Chapter 3
Tony blinked away the wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes and fought back a groan as he shifted on the pavement. The shallow lacerations around his body had opened up again during the fight, and he could feel the slight trickle of blood seeping through his shirt and pants. Fuck, that hurt.
His rescuers must have seen it too because the blonde boy straightened in surprise and hovered close but was careful not to touch. "Shit, are you okay? You're bleeding!"
Tony tried to wave him off but winced at the movement and cradled his hand back to his chest. "I'm fine."
The brunet boy was at least a foot taller and double the size of the blonde one and, apparently, all sass. "Sure you are, kid."
Before Tony could snap back with a scathing retort, the blonde boy shot his friend a furious look, which had him backing off like a kicked puppy. Then, he sighed and brought his attention back to Tony. "Sorry about him. I'm Steve, and that's Bucky," he told him with a slight jerk of his chin. "Don't take this the wrong way but, you don't really seem like you belong here. Where are you from?"
Tony swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. He didn't want to think about the mansion, the party, or his parents. "Doesn't matter," he insisted weakly. "I'm not going back there."
Steve watched him warily. "Okay, I won't push for now. But we need to get you to a hospital."
"No!" Tony cringed away from him, hissing when his back pressed further against the wall. "No hospitals!"
"Woah," Steve breathed out, throwing his palms up in an 'I mean you no harm' gesture with Bucky following suit. "Calm down, okay? You're sick, and you're hurt. You need medical attention."
"No hospitals," Tony repeated through clenched teeth. "And no adults." He didn't trust anyone else they might come across not to turn him back over to his father. And he was not going back, not if he could help it.
Steve and Bucky shared a frown. The brunet looked like he wanted to argue but must have sensed that Tony wouldn't budge on the matter. "Okay," he relented with slumped shoulders. "We can take him to the warehouse. The Commandos haven't used it in months, but it's still got power and water. We can stitch him up there."
The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Tony couldn't think past the wave of dizziness he felt. He shuddered as his nausea came back full force, slumping his head forward against his backpack.
"Alright, let's get you up on two feet," Steve encouraged, bracing his hands beneath Tony's armpits. Together they managed to bring him upright, where Bucky was waiting to sling Tony's arm around his shoulder and take the cane from him. Steve carefully laid a hand on the backpack. "Is it okay if I carry this for now?"
Tony hesitated for a few moments before nodding. Neither of the two boys seemed like they were inclined to steal from him, and they had just rescued him. Trust had to begin somewhere. Steve gave him a small smile and shouldered the bag, wincing when the remnants of his shattered robot jostled. Once his arm wrapped securely around Tony's waist, the three of them slowly made their way to a warehouse four blocks south.
The building's rusted steel structure loomed overhead, groaning under the assault of the wind that had picked up around them. Steve held Tony's weight against him while Bucky took out a key from around his neck and slotted it into the padlock. A slight click sounded, and Bucky tore away the chains that hung between the sliding doors.
Once inside, Steve reached around towards the left of the door and pushed up the metal handle. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead until they illuminated the warehouse. It was sparse, with high, vaulted ceilings and boarded up windows. A handful of bare cots were pushed up against the east wall, and Tony could make out a bathroom and small kitchenette on the opposite wall.
"Where are we?" Tony asked, fighting off another nausea spell as he examined his surroundings with narrowed eyes.
"An old hideout," Steve explained, leading Tony towards the cots and depositing him onto the closest one.
Tony blinked, watching Bucky rummage around in the cabinets underneath the sink across the way. "A hideout? For what?"
"Don't worry about that right now," Steve mused. He knelt beside him and took the offered first aid kit from Bucky with a nod of thanks. "Can you take off your shirt so I can see you?"
Tony's breath caught in surprise, and he could see Steve replaying the words in his head, hearing how they must have sounded. The blonde's cheeks flushed all the way up to the tips of his reddened ears. "I-I didn't mean it like that."
Even if he did, Tony wouldn't have any idea how to feel. He hadn't had much of an opportunity to explore his sexuality other than stolen glances and a comprehensive investigation of the internet that left him mostly frightened and a little bit aroused. Still, even if he had, there was no way in hell that Howard would encourage a relationship with a boy. It just wasn't done.
Unfortunately for Tony's peace of mind, Steve's accidental innuendo shot a flash of heat under Tony's collar, which did not bode well for him if Howard ever started to suspect.
