Chapter Five:

The dynamic in the house changed drastically. The Avengers breathed life into the cabin, their squabbles and jokes ringing through the air like a tolling bell. There was constantly someone around whenever he walked into a room. The packhouse only quieted down late at night, after everyone had gone back to their respective homes. Sometimes there were sleepovers, but not often. Clint, perhaps, spent the least amount of time at the packhouse, as he had a family that lived about a mile up the road.

Tony had made that discovery quite accidentally when he was out exploring the grounds, eager to get out of the house that was quickly becoming suffocating. His eyes had alighted on the two story farm house in the distance, wide wrap around porch with a scattering of children's toys in the yard. There was a small pink bike with glitter tassels in the handle bars and a white wicker basket propped up against the porch, a blue one left haphazardly in the grass by the driveway. Baseball bats and soccerballs were left discarded on the porch by small, careless, hands. He could, even from a distance, hear the happy laughter of children playing, followed by the deeper cadence of Clint's voice. He was playing with his children, and it was clear that they loved him. Some unnamed emotion made his throat tight, his chest hurt, and his eyes prick. He had about faced, heading off into the woods in the distance instead of following the dirt road that would lead him past Clint's home and further up into the mountains.

He had spent an afternoon exploring nature, not dwelling on the more recent happenings of his life, and instead allowing his brain to overrun with concepts, upgrades, and formulas. His fingers itched for a computer screen, tablet, keyboard. Rogers had been adamant that he avoid any such pursuits.

"I've seen your twitter, Stark." Rogers said only that morning with an apologetic shake of his head. "And I get that you want to go online but our pack is still new and vulnerable. We really can't afford any bad publicity right now. The recommendation from the higher ups at SHIELD was to lay low for a little bit. Let this whole mating thing blow over. They don't want to give the media fuel to add to the fire, you know? If it makes you feel better you're not the only one who has to go dark."

Tony had ground his teeth together and asked for a tablet or laptop that did not have access to the internet. Something personal that he could just… use. For solitaire, e-reading, journaling or whatever.

Steve had given him an inscrutable look. "I'll look into it for you. I don't have anything like that here, but maybe Bruce can come up with something. Or even the IT guys at SHIELD."

Yeah, blow some more smoke up my ass, Rogers, Tony had thought vindictively. Tony was wise to the ways of Alphas, and he knew that (like a child) Steve was telling him maybe to avoid an argument. Not that they argued much. Tony was still unsure of his position in the pack. Hell, it didn't take a genius to figure out that he was at the bottom, but he wasn't sure what he could get away with yet. And after only a little over three weeks since the last incident… Tony wasn't feeling particularly brave enough to find out. So he had given Rogers a tight smile and nod, and backed out of the room. Opting to go for a walk instead. He would have to head back soon to start lunch… not that he was pulling huge crowds with his meals. For some reason, they just didn't seem to like his cooking. A smirk tugged at his lips. Considering that he could barely stand it himself, he could relate.

There was more work to do now that everyone was in residence. More meals to cook, more dishes to clean, more messes to tidy. In those early days it seemed like some of the Avengers, Bucky and Clint really, were purposefully making Tony's life at the packhouse harder. It was Tony's responsibility to clean the house, after all, and the house was suddenly filled with all sorts of things for him to pick up. On one such occasion, only last week, Bucky had "accidentally" dropped the entire contents of a Wheaties box (because of course, what other type of cereal would Captain America eat?) all over the kitchen floor. 'Sorry, Stark. Butterfingers.' He had said with an apologetic smile that didn't quite reach his eyes as he waggled his fingers, both flesh and metallic, in the air. Considering the alpha had the reflexes of a cat, Tony wasn't fooled. In high school whenever he had seen Rogers or Barnes walking down the hall with their arms laden with books, he and his cronies would slap whatever they were holding right out of their hands. 'Looks like you've got a case of the butter fingers there, boys.' He had sneered, chuckling with his friends as he left the lower classmen to try and pick up the mess he had created. It had been cruel. Tony had felt justified.

