AN: Hey, sorry for the long wait! I wrote this chapter in pieces so I hope it flows okay. Warnings: there's a few descriptions of blood/gore and Tony as a kid get's hit, so if those things make you uncomfortable I'm super sorry! I hope you like it anyway though, this is kinda just plot for if I ever want to end the series. Please send me prompts! Cuz I'll be writing those from now on. This also has a lot more of Tony acting like a child, but he'll act more like regular Tony next chapter, so sorry if you hate that!

To Nightwing5: Better than cheese AND sliced bread? Man, you're setting the bar high for me! To Me And Not You 1001: I really like the conflicting moments too, they're super hard to write though! You're going to love this chapter though, lots of cognitive dissonance. To MagicWarriorDragon: Yes, that is the one shot that inspired that scene! Such a good story, I hope that I did it justice with my little tribute! And I'll definitely do something with JARVIS, I love that sassy computer. Something sad would be nice, I'll see what I can do!

Natasha found herself staring at the darkly blossoming bruise on Tony's temple as the boy clung to her, his Hulk toy tucked under his arm and his thumb in his mouth. It had probably happened in the battle yesterday - God, was that only yesterday? God, was this even Stark?

She really didn't know what to make of this new boy in front of them. She felt they hadn't met him before, uncharted territory that acted as big as the older Stark but was far more fragile. It was immensely difficult for her, since she was the one who wrote Stark's original report. Emotionally constipated, that man; the boy, not so much.

That boy needed her, and she found that she didn't mind all that much. Certainly she didn't love Stark, but she didn't dislike him, she didn't want him gone. God forbid anyone find out, but he was a good man and trustworthy in a fight.

This Stark was completely different and yet breathtakingly familiar. And he needed someone to care for him. If he wanted Natasha to be that person, so be it.

It had been shockingly terrifying, to see the hurt and crying boy and realize that it was Tony. She knew it was hard on Pepper and Tony and the others, and she needed to be a rock for them. If being a rock for Tony meant letting her motherly side show, so be it. She had long since decided she could trust these men with her life; maybe it was time to show more of herself. Not that she honestly hid anything.

As horrifying (and almost laughable) as it was to watch Tony choking on his own lungs, it was probably nothing to actually experiencing it. Natasha had fully expected him to jump to Bruce, the one he trusted the most; she only realized what was wrong when Tony flinched after Thor moved too fast in his line of sight. A five year old with PTSD. Should she talk to the SHIELD psychiatrist about it? She really did sound like his mother.

But it was Bruce who coaxed the shell-shocked little boy into drinking chocolate milk and taking medicine and eating breakfast. It was Clint who joked with him and convinced him to watch some terrible movie together after breakfast. And it was Steve who decided to join them.

At some point during the movie, which Clint and Tony narrated together, thanks to Steve and a golden sharpie Tony's cast turned into a near perfect replica of his Iron Man gauntlet. It delighted Steve that Tony was delighted. He immediately pointed his fake repulsor at Clint and pretended to fire while Clint shouted "No fair!" and "Friendly fire!" It turned into friendly pokes and jabs while Steve took cover behind a pillow, until Tony gasped and curled up, saying something nearly incoherent about pain in his chest. Then Bruce was there to soothe him, Steve hovering anxiously and unsure how to help and Clint grabbing Tony's Hulk and giving it to him.

It took a cooling ointment, icepacks, rubbing, and some coddling, but eventually Tony fell asleep, sprawled comfortably on his back across the sofa while Clint trailed fingers through his curls, a gesture all the Avengers had quickly noticed was now comforting to him. They took a few silent seconds to watch the sleeping figure, making sure he was calm and comfortable, before breathing out a sigh. This was harder than expected.

It was about then that Natasha and Thor came striding in with purpose. "We have been summoned," Thor whispered in a voice quieter than any they thought he could make, noticing Tony sleeping.

"Fury said it was urgent," Natasha added. Steve looked at Tony uneasily.

"Should we wake him?" he asked softly, glancing at Bruce for guidance.

"No, he didn't get much sleep last night and today has been tough on him so far. Besides, it's not like he could help us. It would be better to let him sleep."

"Is someone coming to watch him?" Clint asked Natasha. She shook her head.

"He's not actually a kid. He can look after himself."

