control the utter distaste in his expression, so it was safer to keep staring at the floor. Talbot might have tested as a caregiver, but the man really did not have the mental or emotional capability to care for a plant, much less a Little. Even now, his attempt at sounding coaxing was just pathetic. He couldn't even hide the derision in his voice when he said the word "toy".

"No," Tony said softly. No, he wouldn't like that. His small collection of toys was still back at the tower as far as he knew; he couldn't remember the last time he'd held his favorite stuffed animal. But he knew it was for the best. He was barely clinging to being big as it was. Besides, having a toy - any toy - in front of Talbot would be humiliating, because Talbot would just give him that look that said Tony was being completely pathetic. He got that look a lot.

He closed his eyes. His head hurt. He was really tired, but he couldn't sleep - and when he did, he had horrible nightmares and always woke up crying. The first time that happened, Talbot told him to stop being such a baby. It was a reaction at odds with Tony's last caregiver, who always cuddled and comforted him after a bad dream. He missed his daddy so much.

No. No. He was not going to think that way anymore. Tony Stark didn't have a daddy. He lifted a hand to rub at his eyes, forcing away the tears, and realized that Talbot was still ranting.

" - don't even understand what's at stake! I thought you were supposed to be one of the smartest men in the world. A genius. I have no fucking idea how you managed to pull the wool over everyone's eyes for so long. You're just a baby," Talbot said with a contemptuous sneer, standing over Tony. "You have no idea what you're giving up by trying to be loyal to people who don't even like you. Captain America hates you. He tried to kill you. Why are you protecting him?"

Tony whimpered before he could stop himself, memories of that horrible day washing over him again, but refused to say anything. That only seemed to make Talbot angrier. He made a grab for Tony's hair, cruelly yanking Tony's head up.

"Listen to me, you little brat," he said, staring into Tony's eyes. "I was promised everything I could want if I got the location of the Avengers out of you. I've been nice. I put up with your ridiculous shenanigans. And I'm sick of pandering to a baby. If you won't give me the information I want, I'm going to figure out another way to take it."

"You can't do that," Tony whispered. His heart was pounding. He felt like he should be doing something. But what? What was the point? If he screamed, no one would come. If he cried, Talbot would just get angrier. The cracks in his big persona were widening, and he was feeling so little right now, and - and what was the point in trying to defend himself when no one wanted him anymore?

Talbot laughed in his face. "No one cares about you now. You used to be an important pawn, but you're old news now, Stark. What difference would it make to anyone if I hurt you?" He let go of Tony's hair, only to backhand him across the face.

It hurt, but that was nothing new to Tony. And it was nothing compared to the pain when Talbot took hold of Tony's arm, one hand at his elbow and the other at Tony's wrist, and neatly snapped his arm. Tony cried out, shocked at how much it hurt. He'd been hurt before - way worse than that - but usually in the middle of a battle, when adrenaline was enough to temper the worst of it. This was so sharp.

"That's a warning," Talbot said softly, purposely jostling his arm. He smiled when Tony started to cry and the pungent scent of urine filled the air. Tony didn't mean to let go of his bladder; it just happened when he lost focus. Talbot had almost slapped him last time it happened, but this time he just looked amused. Like Tony had proven his point.

"I'll give you ten minutes to think about it, and if you're not willing to tell me about the other Avengers I'll break the other one."

He stepped back and turned on his heel, walking out of the room. Tony bent over his arm and cried. It hurt so much, and he wanted his daddy. But Daddy didn't want him anymore, so he didn't know what to do. He tensed when the door opened up, looking up with wide, scared eyes.

"Uh. Mr. Stark?" Peter Parker froze in the doorway, eyes darting around. "Are you - uh. Um. What's wrong?"

At one time Tony might've been able to scrabble together enough of his training to be big now that someone else was in the room. But he couldn't now. Everything was too much. He sobbed harder, barely managing to stutter out, "D-daddy!" before anything else was lost to a wail.

Peter's eyebrows drew together in a confused frown. He stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him, and crept closer. His expression changed really fast when he caught sight of Tony's arm. He crossed the distance between them quickly, not even seeming to mind that he was stepping in pee, and crouched down to look up into Tony's face.

"Hey," he said, kind but firm, and he sounded so much like Daddy that Tony actually looked at him.

"That looks like it hurts," Peter said, gesturing to Tony's arm. "What happened?"

Tony just sniffed, eyes welling up with fresh tears.

"Okay. Okay, you can't tell me, that's okay. You want your daddy, right? That's, um, yeah, okay. Come here." Peter was small and thin, but he picked Tony up effortlessly. No one else but Daddy was able to do that. Tony started to cry again, soundlessly this time, because Talbot got mad if he was too loud.

