Warnings: Not so much in this chapter. Ill-timed jokes, perhaps. Probable mistakes regarding the legal system.

Clint would never admit it, but he did not like being around the tower lately. Sure, the people were great. Except they really weren't. Natasha could disappear for hours, or even days, without explanation. Bruce holed up in his lab looking for a cure for his awesome superpowers. And Steve was trying to find new and creative ways to give back to the community.

Thor was occasionally interesting, but one got bored with trolling the technologically challenged after a while.

Tony was the one who kept them all human. (To be fair, Thor wasn't human, but he tried.) Clint would not tell the man under threat of death, but Tony was the one reason they were all still together.

It was not for the very obvious reason of the man providing them with room and board, although that did not discourage anything. It came down to family. Tony was like the brother Clint no longer had, someone he could hang out with and fight with and make fun of and tell things he'd never dream of telling anyone normally. (For all that was holy, Tony knew he was gay before Natasha did.)

Stark took on the father's role as well, stern and strong and providing for them. He earned Clint's respect when he put his foot down and, with some help from Rogers, pulled them away from the harsh workings of SHIELD.

Stark was their mother, clucking when they were hurt, or when Bruce made a mess in the kitchen, and when Natasha decided she wanted a cat. (No, you cannot have a cat here. You know who will end up taking care of it? Me. And I have enough to do without tending to your damn pets.) He knew them better than they knew themselves, knew when Bruce needed to have some attention, knew when Steve was brooding over his long dead friends, knew when Clint lost himself in memories of lost self. He sat with Thor when the deity fell into depression over his lost brother. He did not mind when Natasha would emerge just to sit in his workshop, cleaning her gun and needing nothing more than his buzzing presence in the room.

Sure, there were times when he was more of a child, begging for attention and probably not even realizing what he was doing. He could act up with the worst of them, throw tantrums when things did not go his way, sulk away in his workshop when something upset him, launch into circular arguments such that no one else could hope to win. Then, he would light up like Christmas when he made something cool, all but vibrate with happiness when anyone else agreed with him that it was something worthwhile. He would whine and grumble when anyone made any physical show of affection—a hug, a noogie, a peck on the cheek—but be pleased when he thought no one was looking.

Tony was the American dream of a family (husband, wife, pet, two and a half kids and a picket fence) wrapped up in one man. Clint had not truly realized this until the man was not around. He just noticed there was a hole in him, and it hurt to hang around doing absolutely nothing to fix it. Sure, he felt bad when Steve gave him that puppy-dog stare, but he was strung tighter than a steel drum, and if he did not get out soon, he was going to do something very damaging to that psycho in Tony's body.

Color him surprised when Steve called three days later with the announcement that Tony had shown up at their front door.

In retrospect, Fury was going to be pissed that Clint borrowed—stole, commandeered, he would totally give it back—a quinjet rather than booking a commercial flight. Sometimes there were more important things to worry about than chain of command and paltry things like permission.

He had told Natasha his arrival would be sometime late the next day. That was only because Fury had been within hearing distance (i.e. he had been on the helicarrier, where all ears belonged to Fury). He landed the quinjet on the top of Avengers Tower beside an unfamiliar helicopter and thanked Stark for having the foresight to reinforce his landing pad and make it very large.

It was after one in the morning, and the tower was predictably dark. Bruce and Tony were the only ones who ever created any sort of stir in the late hours. Even then, they both kept it to their respective working spaces. Natasha would often be up late, but Clint was not supposed to know that. No one was supposed to know, but everyone did and said nothing.

There was an unfamiliar snore coming from a guest room down the hall from Tony's suite, and Clint guessed it to belong to the person who had arrived in the helicopter. It offered him no cause for concern. After all, anyone comfortable enough to take a guest room and then snore was obviously a welcome addition to the household.

Tony's room was dark, not even lit by the soft glow of the arc reactor. (Of course it wasn't. That was in the imposter two floors down.) The entire building was unlit, but Clint had no problem seeing the shadows of people in the room.