"Yeah, because he does that so well when he's an adult." Natasha was honestly uneasy about it, but she parroted what Fury had told her when she had asked the same question herself. She shrugged at the sarcastic retort.

"JARVIS, if Tony wakes up before we get back tell him where we are and call us," Bruce said to the A.I.

"Of course, Dr. Banner."

It was far later when Tony woke up, rolling off the couch and rubbing his eyes blearily, yawning. "Good afternoon, sir," JARVIS said, making Tony jump a bit. "Do you feel better now?" He nodded, stretching with a deep sigh.

"Time?" he asked groggily, looking around for his companions.

"2:47 PM sir. The Avengers were called out on a mission. Dr. Banner told me to let you know they would be back by dinner time." He nodded, stumbling toward the kitchen to find something to drink. A few quiet minutes passed as Tony's brain ran through its startup sequence before JARVIS spoke again. "Sir, Dr. Banner ordered me to inform him when you woke, however I am having trouble connecting to him- However I am having trouble connecting to him." Tony froze and glanced up, blinking slowly.

"JARVIS, is there something wrong?" His trusty A.I. paused, almost hesitated.

"Yes, sir, I believe there is."

"Shit!"

He dropped the glass he was holding, darting back into the living room and snatching up a Stark Pad, his fingers flying over the screen as he searched through lines of code, calling out orders to JARVIS. "Initiate protocol 712. Give them a run for their money, J, don't let them in. I'll backtrack to get their location."

"Yes, sir."

Adrenaline pelted through him, fear and anger mixed in equal portions: fear that someone was attacking him, that the Avengers could be in danger, and anger that someone dared to touch what was his, to try and hurt JARVIS. There was tense silence as he and his creation worked in tandem.

The gasp Tony let out was unbidden and harsh, drawing the blood away from his face. "Lockdown, JARVIS, lockdown!" he shouted as he ran to grab the gun hidden in his kitchen - there were several around the apartments that no one knew about, a precaution and a bad habit he hadn't been able to get rid of since Obadiah, though he didn't know if he'd have the muscle memory to shoot it as he was now. "Shut everything down! No one in or out!" They were in the building, fuck, they were in the building. How did they get in the building? And when he had no means of protection either.

It was too late, he realized as the elevator doors swung open and several of the floor-to-ceiling windows smashed to pieces. He flung himself to the ground, covering his head and face to avoid the flying glass, looking up with fresh terror at the strangers who marched from the elevator, glancing at the robots he unfortunately recognized who stalked towards him with merciless purpose. He scrambled to his feet, cutting his palms and soles on broken glass, instinctively backing away as his breath quickened with unnatural fear, bringing up bad memories.

It didn't matter. More robots crashed in, making him flinch against the wall for protection, and metal fingers grabbed him, holding him with bruising force and dragging him easily. Why were they here? The robots they had fought yesterday, before all this shit happened?

It was an easy conclusion to come to, but one he didn't want to acknowledge. Unwilling, he felt burning tears drip down his cheeks, tasting the salt, and he heard one of the men begin to laugh, sparking harsh shame. He looked up and realized who it was. It was that man, that stupid, crazy man who had injected him with that strange substance and turned him into this. The man was wearing a lab coat, five others behind him holding machine guns and sporting Kevlar, and twenty robots at Tony's back, all brutally inhuman, and the man was laughing because Tony was terrified. His knees were shaking and he was practically being supported by the three metal men holding him - one on each arm, and one with a fist in his hair, tugging his black curls harshly.

And the man walked forward.

Tony froze in horror and alarm, every instinct screaming in a cacophony telling him to fight with everything he had, but logic dictating he stay still in self-preservation. It was only when the man knelt, bringing him to Tony's height, that Tony realized how dreadfully small he was, and fragile, and damn breakable and easily taken, and there was nothing he could do. He might be kidnapped, he might be killed here, and there was nothing he could do.

He sobbed.

The man chuckled, trailed his fingers along the edge of the arc reactor, and Tony felt his breath freeze completely, water vapor turned to ice in his lungs, overtaken by panic. But the man looked up again, smiled a bit, and patted Tony on the cheek, talking over his shoulder to one of the soldiers behind him.