"Oh god, I'm sorry, did I hit your arm? Shit. Uh, forget I said that. Aunt May would kill me for swearing in front of a Little. I tested as a caregiver last year, you know. It'll be a long time before I get a Little, but I always thought I'd like someone pretty young. Like you. Except not you, because you've already got a daddy and I'm going to take you to him. Okay? Okay. We're okay." Peter was sounding more strained by the second.

He seemed to realize that he wouldn't be able to get through the door with Tony. Instead, he carried Tony over to the window and pushed it up. It was cold and wet outside, but Peter slung a leg over the windowsill and put a hand on Tony's head, gently pushing his head down and through. Peter followed, pushing them both out the twenty story window without fear, and Tony couldn't help shutting his eyes with a terrified whimper. Daddy had never done this.

They fell for only a few seconds before jerking to a stop, momentum swinging them forward, and then they were landing roughly. Peter stumbled, thrown off by Tony's weight, and just barely managed to twist so that he hit the ground and Tony landed on top of him. Fresh pain roared through Tony and he sobbed.

"Shit. I mean - shit. I'm sorry, kiddo." Peter sat up quickly. It was dark, and Tony flinched when he felt a hand on his arm. Peter yanked his hand away and said, "I won't hurt you, Tony. I promise. I'm going to take you back to your daddy."

Tony thought about telling Peter that Daddy didn't want him anymore, but slipped his thumb into his mouth instead. He was so tired, and the pain from his arm was making him feel dizzy.

"Yeah," Peter said under his breath. "Can I pick you up again? I promise we won't go webbing anymore. We'll take the stairs."

He reached for Tony, sliding his hands under Tony's armpits and easily lifting him again. Tony hooked his legs over Peter's hips automatically, putting his broken arm between their bodies. Peter held him close and ran for the door of the roof; it was locked, but Peter broke it easily. Then they were inside, out of the rain, and Peter was taking the stairs two at a time. His arms were wrapped securely around Tony, jostling him as little as possible.

Tony shivered as they emerged back outside into the rain and tried to curl into him more, but Peter didn't have the kind of body mass that he was used to. He didn't give off the kind of heat that Daddy did, either, and Tony kept shivering as they started walking down the New York city sidewalk. At least it was late enough that no one was looking at them.

Or at least, that's what Tony thought. Before they had gone more than three blocks, a car pulled up beside them. The tinted windows rolled down and -

"Peter Parker?"

"Uh," Peter said.

"Maria," Tony mumbled around his thumb.

"You know her?"

Peter must have felt Tony's half-hearted nod, because he turned towards the car. "Yes, that's me."

"My name is Maria Hill. I've been asked to take Mr. Stark to a more secure location." Her smile was not unfriendly. "And you as well, if you'd like to come."

"Sure," Peter said, not actually sounding all that sure, and started to reach for the back door, but before he could, it was opened by someone in the car. Peter stopped, arms tightening around Tony.

"Phil Coulson. I work with Agent Hill," said the guy in the car, and Tony was well and truly done. He buried his face in Peter's neck, shaking, and refused to look up as Peter awkwardly maneuvered the two of them into the backseat and tried to arrange Tony on his lap when Tony refused to let go of him.

"Nice to meet you. Do you have a blanket or something?" said Peter, and Coulson must've given him one because there was something heavy being wrapped around Tony's shoulders. It didn't help that much because his clothing was soaked.

"Are either of you injured?" Coulson asked.

"I'm not. Tony... his arm might be broken."

"I see." Coulson sounded very bland, with an undercurrent of pissed. It was a familiar tone. Tony squeezed his eyes shut and shook harder.

"I don't think he wants to be looked at right now," Peter added.

"That's fine. We have a doctor where we're headed," said Hill.

"And that is...?"

"A safe house. For the avengers," said Coulson. "It's a long drive."

He wasn't kidding. Silence reined in the car after that; if Peter had questions, which he must have, he was keeping them to himself. He didn't relax his grip on Tony for one moment. Between the warmth in the car and Tony's exhausted state, it was hard to stay awake for the whole time, and more than once Tony caught himself with his cheek mashed to Peter's shoulder and drool trickling down his chin. He blinked increasingly heavy eyes and turned his head a little.

As their clothing started to dry, the scent of urine became more obvious. Neither Coulson nor Hill mentioned it, though Tony caught Hill wrinkling her nose and flicking on the system to draw cool air in from outdoors. His face grew hot and he hid again.

