Note: I chose not to go into all the details of questioning the character on time, date, place of birth, etc. It's all been done before. Maybe this plot has been done before on some level, but that whole deaging thing and kidfic (which I admittedly have read many and love several of them) has already put us through those paces, and I was not up for a rehash.
That being said, I hope this still makes some sense. I was banking on the team's later reactions to their friend being the method of explaining what's happening. If I've utterly failed, do tell, and I'll make attempts at fixing it.
Stark did not return to normal when brought home, although that would have been convenient. He did, however, rise to new levels of intolerability.
"Who the hell do you guys think you are, keeping me here against my will?" he snarled. He paced the length of the living room, glaring murder at anyone who dared approach him. "Miss Potts told me I own this place! I'm in charge!"
"Under normal circumstances that holds some modicum of truth," Bruce said. He and Clint were cleaning the disaster that remained of the kitchen. The floor was going to need a professional scouring, no thanks to the beer that had soaked into the porous stone over the course of twenty-four hours, and the pizza was well past recovery.
"Except for the part where you're in charge," Clint said, snide as ever. No one was liking this version of Stark, no matter his trauma. "Because when it comes to Avengers business, we all agree that Steve's better at being the leader with you as an advisor. Though now, I really don't want any of your advice."
"Screw you!" Tony retorted. "I can kick you all out! This is my home, right?"
"You may be the owner, but Miss Potts is the landlord," Bruce said mildly. "Also your second in command and power of attorney. She's running things until we figure out what to do with you."
"You can't keep me here!"
"Actually, we can." Steve swept into the room, looking tired and not a small bit frustrated. "You have been declared incapable of managing yourself. I've had Jarvis employ Directive Four, which means you're on lockdown, mister."
"Directive four?" Clint asked blankly.
"I am to use any means necessary to maintain Mr. Stark's continued health and safety," Jarvis helpfully explained. Clint grinned.
"Does that work for all of us?"
"That would be Directive Seventeen," Jarvis replied. "This was first employed when the Avengers moved into the tower."
"Whoa."
Bruce glanced over at Tony. The man was looking around in obvious confusion, bewildered by Jarvis as most newcomers were. It was one more strike against him as a competent member of the team. His attitude was tetchy on a good day. Today it was like dealing with a hormonal teenager.
"Rhodey's flight comes in at four," Pepper announced, walking into the room not long after Steve. She stopped several feet from Tony, considering him with the air of an impatient mother. "Can I trust you to behave until he arrives?"
"Fuck you," Tony replied, and they all flinched. Tony never swore at Pepper.
"I'll let the board know you won't be making the review tomorrow," Pepper plowed on, disregarding Tony's crude snarling. She had her phone out and was making notations rapidly. "Bruce, I trust you'll make sure he eats?"
"I'll do my best," Bruce said mildly.
"Please say you're coming back tomorrow," Clint asked desperately. He didn't even bother to lower his voice. "He is annoying."
Pepper shot him a weak smile and a nod before making a strategic retreat.
"Hey! You're the ones keeping me prisoner, asshole!"
"At least come up with some more creative insults, clone-boy!" Clint snapped back. "God, you're like an irritating, stupid version of him!"
"Let's not get childish now," Steve said in weak attempt to keep the room under control. It did not work.
"Smarter than you," Tony rejoined. "You still think I'm going to go away. Well I'm not, and you can't keep me here forever!"
"Actually, we really could," Bruce said coolly. "Jarvis has you on lockdown. Your computer doesn't need the rest you do. As long as he's active, you're not going anywhere."
Tony let out a shriek of rage Bruce had never thought him capable of producing. He also picked up the nearest object and flung it.
Steve's hand snatched the picture frame from midair, saving Bruce from what was sure to be a painful head wound and saving the tower from another Hulk incident. He set the item down gently on the counter—it was a photograph of Tony and Bruce, actually, a candid shot of them working on something in the lab. It was just one of a dozen pictures of the team set around the room.
"We won't be having any more of that," Steve declared calmly. "If you cannot behave, then you will be restricted to your quarters, where at the very least the only person you can harm is yourself. Thor?"
The demigod had been quiet since returning home, which was unusual for him. He had opted not to join the meeting in SHIELD, preferring to monitor Tony's room as a proud sentry. Now, he was silently watching, his eyes cool and narrow, unease seeping from every bit of his not-inconsiderably sized body.
"Steven is correct, young Anthony," Thor said finally. "Your behavior is most distressing. You should spend some time in reflection. Come along."
"You stay away from me," Tony warned, instantly backing away from the threat of a very large man approaching him. But Tony was not equipped to defend himself against the likes of Thor on a good day without his armor. Today, he was even less so, and it was made obvious when Thor caught his arm and the back of his shirt and hauled him shouting and struggling from the room.
