Chapter 9
Tony closed the door behind him with a soft click, then slumped his forehead against the cool metal. What the hell did he get himself into? He blamed his fixation on the fact that two ghosts had risen from the dead right before his very eyes, that he didn't notice someone behind him.
He spun around with a sharp intake of breath when a soft cough grasped his attention. A young boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years old, with messy brunet hair and an oversized blue and red flannel, stood there with his hands locked together in front of his chest. His lips formed a surprised 'O', and panic flashed behind his light brown eyes.
"Er…Mr. Stark?"
Tony scowled, instantly on the defensive. "Who's asking?"
The kid rubbed a hand across the nape of his neck. "I'm Peter, sir. Peter Parker. The Captain asked if I could wait out here for you. I'm supposed to take you to your room and get you anything you might need."
Tony's shoulders relaxed a fraction of an inch. Then, drawing himself up to his - admittedly not very impressive - full height, he gestured for the kid to lead the way. The corners of Peter's lips ticked upwards in a genuine display of excitement, and he bounced on the balls of his feet. "Great, this way! We never get visitors in the compound, so you must be really special! Especially since Cap and The Soldier basically told all of The Avengers that you were Priority Number One."
"They did what?" Tony's lips parted in shock. What the fuck were those two thinking?
Peter blinked owlishly, pausing in front of a door off a separate hallway. "Uh, Cap called a meeting earlier. He told us all that you're to be protected while you're here. Did you not know? I'm sorry!"
Tony rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes, fighting back a groan. "Don't worry about it, kid." He lifted his head as Peter pushed open the door for him, revealing a nicely sized room with a king bed covered in crimson sheets and a thick gold duvet cover. Deep mahogany furniture matching the bedposts pressed up against the walls, and he could see a full bathroom behind an open door. Tony made his way to the bed, which held his backpack.
"Oh yeah, Mr. Falcon brought that over from the warehouse." Peter paused, tilting his head to the side. "What were you doing in there, anyway? That building is off-limits."
"Why is that?" Tony asked, suddenly feeling the exhaustion from the previous night's events catching up to him. He sat down and grimaced up at the kid.
Peter wrung his hands. "Ummm, from what The Avengers have told me, someone that Cap and The Soldier used to know died there. I guess they really loved whoever it was because they get really upset if someone gets close to it. There are sensors around the building and everything. That's how Mr. Hawkeye and Mr. Falcon found you."
For the first time in Tony's life, he was left speechless. Peter didn't seem like the type of kid well-versed in manipulation, so he highly doubted that Rogers or Barnes fed him lines. But if he were telling the truth, it led to even more questions. First and foremost being - why the hell did The Avengers think Rogers and Barnes loved whoever 'died' in the warehouse? They were the ones who roped Tony into The Commandos in the first place, who made him believe he had actual friends. Rogers tricked Tony into falling in love with him, while Barnes convinced him he found a brother who had his best interests at heart. In the end, it was all a deception—a con.
They didn't love Tony like Tony loved them. It wasn't possible, not after what they'd done.
But Peter's words twisted uncomfortably beneath his sternum. "I think," he exhaled slowly. "That I would like to sleep. I've been awake for far too long, and the stress of running for your life can really take a lot out of you."
"Oh!" Peter snapped to attention. "I'm sorry, I should have realized. I'll be right outside if you need anything, okay?"
Tony couldn't help the soft smile that danced across his lips. This kid was kind of adorable. "Thanks, Underoos."
Peter mirrored his grin, albeit with a bit more enthusiasm, and bounded out the door. When he was alone, Tony groaned, falling backwards onto the bed and covering his face.
What the hell was going on?
XX
Burnt cigar smoke was heavy on Tony's tongue and biting inside his nostrils as they shoved him through the one door he'd never been able to look behind during his entire childhood. He fell roughly onto his hands and knees, wincing when the unforgiving wood floor knocked against his fresh bruises.