It was at least five hours before the car stopped. Hill and Coulson clambered out. Peter was slower to follow, adjusting Tony on his hip once they were standing without being asked, and both of them looked up at the cabin. Hidden as it was in the woods, it appeared to be nothing more than a very luxurious (and enormous, spanning at least three floors and a good 10,000 square feet) vacation spot.

"Come on, Tony," Peter said softly, one thin hand pressed against Tony's shoulders to keep him in place. Gravel crunched under their feet as they walked up to the doors. Hill pressed her pinkie finger to a small scanner and the locks clicked open. She pushed the door open and stepped aside for Peter and Tony.

Tony's heart started pounding again, all traces of exhaustion vanishing. That was a lot of people. His eyes swept over too many faces - Natasha, Fury, Wanda, Clint, Vision, Rhodey, Sam, Scott, people he didn't know, too many - and then there was Daddy. Daddy was looking back at him, face pale, his hands half-lifted as though intending to take Tony away from Peter.

"Sir," Hill said, walking over to Fury. It was the sight of them which did it. Coulson followed her, and the three of them together was just so - so normal, a throwback right back to the days of SHIELD, and it was everything that Tony had been missing so desperately, and he just couldn't anymore.

"No."

"Tony?" Peter looked at him. Tony squirmed to get down, and Peter obeyed. His legs felt like mush, barely holding him, but Tony didn't care. He didn't want to be there. He started backing towards the door.

"Tony!" Daddy said, and he stepped forward like he might try to touch Tony.

"No!" Tony said again, a little frantically, flinching away.

Daddy stopped. He looked devestated.

Tony could feel himself starting to cry again, and that made him mad. He didn't want to cry. He didn't want to be little; he wanted control, but the words built up and burst out. "You hurt me and you didn't come when I cried and you don't want me and I hate you," he cried, trying to hold back the sobs. "You left me alone with bad people."

"Tony..." Daddy said.

"No! No! And you - you're not supposed to be here!" Tony yelled, pointing at Coulson. "I don't like you! Any of you! I don't want to be here. I want to go -" He stopped before he could say the word 'home', because he didn't have one of those anymore. He had an empty tower and an empty facility and no one who actually wanted him around.

"Hey," Natasha said, taking a step closer, but her tone of voice was all wrong and it only upset Tony even more.

"Leave me alone!" he shouted at her, stepping backwards. There was a vase of flowers on the table beside the door, and Natasha tensed when Tony picked it up. He wanted to throw it at her. He wanted to throw it really bad. He wanted to throw himself to the ground and cry and scream and wail, but Howard and Talbot always got mad when he was loud and Daddy already hated him and Tony didn't want anyone to hurt him even more.

He dropped the vase. It made a loud, scary sound when it hit the ground and he burst into tears. He crumbled to the floor, hand over his face, sobbing.

He didn't see what happened next, but then someone - Peter - was picking him up. "Hey Tony," Peter said, and the only sign he'd been affected was the tick in his jaw. "There's a doctor here who wants to look at your arm. His name is Bruce. Would that be okay?"

Bruce? Tony looked up, and sure enough there was Bruce standing beside Fury and Daddy. Tony wailed and stretched out his arm out for Bruce.

"Aww, Tony," Bruce said, looking very sad, and he moved in closer and let Tony hug him. "Is it okay if I look at your arm? Peter can stay with you, if you like. It won't hurt, I promise."

People broke promises all the time so Tony didn't care. He just didn't want Bruce to leave again. So he nodded. Bruce put a hand to his forehead and then stroked his hair. "Come on, then. This way."

Peter carried him up the stairs and down a long hall and into a large room. He sat down on a metal table and held Tony in his lap. Bruce helped him to take off his suit jacket and the button-up shirt. He scowled when he saw Tony's arms and the very obvious handprints that had deepened into bruises on Tony's elbow and wrist, and Fury and Daddy exchanged glances.

"I'm going to give you a shot. It'll make you feel sleepy," Bruce said. "You can go to sleep. You're safe here, Tony." He drew up the needle as he talked. Tony didn't like needles, so he turned his head away and automatically looked at Daddy while Bruce gave it to him.

Almost right away, he started feeling sleepy. He put his head down on Peter's bony shoulder while Bruce wheeled a machine over. By the time the first X-ray was taken, he was out.

--

Long after Tony finally passed out, Bruce kept working. He took X-rays of Tony's arm, declared it broken, and set the bone before putting it in a cast. But he didn't stop there. And with the results of each new test, the mood in the room grew even more tense. Exhaustion. Dehydration. Malnutrition. The black and white numbers were impossible to ignore.

"Your prognosis, Dr. Banner?" Fury said finally, breaking the silence.