And so, without a word of complaint, Tony had merely gritted his teeth and picked it up, not bothering to argue or point out the obvious; that Bucky was just trying to humiliate and belittle him. After all, fair was fair. How many times had Tony done this to Steve and Bucky? The only difference being that he had been 16 or 17 at the time, and full of vitriol. On his hands and knees he swept up the little particles of cereal at Bucky's feet. When he was finished there was a flush of color to the Alpha's cheeks. Something that rolled across his eyes and looked an awful lot like shame. After that incident he hadn't had a problem with the winter soldier since. Maybe Bucky had been expecting a fight, verbal or physical, who knew? What he clearly hadn't expected was for Tony to just take the bullying quietly, as if it were his due.

There were still more tidying to be done with the Avengers in residence, though. Not that he minded. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do to fill his time. As a teenager he had been used to doing menial tasks like cleaning up after others, good practice for an upstart-omega his father had droned on more than one occasion, so it didn't really bother him. It just gave him time to think. Tony tried his best to stay out of their way. It was easier said than done. There were just too many of them.

Steve had started asking Tony to join them in the gym as they did training exercises as a pack. "It's a bonding thing, keeps us sharp, you're more than welcome to join us." Tony politely declined. Getting beat on by the world's favorite team of superheroes wasn't high on his to do list.

And then there was Natasha. She was a sneaky one, sidling up to Tony as he was chopping cucumber for a lunch salad he was making about a week ago.

"Hey there Stark, how are you adjusting to pack life?"

Tony's lips compressed into a thin line, his gaze darting up to meet hers then back to the cucumber.

"Hey there Nat, committed any corporate espionage lately?" he drawled lazily.

She smiled warmly. "I was wondering if you recognized me."

Tony turned and gave her one of his patented charming grins. "I'd never forget such a pretty, deceitful, face. Is there anything real about you? Do you even speak Latin?"

Natasha leaned closer to him, her hip pressed to his side, her voice soft as she whispered "Maxime probabile semper occultus loca maxime secretum."

"Which means? Wait, what did you just say?"

"I said the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places."

Tony snorted. She smiled, and it was one that held warmth and understanding. "You know, SHIELD sent me to find out the identity of a mutual friend of ours. You might've met him. Bright red-"

"And gold. Don't forget the gold. Those colors? Swanky."

Natasha nodded, her lips curled. "We were able to get his name, this scientist of yours, but he disappeared off the grid. Could be that he found out we were on to him. Could be because he's not real."

Tony paused in his mangling of the cucumber. He set the knife down, out of reach of the super spy, and turned to regard her levelly.

"What are you suggesting?"

"I think you know who Iron man really is. I think you had more to do with his conception than picking out the colors of the armor." She pressed her palm to his chest, fingertip tapping against the arc reactor that glowed a soft blue beneath his shirt. "Any chance you just wanna tell me about him? Give me a name?"

Tony reached up, wrapped his hand lightly around her tapping fingertip and pulled it away from his chest.

"You think I had something to do with designing the armor, huh? Thanks for the ego stroke. You know I love it when people stroke my ego."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "I think you've been pretending to be someone for so long, you don't know who you really are anymore. It's one of those takes one to know one situations. So if you need to talk about anything, including Iron man, I'm all ears."

Tony smiled tightly. "I'm sure you are."

And with that she strolled out of the kitchen, hips swaying with deadly grace. Tony shuddered. That lady gave him the heeby jeebies. He had liked Nat when he had originally met her during his holy-shit-I'm-gonna-die phase. To be honest, he still liked her. He just didn't trust her.

Bruce was another story. For the most part the scientist kept to himself, only occasionally coming over to the packhouse unless for a training exercises that required his presence, and a meal or two during the week. He seemed to be a little stilted, a little withdrawn, from the rest of the group. Tony supposed when you could turn into a giant green rage monster at any second it was difficult to let down your guard and just hang. Tony could relate to that in a way, and found himself engaging the scientist in mild conversation whenever he was around. Well, mostly Tony talked while Bruce did his daily crosswords, but they had a camaraderie going, which was nice.

