Sorry that this is so short. I've been running on full blown insomnia for the past week, and I'm graduating on Friday. Needless to say, it's been a little...hectic.

Anyway, Tony/Clint five, Natasha/Tony/Clint two. Also, got the Lorraine girl from the Captain America. I tried to write a German accent but failed so hard, so I gave up.

Disclaimer: don't own the characters.

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Second Step

Considering that he'd always thought of Peggy and Steve as his aunt and uncle, Tony shouldn't have been surprised by their reactions. Somehow, he was anyway.

"Oh, god," Peggy said and he was caught up in a hug almost before he could step out of the car. About half a second later she pulled back and searched his face, moving some of his hair from his face and he was profoundly thankful that Clint and Natasha weren't here. Affection became a thousand times more uncomfortable when friends were there. Tony wasn't so good with embarrassment. "I'm so sorry were couldn't make it down," she continued as Steve came up behind her. "We've only been back about as long as you have and—"

"I think you're scaring him," Steve interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder so she let go. Then he said, "Hey, kid. You look better than the last time I saw you."

Last—Oh, yeah. When he was so drugged up on Vicodin that he couldn't think, his dad told him Steve was along for a rescue mission too. Which meant last time Steve saw him, he was covered in sand and injuries and blood and passed out cold. "Thanks," he said, letting him put an arm around his shoulders because they had the whole not-family privileges when it came to closeness. Peggy was talking to his parents. "Uncle Steve, can we go inside?"

Outside it was around ninety degrees, and while he probably could put up with it, he didn't want to bother. He'd spent the past six weeks avoiding temperatures seventy-two or above. "How about we go to the apartment?" Steve said and the lack of even a quizzical look gave Tony a pretty good idea that he'd be treated like he was breakable here too. And from the way all the adults looked at him, he knew he wasn't escaping that any time soon.

"Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," his dad agreed and Tony trailed along behind them and into the air conditioned inside. It was obvious the move was recent, with boxes strewn everywhere and furniture awkwardly placed throughout the room without organization.

"Sorry about the mess," Peggy said, pushing a box away with her foot. "I guess we procrastinated a little too much."

His mom smiled and he looked down at his feet, without real reason feeling third wheeled and awkward, more like an observer than someone who was there. Sudden claustrophobia, he realized—it wasn't by much, but at five six, he was the smallest there and currently in the middle of everyone and it wasn't like walking down the street with a moving crowd or sitting on a couch with one or two people because he always sat on the end. For the first time since the low ceiling incident, he felt crowded, and the psychiatrist called this something, disassociation through fear to stop a panic attack.

At the moment he'd rather take the panic attack. The disconnect was familiar in a way he didn't want to accept.

"Yeah, sure," he answered to a question he didn't really hear but got right anyway, and somehow he ended up a chair with a bag of tortilla chips and bowl of "real" salsa in front of him. The air conditioning was on high and his dad and Steve were sitting at the table while his mom and Peggy were in the kitchen, talking in hushed voices.

He blinked and looked around, trying to get his grip on reality because logic was telling him one thing but his subconscious was confused and even though he knew he was looking at a bag of chips, he still felt like he wasn't here at all.

Then, "Tony, do you want sushi?"

It was Peggy, all bright red lips and brown curls falling out of her ponytail the way Natasha's did when she woke up. "Sure," he said.

"Anything in particular? We're ordering from a place down the street."

"I'm okay with whatever."

He still felt a little dazed, but his life slipped back into the present.

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It took a day, but Tony managed to turn his bedroom into a small version of his lab, complete with a Velcro-on control panel he designed a week earlier to be JARVIS' central command. Clint sat on his bed not long after finishing up his own room, and there was the background noise of water going through pipes as Natasha turned on the shower.

"You know, Tony," his friend said, back against the wall since the bed was pushed into the corner, obviously his lowest priority, "you could've kept your room as an actual room. I can't really see sleeping being possible in here."