"No sign of the effects yet. We're going to try some external stimulus." He tilted his head, looking Tony in the eyes, and the boy was frozen like he was staring at a basilisk. The fact that he was an adult and a superhero no less, and wasn't supposed to be afraid of something like this or, at the very least, show the fear after all he had been through, didn't occur to him in the slightest. The dreadful desire that Natasha or Bruce or Clint were there was growing into a physical ailment, fear making his stomach churn.

"You know," the man said after a few minutes, "it's been painfully easy to catch you alone, Mr. Stark. Twice." Tony had no response. "Of course, this time no one is coming to save you. Your friends already have one foot in the grave."

And there it was, the realization Tony didn't want to acknowledge: it was all a trap. All for him, and he had no idea why. It was like the ceiling had come crashing down around him - his mind, as it was now, couldn't comprehend the idea that the Avengers were gone. It was simply impossible. Those assholes never died! Steve probably couldn't die anymore, he had been frozen for how long; could demigods die? Thor would be fine, at least, right? Hulk wouldn't let Bruce die, no matter what happened; Natasha and Clint always found a way to get through sticky situations; he was the weak link here, how could they be dead?! No no no, there was no way, just no way. This guy was lying.

"Liar!" he found himself screeching at the top of his lungs, his face turning red, sounding every bit the bratty, spoiled little kid he was. "Liar! Liar! Liar!" This guy was trying to provoke him. Maybe they wouldn't come in time, but there was no way they were dead. They couldn't die. There was no way. "Liar! Liar! Lia-oof!"

The air was knocked out of him, pain rocketing through his abdomen, and his first thought was Oh God, I've been shot. I've been shot, oh God, they've shot me. I'm going to die.

But no, there was no blood, just immense pain, and it took a few seconds for his brain to catch up and realize that all the pain was caused by a sharp punch to the stomach, presumably meant to shut him up, which had worked as intended. And he realized, as he tried to curl into himself, that small things hurt a lot more to children than to adults. His head snapped to the side and a cut opened on his cheek as the man slapped him, snarling "Shut up, Stark."

He began to cry earnestly, sobbing as soon as he had the breath to, wailing. "JARVIS! Bruce! N-Natasha! Natasha h-help!"

And, oh my God, there she was, with a nicely placed kick to the man's face that elicited an audible and very satisfying crack, with Thor and Steve rushing behind Tony to engage the robots in heated, loud, terrifying battle. He was let go and couldn't support himself, collapsing on his knees in broken glass, and Natasha and Clint were at his side, both looking at him with concern and anger.

"Tony," Natasha said quietly, brushing hair off his face affectionately, and he leaned into her touch, need it, craved it, wanted it to take the fear away, the pain. "Tony, did they hurt you?" All he could manage was a sob, once again leaping into her arms, clinging to her tightly as choking cries escaped him. She held him close, rubbing his back, and he could feel Clint gently checking him for head wounds in between picking off robots that came too close, both murmuring quiet reassurances and comforting him.

The sounds of battle died off quickly and left a ringing in his ears that he covered up with his own crying, his fists twisted in Natasha's shirt, Clint's hand rubbing up and down his back, both prompting him to respond. His own shout was still ringing in his head - 'Liar!'

"I knew it!" he finally cried, sobbing weakly. "I knew he was lying! I knew you c-couldn't die! I knew you w-wouldn't l-l-leave me!"

"Never, Tony," Natasha mumbled in his ear.

"You know us, we're invincible," Clint said behind him. "We're here for you. We've got your back."

They were all crowded around him and Natasha, Bruce looking distinctly green and Thor looking about to level Manhattan with lightning, staring down at the shivering billionaire with worry. Bruce looked at Natasha and Clint, taking a deep breath. "How did you know?"

"Know w-what?" Tony asked, sniffling and wiping at his face, not even embarrassed anymore.

"We were halfway to the mission point when the two turned the ship around," Steve explained. "They said it was a trap. How did you know?"

"Instinct," was the assassins' answer, and that was good enough for Tony. Steve and Bruce didn't seem convinced, but it didn't matter.

"JARVIS," Tony mumbled, looking up at Natasha. "I have to fix JARVIS. They hurt him."