Bucky snorted, snapping both boys out of their inadvertent staring contest. "I'll finish the patrol tonight, Stevie. Try and talk some sense into the kid."
"I'm not a kid," Tony argued with a furrowed brow. "I'm fifteen, and you two can't be much older than me."
Steve's head tilted as he examined him. "You're right; we're both sixteen." He turned to look back at Bucky, "Go ahead but be careful. Check in every half hour."
"Got it, boss."
When he was gone, Tony raised an incredulous brow. "Boss?"
"Like I said," Steve told him. "Don't worry about it right now."
He helped Tony out of his shirt and paused once it was pulled off his wrists. Steve's bright blue eyes dimmed as he took in the clotting blood in the center of each burgeoning bruise. His pinched expression darkened, and he chewed on his bottom lip as if to keep from blurting out what he wanted to say.
"No adults," Tony reiterated with a hint of desperation. He wanted Steve to understand that he couldn't risk being sent back to his father, that he couldn't bear another night like tonight. "Please."
Steve swallowed, his throat clicking with the movement. "Yeah," he rasped before clearing his throat and reaching into the kit to begin cleaning up the re-opened wounds. "No adults."
He worked silently for a few minutes, and Tony couldn't help but fidget. He'd never been very good at staying still or keeping his mouth shut. Steve must have understood because he gave a slight chuckle. "So, what are you doing all the way in Brooklyn?"
"A robotics competition at the high school," Tony explained quietly. He shifted a few inches to dump out the contents of his backpack onto the cot beside him. "I was going to enter this guy, but…"
Steve perked up, examining the shattered pieces of metal and gears laid out before him. "You built it?"
"Him, but yeah. It will take me a few hours to put him back together again, but I can do it."
"You must be pretty smart, huh?" Steve asked lightly, continuing his journey over Tony's chest despite his winces of pain. "I don't know anyone else who could build a robot."
Tony shrugged, a rush of warmth settling deep within his chest. Despite his many accomplishments, he wasn't used to being praised. Obie tried, but it always came off as cheap and mocking, and his parents only ever looked at him with disappointment, indifference or shame etched onto their faces. "I don't know about that."
"Maybe you can let me watch while you fix him?" Steve suggested hopefully, moving to Tony's arms. "You can even try to explain it to me, but I can't promise I'll have any idea what you're talking about."
Tony gave him a faint smile. "Okay."
Once Steve finished cleaning his upper body, Tony tugged on a new shirt, and they both ignored the awkwardness that ensued when Tony had to take off his pants. Steve worked quickly and quietly, and they both let out a breath of relief when Tony was covered up again. Tony coughed, unable to parse through the tangle of embarrassment and arousal that had solidified beneath his sternum. "Er, thanks. For - you know. All this."
"Yeah, of course," Steve stood up, placing his hands on his thin hips and shuffling his feet. He checked his phone - Tony assumed it was Bucky 'checking in,' whatever the hell that meant - and stuffed it back in his pocket.
"So, do you still want to see my robot?" Tony asked a little desperately. Anything to distract from the fact that he had to spend a full ten minutes without pants in front of a virtual stranger.
Thankfully, the blonde blew out a breath of relief and nodded, sitting down on the cot beside Tony.
XX
Bucky slipped through the warehouse doors three hours later, carrying two large tote bags he must have snagged from his apartment. The fully functional robot chirped near Steve's feet at the intruder, and Bucky raised an eyebrow at the new addition. Steve wanted to explain, but he wasn't willing to wake Tony up from where he had been slumped against Steve's shoulder for the last half-hour.
The weight was surprisingly comfortable, and Steve had no idea what to do with this fierce new desire to protect that had begun to build up inside of him. He didn't know Tony, not really, other than what he'd learned tonight. The brunet was brilliant; that much was obvious and quite possibly a certified genius. There was also a small spark of personality that reared its head while he was putting his robot back together, sass and playful sarcasm that Steve wanted to draw out. But, of course, the fact that he was really, heart-wrenchingly beautiful did nothing to help the situation either.
Steve had known for a few years that he was bisexual, though considering nobody ever looked twice at him, he didn't have any physical evidence to back it up. He had hoped for a sliver of a second that his father's position in the Commandos might attract some attention, but so far, nobody had been able to look past his small stature to give him a chance.