"Tony is at the breaking point," Bruce replied. There was a hint of green to his eyes when he lifted his head. "He's running a fever, too, simply from being so run down. He needs best rest, good food and a lot of care. Not only has his body been pushed to the limit, mentally... I've never seen him like this. God only knows how long it's been since he allowed himself to really be little. That's put an enormous strain on him, both physically and mentally. I don't think he can handle anymore." He was looking at Steve as he spoke.

Fury sighed. "I was afraid of that," he said, more to himself than to anyone else. "Do me a favor, Banner. I know you took pictures of his arm before you cast it. Make sure to get some of his face, too. We need evidence if we're going to charge Ross and Talbot."

"Tony won't want to charge them. It will bring too much attention to him," said Bruce.

"In this situation, I don't think we have a choice. I'll talk it over with Stark before we do anything, but I'd like to have the pictures regardless."

Bruce nodded. "Fine. I'm going to get Tony changed and bathed. You're - Peter Parker, is it? Would you be willing to help me?"

"I can -" Steve began.

"No," Bruce said instantly, pinning him with a hard look. "If you think I'm letting you anywhere near Tony right now, Steve, you're crazy."

"He's my Little."

"He also thinks you hate him," Peter spoke up. He'd been sort of hovering beside the exam table the whole time. Now, he shifted uncomfortably when everyone looked at him. "I mean, he wanted his daddy but that's like... that's what babies do, right?" He looked at Bruce for support. "I don't know that he really wanted you."

Steve flinched, but Bruce was nodding again. "I agree. Until Tony tells me that he's okay with you taking care of him, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Peter didn't know any of the Avengers very well. But it didn't take a genius to know that wasn't what Steve wanted to hear. Just like he could tell that Bruce wasn't going to change his mind. The two men stared at each other for at least a minute, and Peter couldn't help shifting uncomfortably. Literally the last thing they needed right now was to have the Hulk make an appearance. He glanced at Tony, wondering if he should be doing something to get Tony to a safe place.

"Fine," Steve said reluctantly, ending the stare-off. "But I want to be kept up to date on any changes to Tony's status. And told as soon as he wakes up."

"You'll get what you get," Bruce said, bristling. "I'm just as mad at Tony as you are, but what you did Steve..." He shook his head. "Get out."

Steve scowled, glanced longingly at Tony one more time, and left. Fury said a few quiet words to Bruce and followed. Without their presence, the mood in the room felt, if not any lighter, at least easier to bear.

"God, what we've come to," Bruce muttered, running a hand through his hair. He stared at Tony for a few seconds and then sighed before turning to Peter. "We weren't formally introduced. I'm Bruce Banner. You must be Peter Parker, a.k.a. Spider-Man."

"That's me," Peter said, accepting the offered hand and shaking it carefully. It was still weird to hear his alter ego's name brought up in casual conversation.

"Do you mind if I ask you what happened tonight?"

"No, not at all. Um... Mr. Stark was supposed to do a presentation tonight at Empire State, and I'm kind of into science so he sent me an invitation. He asked me to meet him beforehand..." Peter glanced at the still body on the table. Tony Stark had always seemed so flashy and full of life. It was hard to reconcile that man with the one Peter had just spent the past six hours cuddling with.

"I take it you accepted," said Bruce. He started unbuckling Tony's belt.

"Well, yeah, I mean, who wouldn't? Mr. Stark just wrote this amazing paper on arc reactors and clean living and I wanted the chance to ask him some questions about -" He cut himself off, catching Bruce's indulgent smile, and redirected. "Uh, I don't know what happened before I got there, but Mr. Stark - Tony was, he was crying, and his arm was like that..." Peter experienced that odd, slow flush of anger all over again. He'd only ever felt that way once before, when one of Aunt May's boyfriends got a little too handsy for his liking.

"We might be able to get video surveillance footage," Bruce muttered, pulling Tony's pants and boxers down. His movements were clinical, as though he'd done this a thousand times before. "Would you get me some warm water in a bucket, please?"

"Sure," Peter said, grateful for the chance to be useful. He hurried over to the sink. There was already a bucket on the counter. He began filling it with water, adding in a little squirt of soap.

"So continue," Bruce said over the sound of the water. "What did you do when you saw Tony?"

"Uh, he said he wanted his daddy. I figured - I'd seen the news, I knew it was Captain America," Peter said. It still gave him a little rush to talk about his heroes. "I didn't think it would be a good idea to go out the front door. So I picked him up and we went out the window."

"Out the window?"

Peter turned, drawing up his sleeve, showing off his wrist. "Webbing. Tony didn't like it much. He cried a lot. But it was the only way I could think of."

"Babies do that. Thank you for taking him out of there, Peter."