Thor was the big one in the corner, camped out in a chair Clint was certain had never been there. Steve was the dark shape by the wall, huddled small and braced like a man who had grown accustomed to sleeping upright in awkward places. Bruce had fallen asleep in a straight-back chair that looked pilfered from a table set. He was slumped over on the bed, probably drooling on one of Tony's pillows. Clint spotted Natasha posted near the window, her eyes reflecting the light of the city beyond them. She watched him but otherwise did not acknowledge his arrival.

He had been warned. Natasha told him of Tony's strange new appearance. Still, it was one thing to hear it and another to see it. Clint stared down at the girl sleeping in the middle of Stark's king-sized bed. She was a pint-sized lump beneath the covers, small murmurs and soft sighs alerting him to the restless nature of her slumber.

Clint sat on the bed next to the girl, his brain slow to connect the pale, smooth face to the snarky bastard that was Tony Stark. Curious, he brushed his fingers over the haphazard fringe of hair falling over the girl's forehead. It was soft and fine and silky, a far cry from the coarser, lightweight, wavy hair Clint was used to seeing on Tony's skull.

The girl gasped, jerking her head to the side, and Clint suddenly found himself staring into wide, dark, frightened eyes. The look was so similar to the ones Clint had seen on Stark whenever the man woke from his nightmares that he instantly held his hands out and back, open to prove himself harmless. That was a far cry from the truth, something they both knew, but the girl's eyes suddenly softened in recognition.

"Barton?" a bare breath of the name spoken in a high, weak voice.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he murmured, soft and low. He could not do anything about Natasha, but he was not about to wake Steve and Bruce. Those two were probably more exhausted than the rest of them combined. Thor, of course, would sleep through an explosion during an afternoon nap.

"'s okay," the girl slurred, shifting and glancing around the room to see who was all still there. Clint noticed the IV tube trailing up to the bag hooked over the headboard. He shifted his attention back to the girl, his mind and body already easing in a way he never could have anticipated.

Stark was back, and Clint was torn between cursing him out and smothering him in the world's most awkward hug.

"You okay? Barton?"

Clint had been standing silent for too long. His hesitation had been noticed.

"I am beyond wiped, Stark," he declared. "So you don't get to hold this shit against me later. I am so glad you're back."

"You might as well lay down," the girl's head rolled to the right, indicating the empty space on the bed. "Since everyone else is camping out in here."

It was the best invitation Clint had received in a long while. He quickly removed his boots and slid under the blankets (and he never failed to be amazed at the quality of everything Tony owned), curling up facing Tony but not touching. That was creepy behavior, after all, and he would not indulge beyond that first ill-advised moment of contact while Tony had been sleeping.

No one had told Tony about the creep factor, apparently, because there was suddenly an unfamiliar hand smoothing over Clint's brow and brushing over his cheek. Clint caught the hand, then froze, not quite certain what to do once he had it.

"You need to shave," Tony told him.

"Haven't had the time," he mumbled. He brought his other hand up and clasped Tony's between his palms, momentarily put off by how small it was. Tony's hand should not be that small. "Are you okay?"

"Very definitely not," despite the words, the tone was warm, and it was easy to accept what was said without immediately panicking.

"I'm going to kill whoever did this."

"You won't." Clint blinked, exhausted and confused at the flat declaration. Tony's fingers squeezed his gently. "If anyone dies, I'll be the one to do it. But I don't know if she deserves it yet."

"You'd never make it as an assassin."

"I'm kind of okay with that."

Clint was too. Tony would be a very different person if he was a cold-blooded killer. Sure, the man could be vengeful, but it was all hot temper and simmering anger. Between Clint and Natasha, the Tower had more than enough people willing to kill for no other reason beyond that they were paid to do so.

He was eased by the knowledge that Tony, for all of his different physical attributes, had not actually changed in his time away. Releasing a relieved sigh, he let himself drift off, still clinging to Tony's hand.

The morning after Tony's return was almost normal. Considering their lives as Avengers (or in Tony's case, as an Avenger, the director of a multibillion dollar corporation, a SHIELD consultant, and an inventor), normal was something that ran on a sliding scale. When their daily tasks sometimes included battling aliens or mutant rabbits, normal was a difficult thing to define.