But Tony…Tony was kind and sweet and had no idea who Steve was. He watched Steve beneath his long lashes innocently enough to not have any idea what he was doing to him.
Steve couldn't get enough of it.
Another round of chirps sounded when Bucky took a step closer, causing Tony to jerk his head up. He swiped a hand up to wipe away the trickle of drool gathered at the corner of his mouth and flicked his gaze up to Bucky. "What's that?"
"What's that?" Bucky shot back with an amused grin, looking down at the small robot rolling on its tiny wheels at his feet.
"That's the robot I was going to enter into the competition at the high school before those assholes broke it," Tony explained, then looked back at the tote bags expectantly.
Bucky made an impressed noise in the back of his throat and dropped one of the bags onto the cot beside Tony before taking the other one to the kitchenette. "Stevie asked me to pick up a few things for you."
Tony glanced over at Steve out of the corner of his eye and then searched through the bag, pulling out two pillows and a few blankets.
"Thought you'd be more comfortable this way," Steve told him.
"Wow, er - thanks. You guys didn't have to do any of this. You don't even know me."
"Stevie here has a thing about strays," Bucky remarked as he put the colder items he'd picked up from the store into the small fridge.
Steve rolled his eyes at his best friend and turned his attention back to Tony. "Don't worry about him, but we do need to talk about a few things before we leave for the night."
"You're leaving?" Tony faltered, a slight edge of panic creeping into his voice.
"We'll stop back by in the morning," Steve assured him gently. "My dad and Bucky's ma will be worried if we don't get home soon. But before we go, we'll leave you with the key to the warehouse. You have to promise not to open the door for anyone except for us."
He tried to impress the seriousness of the situation into his expression because if one of the Commandos happened across the warehouse and found Tony, everything would go to shit. None of the Commandos cared for outsiders, and due to the extensive search for another Hydra mole, if word got out that Steve was harboring a runaway, then his father's authority might be thrown into question.
If that happened, then there would be bloodshed. Steve did not doubt that.
"We're not joking here, Tony," Bucky echoed with a frown. "People could get hurt if anyone but us knew you were here."
Tony watched them warily, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of their gaze. "Okay, I promise. Who would get hurt?"
Steve grimaced, not wanting to get into any of that tonight. They were supposed to have finished with their patrol, and his father would be expecting them to check in soon. "We'll explain tomorrow. You'll be okay for now?"
"Yeah," Tony nodded. "I'll be fine."
Despite knowing that was probably true, he was strangely reluctant to leave Tony by himself. What if something happened while he and Bucky were gone? What if he got hurt? Steve's stomach constricted painfully at the thought.
"Alright, try to get some rest. You should feel better after a good night's sleep."
When he rose to meet Bucky, a hand reached out to catch his thin wrist. He looked back at Tony questioningly.
"Thanks again, Steve. I don't know why you helped me, but I'm glad you did."
Steve gave him a warm smile. "Me too, Tony. Sleep well."
XX
Harsh, sudden flashes of blood and metal consumed Tony's nightmares. It had been years since he slept through the night comfortably, and when he shot awake with a scream on his lips, Tony dejectedly realized a simple change of scenery wasn't enough to help.
He swiped a hand across his damp face and sat up, pooling the blankets Bucky had brought around his waist. Tony groaned and willed his rapid heart rate to slow down with a few minutes of full, deep breaths. His robot chirped once, alerting Tony that it had made its way beneath his bed, before powering down once again.
The wooden boards bolted to the windows shook from the wind that had kicked up outside. The storm must have progressed throughout the night, sending a shiver of unease down Tony's spine. He never liked storms, the ruthless, heavy rain and chaotic strikes of lightning leaving him deeply unsettled all the way to his core. And now he was alone, without even Jarvis to comfort him.
Tony curled his arms around his legs and set his chin atop his knees. He tried to keep his mind off the storm and thought back to Steve and Bucky instead. His memory of the previous night was hazy at best due to the pain, and it took him a while to parse through the gaps until - fuck - he remembered the guns.
He swallowed, flinching at the memory. How could he possibly have forgotten? Why the hell did Steve and Bucky have guns? And what's more - why did they have Stark Industry guns? Tony would recognize one of his own designs anywhere, and now that his head wasn't pounding, he was thinking clearly enough to pull apart the weapons and review the specs within his mind.