It was kind of lonely living in a house full of people who you couldn't talk to. Or, to be fair, didn't want to. And so instead of wandering aimlessly around the house, or sitting in his cramped little room - where he kinda felt like Harry Potter living in the cupboard, Tony walked and tried to avoid the thoughts and worries that crowded his mind by thinking of equations, algorithms, probabilities. Being lonely wasn't a problem for Tony. He was quite used to it. What he wasn't used to was not having anything to do. No problems to solve at SI, no workshop to get lost in, no Pepper to bicker with. He couldn't drink his problems away, there wasn't a drop of liquor in the packhouse because, trust him, he had checked. He couldn't bury his problems in booze and companionship and bad decisions. Though now that he thought of it, it wouldn't be that hard to make his own moonshine. Most of the things were already here, on hand. He'd just have to find a place to hide it. Maybe the old barn at the edge of the pack house property? It had been a part of the original property. The old house had been torn down to make way for the new packhouse, but they had kept the barn.

He sighed, watching the sun begin its descent in the sky. He had spent too much time out here in the woods, and if he didn't put some pep in his step then he was going to be late for dinner. Shoving down the irritation that was simmering in his chest he started back down the mountain before remembering about those damned menacing chickens. He had seen them on his way up into the forest, they seemed to migrate from the back field to the edge of the main trail that led up into the mountains, and he had only just narrowly avoided a confrontation with the little monsters on his way up. Now he was going to have to go the long way around to avoid being pecked bloody. Fool me once, and all that.

He started back down the mountain, straying off the marked path while considering making a sling shot and taking care of his little avian problem once and for all, when the ground shifted beneath his feet. With a grunt he tripped, toppling down the hill ass over teakettle before coming to a jarring stop when his stomach was sent slamming into the base of a tree. The incline of the mountain was steep, and luckily Tony hadn't gone too far up otherwise that would have hurt a lot worse.

"F-fuck." He wheezed, jaw clenched and head tilted back slowly to stare up at the sky. He gave himself a minute to just feel the burn, the pulsating pain, before he tried to move.

Sitting up, slowly and gingerly, Tony groaned at the bruised feeling in his ribs. A cold sweat broke out on his forehead as old memories assaulted him. He shook his head. He wasn't in Afghanistan anymore. His ribs were likely bruised, not broken, and it was a tree and his own sloppy footing that had done him in, not a captor's boot or fists. Pushing away the panic attack, Tony gathered his strength. He couldn't stay in the woods all night like a little damsel in distress waiting to be rescued. He could only imagine Steve's reaction at having to come and find him. What other amenities could be taken away from him? Maybe he'd be locked in the attic. His chest constricted at the thought.

'If you're planning on going for a hike...just let me know.' Steve had said that, hadn't he? He needed to get back, the sooner the better. Maybe no one would notice dinner was late. Maybe they would be thankful...his dinners were terrible.

Getting to his feet slowly, Tony groaned again. His ankle was a hot throbbing mess. Likely a minor sprain, which would make hiking back down the hill even more difficult.

"Perfect." He muttered, casting about for a sturdy stick to lean on. He needed to brace himself against it to ease the weight off his bad ankle. It took him a few minutes of crawling around on the forest floor to find what he was looking for. It was a large branch that split into a V shape, Tony snapped the excess twigs off so he was left with a makeshift crutch. Testing it out and finding it sturdy enough to bear his weight, Tony nodded. There would be no going the long way around to avoid the hens. He needed to stick to the main trail, chickens be damned.

Getting down the mountain and through the woods was grueling with a sprained ankle and bruised ribs. By the time he had reached the bottom he was drenched in sweat and the sun was dipping beyond the horizon. He could hear the soft, tentative, clucks of the feral chickens in the distance. His jaw ached from gritting his teeth. He was tired. Dirty. Bruised. All he wanted to do was stop and just rest for a bit, but fear of what would happen if he wasn't back in time kept him pushing stubbornly onward. A sudden rustling of feathers had him looking up.

