Hey. Been a while, right? Sorry about that. Thanks for all the encouraging reviews, which have kept up a steady stream through my long period of... laziness... but it is 2014 (happy new year) and I am finally updating. Hey. Enjoy.
Oh, and- you demand, I supply. (Occasionally.) Coulson will be coming in this chapter due to popular request. Also, Tony gets hurt, due to popular request. And there's gonna be bonding, also due to popular request. And the Steve-not-knowing-about-abusive-asshole-Howard-Stark? That's not blowing down for a long while. And when it does, it'll be big. Look forwards to it.
And since it's been a while, let's do a summary of last chapter. (Flips over to chapter 6 word document.) Right. Clint followed Tony home, is assaulted by various security measures that our favourite genius has put up, and starts an interrogation. Tony Does Not Deal, and the lies that spew include a non-existent little sister called Shannon as well as a loving mom and maybe even a dad somewhere in the picture. Clint is suspicious, but nevertheless goes back to the tower, listens to Darcy's ranting, hears about Howard-Stark-the-Abusive-Asshole, shares the day with Natasha Romanoff. The end.
Now.
CHAPTER SEVEN- BEAT UP (And It Is All Clint's Fault)
Tony was reasonably disturbed when he woke up and reviewed the events of the past night.
First. Howard Stark. Damnit, that man could mess up Tony's entire life, even after dead. If anyone realised he was his son- like that Darcy person so nearly had- then bam, gone was all their respect for him. Here comes the pity. He'd seen it often enough, in school when his name was called out in the register on the first day, the inevitable drawing of eyes to him and slow fill of pity. The hushed whispers of ah shit, it's that Stark boy. The one who got abused. We gotta be nice to him, yeah? It had gotten easier- the constant looks and hushes and avoidance because no one wanted to befriend a broken object, the damaged goods- when the whole legal mess after Howard's death had been sorted out and he'd been disowned (thanks Dad, just the thing I wanted to hear at your funeral reading) so the last name had gone. Various foster parents had replaced it with their own and children's homes had added on something generic and easy on the tongue. No more of the looks, no more of the hushes. It had all transformed to hate and fucking, but that was okay.
But. Enough of that; if the Avengers found out about it, he could only imagine the looks on their faces. Te adults were always worse; always full of this well meaning pity, treating him like a doll, thinking he was broken already (not that he wasn't) after all the things he'd been through. The fragile peace so far he'd built up would end, just like that.
Of course he knew it was going to end sometime. But he'd always thought it would be on his own terms, because he did something, not because they finally found out about his father and all the resulting shame that happened with that.
And then. Next event of that charming evening; Clint.
He just had to follow him home, right? No texting. Not even phoning. Not stopping him from leaving the SHIELD headquarters. Not even running after him. He'd sneakily, horribly, silently followed Tony home, and Tony didn't even want to think about the trust that that showed.
And really. Shannon? His little sister was Shannon? His metaphorical little sister had the metaphorical, nonexistent name of Shannon. Tony's mind kept on returning to that small, insignificant but somehow momentous point- Shannon? Really? And of course, Clint hadn't even believed him at first (showed how much Tony's lying skills had deteriorated) and then attempted to go into the room. But getting electrocuted. Heh, that was funny.
Tony laughed a little and snapped himself out of the brief moments of self pity that had consumed him. He got out of bed and stretching, limbs cracking as he reached upwards then closed his eyes and flopped back down. So much effort- and shit, he'd have to do much more when he went in today to have more of that agonizing 'talk' with Clint. Plus all the Avengers, too. Great. Absolutely great.
Well, one day off wouldn't hurt. He'd already completed most of the work that had been his minimum for the entire year- he could afford just a day. And in that day, he'd-
Tony's phone pinged.