He took a seat in the spinny chair, glad he was finished and wondering if he could figure out a way to fit an entire lab in a suitcase to make it portable. "I almost never fall asleep in my bed at home," he answered. "Or a bed in general. I've been okay this long, haven't I?"

"Mr. Barton makes an excellent point, sir," JARVIS said. "You're resting schedule is much too sporadic to be healthy."

"You don't have to gain up on me," he said, a little annoyed JARVIS wasn't always on his side. Traitor.

With a frown, his friend said, "I actually think we sort of do. Especially since you can't drink coffee anymore."

"I'm allowed to try now." Or at least that was what he thought his old (thankfully, he really didn't like that guy) psychiatrist told him. "It's just a fifty-fifty chance. I'm pretty sure I've said this before."

Clint shrugged. "I guess if it works," he said, which didn't mean much of anything. "Your classes start tomorrow, right?"

"Yeah," he answered, not as excited as he probably should have been. For the entirety of his senior year, he'd been waiting to get out and now that he was, it wasn't as satisfying as he thought. "My first class starts as ten, and I only have two."

"I have class at eight in the morning."

"Sucks to be you." The shower shut off, and the sound of the pipes stopped. That was going to get annoying real fast. "I also have to meet up with babysitter number two."

"I thought you liked Dr. Banner."

Though that was true, he knew that Bruce was even worse at hiding worry than Steve was, and he wanted to avoid that sympathy and constant are you okay's that came with the territory. Mostly, he just wanted to forget but no one was letting him. Maybe if everyone just stopped mentioning it, his subconscious would understand that it wasn't important. "I do," he answered. "I just…I don't know. I think that having to meet up with any new therapist-psychiatrist hybrid doesn't exactly make enthusiasm come easy."

"At least you've had four people verify that this guy's actually good," came Natasha's voice from the doorway and Tony jumped, almost falling out of his chair. "Oh, jeez. Sorry, Tony."

By this point, they'd figured out that he didn't like get surprised, but just because they knew, it didn't make him any less embarrassed. It contributed to everyone's completely unnecessary worry. "It's okay," he said as she walked around and sat next to Clint on the bed. Maybe they should invest in more spinny chairs. "And, yeah, I guess. I think I've met him before too, but was really little or something because I can't remember what he looks like."

He fidgeted, wanting to change the subject but unable to think of a clever enough way to do it. But she seemed to pick up on it because she asked, "What classes are you taking tomorrow?" and their conversation spiraled into college and teachers and avoiding cafeteria food.

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Meeting up with Bruce was hard and with such a small time slot, the man offered to walk with him to his new psychiatrist's office. As it turned out, this was a good thing, because otherwise he definitely would've gotten lost. Downtown Boston didn't have an infrastructure like New York did, and the awkwardly laid streets made it hard to navigate. To top it off, the GPS on his cell phone got confused because of all the one ways, so it was difficult even without a car.

"You sure you don't need me to go in with you?" he asked when they reached the building. "As an adult to sign you in, I mean. First appointment and all."

He shakes his head. "My dad's known him for a really long time, so he knows I'm showing up by myself," he answered. "Thanks, though."

"Okay," Bruce said. "I'll probably run into you tomorrow, then. If you get lost, give me a call and I'll come pick you up."

"Thanks," he repeats, looking up to the third floor where Dr. Erskine's office was before turning back. "It was nice seeing you again, by the way."

With a small smile, Bruce said, "You too, Tony. Like I said, call me if you need anything."

They exchanged goodbyes and Tony entered the building, taking the stairs up to the third floor to delay the inevitable. It turned out to be a bad idea, as when he reached his destination he felt winded and took a moment to catch his breath, remembering that he used to be able to run the half-mile in a little under two minutes. Fit and a genius, a good combination for high school despite his age, but the fit part didn't exist anymore. After he collected himself, he slipped through the door and headed to the counter, where a blonde woman with a name tag that read Lorraine sat reading People.

When she finally noticed him, she put the magazine and asked, "Hi, what can I do for you?"