"Alright," she said, lifting him and settling him on her hip, picking up the somehow whole Stark Pad. "I'm going to check you over first. Pepper had to fly out for some meetings, she'll be back tomorrow morning." He nodded, finding his thumb in his mouth, and looked up as Clint held out a dusty Hulk plush which he took gratefully.

The adults started whispering together and Tony couldn't bother himself to listen, slowly relaxing as the terror and adrenaline faded. He rested his head on Natasha's arm, staring around his demolished living room, and his eyes fell to the bruised and bloody men, drawn by the chilling glint of a brandished gun. His breath was drawn away, the only warning he could give the others a choking gasp.

It was enough, because Steve had seen it too. He leapt into Tony's line of sight and then Clint's hand was over Tony's eyes, Natasha shifting underneath him as warmth covered the side of his face and arm. It took him several minutes to realize the darkness was no longer caused by Clint's hand but by his own eyes squeezing shut, and several more to notice that the ringing wasn't only caused by the aftermath of a gunshot but by his own screaming. He choked himself off quickly, gasping in a breath before opening his eyes.

Natasha was staring back at him; she was talking, he could tell because her lips were moving, but he couldn't hear her. The left side of her face was splattered in blood, and he could feel the same sick liquid dripping down the right side of his, but it wasn't theirs. He couldn't stop staring at it, and his shoulders were trembling. His hands were clutched so tight around something that it hurt, and he looked down slowly.

The toy wavered like it was underwater, crimson droplets staining its fabric, and he dropped it like he had been burned, staring at the shaking of his hands. Natasha's slender hands enfolded his small ones, and he realized how cold he was. He looked back up and found Natasha's face wavering in the same watery way, and some part of him whispered it was because there were tears in his eyes, but he didn't comprehend that part.

Suddenly he could hear again and Natasha was calling his name, looking halfway between murderous and tears, and his brain was working overdrive to catch up with what his instincts had already shuddered at.

The cry was nearly ripped from his lips like a physical force, full of anguish and desperation, and it drew nothing but silence from the others. "Steve! S-Steve- Steve, S-s- S-s-st-" And nothing more would come out but wrenching sobs that doubled him over with their force, pain in his chest spiking. It hurt. Everything hurt and he wanted it to stop.

It didn't make sense.

That man, that cruel man in the lab coat (he didn't think he would ever be able to see Bruce working again without remembering his terror) had shot Steve, and now Steve was gone. He was dead, right? Tony wasn't ever going to see him again, hear him again, feel him again, just like he wouldn't see his mom or dad or Jarvis or Miss Peggy. And it didn't make sense, and it should've made sense, he knew it should've made sense, and it hurt. Mommy and Daddy and Jarvis were supposed to be there with him, comforting him like they always did when he cried, or at least Jarvis was supposed to be, but they weren't because they had been gone for years, they were dead and he wasn't going to see them again but that didn't make sense because they were supposed to be there and they couldn't be gone. It just didn't make sense and it hurt. Why were they gone? People had told him he could see them again but they were wrong, he had never seen them since then. Since when? They were supposed to be here, they were supposed to be here. Inside him was a screaming match between a child and an adult, his body ravaged by terror and shock, his mind aching with cognitive dissonance from Hell. And all that came out were cries.

Sharp, gasping, gut-wrenching cries that retreated with sore muscles and breathlessness and stole away appetite, that twisted at the hearts of adults who heard them and made them think that something was very, very physically wrong. The kind that brought other children to tears for the sheer empathy of the pain expressed in them, and he couldn't stop them. The adult part of him was screaming, screaming, screaming at him to man up damn it. He was Iron Man, he was Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, and none of those things cried. That was why the Iron Man mask was so expressionless in the first place. But he couldn't, because it didn't make sense, but it was supposed to make sense, but it didn't fucking make sense.

Natasha was staring at him like she had been shot, and some adult part of him was trying to strangle himself just to force away the weakness, but none of that mattered because he could hear Steve whispering in his ear. It didn't matter what he was whispering; that was inconsequential to the fact that Steve was whispering at all, because Tony was absolutely positive he was dead and he and Natasha were now dripping with Captain America's blood. He whipped around and was face to face with concern-laced baby blues, and he realized he must have been wrong. And for once in his life, he adored the fact that he was wrong.