Restless shadows twisted in the corners of the large study, the heat from the hearth licking across Tony's scraped cheeks. Familiar dread and an edge of panic prickled at the corners of his mind, and he tried to retreat behind the safety of his mental borders.
It was no use.
He knew what was coming for him.
A sharp bark of laughter caused him to look over his shoulder at the three men who stole him away from Brooklyn. They were massive and imposing, grinning with too-sharp teeth and darkened pupils, making their eyes look like they were swimming in pools of coal. They retreated slowly, watching him hungrily until they disappeared behind the door with a click of the lock.
Tony swallowed around the lump in his throat as he tried to fight the trembling of his hands. He brought his attention back to the front, flinching when he caught sight of his father's face. Howard had perfected the blank mask of indifference by the time Tony was five, but this wasn't that.
The anger was evident in the nasty furrowed brow and the cruel tilt of his father's mouth. Howard practically vibrated with tension, barely discernible to the casual observer, but Tony had survived up to this point by memorizing every one of his father's expressions. Because of his attention to detail, Tony was all too aware that he had never seen Howard Stark this furious, not even the night Howard beat him with a cane on his birthday.
This did not bode well for Tony.
Howard flicked his wrist, dislodging the ice cubes within his full tumbler of scotch. He tightened his white-knuckled grip around the glass and took slow, menacing steps towards Tony.
"You should have known better, Anthony. You can run, but you can't hide. Not from me."
XX
Tony jerked awake with a gasp. His heart stuttered inside his chest fast enough for him to hear the blood rushing in his ears. He fell back onto the high-thread-count sheets with a thud and focused on the soft lighting fixture, sucking in quick, shallow breaths until they eventually evened out.
He absentmindedly rubbed a sweaty palm over the thin scars embedded in his chest before tearing it away when he realized what he was doing.
Shit. Tony hadn't had that dream in over two years. He couldn't help but groan, more annoyed than anything else that being around fucking Rogers and Barnes brought up nightmares from "The Incident" that he thought he'd long since buried. He blocked out that time in his life as much as he was able, but all of his mental walls shuddered and bent the moment he stepped foot back in Brooklyn.
A quiet knock on the door brought him out of his reverie, and he padded over to find Peter standing in the hallway with hands tucked into his jean pockets. "Hi, Mr. Stark!"
Tony grimaced. "Call me Tony, kid. Seriously."
Peter hesitated but ultimately gave a nervous nod. "Cap wants to see you in the War Room."
"The what? This isn't World War III! Why would he need something like that?"
"Uh," Peter blinked for a long moment before shrugging. "No idea. That's just what they call it. I can show you."
Tony gestured over his shoulder. "I'll tell you what. I'm going to go shower, and you're going to find me the best damn cup of coffee you have in this place. After that, I'll let you take me to this so-called 'War Room.' Capiche?" He didn't bother waiting for Peter's answer before shutting the door in his face.
The shower felt amazing. Tony cranked the heat and let the steam fill the bathroom while he shampooed his hair. When he finally turned the water off, his lungs were clear, and he felt ready to face whatever shit Rogers and Barnes had planned. With a towel slung across his waist, Tony dug into his backpack to pull out his toothbrush and a fresh set of clothes.
As expected, Peter was waiting for him right outside his room with a large plastic cup with a familiar logo on the side. A sudden pang of nostalgia hit him right in the gut, and Tony found himself momentarily out of breath. He took a moment to pull himself together before taking the cup with a small smile. Damn, it was as good as he remembered.
The kid beamed in return. "Right this way, Mr.-" he trailed off when he caught Tony's look, "Tony, right."
Tony followed Peter through the compound until they reached an imposing door. "I'm not allowed to go in," Peter grumbled, "but they're waiting for you."
Indeed they were.