"He seems to have gained some confidence in the past several hours," Natasha remarked, appearing out of nowhere as usual. It was interesting how quickly a person grew accustomed to this.
Bruce sighed again and noted that he had been doing an awful lot of that.
"I don't like what he said earlier," Steve said unhappily. "About him not going away."
Bruce had noticed the slip as well. This Tony was no Loki. It was obvious that his words were unplanned and had only the barest hint of strategy to them. It was rather like watching someone dull-minded rush headlong into an incomprehensible situation and attempt to bluff their way out. Tony might have managed it. This person currently in their midst was not doing such a good job.
"He knows what's wrong," Natasha agreed. "We just have to convince him to tell us what it is."
"Bringing Rhodes in might be an exercise in futility," Steve grumbled.
"It probably is," Bruce murmured. "But if he can handle that for a while, I won't complain. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my lab, trying not to break anything."
None of them were stupid enough to call him on his obvious temper, and Bruce made it through the night without letting the other guy loose.
"A little warning would have been nice!"
Lieutenant Colonel James "Rhodey" Rhodes was not happy. Not that anyone could blame him. Even Thor was irritated with Tony, regarding him as an impudent child rather than the mighty warrior he had come to respect and, daresay, love. From what they could hear through the walls—and they could hear them through the walls—things had not gone well.
It did not help that Rhodey had walked in on Tony straight out of the shower.
"Get the hell out, you freakin' pervert!" was still ringing in their ears.
"It's like dealing with a teenage girl!" Rhodey growled. "I haven't had to deal with this crap since MIT, and not from him! He's usually much more creative."
"Right?!" Clint joined in, glad to have an ally. "I love duking it out with him! He comes up with the best names! Robin Hood is still my favorite."
"I never thought I'd miss him calling me honey bear," Rhodey grumbled. "What happened?"
A bit of hashing back and forth, and they concluded that Rhodey had no further insight. Though Natasha latched onto part of his complaint and ran with it.
"This is a weird idea," Clint's voice was low in her ear, but Natasha ignored it. Thus far, she and Pepper were still the only ones who could get within striking distance of Tony without him tensing up or freaking out completely on them. His screaming fit the other day with Rhodey was still strong in her memory. "You sure about this?"
Natasha was not sure, but they needed to cover their bases. And Rhodey had said something that struck a chord with her.
This was why she was entering the room juggling a tray of food, a duffel bag, and a garment bag two days after they had brought Stark home from SHIELD.
Tony was sitting on his bed, frowning at a magazine article that, from what Natasha had noted form the security footage, he had been attempting to work through for the past forty minutes. Not surprising, considering the only reading material they had at the moment was a stack of scientific journals from Banner's collection.
"Having trouble?" Natasha inquired, setting the tray (turkey sandwiches and Coke) on the dresser.
It wasn't Tony's actual room. This was a guest room that had only the bare necessities. Pepper had provided clothing and towels, and they had dumped the articles in the room before leaving Tony to himself for a solid twenty-four hours. The only time he interacted with anyone was when they brought him food, and he would only speak when Natasha was the one who brought it.
"Who can read this stuff?" Tony complained, bounding off the bed to the food. His appetite, at least, was healthy. More so than usual, actually.
"Other scientists," Natasha said, barely glancing at the magazine. She liked to think herself intelligent, and she was, but she did not speak that particular language. "I'll see what I can do about getting you some better reading material. And maybe a television."
"Thank god," Tony groaned around his sandwich. He considered Natasha, who had perched herself on the bed to watch him. (He was wearing a bulky sweatshirt and jeans today. He had always preferred fitted layers in the past, but this strange version of him seemed to like oversized, more androgynous clothing.) "What's that?"
Natasha glanced at the bags she had flung across the bedspread. She looked back to Tony.
"I need a second opinion."
He paused, then took a drink of his cola. Tony was not usually a soda drinker. He liked his coffee. But they had been unable to get him to drink the beverage. Instead, he went straight for the diet coke.
"For what?"
"I have an event this weekend," she said easily. "I've picked out a couple dresses, and I need help deciding which one to wear."
"Why not ask one of your friends?" Tony drawled, pure sarcasm on the final word.
"They're not good at this," Natasha replied, already tugging dresses free of the garment bag. "You've always been helpful in the past. I don't see why I shouldn't ask you now."
That was a blatant lie. Tony had never offered an opinion on anything remotely resembling female apparel in over a year. He used to help Pepper, but since their mutual break, he had kindly refrained from saying anything that might be construed as flirtatious. (Especially once she started dating again.) And with Natasha, he simply claimed that he valued his extremities too much to offer anything more than the token you look lovely, as always.
But this Tony did not know that, as was obvious by his hedging expression. He glanced at the dresses, then shrugged and walked back to the bed.
"What kind of occasion?" he asked.
