AN: To preface my apology, I will not be able to update for the next two weeks, probably. AP Exams start on Monday and I really can't take the time out of studying to worry about this, even though I would like to! I don't want to neglect this so long, but I really need to do well on these so I'm going to focus on those and come back with an even better chapter for you guys!

I'm sorry for making you guys sad with the last chapter! (But not really.) Also, I realize that a lot of you were confused about what was happening with Tony, which was kind of the point, but in this chapter I tried to clarify just a little bit. Keep in mind though that Tony is both a slightly untrustworthy narrator and not always right, so take what this chapter says with a grain of salt. On that note, I know you guys were eager to see what sort of things he could do now, but I won't be addressing that for awhile, the overarching plot is on hold for now because I want to do fluffy prompts and stuff. It will be back! Just not right now. I mainly added a plot so that there would be closure if I ever wanted to end this series, but I will address it periodically when it fits or when ideas come to me. After these next two chapters, I will be writing more Tony-being-a-kid stuff, so send me prompts!

This chapter had copious input and lots of prereading by thealextheshipper tumblr and ao3. I love them and they're wonderful so please check them out, their fics are my favorite! Also, I wrote a few drabbles on my tumblr, so if you want to send me prompts that don't pertain to this fic or want to read some of my shorter writings while I'm away for the next two weeks, go ahead and check me out at ifdragonscouldtalk. Also, I know I make really long ANs but since no one has complained yet I'm gonna keep doing what I'm doing because I like talking to you guys! Without further ado, I hope you enjoy this chapter!

It was early in the morning, way too early for normal humans, or (if you were like Tony) it was very late at night. He had just heard Steve peek into his bedroom, a bad habit he had developed that woke the genius every morning, before he left on his morning run. Silently, because he didn't want to wake the others, Tony got up and dressed, grabbing his phone, flashlight, and portable repulsor and making sure the former was turned off before assuring himself that the light from the reactor didn't show through his shirts. "JARVIS," he whispered to the darkened room, knowing the slightest noise could wake the jumpy assassins that had taken to sleeping down the hall.

"Yes, sir?" JARVIS responded in kind, his volume low and his voice already disapproving.

"Under no circumstances are you to tell the Avengers where I am or let them turn my phone GPS on without permission. You can tell them I'm going out around New York, and that I'm a big boy and I'll be back by dinner."

"Yes sir," JARVIS affirmed, disapproval still dripping from his voice. "If I may, sir, I do not believe this is a good idea. You are significantly more vulnerable in this form."

"You may not," Tony snapped, slipping out of his bedroom and shutting the door quietly, pulling his shoes on as the elevator took him down to the ground floor. "I'm just going around the city, JARV. I've lived here long enough to know what places are safe for kids and what aren't, and I'm not stupid."

"Certainly, sir" JARVIS responded, but he didn't sound all that convinced. "I hope you feel better after your walk, then."

"Yeah. See you later J."

The sun was just starting to rise and it was still cool, making him zip up his jacket and shove his hands in his pockets, but it wasn't called the city that never sleeps for nothing. Even now there were many people walking, cars honking and pedestrians and each other, sirens ringing out across the city as they eerily echoed off the buildings. The streets were not dark, neon signs, street lights, head lights, and store windows flooding the scene in warm, otherworldly colors. He liked this time of the morning. This time of the morning was when he got to be no one, in the limbo between wakeful and restful, when he didn't have responsibilities shoved down his throat.

He knew what route Rogers took on his morning run, and which routes were most dangerous for children, which included lots of crossing the street, because, let's be real, in New York it sometimes seemed like traffic signals were more of a suggestion than a rule. He wanted to go to Rockefeller Center where he could hang out for a few hours in the Lego store and then stroll over to the Central Park area where he could get nice gifts for everyone that would hopefully placate the yelling. He also wanted to avoid areas with a large number of responsible adults walking, because despite what he had said no parent in their right mind would allow a five year old out and about in New York City. So he set a purposeful stride down the more abandoned streets of the city, where newspapers frequently acted as tumbleweeds and the smell of cigarettes and vomit were prevalent, making sure to shine his flashlight thoroughly along each one before taking his path until the sun rose high enough above the skyscrapers that he could see clearly. He wasn't in a rush, and spent a good hour and a half simply wandering around the semi-abandoned and bustling streets, letting the atmosphere of New York calm him.

Even after everything the city had been through, it had rebuilt. He hoped he could too.

He lost track of his wandering, periodically scratching at his arm where the cast had resided until yesterday, only noticing when he was on the other side of Manhattan and could see the roads that would lead to Brooklyn and Queens. He turned back around, now heading back into the heart of Manhattan and towards Brox, using the same mostly empty path he had before. Vagrants were starting to appear now. It was almost time for school to start, and had it not been the weekend there would've been more kids out, walking or taking buses to school. He skirted around leering men with questionable scars, keeping his back straight and his eyes forward.