"You're welcome," Peter mumbled, flushing. He brought the mostly full bucket over to Bruce and hung back, watching, as Bruce dipped a cloth in the water and began washing Tony off from head to toe. Again, he was brisk and efficient at the task, even when he was sliding the cloth between Tony's thighs.

"What then?" Bruce asked, and Peter startled a little.

"Oh. Well, I got us to the building next door. We went down the stairs. And then those two agents pulled up. Tony recognized them, so I got in the car and they brought us here." Peter shrugged. And then everything had turned into a complete fucking disaster, but he didn't say that. He'd seen meltdowns before, but Tony's had been something spectacular.

"Yeah," Bruce said, the word mostly a sigh. "None of this was handled well. From what I've heard, it was a disaster all around. Which, fair enough, but now Tony is the one who's paying the price and dealing with all of the consequences. Would you grab me the diaper bag under the counter, please?"

Peter obeyed, handing the plain blue bag over without a word. Bruce removed a diaper, cream and baby powder. He slipped the diaper under Tony, absentmindedly pushing Tony's thighs apart. Automatically, Peter looked away.

"Are you a caretaker?" he asked before he could stop himself.

Bruce chuckled a little. "No, I'm not. I didn't test either way, actually. But I babysat Tony a few times when we were living in the tower, and I've seen my fair share of Littles as patients. You can look now, by the way."

"Sorry," Peter said, not sure what he was apologizing for. The diaper was on now, and Bruce was skillfully manipulating Tony's hands into a onesie that snapped down the front.

"It's fine. I should have asked you if you were comfortable staying. Steve's the best one at this." Bruce sighed, taking a moment to straighten his glasses. "Clint is pretty good too, of course. But Natasha's never done it, and I don't think she will. Some people just find it odd, and that's okay, caretaker or not. You might find yourself clicking with an older Little."

"Maybe." But Peter didn't think so. "What now?"

"Now? Now we put this little one to bed." Bruce did the last snap and stepped back. "Would you mind?"

Peter carried Tony down to a bedroom - no, a nursery. There was a crib and a changing table and a toy box and a rocking chair, all of it designed for an adult. At Bruce's direction, he set Tony down in the crib. Bruce pulled the blanket up over Tony's shoulders and took a pacifier from a drawer of the changing table. He gently pushed the pacifier into Tony's mouth and then pulled up the side of the crib.

"This is one of Fury's safe houses. I'm pretty sure he set this place up with Tony in mind," he remarked, even though Peter wasn't completely sure who Fury was. "We should let Tony sleep for now. That shot I gave him should help with the pain. When he wakes up, it's hard to say whether or not he'll be Little. If he is, I might need your help again. If you're willing."

"Absolutely," Peter said without the slightest bit of hesitation. "Whatever I can do to help." And he meant it.

Chapter Text

Tony’s head, face and arm all ached, which is what yanked him out of the best sleep that he’d had in months. The pain was too much to ignore, not to mention that once his brain clicked into gear, there was too much that he needed to do. He opened his eyes slowly; he knew exactly where he was, though not his precise location, inside of Fury’s safe house. The bars not half a foot from his face suggested that someone, hopefully not Steve, had put him to bed.

He sat up, brushing a hand down the onesie he was wearing. He had on a diaper, too, and it was soiled in more than one way. Tony wrinkled his nose as he glanced down at his arm, which was set in a cast. For a few seconds, he let himself daydream about not forcing himself to be big, a world where he could just cry and his daddy would come rushing in to set everything right.

That wasn’t going to happen, though. The thought made him ache somewhere deep inside where medication couldn’t reach. Peter had made a mistake in bringing him here, but he couldn’t fault Peter for that. What else would you do with a hysterical Little? It was Tony’s fault for pushing aside his biological impulses for as long as he had. He should’ve figured out a way to set aside a few stolen moments here and there when Talbot wasn’t looking.

Now he’d gone and fallen over the breaking point, and those hours last night hadn’t been nearly long enough. Already he could feel his hold on his big side splintering, threatening to fall to fragments he couldn’t hold onto; he had to get out of here before he slipped again.

The crib was store bought and easy to manipulate once he worked a hand through the bars. The side fell and Tony slung his legs over, standing carefully. It felt like every muscle in his body protested the change in position at once and he winced. Apparently web slinging really did not agree with someone on the wrong side of forty.

There was a bathroom connected to the room. Tony slipped inside and rid himself of the diaper, tossing it in the garbage to be disposed of later and cleaning himself up. It was awkward with only one hand, and more than once he had to stop and bite the inside of his cheek until the threat of tears had passed. He could do this; he’d done it for years before the team walked into his life and he’d do it for years after.