Tony groaned.

Standing in a clear line across the path were the heath-hens. There were six of the little bastards, and they were all eyeing him with what Tony considered to be a malicious intent.

"Look guys," Tony started, standing stock still, and suddenly feeling every single scrape and bruise from his fall down the mountain "I'm not going to lie to you. I've had an awful day, I'm in a lot of pain already. Let's just call it a truce for now, okay? Just let me go, and I'll make sure there's some corn in for you. No? Strawberries? Lettuce? Bread?"

The chickens of course, did not respond. What was he expecting? Bracing himself, Tony hobbled his way forward, surprised when they moved out of the way, and then astounded when they fanned out around him in a circle. He had an avian escort. Of sorts. Whatever, weirder things had happened in his life. He wasn't going to look askance at this one.

"Kinda far into the woods for you guys, don't you think?" Tony murmured conversationally, glancing up at the darkening sky with concern. He was maybe a 5 minute hike from the entrance, 10 with his hobbled ankle. Dinner was usually on the table by now. He was so screwed. How was he going to hide a sprained ankle? It would work out, it wouldn't be the first time he had to cook with injuries, he reminded himself. If he could make a souffle with two black eyes he could barely see out of he was sure he could make a stir fry with a swollen ankle. A brief glance at his clothes made him sigh again. It looked like he had been rolling around in mud.

"Tony!"

He flinched as the sound of his name echoed through the woods. He felt his heart stutter, and then he sighed. He had been gone too long...they were looking for him.

"Tony!" Steve's voice bellowed again, getting louder as he drew closer.

"Over here!" Tony shouted back, resigned to his fate.

Steve paused as he rounded the bend in the trail. His body was rigid, primed, his blue eyes sharp and cutting as they took in Tony and the flock. Steve tapped a com unit in his ear. "Found him, meet me back at the packhouse." Some unnamed emotion wrinkled his brow, his lips parted, but before he could say anything Tony held up a placating hand.

"Look, I'm sorry. I lost track of the time, I had an accident. I was on my way back, it won't happen again."

Steve blew out an irritated breath before making his way toward him. A part of Tony wilted, wanted to cower, to bear his neck in submission to the obviously agitated Alpha. Tony ruthlessly beat that part down and met Steve's snapping blue eyes stare for stare. If he was going to get throttled he was going to do it while standing his ground. See, I'm not scared of you! Except that there was a fine tremor working its way up from his knees to his belly. Steve blew right through his chicken guard, who scattered with what sounded like outraged hisses and clucks as he bowled through them. Did chickens hiss?

Tony couldn't help his instinctive flinch as Steve reached for him, but instead of the blow he had been anticipating, he found himself up ended and flung over Steve's shoulders. He let out a soft groan as his stomach made contact with the hard, broad shoulder of his Alpha.

"What the hell?" he gasped, ribs protesting the sudden movement.

"Do you have any idea," Steve began after a little while, in a calm voice that belied his actions, long strides eating up the ground as he about faced and made his way out of the woods and back towards the packhouse. "How worried we all were when you didn't come home? The entire pack is out looking for you right now. I told you to tell me if you went hiking, Tony."

Tony gritted his teeth through the pain. "I'm sorry," he groaned, his breath short. Steve paused, mid stride, at Tony's pained groan. Slowly, carefully, he lifted Tony off his shoulder and set him on the ground in front of him, his gaze assessing.

Blue eyes narrowed in concern on Tony's dirt streaked face. "Aside from your ankle, are you hurt anywhere else?"

Before Tony could answer or deflect, and he most definitely would have deflected, Steve's hands were on him. Tony startled at the touch, the warm heat of Steve's coarse palms running up his arms and down his back with a firm measured pressure. When his thumbs grazed his ribs, Tony sucked in a pained breath. Blue eyes flickered up to meet his, the concern there evident.