In sync with teenagers all over the world, no matter what circumstance or standing or religion or race or state or whatever, he stopped doing whatever he was doing (what was it?) and sprang up quickly, rushing over to his phone and scooping it up. An email from the bank. Just fucking great. Yeah, he needed everyone to tell him even more how many bills he was late on and how much he owed various people and how he still needed to get out that cash to pay the monthly rent (the owner of Tony's current apartment was a stone cold sneaky bastard who only accepted hard cash, on time, every month) and how he really needed to get enough to pay for electricity bills because he was going to freeze to death anytime now if he went the winter without heating. How much did he owe now? Tony irritably tapped open the email, scanning it quickly and not noticing anything but the extraordinary sum on the side. Actually, it wasn't that much; only four digits. That was weird; he could've sworn his debt was much bigger-
Before Tony noticed that this was his first pay check from SHIELD.
Tony whooped loudly, holding up his phone with that precious sum of money displayed in black on the screen, dancing comically around with a huge smile on his face. He flopped down when he realised that it was ridiculous, but the smile never strayed.
He was rich! Well. Not rich. But he had money! And fuck the bills, fuck the rent, fuck electricity and heating and the future. Fuck supplies and savings and debts. Tony knew exactly what he was going to be doing today.
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"Hey, Steve." Clint yawned, dropping out of the vents from his daily vent-run and walking into the kitchen lazily. "'Sup?"
Steve looked terrible. He was wearily frying some omelette, eyes drooping shut every now and then and dark circles under his eyes. The captain's skin was waxy and movements slow; occasionally he would jump at something, flinching hard, before taking a deep breath and turning back to the cooking.
"Darcy, right?" Clint said sympathetically, flopping down on a seat. He knew too well what the woman's wrath could do; a whole night with her, like Steve had spent, must have been disastrous; the normally cheerful Avenger certainly looked as if he had been through a particularly torturous ordeal.
"Right." Steve affirmed with a grunt, flipping an omelette onto the plate. He slid it over to Clint, who took it with a smile and instantly began eating. "Thank god she's gone. She and Jane are going away for a- wait for it- a whole year expedition on some science thing. The best news I have ever heard."
"Ahhh, that's why Jane and Thor were fucking each-other so loud last night. I had to go stay the night in Coulson's room five floors up 'cause it was so loud."
Steve immediately blushed, turning away and mumbling something as he cracked an egg into a bowl. Clint swore softly as he realised he'd broken the all important rule of never mentioning sex to Steve. Shit. "Anyway," Clint said, in a valiant attempt to change the conversation. "You seen Tony anywhere? He said he'd come early today, and I really need to talk to him."
"No, I haven't seen him yet." Steve answered. "I was meaning to ask- what happened last night? I went away for a bit and when I came back, Tony was gone and you were chasing after him."
Clint heaved a sigh and gestured for Steve to sit down and recounted what the events of last evening, much like he had done with Tasha. When he finished, Steve was frowning uncomfortably. "Somehow I thought things like this had changed." He said sadly when Clint stopped. "We all thought the future would be better, you know? That after the war, all the problems would be solved. Starvation. Pollution. Crime. Poverty."
"Yeah, Cap, I know." Clint said comfortingly, patting Steve on the shoulder. "At least we're helping, yeah?"
"Right." Steve bit out sadly. "So what are we going to do about Tony?"
"I dunno. Talk to him, I guess. I'm not sure about what he said about his family. I don't think he's lying- he probably has one, or he'd be in a children's home- but there's something wrong. And the area he's living in is... not where I want him to be. I don't know if... well. We'll talk to him. All of us. This is serious."
"Right." Steve said, leaning back with a slight sigh to reach and pull his sketchbook out of his bag. "I'm just gonna finish this, then."
"Yeah, I need to train with my bow for a bit before Tony gets here, so could you tell him I'm down in the archery range if you see him before I do?" Steve nodded. "Thanks." Clint got up and slung his bow, from where it rested in its customary place against the wall beside the kitchen, over his shoulder, jogging down to the archery range and testing out those explosive arrows Tony had made.
Man, they were freaking awesome.
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Tony risked a glance.
Fuck. No. God, it was as bad as ever.