At some point he had stopped, lost in his thoughts which had grown louder and louder, surrounded by empty stores and scaffolding and watching a newspaper drift across the dirty street. He was somewhere in Manhattan, about ten minutes from Rockefeller were he an adult but more like 20 minutes now.

He'd had a hard time sleeping. He'd had a hard time sleeping because he had figured it out.

He was some sort of Deadpool-esque freak, someone that maybe was like the X-Men but not really because whatever had been done to him was absolutely useless at this point. They'd probably been trying to make a super soldier serum and fucked it up, and the age regression was a side effect. And since Hulk was technically a mutant himself, albeit by gamma radiation and not some X-factor shit, he probably identified with Tony. Smell? Maybe all mutants smelled the same. He didn't think Hulk had met Logan or Wade yet, although Bruce had. Or maybe it was the fact that Tony didn't smell human and then changed colors, both of which Hulk did.

Of course, what better person to test a biologically modifying, unstable, malfunctioning drug on than an enemy genius? It either works, kills him, or shrinks him. If it works, well, they screwed up; but they already knew the serum didn't work, so that wasn't a problem. If it kills him, at least he's not helping the Avengers anymore. If it shrinks him, he is:

unable to help the Avengers as he could before and perform missions as Iron Man

easier to kill or kidnap

if kidnapped, easier to train into their own little genius, particularly if they found a way to wipe his memory

if trained into their own genius, able to fix the serum.

All were possibilities. All were terrifying to think about.

But they also made him angry. This was a fuck up on the level of Justin Hammer. They had messed up their serum, their plan, and, subsequently, his life.

He had stopped again, staring at the scaffolding next to him and wondering if there was a park somewhere nearby. Maybe some climbing and playing would work off some steam. He was full of nervous, childlike energy, and knew the best way to get rid of it was to be active.

He felt more than heard the displacement of air rushing past his head as a figure rushed over him and swung around the next corner, quickly out of sight. He blinked before running after them, but only came up to an empty street, staring around suspiciously, waiting for a sign of movement. A clumsy teen came stumbling out of the nearby alley, tugging on one of his shoes like he had just put it on and clutching a backpack to his chest, turning wide and concerned eyes on him. He narrowed his eyes back, taking a wary step back as the teen stood to his full height. "Dumpster diving?" he shot, and for someone who had no idea who he was the kid had a remarkable ability to mimic Steve's affronted look.

"What are you doing out here, kid?" he asked worriedly, stepping forward as he slipped the backpack on. Tony tensed but didn't step back, still eyeing the teen like he was determining if he was a threat or not. It seemed to put the boy on edge, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"Walking."

"Where are your parents?"

"Got none." The boy was silent for a moment, making Tony think he probably knew the feeling.

"Who looks after you?"

"None of your business."

"Okay, well, where are you going?"

"Lego store at Rockefeller."

"Do your guardians know where you are?"

"Probably not."

"Okay, what's your name?"

"James."

"Last name?"

"You think I'm stupid? I'm not telling you."

"Did you even tell me a real first name?"

"Guess." A worried sigh escaped and Tony blinked.

"Why'd you run away?" Perceptive. This kid was very smart.

"I didn't run away. I'm going back, eventually, just not right now. I needed to get out."

"Is something happening in your house?"

"No." Experience dictated that he not talk to quickly or fidget, nor should he meet their eyes or look too defiant. Instead, the best way to tell this sort of lie was to look confused. Most kids wouldn't understand what 'something happening in your house' would mean. The ones who did either had tells, or adapted. Tony, unfortunately, had adapted. The teen nodded, seeming satisfied. "What's your name? It's only fair."

"Oh, right, sorry! I'm Peter, Peter Parker. I was just about to head home to help make lunch, actually, Aunt May is making chicken. Do you want to come with me? I've got some cool Lego sets myself and you won't even have to share with anyone." Tony eyed him warily.

He wasn't stupid, and he loved his city, and had a great monitoring system. When Spider-Man, as he had been dubbed, had shown up a few months ago, research had been done. Tony knew his real name was Peter Parker, knew he was insanely smart (damn, he wanted him for the R&D department when he graduated), knew he was a high schooler, and knew, most of all, that he was safe. There was nothing but good talk about both Spider-Man and Peter Parker. He wasn't some idiot who would just walk away with any stranger that approached him.

But he sure looked like it to Peter, when he held out his hand for the teen to take and lead him. It was a good thing he found him before anyone else. He hesitated before stooping to pick the kid up, who glared (which was frankly terrifying for a five year old, to be honest) before seeming to resign himself, relaxing. "I can walk, you know."

"Yeah, but you've been walking all morning, right?" He shot James a grin, and wondered what had really happened to drive a small boy like this out of his house and into the unsafe city.

"Yeah, but I'm not a baby."

"No, you're not. You're a toddler."

"Hey! At least I'm not a dumb pre-teen!" Peter gasped in mock offense, and James rolled his eyes, but there was a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "Stupid spider kids," he muttered in a soft voice. He probably didn't expect Peter to hear it, but having the senses he did he picked up on it easily, and it turned his blood to ice.