"Let's get you back to the packhouse and have Bruce take a look at you." Steve murmured. "Do you want me to carry you, or do you want to walk?"

A flush of embarrassment pinkened Tony's cheeks and he instinctively shook his head in denial. "I can walk-"
Tony found himself scooped up again, but this time Steve was carrying him bridal style. It was embarrassing. One arm went up to wrap around Steve's shoulder.

"Geez Rogers, a little warning would be nice. I mean it, I can walk."

Steve snorted. "You're obviously in pain, Tony." Steve's voice came out hard, gritty. "And apparently I can't trust you to be honest with me." Cautiously Tony tilted his head back to stare up at the Alpha holding him. Steve was a hard one to peg. He never knew where he stood with the Alpha. With Howard and Obie, things had been pretty cut and dry. Was Steve mad? Tony hated that he didn't know, but staring up at his Alpha's hard blue eyes and clenched jaw made Tony think maybe Steve was mad.

"I mean, yeah, okay. So I fell down and I hurt my ankle a little bit-"

"And ribs." Steve added, his voice carefully bland and clipped.

"Okay and my ribs a little bit. But it's not going to stop me from doing my chores, so don't worry about that. It's not." There was an almost pleading lilt to Tony's voice, "I can, I can still cook and clean, and I - look it's not gonna stop me from pulling my weight around here. I might just do it a little slower, is all. And I can..next time I'll let you know if I go hiking…" Tony choked off as every one of his words just made Steve's eyes narrow and jaw clench tighter and tighter. He had the distinctive feeling he was digging his own grave.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?" Steve all but growled as he climbed the steps to the pack house, and shouldered the front door open. Tony tried to wriggle out of his arms, but the steely bands wrapped around him wouldn't budge. He breathed a sigh of relief when Steve walked into the kitchen. It was almost a welcome relief, knowing where he stood in this pack. Familiarity breeds comfort and all that, even if what he was familiar with was shitty by any stretch of the imagination.

Steve lowered him to his feet by the island countertop in the kitchen.

Shaking a little, and trying to hide it, Tony turned and headed toward the refrigerator, his steps awkward and heavy.

"Would you sit down." Steve growled, scooping Tony up and physically depositing him onto a stool.

Tony froze, wide eyed, as Rogers made his way toward the pantry and returned with a first aid kit.

"For goodness sake, Tony. No one expects you to cook dinner tonight. Just...stop talking. And don't move. Everything you say just… makes me mad."

Tony ducked his head, not fighting his instincts this time as he bared his neck. Everything he was doing was wrong. He sucked at this. Steve was going to revoke privileges. He wasn't going to be able to go to the city and he only had another week left...

Steve let out a breath that hissed out his nostrils and through clenched teeth. Tony flinched. Steve pushed away from the counter, away from Tony and walked toward the sink. Tony listened, eyes averted and neck bared, as Steve turned on the water.

"I am not mad at you, Tony." Steve grit out, after a few minutes of brittle silence. Tony startled as Steve began to gently wipe at his face with a damp cloth, eyes narrowed as he checked him over for scrapes and bruises. "You must've hit your head here." he murmured, probing at the sore area gently. Tony tried to jerk away, Steve wouldn't let him.

"Hold still," he commanded in that Alpha growl. It was guttural, dark, and instinctual. He doubted Steve realized he was using it. Still, it made Tony freeze and flush. He sat quietly while Steve cleaned up his face, bandaging the small scrapes. Tony let out a sigh of relief when the clatter of the rest of the crew came through the house.

"We're in here!" Steve called over his shoulder. Tony tensed, ready to get up, but Steve laid a firm hand on his shoulder, pinning him in place.

"Sit still." he turned as Clint, Natasha and Bruce walked into the kitchen. "Bruce, I think Tony might have broken his ribs. Can you take a look at them?"