Hank did another quick checkup of his patient and removed the IV, though he had to wait to approach initially when he found himself facing the business end of Hawkeye's gun. ("The bow is a long distance weapon. If someone makes it into your bedroom, he's gonna be up close and personal. Better to just shove a gun or a knife in his face.") Tony had reached up, ever comfortable with his companion's eccentricities, and gently pulled the gun away, handing it over to Bruce, who set it on the nightstand next to the ginger ale. ("Please don't kill my doctor, Barton.")

After introductions were made, they got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. It was fairly chaotic.

"Fine, you can have a little bit of butter, but plain dry toast is best for an upset stomach." –Bruce to Tony

"I am not apologizing! If we're going to have strangers in the house, especially big, blue furry ones, someone should tell me! Otherwise, any face I don't know is fair game for threatening." –Clint to Steve

"Would you like the business section?" –Steve to Tony

"Can I have the comics?" –Clint

"This is truly an astounding power you hold. How do you harness the lightning without Mjolnir?" –Thor to Storm

"Shut up and eat the toast." –Natasha to Tony

"Did you leave Cassie tied up all night?" –Steve, very quietly to Natasha

"I should call Charles to give him an update." –Hank

"No! No telepaths in the Tower! I put my foot down!" –Clint

"My Tower." –Tony– "He doesn't like me anyway. He wouldn't come unless it's an emergency."

"Charles does not dislike you. He simply finds your mind exhausting." –Hank

They got into various arguments, nothing malicious, but generally invigorating. Though Hank did comment that he lived in a school, and there was more bickering among the five adults in Avengers Tower than there was among the several dozen students at Xavier's Institute for the Gifted.

"Where's my phone?" Tony asked suddenly. "I need to call Pepper."

Bruce retrieved the phone and tablet from the cupboard where they had been stored when they first discovered Tony was not their Tony.

"You seriously kept this next to the coffee?" Tony asked incredulously. "That's… kind of amazing, actually. They were in good company."

"Try to be gentle," Bruce advised, sliding the items across the counter. "Pepper has not been handling this well."

"I'm still astounded that she hasn't walked yet," Tony replied.

The words were meant to be funny, the tone light-hearted, but those foreign green eyes were shadowed and angry. He tapped the phone and held it up, the video display bringing up Pepper's image as it auto-dialed. She picked up almost immediately, and Tony's face softened.

It was a little odd, because usually when Tony had that expression, he looked fond and shockingly gentle. Now he seemed more frightened and vulnerable, and it was all Bruce could do to stay on his side of the counter. Tony would not appreciate anyone coddling him, of that Bruce was certain.

Pepper's image remained the same, which meant she had answered on her headset.

"Tony! Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm good—well, not good, but—no, never mind that. I had a purpose for calling."

Even in dealing with Pepper, Tony had not changed. Bruce could see everyone in the room relaxing (the Avengers anyway, since Hank and Storm really did not know any better). Yesterday had been pretty horrible, but now Tony was safe and settled in (okay, and sixteen and female) and acting more like himself. Things would be okay.

"I need you to contact that friend of yours—the one in social services," Tony said with the confidence of someone used to giving orders and having them immediately carried out. "Get some of our attorneys involved if need be. I am going to be pressing all sorts of charges against a lot of people, and I need this shit to stick, okay?"

"Tony," Pepper sounded alarmed. "What kind of charges?"

"Assault, child abuse, gross negligence. There's a deputy in La Grande who needs to hang. Okay, I'm pretty sure you have to kill someone to warrant death penalty, but my point stands."

Natasha, Storm and Hank managed not to look at all surprised by this conversation. Steve looked downright horrified, while Clint managed to keep his shock in the slight sag of his jaw. Thor simply looked confused, and Bruce was growing increasingly furious. He… actually, he needed to leave.

"I want you to get the ball rolling. I am taking legal action, and the sooner you can get child protective services here, the better. Wait. Okay, no sooner than tomorrow—"

"I'm going to take a shower," Bruce announced, and fled the room.