He discarded the onesie for a pair of soft lounge pants that he found in the closet, and he was in the middle of pulling them on when the door opened and Steve poked his head in. They both froze. Tony’s heart started to race. There went his hopes of quietly slipping out of the house before anyone realized he was gone. He’d been so close.

“Tony?” Steve said finally. “I – you’re awake.”

That practically begged for a blank look accompanied by a succinct ‘duh’, but Tony was just… he was tired. He finished pulling the pants up. “I’m also leaving.”

“Leaving? Why?”

Tony shot him a look of pure disbelief. “Why? Why do you think?”

“But you’re hurt.”

“You didn’t care about that last time,” Tony said. Much to his surprise, Steve flinched.

“You’re also feeling very little,” he said.

“Don’t tell me how I’m feeling, Rogers.”

“Tony –”

“No. Just don’t,” Tony snapped, feeling the renewed sting of tears behind his eyes. He blinked furiously, refusing to give Steve the pleasure. “I really don’t think we have anything to say to each other right now, so I’m just going to leave and you – you do whatever the fuck you want. I’m taking a page out of your book. I don’t care.”

“I never stopped caring about you, Tony. But I know it seemed like it, and I’m sorry for that.”

For the second time, Tony froze. He’d never expected to actually hear those words out of the mouth of the great Captain America.

Steve seized his chance. “I think we both got carried away. You’re right. It wasn’t about the accords in the end, it was about protecting Bucky. And I – I didn’t tell you about your parents before because I wanted your help, and I thought you might not help if you knew, but that wasn’t my decision to make. It was yours.”

Tony stared at him. “Who told you to say that?”

“No one!” Steve protested. And then, when Tony just kept looking at him, sighed. “Fury and Coulson might have cornered me five or six or a dozen times and yelled at me for like six hours straight.”

“Good,” Tony muttered, though without heat. He wasn’t even angry anymore so much as he was tired. Tired of trying to protect everyone. Tired of always making the wrong decision. Tired of being left alone and behind. He turned away from Steve, holding his cast protectively against his chest.

“Tony.” Steve sounded anguished. “Baby –”

“Don’t call me that. You do not get to call me that,” Tony said. “I’m not…” And god, he couldn’t even bring himself to say it out loud. He didn’t even want to be Steve’s Little anymore... except that he did. He wanted it more than he could put into words. The conflicting emotions made his head hurt.

"I'm not good," he said quietly, looking down at the cast on his arm. "Nothing I do turns out the way I intend. I was trying to make things better with the accords. I wanted people to stop hunting us. I wanted to protect the team. Instead I ended up making everything worse." He squeezed his eyes shut, breath hitching on a sob. "Now everything has gone to shit, and I have nothing left. So I'm just going to leave before Bruce yells at me or Clint tries to put that arrow in my back."

"It wasn't all your fault, Tony."

"Oh, now you're interested in taking some of the blame? Because back there - back there, you said -" Tony had to pause just long enough to gulp "- you said you didn't tell me the truth about Barnes for my own good. That's bullshit. That's such bullshit and you know that, Steve, you didn't tell me and I had to find out by watching my m-" His voice cracked too much to continue.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry you found out that way. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I'm sorry that I didn't sit down and talk with you for five fucking seconds," Steve said. "Because I don't think the accords were right, but I left you behind with Ross and Tony, jesus Tony, please can I hug you?"

Tony should say no. He knew that. Nothing was going to be fixed in the span of one conversation; the smart thing to do would be to decline the offer, finish getting dressed, and get out of this safe house as fast as humanly possible.

But if he did leave, nothing would ever be fixed. He could see the future, clear as day: he and Steve would remain at crossroads forever. Maybe in the future they would come to a kind of stiff acquaintance, especially if it was necessary for them to fight together, but that's it. And Tony didn't want that, either.

Most of all, he just didn't want to be hurt anymore.

"I'm tired of being hurt," Tony said. His voice was shaky. Too shaky. "I can't -"

Steve sighed. "I won't promise that, Tony."

It was honest, and that's why Tony turned around to look at him. "Then why should I stay? I am so fucking tired, Steve. I'm - I haven't let myself be little in months. I can't. I don't have anyone to trust. You're supposed to be my partner. My daddy."

"I am."

"Well you sure as hell haven't been acting like it. How do I know you won't run off again once Barnes is defrosted?"

Steve winced. "Because I missed you," he said softly, miserably.

And it was so fucking selfish, but also probably the most truthful thing that had ever come out of Steve's mouth. "You missed me," Tony repeated doubtfully. "Did you really, or did you just miss having a Little around?"