As Bruce headed over Tony was quick to add. "They're bruised, not broken. I'm fine. Everything is fine, you can stop this… whatever it is." He flapped his hands at the intractable Steven Rogers, who was giving him the strangest look out of the corner of his eye. "Just let me up, I'll make dinner and we can all forget this ever-"

"What did I tell you about being quiet?" Steve growled. Tony visibly shrank. Bruce was shaking his head.

"Hey buddy, we were worried about you. Glad Steve found you. Do you mind if we take off your shirt, I'd really like to check your ribs."

Tony's eyes darted up, defiantly, to glance at Steve before meeting Bruce's gaze. "They're bruised, not broken." Tony reaffirmed.

"Well we can't be sure without an x-ray but-"

Tony rolled his eyes. "I know what broken ribs feel like, these are bruised. Couple ibuprofen and some water and I will be right as rain. No sweat, Doc."
An awkward silence filled the kitchen, before Bruce cleared his throat. Steve was looking anywhere but at him. Both Clint and Natasha were staring at him as if he were a pet that had just peed on the carpet. Bucky chose that moment to walk into the kitchen with a 'what did I miss' expression on his face.

"Ah, yeah, well, all the same. If you wouldn't mind?"

With a sigh, Tony gripped the bottom of his shirt and gingerly pulled it off. His chest was slick with sweat and dirt, forest debris. He glanced up to see everyone's eyes fall to the blue glow of the arc reactor in his chest. He was used to it, so that didn't bother him too much, but it was the way that their eyes traveled across his torso that had Tony feeling like a bug under a microscope.

"You know, I don't usually take my clothes off unless I'm getting paid for it." Tony couldn't help but snipe, his teeth clicking shut as he cast a cautious glance toward Steve. He shouldn't have bothered. Captain America was studiously staring at the wall across from him as if his gaze could cut through it if he tried hard enough. Apparently his snideness was enough to get the rest of the crew moving. They left the kitchen, leaving Tony alone with Steve and Bruce.

Tony yelped at the sudden press of fingers on his bruised ribs, but quickly clamped his lips shut. He sat in silence, enduring Bruce's too thorough exam. Moving when he was told to move, breathing deep when he was told to breathe. Bruce checked him over from top to bottom.

"Tony is right. He's got some bruised ribs and a sprained ankle. That lump on his head is a little concerning. We'll give him some ibuprofen, or if the pain is bad I'm sure we can get something a bit stronger too. We need to elevate that ankle, and ice it. I don't want to wrap his ribs for a bruise, it's only going to make breathing harder. We don't want him to get pneumonia. He will need someone to wake him up every 4 hours tonight to make sure he isn't concussed."

"Got it, thanks Bruce."

Bruce left the room. Tony sensed he didn't go too far. Like the others, they were probably waiting in the living room or the war room. Unease drifted up Tony's spine. Were they giving Steve privacy? And why?

"Do you want to take a shower or a bath before I wrap your ankle?"

Tony shook his head.

Steve knelt on the ground at Tony's feet. "Your pants are filthy, you might as well take them off."

The color leached from Tony's cheeks. "R-right." Awkwardly his hands began to tremble. Which was stupid. Steve wasn't going to hurt him or anything. He knew that. He did. And still his stomach was tight with nerves and his fingers trembled as they worked the snap of his jeans. Tony jerked as Steve's calloused hands brushed his away. He made quick work of shucking a wobbly Tony out of his stained and worn clothes. He was left sitting in a stool in his black boxer briefs, cheeks flushed, as he looked anywhere but at Steve who was still kneeling on the ground at his feet. Steve made quick work of his ankle. Wrapping it up with a practiced ease as if he had done it many times before. He got up, and Tony let out a sigh of relief, his shoulders sagging, only to groan as Steve returned with yet another damp dish cloth. When he began to quietly but firmly stroke down his arms and chest Tony squeaked in indignation, swatting Steve's hands away.

"I fell, Rogers. I'm not an invalid."

Steve chuckled, surrendering the rag without a fight.

"Hey Bucky, you want to grab Tony a pair of sweatpants and shirt?" Steve called.