A long, clear glass table awaited him inside, with nine formidable men and women surrounding it - all with their eyes fixed on Tony. Rogers stood up abruptly, eyes wide and enraptured when he noticed him, hastily running a hand over his hair. Barnes sat next to him, looking back and forth between Rogers and Tony with an amused smirk on his face.
Tony didn't see what was so damn funny.
"Tony," Rogers greeted after clearing his throat. He gestured towards his team. "Good morning; meet The Avengers."
They all gave him small nods with varying expressions of interest. He recognized Clint sinking low in his seat with a pout on his lips, and Tony couldn't help but shoot him a wink behind a sip of coffee. The archer scowled, quickly looking towards Rogers and Barnes to ensure they didn't see him.
Tony sat down in the open seat at the table beside Dr. Banner. Which just happened to be the furthest away from the two ghosts from Tony's past. He interlocked his fingers and rested them on the glass, waiting.
Finally, Rogers sat down, shooting a quick glance at Barnes. "We'd like for you to give us any information you have on the attack last night and your parent's murder. Anything could be useful in figuring out who is behind this."
Tony's lips twisted into a sneer at the thought of reliving the experience. Still, he explained everything that happened between getting the news that his parents were dead up until arriving at the compound the previous evening. They watched him intently, to the point where he had to fight to keep his eyes on The Avengers instead of slipping past them. Tony couldn't afford to show any weakness in front of these people, regardless of any rules surrounding his 'protection'.
When he finished, Rogers tilted his head in acknowledgement and addressed his team. "Barton, take Wilson and the twins underground; see if you can dig up any information on the hit on the Starks. Banner, go with Lang to sweep the area surrounding the Manor; get security camera footage and any available witness testimony. Barnes, Thor, and Loki will be on security detail around the compound while I work with Tony to get a sketch of the men who attacked him last night. Romanoff, I need you to do a deep dive into the Stark's past; I want a list of every possible hostile who could be behind this."
"Wait," Tony held up a hand in disbelief, replaying Rogers' final order over again. "You want to send one of your super spies to do a background check. On me? What the hell!"
Rogers' jaw twitched. "Someone is trying to kill you, Tony. I'll do whatever it takes to find whoever is after you, even if it means airing out your dirty laundry."
"Dirty-" he scoffed. "That doesn't give you free rein to dig into my life, asshole!" Tony protested incredulously, the volume of his voice steadily rising. "If you want to know something, then you ask. And if I choose not to share something with you and your merry band of criminals, then that's my prerogative. You don't own me, Captain."
The silence between the four walls was deafening.
Finally, Rogers snarled, low and deep within his chest, shooting a layer of gooseflesh over his arms and causing The Avengers to shift uncomfortably in their seats. Shit.
"Leave us."
Immediately, The Avengers scrambled out of the room like their asses were on fire. Only Barnes remained, obviously wary of leaving the two of them unaccompanied, but Rogers dismissed him as well with a jerk of his chin.
And then they were alone.
A dark reminder of who sat before him, and why he should be very, very afraid, trickled into the forefront of Tony's mind as the silence stretched between them. Steve Rogers was the rightful heir of The Howling Commandos from the moment he was born and spent his entire childhood learning under James Rogers, a man ruthlessly known for his lack of mercy. After that, he and Barnes spent eight years in the Army and Special Forces, serving as the military's personal Hit Squad. Until their own country blew them up, that is.
That doesn't even touch on his gruesome record of being The Captain of The Avengers. He had more blood on his hands than most of the serial killers in Attica Correctional Center put together. He was dangerous, and Tony was a fool to forget it, even for a moment.
Tony fidgeted under Rogers' severe glare, nearly knocking over his empty cup with a nervous sweep of his hands. He waited for the dreaded 'Captain' to yell or rage for speaking to him so disrespectfully, especially in front of his associates.
But the man didn't say a word, just kept watching Tony.
What the fuck.
Tony had never been able to remain quiet in the face of a challenge, and this terrifying standoff wasn't going to be the exception, even though it probably should have been. Finally, he broke after a few excruciating minutes, blurting out, "What!? What do you want from me?"