His thoughts stuttered to a halt when another memory from the previous night suddenly surfaced.
"Hey fellas," Brock greeted shakily, taking his hands off Tony and holding his palms up, his buddy doing the same. "We're all friends here, aren't we?"
"No," Steve snarled, taking a step towards them. "You're in Commandos territory, and we don't take kindly to bullies."
The Howling Commandos? Tony sucked in a sharp intake of breath and cursed quietly, curling further into himself. He was right in the goddamned heart of a territory belonging to the most notorious gangs in Brooklyn. His father had been complaining about the Commandos for years now, taking his frustrations about missing weapons shipments and the lack of police involvement out on Tony whenever he could, and that was the least of it.
Tony didn't even consider the danger he might be putting himself in when he fled the mansion. Encroaching in a gang's territory hadn't even crossed his mind, and considering that Tony was a genius, the lack of consideration was unacceptable. If he was caught, he could be held for ransom, be forced to build weapons for the enemy, or worse.
Shit.
Now that he was here, in an old Commandos abandoned warehouse, Tony had to weigh his options. Was he safe? Or should he take his chances of being discovered and hop on a bus out of town?
The answer, Tony contemplated, lied with how much trust he placed with Steve and Bucky. They were, obviously, part of the gang but far too young to be fully indoctrinated. Moreover, from their dialogue the previous night and the easy use of the Commandos' name as a threat, they were proud of their roles within the gang. But who were they really?
Another memory clicked into place - Bucky calling Steve 'Boss,' and the deference he presented time and time again throughout the evening. So, although Bucky was twice Steve's size and physically more powerful, he wasn't the leader between the two of them.
Steve was.
But why?
Tony mulled it over and came up short, so he threw back the blankets in frustration and padded over to the bathroom across the warehouse. It wasn't clean, exactly, but the plumbing was still in use. He switched on the shower and sighed in relief when the water began heating up. Tony checked the cabinet beneath the sink for a towel and discarded his clothes before stepping beneath the spray.
He sucked in the steam greedily, letting it fill his lungs as the water slid down his bruised and battered body, washing away the last of the dried blood. The heat helped chase away the last of the fog that had settled over his mind, allowing him to connect the final pieces of the puzzle.
He'd seen enough mobster movies to know that gangs were something like a family. The line of succession was important. Usually passed down from father to son to keep the power and fear of the surname in place within the hierarchy.
A third memory flashed to the forefront of his mind.
"Well, now you do," Bucky drawled, motioning the barrel of his gun towards the mouth of the alley. "How about you two scram before we have to bring in one of Rogers' men?"
"No!" The other bully spluttered. "No, we're sorry! Don't - don't call anyone."
Steve moved to the side; his gun still pointed between Brock's eyes. "Then leave, and don't let me catch you hurting anyone else."
Rogers. That must be the name of the leader of the Commandos, Tony deduced. Following that logic, if Steve was further up the totem pole than Bucky, maybe he was somehow related to Rogers. With their behavior, and Bucky's deference to Steve, along with the fact that Steve mentioned his father but not his mother, a conclusion wasn't difficult to ascertain from there. Not to mention the key to the warehouse they had in their possession, it wasn't a far leap to assume that Steve was either Rogers' son or a close relative, maybe a nephew or cousin of some sort.
Which meant that Tony was in serious trouble if they ever found out who he really was.
Along with slipping into Stark Industries' strongholds and paying off the police, the Commandos had an off-the-radar feud with Howard Stark. Apparently, Rogers, the Commandos leader, and Tony's father were brothers in arms over twenty years ago. When Howard was just getting started with his military contracts, a few of Rogers' men were sent on a mission overseas. Unfortunately, Howard had a hand in building the fighter jet they were piloting. When it went down behind enemy lines, the determining cause of failure got written off as "user-error." Rogers kicked up a major fuss to try and break off Howard's contract, believing he was responsible for his friends' deaths, but the US government refused to give his complaints their due consideration and practically buried the incident.
So they hated each other, even to this day, which meant that Tony had a decision to make.
Stay, and take his chances with Steve and Bucky?
Or go, and risk getting caught by one of the Howling Commandos or his father?
Tony scrubbed his face once more and shut off the water.
Shit.
XX
By the time Steve and Bucky arrived at the warehouse knocking against the rusted metal door in the agreed upon pattern, Tony had made his decision.