He shut his eyes tight and swivelled to face the other side of his apartment determinedly, as if not looking at... it would somehow make it disappear. Tony wrapped his arms hard round himself and dug his fingers in, clenching his eyes until shards of dotted yellow appeared inside. Then he opened them swung round and stared.
No. No, it was still there.
Damnit. Denial was not getting him anywhere. He should have never gone near that tech store, or that building store, or that sleazy chemical shop, or that IT shop, or... But, the fact remained that he had. And those four digits of his pay cheque had gone towards a mound of bags sitting conspicuously on one side of his room stuffed to bursting with amazing gadgets and chemicals. He had around $100 left- nowhere near enough to pay off his bills. At all. At least he'd had a spark of common sense near the end of his disastrous shopping spree and thought to buy a bag of new clothes and winter wear, so he wouldn't be wearing the same worn hoodie and jeans to the Avengers every day (he was thinking that had been beginning to notice) but otherwise he was screwed.
Tony sighed.
It was still freezing in his apartment. He was huddled in a coat under a duvet on his mattress, and still his teeth chattered. Electricity bills were going to have to become top priority, and he was going to need some money. He could survive the month until his next pay check... perhaps.
Tony sank down onto his pillow and fell asleep.
The fact was, with these things, that they didn't go away that easily.
Connor Markey Smith was not a happy man. Forty years old, no family and few friends, owning ten apartments in New York and a house in LA, all his money coming from the rent there and being used to pay his drug habit. And so of course, when that annoying teenager who had conned an apartment out of him for cheaper than he usually let and then didn't pay the bills on time and ignored them for two months running- not acceptable.
Conner was paying that fucking smart arse deadbeat kid a visit. Right now.
Muscles bunched on scrawny arms as he steered round the block to the apartment building, rising desolate and grey into the New York skyline. Smoke rose from a thin mouth, fat ciggie dangling from spidery fingers along with his key to the kid's apartment. A knife flipped idly from one hand up into the sky and back down, catching the weak winter sunlight with a faint gleam. Conner stalked up to the lift and waited impatiently for it to go up. He walked along the corridor. Stopped outside his apartment. And he knew very well the security measures the kid- Tony, his name was- had put on the door, and he knew very well how to dismantle them since he'd threatened to kick Tony out unless he did- Conner cut off all the ones he knew and slid his key in to open the lock. The door slid smoothly open and he stalked in, eyes adjusting to the dark and flitting disdainfully around the mess in front of him.
Still, he owned this mess and the kid hadn't paid. Time he did. Time indeed.
The mattress on the side of the room was accompanied by a heap of gangly teenager, long limbs poking out from thick duvet and dark hair springing from a head buried in the pillow. Conner watched with hard eyes, then noticed the mound of bags next to his feet. What the fuck? The kid had been spending money on gadgets and not his rent? What in actual fuck?
The knife flipped up and Conner grabbed it hard, stubbing the cigarette out on the wall and letting it drop and roll before clomping towards the kid. Tony twitched and woke, coming to his senses with a bleary sort of realisation- dark eyes gleamed, widened and panicked, the kid scrambling out of bed with mouth open for excuses.
Conner had no time for that.
He pounced forwards in one quick stride and slammed the knife, hilt first, into the kid's head. There was a startled, cut off groan and Tony slid onto the ground, choking something out. It had a sneering tone to it and Conner realised he was being insulted even if he couldn't understand the mumbles. This served to enrage him further and he grabbed Tony's hair lifting the head up and slamming it into the floor three satisfying times before laying a fist into the kid's head. "You're going to pay by tomorrow." He growled, face near the boy's and eye's meeting those distant brown ones. "Or else. Understand?"
"Fuck you," the kid choked.
Conner leaned and kicked him hard in the ribs at that, feeling a slight give. They'd probably bruise. No worries. "You can say that if you want to go on the streets." He smiled at Tony. "And if you do my conscience will overcome me and I'll call Child Services about your unfortunate situation."