"What do you mean about spider kids?" he asked, going for nonchalant but landing somewhere between panicked and nasally, tripping over his words. Who the hell was this kid? What did he know? Was he some new mutant? Had Peter been knocked out and was dreaming?

Tony's eyes widened. So the rumors about heightened senses were true - he could probably rival Cap or Hulk. Not to mention the super strength. The kid was, frankly, scrawny, and most teens couldn't hold a five year old for more than a few minutes before putting them down. "You teenagers are all leg, like spiders. So tall," he explained away easily. Peter didn't seem convinced; he could still feel the teen's tense muscles.

And, Tony realized, it probably didn't help but add to the suspicion that he didn't exactly act like a normal five year old. He spoke too clearly, used too many big words, was far too independent. Five year olds were in, what, preschool? Kindergarten? They were clumsy, and excited, and he was neither of those things. No wonder Peter had thought something was wrong. And it was too late to change how he acted now, it would only make the teen more suspicious.

Peter eyed the boy, figuring if anything, a five year old couldn't be that big a threat, right? "You need food!"

"And Legos!" James shouted in excitement before blushing bright red, and Peter laughed.

"And Legos."

Peter watched the boy carefully as he helped May with lunch. He and her had contemplated calling the police, but since he highly suspected James wasn't his real name, they had both decided to just wait until the boy told them he wanted to go home and then take it from there. He was safer with them anyway.

After the small outburst earlier he had been incredibly subdued, blushing whenever they offered him something that would normally excite a kid his age. They did manage to convince him it was fine to play with the Legos, but only after both of them got on the ground and started building something first. He had already build a robot, and a surprisingly realistic dog, and was now building a skyscraper, standing on the couch after a glance over to make sure that they either weren't looking or didn't care. Aunt May pursed her lips but didn't say anything, only sharing a glance with Peter.

"You know," May said quietly, glancing over at James to make sure he didn't hear, "I have half the mind to not let him go home. It's very clear they don't treat him right."

"He'll just end up in foster care," Peter answered quietly. "Do you think that would be better for him? You've seen the New York system, it sucks." May pursed her lips again but dropped the subject, checking on James every once in awhile.

Tony built without thinking, and found himself staring at a rough approximation at a small-scale DUM-E, a dog because he thought it would be challenging to build out of blocks (it actually wasn't), Stark Tower before it had been (destroyed) remodeled into Avengers Tower, and a blocky and nearly unrecognizable replica of the giant worm thing the Chitauri had brought with them through the portal in the battle of Manhattan. He stared at what his hands had unwittingly built, and then found himself angry.

Why had he been put through all this? Why was it him?

But he wouldn't have changed anything. If another portal opened and he had a nuke on hand, he knew he would do the exact same thing again, and probably die this time doing it. That didn't mean he wasn't angry at the stupid aliens for ruining his life, ruining his mind with a disorder that he didn't know how to seek help for.

He smashed his model into the ground, tearing it apart with the same nimble fingers that had originally put it together, rearranging it into something better. The quinjet. He liked the quinjet, working on it calmed him, though it wasn't as much fun to tinker with as his suit was, especially after he had painted it red and gotten yelled at for messing up the camouflage (which wasn't needed, because he had given it stealth shields, but Cap didn't really trust technology). He carefully placed the model, which was not to scale at all, on the balcony of Stark Tower before picking up DUM-E, deciding he'd indulged himself enough for the day and wandering into the kitchen. The Parkers looked up, and he was unable to resist smiling, their resemblance astounding. "Can I help with something?" They both smiled back, matching, goofy grins and sparkling eyes, and seemed genuinely happy to see him. It reminded him of how Pepper looked, sometimes, and he wondered when the last time someone other than her had looked at him like that.

"We can set the table," Peter said with a grin. "Lunch is almost ready anyway." Tony nodded, carefully placing his mock DUM-E on one of the chairs as Peter got out plates and forks, handing them to him and letting him set them out. The table was too tall for him, and he had to climb on the chairs to reach, but that was fine. It all felt homey, and warm, and he decided he liked it here. There were no expectations. He could just be James, and not Tony.

Lunch was simple, chicken, mashed potatoes, and corn, but honestly Tony prefered it that way. He would much rather eat burgers and fries and something painfully American than things billionaires were supposed to like, no matter how much he had to eat caviar and hors d'oeuvres. He glanced at the Parkers: May used a fork, not wanting to get food under her nails, but Peter dove right in, eating ravenously. He figured it would be weird for kids to eat chicken fingers with utensils, plus finger foods were fun, so he copied the teen, humming happily. Peter and May noticed his slight hesitation and shared their own glance.

The Parkers were nice, and funny. They felt like a family, and he realized he was far too comfortable here. He was increasingly loud, animated, and giggly, but he found he preferred it to the Avengers where he had to watch what he said and pretend he felt like a hero when he didn't. Peter matched him in volume and animation every step of the way, and May laughed like bells, and Tony wished he could've stayed there and never gone back.