Rogers simply leaned forward, placing his brutishly-large forearms atop the glass. He popped a single brow. "You obviously have something to say to me, Tony. I suggest you get it out now so that we can have an actual discussion."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Tony grit out between clenched teeth. He didn't know what kind of mind game Rogers was playing, but Tony wasn't interested in falling down the rabbit hole.
"You're angry."
It was stated so simply, so plainly, that it made Tony want to wring the man's neck. "No shit, Sherlock. Of course, I'm angry. You think I want to be hiding out here with you of all people?"
"I've already told you that you're safe here, Tony," Rogers responded with a huff of frustration.
Tony should have backed off then. He should know better than to fan the flames by now, but he had never gotten that instinct entirely under control. Instead, his chair crashed to the floor as he shoved to his feet, white knuckles digging into the smooth surface of the glass. "Like I haven't heard that before! How could you possibly think I would trust your word that I'm safe? Especially when it's entirely possible you are behind all of this!"
Rogers flinched back as if Tony physically slapped him. Fury, guilt, grief, and, finally, resolve flashed behind his glittering blue eyes, and he rose slowly. His determination radiated with every twitching muscle, in every step bringing him closer to Tony. Until, finally, The Captain was pushing into his space. Tony felt the man's breath on his cheek and resisted the urge to scrabble backwards. "I will slaughter the men who attacked you with my bare hands, Tony."
Tony shivered at Rogers' gentle but absolute tone, so damn close and so much more potent than he remembered. He felt dizzy at the intimacy, and the sheer devotion etched so clearly onto Rogers' face.
"When we find out who ordered the hit on you, all you'll need to do is say the word, and I'll tear them apart. I would wage wars for you, Tony Stark. I would raze battlefields. Bucky would bring the world to its knees and topple empires for you. It would all be for you, Tony." The fluorescent light reflected off Rogers' impossibly blue eyes, stopping Tony's exhale right in his throat. Rogers said his name as if he worshiped it. "It would all be for you, Tony. So believe me when I tell you that you are safe here and that you have nothing to fear from The Avengers or me."
Tony backed up and grappled with the wall behind him, suddenly losing all strength in his knees and desperate for support. Rogers moved with him as if tied together by unbreakable string linking their erratic heartbeats. "Why?" Tony choked out, a sob working its way through his chest. He didn't understand; why was Rogers saying these things when he was the one who hurt him? "You hated me. You gave me up. You knew how much I hated Howard, and you still sent me back to him. I don't -" Tony pressed a sweaty palm to his chest, covering up the scars that throbbed beneath his touch and tried to breathe. "Why?"
But Rogers was already shaking his head, bringing his thick palms up to cup Tony's face. His thumbs caressed Tony's jaw, dragging against his facial hair; he brushed their foreheads together just so. "No, sweetheart, no. Please, please listen to me. My father did that. He was the one who contacted Howard's men. James somehow found out that you were with us and took you away from Bucky and me. He spent every second of the next few years ensuring that we couldn't contact you. Our hands were quite literally tied until we were on our own. And then-"
His grip on Tony tightened for a moment before smoothing out. Rogers ran tender fingers through Tony's hair while the other trailed its way down his shoulder and arm until it cradled Tony's hand in his. "And then we heard that you died." His voice was barely above a whisper now. "It was like my entire world shuddered to a halt. All of our plans for finding you and telling you the truth, ruined."
Rogers sucked in a shaky breath, the sound rattling with every jerky movement. "And then you were suddenly here. In The Avengers' compound. Alive." He looked at Tony with his sharp edges blurring into something softer, but that might have been because Tony didn't realize he was crying.
The man before him stepped backwards with what looked like an immense amount of self-control, leaving Tony shivering from the loss where they had pressed together. "And I know you moved on and don't feel that way for me anymore. I know you don't trust Bucky or I after what happened, and that's okay. None of this is your fault. But all we ever wanted you to know, if we miraculously got this second chance, is that we never stopped loving you. You never stopped being important to us. If we had known you were alive, Tony, nothing could have stopped us from finding you ourselves."