"Fuck you." Tony choked again. Conner stood, happy his point had been made, and spent a good few minutes kicking the shit outta the kid before leaving by the front door. "Sweet dreams." He smiled to the bruised tangle of limbs, and left.
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"Tony?"
Clint, Bruce and Natasha looked up from eating. They were in the living room, Pot Noodle's held loosely in one hand with a fork in the other, Attack the Block playing on the screen in front. Sure enough, there was Tony- leaning in the doorway, a new, huge hoodie on with the hood up and shadowing his face. They could see the faint lines of his mouth, which was held in a wincing smile. "Hi." he said. "Um, I need- do you know where Coulson is?"
"Yeah, but he's busy until midnight." asserted Clint, standing up and walking over to Tony as Bruce paused the screen and the three turned to survey Tony with hard looks. Clint had briefed Bruce on what they were talking to him about, and no one was in the slightest comfortable with it- for one, they were implying he was lying, and if it was that he was telling the truth then there was the fact of his poverty which was a complex subject in any case. "Look, Tony. We need to talk to you. You want to sit down?"
"Ah." Tony stepped slightly away from the firm set archer. "I. No, I just- really need to talk to Coulson."
"You can talk to him when he's done." And Natasha's tone was such that Tony didn't try to get away anymore, instead sinking onto the edge of the sofa, held gingerly away from the trio of Avengers. "First, can you please take your hood off?"
"No."
"Tony, let us see your face-"
"No. What did you want to talk to me about?"
"Ah." Clint winced a bit, shuffling where he stood and directing a curious glance at the ceiling. Everyone was staring at him. Damn them. "Well, you see, ah. Yesterday."
"Yesterday." Tony confirmed, a little amusement in his tone. The teenager settled into the couch, twitching up his arm with a silenced painful groan to rest across his chest. "What?"
"Well- do you really have a sister?"
"Um, duh. What kind of question is that?"
"I just- you just-"
"We'd like to hear a little about her, that's all." Bruce said quietly, leaning forwards and ignoring the grateful look Clint sent him. "Because you hadn't really mentioned you had a sister. We'd be interested to hear about her."
"Well." Tony sighed, cracked his neck. "She's, uh, she's a baby. And her name's Shannon. She's really... really sweet. Ah. She has... brown hair. Really cute."
"Sounds nice." Natasha said with a smile. "She must be extremely healthy."
"Healthy? What? Uh- yeah. Guess she is."
"To survive in such a cold atmosphere." Natasha continued. "Clint tells us your apartment was colder than outside. And considering the temperatures last night, that's extremely cold. Are you sure she's okay in that kind of environment?"
"Cut the bullshit." Tony said abruptly. "She's fine. My mum knows what she's doing. What are you really trying to say?"
"We want you to move to a safer area. A bigger house. Heating." Bruce said steadily. "We'll pay for expenses. You're one of us now, and we want to make sure you're happy."
"I'm happy." Tony gritted out. "I'm fucking fine. And I don't what your charity, so leave me alone."
"Your family gonna say the same thing?" Clint enquired.
"Yeah. They don't want your charity either."
"We spoke to the doctors." Natasha said suddenly, speaking up. "Way back when they examined you for the wound Coulson gave you. Apparently you had numerous bruises all over your body, and healed breaks documenting all over the years. Want to explain where those came from?"
"What, think I'm being abused or some shit?" Tony directed a scathing glance towards Clint, who met it without hesitation. Well. He must not have been getting the full force of Fuck-You because Tony's face was still in shadow from the hood. And unfortunately he had to keep it that way, since he didn't want to see them react to the black eye, split lip and bruised face. No, that would be... unwise.
And Natasha was a fucking mind reader, because she pounced forwards and flipped his hood back. "Ah, crap." He sighed, ducking his face down and closing his eyes momentarily at the sudden stillness that invaded the room in an arctic freeze. "Guys." Someone's breathing was suddenly very loud in the room, and Tony looked up in time to see a flash of green in Bruce's eyes. Ah. The Hulk. Meeting the Other Guy didn't seem so appealing right now.