He couldn't risk getting sent back to his father. If Howard got his hands on him after deliberately running away, especially during an event filled with men and women he was attempting to woo out of their money, Tony might not survive the punishment his father had planned. So, that option was off the table.
The next best thing was to hunker down and try to make himself as invaluable as possible before one of the Commandos managed to figure out who he really was. He didn't necessarily wish to work for the gang, but playing a small role behind the scenes might earn him some goodwill in case things went south.
Besides, Steve and Bucky were nice enough and seemed to care if he was hurt or sick. And yeah, maybe part of Tony wanted to be close to Steve to see if the feelings that stirred up yesterday were real or not, but he thought sticking around might be the safest option for him now.
"Hey Tony," Steve greeted warmly, slipping through the doors after Tony unlocked them with the key hanging around his neck. "You're looking better."
Tony felt better too. After his shower, he changed into a clean set of clothes and poked around the warehouse for an hour or so before the other two boys showed up. The kitchenette was stocked with the essentials, though Tony was beginning to struggle without his daily dose of caffeine. "I feel better. Thanks again for saving me yesterday and patching me up. I'm not sure where I'd be without you two."
Bucky waved a hand through the air with a slight shrug. "Don't worry about it; glad we could help."
Steve leaned his shoulder against the east wall beside the row of cots while Bucky stood beside him with his hands stuffed into his pockets. "We should talk."
Tony hummed, taking a seat atop his bedding. He took a deep breath. It was now or never. "About how you're next in line to take over the Howling Commandos?"
The two older boys stiffened in surprise. Steve's lips parted while Bucky narrowed his eyes, a look of consideration touching his expression like he was re-evaluating Tony. "How did you know that?" The brunet asked gruffly, standing up to his full height.
But Tony had been beaten half to death by Howard Stark. So a broad-shouldered, sixteen-year-old kid didn't intimidate him in the least. "I'm a genius, remember? Wasn't too hard to put together once I was thinking clearly."
"Humor me," Steve replied, licking his lips. "We were pretty careful."
Tony barely resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Not careful enough. You mentioned the Commandos when threatening the assholes who attacked me, and then after I figured out the dynamic between the two of you, the connection was easy enough to make." He held up his hands in defense when Bucky took a menacing step towards him. "Woah, fox and friends, pump the brakes. I don't care who you work for, as long as I don't get strung up for it."
"What?" Steve asked with a deep frown. "I wouldn't let anyone hurt you, Tony."
"You might not get a choice in the matter," Tony replied flippantly. As much as he wanted to trust in Steve's apparent eagerness to keep him safe, there were things out of his control. "Besides, maybe we could help each other."
Steve and Bucky shared a look before returning their attention to Tony. "What are you suggesting?" The mafia heir asked, his shoulder relaxing a fraction.
"Well, first off, how do the Commandos work?" At their blank expressions, Tony sighed dramatically. "I mean, how do they get people to work for them? I'm sure there is a good amount of negotiation that goes into controlling most of the clubs and bars in the Burrows."
Steve chuckled lightly and palmed the back of his neck. He examined Tony for a few long moments and then gave a slight shrug. "How else? Money. The Commandos have built a pretty sizable empire over the last twenty years."
Tony licked his lips and made a short, disapproving noise in the back of his throat, crossing his arms over his chest. He'd spent enough time around his father and Obie to know that while money was important, it wasn't the only factor that went into securing contracts.
"Oh, what?" Bucky snorted, giving a slight shake of his head. "You think you're high and mighty enough to disagree with our methods? You think you're better than us or something?"
"No," Tony drawled, raising a judgmental eyebrow in their direction. "I just happen to know that the only thing that talks louder than money...is information."
"Information?" Steve repeated slowly.
Tony hummed again, addressing Steve. "Information. And I'm guessing you have a pretty big chip on your shoulder. You want to prove your worth to the Commandos; show them that you actually have what it takes to lead them." When the blonde nodded warily, Tony grinned, bright and sharp. "Then I can help with that."
The two older boys looked at each other once again and seemed to have a silent conversation between the two of them. Finally, Steve cleared his throat and held his hand out towards him. "I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Tony."
Tony reached out and shook the offered hand. Warmth, anticipation, and excitement bubbled up beneath his sternum. "I think so too, Steve."
After all, Tony always did like playing with fire.
XX