Disclaimer: I own nothing. Like, really, nothing.

Takes place during The Avengers movie, the scene with everyone fighting in the lab.

Tony Stark

"Iron Man"

Rage-fueled brown eyes met cold blue ones. Harsh words spilled like blood, no care as to what they hit, as to how hard they hit. The icy eyes narrowed with a look too familiar for the billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist to ignore.

Suddenly, Tony wasn't the Tony Stark. He wasn't in the helicarrier toe-to-toe with Captain America himself, Steve Rogers. He didn't hear those words, "Take it away, what are you?"

He was Anthony Edward Stark, only son of the Howard Stark. He was in his room, walls plastered with Captain America posters. He heard his father's stories. Howard's eyes glowed with pride and admiration, not at his six year old son, but at the poster beside his bed. Lost in a wild tale about the Captain, Howard smiled at frozen photograph of the soldier.

The young Anthony looked up at his father, his small voice dragging him out of the past, "I'm gonna be a hero just like him!"

Howard looked down at him, the prideful gleam had vanished as soon as the little Stark had spoken, "No, Anthony, there was only one hero, and he's long gone."

"Can you tell me another story about him, then?" There wasn't a trace of hope in the six year olds voice, he knew his father's exchangeable responses, "I've got to get back to work" "I've got far too much to do tonight." "I can't, Anthony."

As Howard walked out the door, the child's eyes brimmed with unshed tears. No matter how hard he tried, he knew he would never earn the same small smile and little sparkle of admiration that the long dead Captain Steve Rogers had gotten.

The wrench skid across the concrete floor with a violent scraping sound, but the fourteen year old didn't care. Grease stained the knees and thighs of his jeans as Anthony Stark, slammed his forehead against the car door. He had long since ripped his posters into shreds, stomped his red, white and blue costume into the mud. He hated Captain America, and that thought burned itself into his mind. The wrench had stopped with clang once it hit the door where Howard Stark had just walked out.

Anthony was a year away from MIT, and he couldn't fix the car. "I bet Captain Steve fucking Rogers could fix the fucking car," he mumbled to himself. He had woken up that morning and strolled into the garage, where his father had directed him to fix it.

"If you're going to be an engineer, you've got to be able to find what's not working."

That was at seven that morning. It was just past five in the evening. Howard, expecting to find the pristine vehicle, instead found his son struggling under the car.

Anthony had caught his eyes as he watched, the chill orbs where practically overflowing with disappointment. Not that it was new, no, the memories reminded him of that.

"How can you expect to get into MIT early without being the top of your class?"

"Not good enough."

"You've gotta have iron in your backbone."

"Anthony, can you do anything right?"

The wrench flew out as the last one flared.

"He was perfect."

Captain Steve Rogers

"Captain America"

He didn't regret them when he said them. No, the words were his, there was no returning them. No denying them. What wasn't his was that look, the shocked, furious and, very deep down, hurt look in achingly familiar eyes. Thats what made him even more enraged.

It wasn't the name that Captain Steve Rogers recognized first about Tony Stark, it was his eyes, his fathers eyes. Steve had liked Howard, he seemed like an honest, hardworking man. He had gotten the impression that, if things had been different, they could've been friends.

After all, it was with all of Howard's help that he was who he was today. But this, this, was his son? This arrogant, self-obsessed, man-child? When he first met Tony, could didn't believe this was the Howard Starks son.

Then again. What did he know? He was at least ninety at this point, time had outrun him. Could that tall standing genius really have been just like his son?

He was at least ninety.

Ninety.

The fire of rage exploded in his heart, he was ninety. Howard was dead, Peggy was dead, Bucky was dead.

And there standing, the Man of Iron himself, glaring at the supersoldier with all the hate anyone could muster.

What did Stark have to hate? From what the news had told him, He had playboy bunnies, he had Pepper Potts, he had his money and his 'friends' and his suit of armor. He had people. Living, breathing, tangible people.

Did he wake up one day to find himself in an alien time? Did he have to hide away from the world because it was too much to handle?

Did he know what it was like to lose something?

A/N I got the idea from the line in Iron Man 2: "He never told me he loved me, he never even told me he liked me..." and mix it with the Avengers line, "THIS is the guy my dad never shut up about?" gives me, this.