"That from your daddy, then?" Clint asked sarcastically.
"No," Tony sighed, and decided to be truthful. "Landlord. Didn't have rent in time, dad's been away for a couple months and Shannon was asleep. Mum wasn't there. Beat me up if I didn't get money by tomorrow, which is why I need to see Coulson and get my check early."
"Thought your salary was due yesterday?"
"It was. I got it. I'm really stupid- I spent it all on crap this morning and chucked the receipts."
"Right." Bruce let out a heavy breath. Clint sat straight. Natasha's face was hard. "We can provide any money. In return for the name of your landlord, of course."
Tony thought about that, for a second. Revenge was always sweet. No matter what anyone said. But his landlord knew all about his... situation with the no family thing, and probably wouldn't hesitate to spill the beans if angry Avengers came looking for blood. "No deal. Can't afford to upset him."
"Which is why we're moving you to a house. And your family."
"No. I told you, I don't take charity."
Blood roared in his ears, his throat was dry, and that prick on the back of his eyes was not tears but anger.
Of course.
"Tony. We're just trying to help."
"I don't need your help."
"Yeah, you do."
"I don't. Fuck off."
"Tony."
He stood, left. They made no move to stop him.
He wasn't crying.
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Coulson started the day with paperwork. Then he checked on the Avengers, briefed them on the mission in LA, watched the mission for the first few minutes before returning to paperwork and sighing as the mounds just grew and grew and grew. Some SHIELD idiots had signed a petition saying they didn't want Clint working with them anymore after his actions in the Chitaru attack; Coulson made them disappear, and then had to deal with the resulting paperwork.
Hate was a strong word, but it maybe could be applied to the emotion he felt when seeing the piles in neat lines on his desk, towering up with a ferocity, black printed words gleaming evilly from stark white paper. Yes, hate would definitely fit.
Then, the evening. An incident. It went something like this;-
Tony: Coulson, I just- I-
Coulson: I've delivered the money into your account.
Tony: I- you-
Coulson: I am an agent, you know. And the Avengers aren't just going to let go of this. They're going to help, whether you like it or not.
Tony: Yeah. Well.
Coulson: Also, you really should tell them sometime you have no little sister.
Tony: Th... that...
Coulson: And that you have no parents. And that you wiped your data, somehow, so that is all I know about you.
Tony: You can't tell them.
Coulson: I have paperwork to get to. Goodbye.
The incident required paperwork for the transfer of money and also paperwork to comply a file on 'TONY UNKNOWN' for the SHIELD database, revealing details of his current occupation, whereabouts, known skills and family. It took extra paperwork to lower the security level from just Nick Fury to include the entirety of the Avengers, should they choose to ever look at Tony's file and find out about those bits of crucial information. And Bruce Banner was a certified genius; he had no doubt they would, sooner or later.
But Coulson wasn't telling them, and that was what mattered.
He then had to do paperwork for last week's mission and then some more for that catastrophe in Singapore. A disaster, that had been.
A/N: Just a little cameo from Coulson there, but I believe he is sufficiently badass. Hope you enjoyed. Next update coming sometime after Behind the Glass, which no one is reading but I am doggedly sticking at... yeah, that was a totally lame attempt to get you Young Justice fans out there to read my latest fic. Whatever. I don't care.
...please do?
Ah, anyway, share your New Year's Resolutions in the comments/reviews and any fangirling/boying over the latest Hobbit film and also any requests for things you want to happen to Tony.
Also, there will be PLOT (I know, foreign thing) happening sometime chapter... 12? So get in those fluff/angst/any-weird-kinks requests quickly and I may fill them. Yeah.
FINALLY someone mentioned the tone of the story? I can't remember exactly what they said. But. I will be keeping the general angst and underlying, unrealistic crack-ish humour for the entirety of the story. There will be dark times. Tony will persist through with his natural snark and rants, and crack will reign.
That is all.