He leapt on Steve as his sobs settled back into something that would be considered normal on a playground, clutching at the stars and stripes and craving touch, craving comfort, craving it to be real. Thor was blocking his view of something, but blood was strewn across him, Natasha, Clint, Steve, and the walls, so he assumed he didn't want to know. Steve cradled him close, muscles shifting, and crooned quietly. "It's okay, Tony. I'm okay, he didn't hurt me. You're okay. We're all okay. Just calm down, it's going to be fine, you're perfectly fine." A hand was in his hair and he realized it was Natasha, gently calming him, humming something that he focused on in order not to focus on anything else.

"I th-thought he had shot y-ou," he managed to stutter out, shaking and looking up at Steve, who was stricken at how small and scared and vulnerable Tony Stark could look. "I thought you w-were gone like Mommy and Daddy and Jarvis. I thought you l-left and it didn't make s-sense." He took in a shuddering breath as his mind began to race again, going nowhere but in circles, like a hamster on a wheel. "I-It's supposed to make sense but it didn't and- and-"

"Hey, I'm okay," Steve said softly, trying to calm the panicking boy. "He didn't hurt me. He didn't hurt anyone, I promise. JARVIS is going to he fine too, you'll fix him." And Tony realized they were not on the same page about who Jarvis was, but he was too exhausted to correct him, and instead tried to stop the persistent tears that were now flowing because of the deep ache that seemed to be his entire being.

"Tony?"

He whipped around. Bruce was sitting behind them, cross-legged on the floor, staring at him with such immense concern Tony could've hit himself.

But it was Bruce, and Bruce was good. Bruce could always help him find the answers, Bruce could take the pain away and help him understand why it didn't make sense. Bruce was good, and safe. Natasha was safe too. Was Steve safe? Maybe he was safe. He hadn't hurt him, and he was Captain America, and Captain America was good. Captain America punched Hitler in the face. Maybe Captain America would punch Middle Eastern terrorists in the face too, if he asked. Okay, so Captain America was good, and since Captain America was good, Steve had to be good too, because Steve was Captain America. But he didn't need Captain America right now, he needed Bruce, because Bruce had the medicine and the cool stories and Hulk, and oh God, Hulk was still on the floor covered in blood, and that would be a bad memory for sure, but Hulk wasn't the problem because he needed Bruce right now to help him understand why it didn't make sense.

So he crawled over to Bruce, and the adults realized that Tony didn't know he had just said his entire internal monologue aloud. Steve was slightly shocked at his assessment, and silently agreed that if Tony asked, he would punch whoever he wanted in the face. Natasha didn't understand why she was safe, after all she had done to Tony, but she was glad she was. Bruce was just worried about how he was going to take the pain away when he had no idea the proper dosage of narcotics for children.

Bruce pulled Tony close, gently trying to rub the tension out of the boy's back, and spoke before Tony had a chance too, because he could see the emotional distress Tony was in and needed to stop it before it got any worse. "Hey Tony, can you tell me what pi is?"

Tony's racing mind froze, backtracked, and then abandoned its train of thought for a new one altogether. Of course he could tell Bruce pi, who did they think he was? He wouldn't be an engineer or a genius if he couldn't at least do that. "Three-point-one-four-one-five-nine-two-six-"

"Alright," Bruce chuckled as Tony scowled at him, both from being interrupted and from being asked something stupid. "Guess that was too easy for you. Do you know the square root of pi?"

"One-point-seven-seven-two-four-five-three-eight-"

Tony didn't notice Steve leaving the room to retrieve washcloths, blankets, and clean clothes. He didn't notice Clint talking frantically (and angrily) on the phone with SHIELD. He didn't notice Thor taking off his cape and covering the body of the scientist, which no longer had a brain. He didn't notice Natasha pulling out her phone and searching for something. He was focused on Bruce, because Bruce was asking him something. He knew these answers. They were simple. They made sense.

"Tony." It was Natasha talking now, and his head snapped over to her. Steve had returned and her face was clean, a stained washcloth abandoned behind her. It didn't occur to him how scared it made him to see her bloodied until it was washed away, and he reached out to touch her cheek, leaving a smear of his own blood behind. He blinked, looking down at his hands, cut open from the glass on the ground. She smiled at him, wiping off her face again as Steve gently took his hands, cleaning them gingerly. Bruce shifted, cradling him more securely, and he was finally starting to feel safe again, if shaken. "You may be a genius, but I bet you suck at riddles," Natasha teased, hoping he was calmed down enough to take it light-heartedly. He scoffed and their prayers were answered.