"There are a lot of Littles out there, but none of them are like you," Steve said, looking Tony in the eyes. Much to Tony's surprise, his blue eyes were bright with unshed tears. "There's no one like you, and I was stupid before. You shouldn't give me a second chance. I don't deserve it. But I wish you would. Please. I need you. The whole team needs you."

Tony tried to steel himself, but it worked about as well as trying to hold onto his big side. Like holding onto sand or sugar. "It can't just be okay," he said through a sob. "I can't trust you like I did before."

"I'll earn back your trust, I swear. And I'll never break it again. I was stupid and arrogant and I fucked up a lot of things," Steve said. He shook his head. "Next time, we'll work together."

He still had his arms open. Tony took a step forward, but paused. Part of him still wanted to just turn around and run, if only to protect himself. But at heart, he was still just a stupid, dumb kid who wanted his daddy. He took another step, and then another, tensing when Steve's big arms carefully wrapped around him.

The last time they'd touched, Steve had been bringing the shield down onto the armor.

Tony tried to hold it back, but he started to cry.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Tony," Steve kept saying, hugging him tightly. He was crying too, rocking Tony back and forth.

No one had ever hugged him like that before.

Tony never wanted it to end. But it did, when Steve's grip tightened just a little too much and put pressure on his arm. He squeaked in pain and Steve released him instantly, looking stricken, though he didn't go far; he left his hands on Tony's shoulders, as though afraid Tony might disappear if too much distance got between them.

"Are you okay? Is your arm hurting you? Should I call Bruce? Or Fury? I can get Coulson in here -"

"Rhodey," Tony said, his head spinning at the bout of questions. "I - and Peter? Please."

"Sure. Of course. There's, um..." Steve hesitated, which was so unlike him that Tony frowned. "The room is fully stocked. I made sure of that. And you seem little right now. I think - maybe you should put a diaper back on."

"Oh. Right." Tony's face got a little hot, the way it always did. He hated to admit that Steve was right. Between the emotional turmoil and general exhaustion, not to mention the pain in his head and arm, there was no way he'd be able to consciously focus on keeping control of his bladder. Which meant that he'd inevitably wet himself, and that was the last thing he needed right now.

"Do you need help?"

"No," Tony said quickly. Too quick. Steve flinched, and a part of Tony felt guilty. Diaper changes had always been a special time between them. His daddy would lay Tony out on the changing table and coo at him, tickling his ribs and peppering kisses across his belly, until what should have been something miserable and embarrassing left Tony giggling instead. It was even better at night, because after the last diaper change, Steve would give him a full-body massage that was always guaranteed to send Tony right to sleep. He ached to lay down and feel those strong, steady hands on him again, but he just couldn't.

"Okay. I'll call Rhodes and Peter and wait right outside for you." He seemed reluctant to leave, though, looking a little too obviously from Tony to the window and back again.

Tony said, "I won't leave. At least not yet. I promise."

Steve gave him a searching look but nodded and stepped out of the room.

Suddenly, the room was simultaneously too big and too small. The contrast left Tony shivering. He dropped the pants he'd managed to pull up and, half-naked, walked over to the changing table. Steve hadn't been kidding when he said it was fully stocked. Tony ripped open a package of diapers, disregarding the cream and powder, and slipped it between his thighs. It was difficult to fasten the diaper with just one hand, and once or twice he actually considered calling Steve back in. He was too little to do this on his own, and tears of frustration started welling up in his eyes.

The door swung open at that exact moment. "Stark?"

"Go 'way," Tony choked out, because he did not want to see Coulson right now.

Coulson sighed and stepped into the room. "I could, Tony, but you're upset and you look like you need help."

"I don't need anything from you," Tony said, well aware that he was being childish, but he didn't care.

"I had the feeling you would say that. I brought back-up."

Tony's glare intensified when Fury walked in, shutting the door behind him. Fury ignored the glare entirely, walking straight over to Tony and removing the diaper from his hand. He expertly slipped it between Tony's thighs, pulled it up around his waist, and pinned the tabs in place.

"Don't give me lip, Stark," he said sternly, pinning Tony with a look. "I baby-sat you back when you were a physical baby; I've changed your diapers more times than I can count."

Tony had thought he was all cried out. Apparently he was wrong. Fury sighed and pulled him into a hug. It was a little awkward, but safe. So safe. Tony closed his eyes and curled closer. Something pressed to his lips, and he opened his mouth automatically to accept a pacifier. He followed blindly when Fury stepped backwards, and ended up being guided down onto a little couch that - oh. Yes, that rocking motion was very soothing indeed when coupled with a hand being stroked through his hair.