"I have an appointment for six," he answered. "Anthony Stark."

There was a moment of nothing before Lorraine's eyebrows shot up. "Oh," she said with a smile that screamed I don't actually care but this was in my job description. "You can take a seat over there."

"No co-pay?"

She went to answer, but another voice cut in, "The first five appointments are fully paid for by the insurance company."

He turned around and found a vaguely familiar man standing outside the doorway to the office. He definitely couldn't connect his face to a German accent, though, so maybe he'd seen pictures instead. "Thanks," he said, unsure. Something told him this guy was going to be a lot harder to bullshit than Dr. B, his old therapist.

In retrospect, that was probably why his dad and Steve liked him.

"Come this way," Dr. Erskine said, turning around and heading back into the room. Tony followed without complaint. Once he was inside, the psychiatrist motioned towards the chair in front of the desk and shut the door. "Sit."

Again, he listened, and Erskine took a seat across from him. "Well," he said, opening a file on his desk, "you're a very interesting case, Anthony. It is rare that I speak to parents before I meet with an underage client, but your father is a very old friend. Apparently you had another therapist and psychiatrist?"

"Yeah," he answered. "And can you call me Tony, please? No one calls me Anthony."

The man clicked a pen and scribbled something down that at this angle Tony couldn't read. "Of course," he said, and looked away from the paper, back to him. "Now, let's start with the basics: who is Tony Stark?"

Tony stared at him blankly for a moment before realizing this was a legitimate question, even though Erskine clearly had the file right in front of him and had talked to his dad and Steve. Shouldn't that have been enough verification of information?

"Well," he said, "I'm a fifteen-year-old MIT student with a birthday in March and full merit scholarship and an apartment near Suffolk and Emerson."

Erskine wrote down something else and Tony caught a glimpse of it, seeing that it was in German and not English which meant his dad probably warned him that he could read upside down. Though he could probably do it with German too, he didn't want to bring attention to himself.

Looking up, the psychiatrist said, "You missed the point of the question. Name, age, height and weight, schooling, major—this I know. I'm asking how you would describe yourself."

Describe himself? Hadn't he just done that? As much as he hated to admit it, he answered, "I don't know what you mean."

"You aren't the first," Dr. Erskine said. "What I mean is what type of person are you?"

For all his intelligence, Tony still couldn't figure out the point behind the question. Dr. B just jumped straight into the problem.

"Well, I'm a genius," he said, trying to think of some bullshit he can say so he can make this as painless as possible. "My social skills aren't that bad though, I have friends and I live with them. Never dated anyone. I prefer technology to the outdoors and really hate mosquitoes. I have an AI to control my apartment and spiders freak me out?"

Though Erskine didn't seem satisfied, apparently he was willing to just let it slide. Tony doubted it would last for long. "Tell me about your friends," he said, and it seemed like this was get-to-know-you day. Lull into a false sense of security before the subject of Afghanistan could be sprung on him without warning.

"There's Natasha and Clint," he answered. "They're both from my high school, so a little older than me but not by a lot. Natasha's Russian, she's going to Emerson for journalism and Clint's going to Suffolk for military history. We met in AP Comp-Sci in junior year and the teacher never actually taught the class anything so I helped them, and I don't know, we became friends? 'Tash came up with the idea to stay in the apartment together since we all got accepted into Boston schools and we made it work."

Another scribble. "How is that arrangement working so far?"

"Fine." Fine must be his most well-used word in his vocabulary, but it felt like everyone forgot what it actually meant. "I'm not allowed near the kitchen though. They're too afraid I'll make the fire alarm go off."

"Why is that?"

"I can't cook. Neither can my dad."

A smile tugged at the corner of Erskine's mouth. "I know that personally, unfortunately," he said. "How do your friends feel about the AI?"

They spend the rest of the session talking about his friends and JARVIS and avoid the subject of Afghanistan and his parents and anything else that could be considered sensitive.

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Again, sorry it's so short!