Because—damn it!—he had known there was more to this. There was no way Tony came by those bruises with simple rough living. The marks on Tony's wrists and arms were congruent with a person having been violently manhandled. His flinching behavior, the sickness, the desperate tears shed upon returning home—Tony had been brutalized, and they had not been able to prevent it.

This was going to take more than a relaxing shower.

Bruce went down to the containment unit he and Tony had built into the sublevels of the tower. He needed to meditate. Or maybe take a sedative.

Tony had stopped talking. When Banner left the room, his words trailed off, eyes following the scientist's retreat. Natasha walked up behind Tony and set a hand on his shoulder, not pulling away though Tony jumped.

"Jarvis, monitor Doctor Banner, and let us know if he transforms," Natasha requested.

"Of course, Miss Romanov," Jarvis replied readily.

"Tony?" Pepper asked. Tony looked back at the phone dazedly, pale and a little green. Natasha gently pried the phone from his hand.

"I've got this," she said, not unkindly. Tony nodded and stumbled off down the hall. Natasha held the phone to her ear, the tech automatically shifting from speaker phone to private conversation. She strode out of the room. "Pepper, it's Natasha."

"Oh, my god, Natasha!" Pepper sounded close to tears herself. "What happened to him?"

"Let's get this accomplished and break down later, okay?" Natasha encouraged.

"What… I… I guess…"

"I'm guessing Tony wants Cassie removed from her home in La Grande," Natasha said. "He hasn't told me who yet, but there was sexual assault and physical abuse."

"Oh god."

"Hold it together, Pepper."

"I got it," the woman sounded a little strangled, but she was doing well.

"He wants her out, and he wants to press charges for statutory rape and probably generalized physical and psychological abuse."

"He doesn't even have to," Pepper said shakily. "In cases where the victim is underage, the state will do it for them. But it sounds like this wasn't a single person involved. Corrupt law enforcement officers are difficult to pin down. I'll contact the law department immediately. And Matt—he's a defense attorney, but he's one of the best. And he owes Tony a favor."

Natasha had to admit she had the utmost respect for Virginia Potts. After all, anyone who could work for Tony Stark for over ten years, date him, break up with him, and proceed to be his best friend and still work for him was impressive at minimum. She was obviously blessed with superhuman patience and organizational skills.

"Are you going to be okay?" she asked reluctantly, because this was Pepper Potts, and Tony would never forgive Natasha if she let this woman go when she was having a breakdown.

"I'm not even close to okay, Natasha," Pepper said, but she sounded rock steady. "You make sure Tony is safe. Make sure that doctor gets him healthy. If you can, get him back to normal. Then, maybe we'll see if I'm okay."

That was fair.

"Okay."

"Thank you, Natasha." Pepper hung up.

It was good timing that their call ended just then. A few seconds later, and Pepper would have heard the angry shout that definitely came from their genius-turned-sixteen-year-old-girl.

"Get the fuck away from me!"

Natasha was there in an instant, but so was everyone else. She slipped through the press of bodies (it was like a goddamned rock concert, except she was trying to force her way past a crowd of anxious super heroes instead of a mosh pit) and into the restroom.

Tony had backed himself into the edge of the bathtub, looking ill and angry. From the looks of things, Rogers had tried to help.

Now, of course, Rogers was standing back looking like he realized he had just kicked a puppy. Tony, the puppy, had then transformed into a wounded dog that would sooner tear his face off than allow himself to be touched.

Natasha arrived just in time to see the realization strike. Tony was often a source of mingling, transforming emotions, but these ones ran rampant and clear across the pale, thin face. Comprehension, then horror, then humiliation, which was the one that finally stuck.

"Tony," Rogers said cautiously, a man trying to approach a frightened child, "I just want to help."

"Have you never been sick before, boy wonder?" Tony hissed, sinking, curling over his stomach. "I don't need any help. I need some privacy."

"I'm sorry." Now the captain was the kicked dog. He slunk back, tail between his legs, glancing guiltily at Natasha as she moved to take his place.

"I got this," Natasha said softly, for the second time that morning. "Steve, would you get a clean toothbrush? He's going to want it."

Rogers looked like he was in agony.