"I'm a genius. I'm the boss at riddles, Romanoff." He smiled, then hissed when Steve hit a tender area, biting his lip. Okay, he wasn't back to normal. But he was getting there.

"Alright. Riddle me this, then. You always find me in the past. I can be created in the present, but the future can never taint me. What am I?" Tony's eyebrows scrunched together as he thought.

"Memories?" he muttered, before correcting himself in a louder voice. "No, history!"

Natasha was honestly impressed, not that Tony got the answer right (since she knew he would) but by how fast he got the answer. Thor started clapping thunderously.

"Our Man of Iron is a genius indeed!" he boomed, and a small giggle escaped the little boy.

"It's not like that one was even hard. You're not even giving me a challenge!"

Clint was off the phone now, crouching next to Steve with a box of bandaids, which Tony's hands were now coated liberally in. The two had moved onto his feet, while Bruce was wiping at his face, a small bandaid covering the cut the slap had caused. They were all trying their best to push down their anger so Tony wouldn't think they were angry at him, because that's exactly what he would think and they knew it. Clint was trying to convey with his eyes that they needed to move Tony before SHIELD came busting in, but the rest had already reached the same conclusion, and Thor found the solution when Tony pressed closer to Bruce, suppressing a yawn.

"Are you tired, friend Anthony?"

"No!" Tony answered quickly, looking panicked, and it took a moment for them to realize why.

"We won't leave again, Tony," Clint promised quietly. "It's okay for you to sleep." But the young genius started to tremble, shaking his head.

"I can't."

"It's okay," Natasha whispered, staring in his watery eyes, trying to convey her sincerity. "We won't leave. We'll be there whenever you wake up." He stared before shaking his head again, his eyes never leaving hers.

"I have to fix JARVIS."

"My apologies sir. Some of my processors were damaged and I have had a hard time maintaining communication with you as well as fighting off the attack. The attack has been neutralized and my remaining processors are functioning at a normal level. I will be alright until you find the time to repair me." Tony jumped at the stuttering voice of his A.I., but he seemed to relax, bunching up his shoulders before nodding. They almost missed his whisper.

"Don't leave."

Natasha scooped him up, pressing his face to her shoulder while she carried him past the carnage. He didn't mind it. He had no desire to see it anyway. The others trailed after them, Clint stopping to kick one of the bodies, and he kept his face covered until he heard the door to his new bedroom opening. Natasha turned away while the others helped him get cleaned up and changed, and he crawled into the bed, realizing again how cold he was. His arms felt empty, and he couldn't help calling out just to make sure JARVIS was still there. The others gathered around his bed, dragging chairs from other rooms, giving him a silent promise that they weren't leaving his side.

"Clint?" he asked in a small voice, feeling stupid but needy. And that was all the assassin needed to climb into bed with his friend, pulling him close and stroking his hair. They saw Tony visibly relax, his eyes shutting almost immediately, but his breathing didn't calm into something like sleep until Thor began to sing softly. They watched him for a few minutes to make sure he wouldn't settle into a nightmare before they did anything.

"He was really cold," Natasha whispered, and Bruce nodded.

"He was going into shock," the man whispered back, and now that they weren't focusing on Tony they all noticed how tightly his fists were clenched, and how much control he must've been exercising. "He's going to need a lot of warmth and a lot of fluids."

"You guys should go talk to Fury and make sure they aren't too loud," Clint whispered, shifting slightly. "JARVIS, are you well enough to notify them if Tony starts to wake up?"

"Yes, Agent Barton." His volume was low, and they could sense a note of hesitation. "Will sir be alright?"

"He'll be okay," Steve muttered, trying to reassure himself as much as anyone else. "This is Tony Stark. We'll get him through this."

"You are staying with young Anthony?" Thor asked quietly, looking at Clint. The archer nodded.

"I don't want to leave him like this. Especially after what just happened. I don't think I'd be able to get up without waking him, either." Natasha smirked, trying for some weak humor.

"You just want to take a nap while the rest of us work." He grinned, shrugging.

"It's a plus."