"A formal gala. White tie," Natasha replied. "Clint's taking me." She paused, then added, "the guy with the spiky dark blond hair."
Tony did not seem to always recall their individual names, nor did he appear to care to try.
"You two an item?" Tony asked, reaching to move the dresses so he could see them side-by-side.
"Hah!" Clint snorted in her ear.
Natasha smiled faintly.
"He's a childhood friend," she murmured. "He's actually gay."
"Excuse me? What the hell!"
"Hush." Bruce was ever helpful, silencing Clint before he could get too distracting.
"Thought so," Tony snorted. "He's got the vibe." "VIBE?" "Do be quiet, Clint." "Are you going to try them on?"
"Sure."
Ten minutes later, Tony pointed decisively at Natasha's favorite blue dress.
"They all look good, but it's the best color for you," was Tony's reason.
"I was leaning toward that one too," Natasha told him. "Now help me accessorize."
"Whoa!" Tony blurted when she upended the duffel, pouring out shoes, gloves, hair accessories, and various cosmetic items. "Okay, these shoes, definitely."
Natasha smiled and set aside a pair of black stilettos, watching as Tony rifled through the items cautiously.
"You should definitely go red," he declared, picking up tubes of lipstick and reading the ends. He found one and handed it to her. "Eyeliner, for sure. And—is this Mac? Their stuff is the best. Go smoky-eyed. That would be a good look on you."
"Jesus H. Christ." Unsurprisingly, that was Clint.
"Thank you," Natasha held up two bottles of nail polish. "Red or pink?"
"Match the lips!" Tony replied with a hesitant smile. It was the first such expression he had offered. Natasha supposed she should feel a little guilty that it was in response to a lie, but she had not felt bad about lying for the good of her and her team in a long while.
"Red it is," she agreed. "Thanks for the help. I'll see what I can do about the entertainment around here. Any author preferences?"
Tony looked leery for a moment, as if he thought she was making fun of him. Okay, so she kind of was, but she did not actually want him to know it. If it had been the true Tony Stark that she knew and tolerated, then it would be fine that he realized her game. This guy, though. This person was not her comrade. He did not get that kind of familiarity.
"Anything by Stephenie Meyer," he said reluctantly. "Or Charles De Lint."
"Did he just ask for the Twilight series?"
"Do I want to know why you know who the author of that series even is?"
"I'll do my best. We should be able to get a television in here before tomorrow, though. We have Netflix."
Tony's face split in a grateful smile.
"Awesome."
"Oh, my fucking god," Clint was, of course, the first to speak when Natasha walked in to Bruce's lab. The team had set up base there, the surveillance monitors for the guest room where Tony currently resided displayed against the wall. "That is either the gayest man alive, or he is a teenage girl."
"I'm leaning toward the latter," Bruce said mildly.
"Are you using that term to imply happiness?" Thor inquired. "Or is this the definition you earlier offered?"
"Go with the slang definition," Steve said, sounding a bit shell shocked himself. He looked at Natasha, earning only a raised eyebrow, and so turned to Bruce.
Bruce was having a difficult time with this as well. He had just witnessed his closest friend behaving in a truly bizarre manner. His theories were starting to change and realign, new possibilities suddenly presenting themselves for his attention. Some of them he truly despised—knew Tony would hate them as well.
"That is not Tony."
"I think that is something on which we can all agree," Natasha claimed a seat on a workbench that Tony had long ago installed for his own use. Bruce actually glared at her for using it before mentally chiding himself for being ridiculous. Tony had never actually said no one else could use it.
"He is very well versed in women's clothing," Steve said uneasily. "I really don't see how this could be a protective personality."
"It's not," Bruce was already pulling up the files Tony had obtained through hacking SHIELD's database. Clint snorted when he saw it, but had nothing else to say. "Unless he's been researching cosmetics when no one was looking, he shouldn't have the base knowledge for this. Even alternate personalities cannot know things he has never seen or heard."
"Stark is not unfamiliar with utilizing cosmetics for the camera," Natasha recalled. "But he has always relied upon makeup artists or Pepper to assist him. I could ask Pepper, but I doubt she'll say any differently."
"Ask, just to be sure," Steve mumbled. "Bruce, what are you suggesting?"
"Magic!" Thor proclaimed. "It can be nothing other!"
Bruce grimaced and nodded.
"He's right," he admitted unhappily. "The person in the guest room has a history and a distinctive personality. But whoever it is, it's not Tony."
Steve rubbed at his face harshly, no doubt overtired and overworked from this mess. None of them had been sleeping well. Except for, perhaps, Tony.
The irony was painful.
"If that's not Tony, then who is it?" Steve asked after a minute of wincing contemplation. He looked up and met Bruce's helpless stare. "And where is Tony?"
That was the question of the hour.