"I didn't mean—"

"I know," Natasha interrupted, voice lowering to something just below a murmur. "He knows too. Don't let the appearance fool you, Cap. That is still Tony Stark. How do you think he'd normally react to your fussing?"

Rogers winced. Natasha lifted an eyebrow, and he sighed, nodding and backing away.

"I'll get the toothbrush," he mumbled.

Natasha followed as Rogers left, frowning at anyone else who looked as though he would attempt to breach the bathroom door, which she shut in their faces. When she turned back to Tony, the billionaire had not recovered much. He was doubled over, clinging to the edge of the tub and generally looking miserable. Much of it looked to be emotional, though Natasha could see the wan edge of physical discomfort.

She crouched down in front of him, very deliberately not making direct contact.

"Do I need to call the doctor in here?" she demanded.

"No more tests. God," Tony groaned. "I don't think Dr. McCoy got all the results back yet from the first batch."

"Some take longer than others." Natasha went to the sink and poured a cup of water. She returned and held it out, ignoring his sour look and keeping a steadying hand at the bottom rim. "One bit of good news, though. The pregnancy test came back negative."

Tony looked up, eyes wide and startled and horribly relieved. The breathy laugh that followed was a little bit of relief, a touch of nervousness, and a whole lot of hysteria.

"I never thought I'd have anyone say those words to me," he admitted. "I can't decide if I should be grateful or just pretend that kind of scare was never on the books."

"Grateful now, denial later," Natasha suggested. "But this also means you're actually sick. You should be in bed. Maybe in a hospital."

"I need to get a better medical center brought into the tower," Tony complained. "Let's keep that as a last resort, shall we? You know I can't stand SHIELD medical."

"They're the only ones who can take you unless you manage to find some decent medical coverage in the next few hours," Natasha reminded him unnecessarily. Tony knew all this, and he glared at her for saying it.

"I want to talk to Cassie," he announced.

"You think you can handle it?" Natasha caught his flailing arm and hauled him upright. Tony clung to her hand and pressed his other to his lower abdomen. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Tony snapped.

"Does it hurt?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask that. I asked if you were hurting," Natasha said. Tony winced and yanked his hand out of the iron grip Natasha suddenly pressed on his fingers. She ignored the flinch and pressed her fingers to his throat under his jaw.

Tony was clammy, and his pulse was racing.

"Yeah, okay?" he grumbled. "My stomach hurts, and it feels… fucked up, okay? Like it's heavy."

"Are you bleeding?"

"What? No! You think I would hide something like that?" Tony grabbed for the counter, then grimaced and pressed his hand hard into his stomach. "I didn't get stabbed or anything."

"I mean, are you menstruating?"

The blank stare she received for that doozy was almost humorous. Natasha felt her lips twitch, but she managed not to smile.

"This is a classic cramping symptom," she explained. "You check while I get you some supplies."

"If you come at me with a box of tampons, I'm going to scream. Like a girl. It will be a less impressive feat right now for obvious reasons, but it'll happen either way," Tony assured her. "And what do you mean 'check'? What the hell am I—you're kidding me. Tell me you're kidding me."

"Relax, Tony," Natasha did smile then, just slightly. She stopped immediately because Tony looked more frightened for it. "I'll get some pads and ibuprofen. You'll be feeling better in no time."

"Natasha…" Tony watched her back through the door with wide, horrified eyes. "Natasha, you're not serious."

"Check, Tony," she ordered. "Or we can make this really embarrassing when I help you. Which will it be?"

"Get out, you sadistic witch!" Tony complained. "And you had better bring something strong!"

It would have been funnier if that had not been genuine horror in Tony's eyes. Instead of smirking, she quickly exited the bathroom, nearly colliding with Rogers as she closed the door behind her. He stepped back, looking ridiculous and adorable with those big, anxious blue eyes and a toothbrush in hand.

"Is everything all right?"

"Fine," Natasha snatched the toothbrush. "Where's Storm?"

"In the kitchen with Thor."

Natasha hoped the woman had gotten the supplies she had mentioned earlier.

End Note: Please read the warnings on the next chapter. I'm lunging into territory that will probably make some people uncomfortable. After the next chapter, it will get better. I promise.