He stopped crying much faster this time and opened his eyes. He was sitting on a rocking couch, safely ensconced between Fury and Coulson. Neither man was saying anything; Fury was still hugging him, while Coulson was the one petting Tony's hair. The couch was facing a window, which had an amazing view - but Tony wasn't really paying attention to it. He was too busy focusing on all the people down below.

Most, if not all, of the team was outside on the lawn. Clint and Wanda were standing the furthest away; Vision was near them, but not with them, and he and Wanda kept exchanging little glances. Rhodey and Bruce appeared to be arguing with each other, judging by how quickly Bruce's hands were moving and the expression on Rhodey's face. Maria Hill was observing them; Peter stood next to her, hands in his pockets. Sam and Scott were sitting in the shade of the tree; a door banged in the distance, and Steve slumped into view, walking over to them very slowly.

There were more people out there too - he was pretty sure he saw Clint's family, for one thing - but Tony was too tired to identify them all. He sucked slowly on his pacifier and listened to Coulson and Fury talking in low voices for quite a while. It was calm and peaceful and exactly what he needed after months of feeling like he couldn't even breathe without worrying about a knife being plunged into his back. He honestly couldn't remember the last time someone had just let him be little like this.

"I know you're angry at me," Coulson said, and it took Tony several seconds to realize that Coulson was speaking to him. "Everyone was. I didn't mean to let it drag on for so long; I meant to come back right away and tell you all the truth, but then there was Hydra and I was reassigned to a new team and..." Coulson sighed heavily. "You guys were getting along fine without me."

Tony looked up at him. He didn't feel capable of speaking even without his pacifier, but he thought a single raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

"Yeah, I know," Coulson muttered with a rueful smile. He'd never stopped the petting of Tony's hair. "Stupid thinking on my part."

"I opted not to tell you because I didn't think it would make a difference," Fury said bluntly. "But you already know I made enough of those mistakes. And I'm not the only one."

Tony made a low, distressed noise in his throat. Both men shushed him.

"I didn't just mean you. We all had our part in this," Fury told him. His voice was brisk, but his hands were gentle where he was idly rubbing Tony's hip. "I've made my opinion of that very clear during the past three months. Now that you're away from Ross, we can start fixing this shit."

This time, Tony wasn't even aware of how quickly he tensed up or of the low, terrified whimper that spilled out of him. He just knew that he was being hugged and shushed again, and that Fury and Coulson were looking at each other in a way that seemed angry, just not at Tony. Or maybe at him; it was hard to tell the difference anymore. He whimpered again.

"You're okay," Coulson said, and his voice didn't hit the right register, but it was calming nonetheless. "I've talked to Clint at length. We've come to a few understandings. The Avengers were meant to be a team. That means no jumping to conclusions or hiding secrets." He sighed. "Like Fury said, we've all failed at this in some way. It's just unfortunate that you were the one who got left behind to deal with everything. I'm sorry, Tony. I thought it was better to bide my time, but I should have gotten you out of there sooner. Rather than wait for this to happen." He touched a gentle finger to Tony's cast, and Tony flinched.

Coulson frowned, and without a word he got up and left the room. Tony looked after him longingly, wishing that he would come back; he was mad at Coulson for having lied, but at the same time that betrayal felt a lot easier to handle than anything else that had happened. Maybe because it had happened a long time ago, and his grieving for Coulson had long-since been done and buried. Everything else was still so painfully fresh.

Down below, Bruce looked up suddenly and then started walking towards the house. Tony chewed on his pacifier, unconsciously wrapping his fingers around Fury's shirt.

"He's mad at you," Fury confirmed what Tony was thinking. "But I think, in time, he'll come around. Everyone will. Even you."

Tony didn't know how true that was. He wasn't even mad at anyone now; he was just desperately tired of everything and scared of being hurt and he just wanted to stop everything for a little while.

Fury put his foot flat on the ground and started the couch rocking again. A few minutes later, Coulson came in with a bottle. He sat back down beside them and pulled Tony against him, offering him the bottle.

"Bruce helped me make this. It has a painkiller in it. Do you want help, or would you prefer to do it yourself?"

Only Steve had given him a bottle before. Tony remembered being held in Steve's arms, looking up at that familiar face, and his heart ached. He opened his mouth, letting the pacifier fall out, and leaned forward to latch onto the nipple. The milk was warm and smooth, sliding down his throat and into his empty tummy.

"Good boy," Coulson murmured, not condescending but kind, and wrapped an arm around Tony's shoulders. Fury pulled Tony's bare feet up into his lap and covered his lower half with a soft blue blanket. Tony pinched the tip of it between his fingers, rubbing slowly, and closed his eyes while he drank. For a little while at least, he was safe.