"Unless you bought him clothes since the thong fiasco, he doesn't own a pair of sweatpants. Just some jeans and old band shirts. You want me to give him some of your clothes?"

Steve turned to regard a still flushing Tony. "Yeah… that's fine. Thanks Buck."

"Why… why are you doing this?" Tony gritted out, cleaning the forest debris off of himself with quick efficient strokes.

"Doing what?" Steve moved across the kitchen, fetching a glass that he filled with cold tap water. He ruffled through the first aid kit, finding some ibuprofen.

Being nice. Acting like you care. But Tony didn't say that. Instead what came out of his mouth in the most aggressive tone he had used with Rogers since this whole thing began was:
"I can take care of myself, you know."
Tony's shoulders were hunched, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Steve glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his lips twitching upward slightly.

"To be honest Tony, it's an Alpha thing. You're my omega. You're just going to have to trust me on this. You're my mate, even if we haven't consummated that part, and a part of my pack. I don't like it when you're hurt or hurting. I especially don't like it when you're afraid and trying to hide that you're hurting from me. It makes me… frustrated. Not at you, just, it makes me feel like I need to… I don't know. I'd just really appreciate it if you did us all a favor and tonight just let me take care of you."

The skin at the nape of Tony's neck prickled. He turned away to hide the confusion that was doubtlessly written across his face.

An alpha thing huh? Tony mentally scoffed. Every Alpha he had ever known had never been interested in taking care of him. But maybe Rogers was different. Who knew?

His musings were cut short when Bucky strode onto the room and deposited the clothes on the counter next to him before leaving. Tony wasted no time in getting dressed, he didn't want Steve to start doing that for him too. He was done with being coddled. He wasn't a baby, damnit.

And then Steve was handing him his medicine, grabbing a bag of frozen peas, and then scooping Tony up again, damnit, and carrying him into the living room where the rest of the team was waiting.

He was placed on the couch while Bruce and Natasha piled pillows for his ankle to rest on. Steve sat next to him, forcing Tony to lean against the Alpha, while Bruce put the peas in a towel and placed it on his ankle. Bucky and Clint were arguing over what to watch, while Natasha sat at the far end of the couch and rolled her eyes. The guys finally settled upon Star Wars revenge of the sith. Pizza was ordered, popcorn was shared, and Tony fell asleep to the sound of Chancellor Palpatine commanding the clone troopers to execute order 66.

Steve glanced down at the slumbering Omega tucked next to him, his face lax with sleep. Soundlessly the team looked up and made eye contact with Steve. After everything they had been through together, the battles they had seen, they needed no words. Each and every one of them had been disgusted by the scars that littered Tony's body. Evidence of the abuse he had sustained. Was it all from Afghanistan? Steve didn't know much about what had happened there, to be honest. He knew by Natasha's pointed look that she was intent on finding out more than the barebones information they currently had. He knew that Tony had been kidnapped, that had certainly been all over the news, and had resurfaced months later in a suit made by a scientist named Yinsen that would become the framework for the Iron Man suit. What had Tony endured in those months of captivity? Was that what had put the wariness in his eyes, the flinching obedience? Had he ever received help or counseling?

For the first time the team was forced to view Tony not as who he had been, but who he currently was. Over the past few weeks Tony had kept mostly to himself despite Steve's many attempts to draw him into pack activities. Tonight he hadn't given Tony a choice. He had all but forced the Omega to sit down and lean on him, surrounded by the strongest members of the pack. Within the first five minutes he could see the tension leave the Omegas body. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, Tony needed a pack to lean on. Just as they all did. Steve intended to give him one. He still wasn't Tony's biggest fan by any stretch of the imagination, Tony was too sarcastic and prickly and secretive for that, but he found he no longer harbored the same resentment he once had toward the Omega.

They would be leaving Tony behind in a few days for some routine training missions, ordered by Director Fury. Steve didn't want to leave the vulnerable omega behind… perhaps Laura and the kids could come by and check on him while they were gone. Did Tony like kids?

There was so much he didn't know about Tony. But he fully intended to find it all out.