Tony's legs trembled under his weight, and he was acutely aware of the fact that he wouldn't be able to remain upright for much longer.
Fuck.
He had to get out of there. He had to get away from Rogers and everything he was saying and just think, goddamnit. Tony held eerily still for a full ten seconds before stumbling towards the door.
"Tony!" Rogers protested when he made a break for it, but Tony spun around on his heel and held out a hand to stop his advances.
"Stop," Tony begged, not even hearing the words beneath a layer that felt like murky water. "Just, stop. I need," he took another step back towards the door—towards freedom. "I need to think. Please."
Rogers halted in place, looking like a kicked golden retriever, for all intents and purposes, and dammit, Tony refused to feel bad about needing space. "Just...promise that you'll stay in the Compound. I can't lose you again, Tony. I'm begging you."
Tony's shoulders slumped, and he desperately wanted to tell Rogers that it wasn't his call to make where Tony went, but the man had a point. "Fine," he rasped, finding the handle on the door behind him and throwing it open with shaky hands. "I won't go anywhere, I promise. But please, stay away from me."
"As you wish."
Tony shoved it closed behind him and rested his head against the warm wood to catch his breath. When he opened his eyes again, he jumped in surprise to see Barnes waiting for him with his enormous arms crossed over his chest.
"Shit," Tony gasped, rubbing the heel of his palm against his forehead.
Barnes tilted his head to the side as he watched Tony. "Stevie told you, then. About what really happened back then."
Tony couldn't find any words, so he simply nodded, suddenly drained of all of his energy. He was too exhausted to have this conversation now, but he needed to get it out of the way. "You really expect me to believe that you two had nothing to do with sending me back to Howard?"
His former friend's metal hand wobbled by his side as if he wanted to reach out and touch Tony, but he tightened it into a fist instead. "If I had thought for even a second that I could stop those men from taking you, Tony, I would have done everything in my power to save you." Barnes grimaced, looking off to the side. "As it was, they had Stevie and me hilariously outgunned that day; The moment we stepped outside to follow them, James Rogers was waiting for us. He assigned The Commandos to our detail for every second of the day until we left for basic training. We never even had a chance to look for you on our own."
"Why?" Tony echoed his earlier question to Rogers. If he was even going to contemplate what they were telling him at all, he needed to understand why the leader of The Howling Commandos would do such a thing to him. Tony never even met the guy.
"He and your old man were at odds," Barnes explained gruffly. "Apparently, Stark got Rogers' team killed back when he designed a fighter jet that malfunctioned. They hated each other because of that. When Rogers found out Stark's kid was missing, and two members of The Commandos were harboring him, he believed that Stark would retaliate by backing Hydra in the coming gang war. He didn't give us any leeway to make his fear into a reality."
Of course. It always came down to fucking Howard.
Tony couldn't come up with anything to say, and he sure as hell didn't have the energy to put his indifferent mask in place, so Tony pushed off from the door and moved past Barnes towards his room.
As he brushed past the former Sergeant, Barnes caught his wrist gently with his metal hand, sending a slight shiver down Tony's spine. He continued looking ahead, not sure he had the strength to look Barnes in the eyes.
"I'm sure Stevie already told you, but you were everything to us, Tony. We loved you. You and Stevie were like brothers to me. I know you've moved on," he murmured, "but we never did."
Tony slowly extracted himself from Barnes' grip and was surprised when the man let him. He took five steadying breaths and then barreled towards his room, unable to focus on his surroundings. Instead, his thoughts whirred in place, dampening his senses and causing his vision to blur. Tony practically dove into his room, locking the door behind him with a click, and collapsed onto the bed.
Think. He had to think.
What the hell was he going to do?
XX