Notes: The reactions to the last chapter are unbelievably interesting. I expected to lose quite a few readers, to be perfectly honest, considering what I did. Plus, the variety of reactions to Cassie is great. It's such a human response to either hate, feel annoyed by or sorry for someone like that, and the fact that I'm getting all of the responses is exceedingly cool.

Warnings: This one's pretty safe, especially when compared to previous chapters.

Tony stared at Cassie. For the briefest of moments, back when he first saw her, he thought he was dealing with a mutant. Mystique, if recalled his SHIELD Intel. (Well, the Intel he had hacked from SHIELD's database, back when he was first deciding whether or not Fury was someone he wanted to work with. He was pretty sure Fury knew about it, but there wasn't much ol' Cyclops could do about it.)

But this wasn't the shapeshifter. This was his body, looking at him anxiously. A doppelganger that could not quite get the mannerisms down. He never wore his heart on his sleeve quite like that. Sometimes he did, but not with strangers. He could count on one hand the people who he trusted enough to bare himself like that.

Pepper. Rhodey—sometimes. Obie—once upon a time. Bruce. Maybe Steve, if the situation was right.

None of them were in the room now. They were not happy about it, but Tony did not care. This was his body, his life, his goddamn choice. He had earned this.

"I… I'm glad you're feeling better."

Even the inflection was wrong. Tony had heard enough interview playbacks to know what he sounded like, and that was not it. He had not sounded that young even when he was sixteen. At sixteen he was trying far too hard to fit in with the twenty-two-year-olds in his classes. Sounding like some kid barely past puberty was not an option.

He supposed he was feeling better. The fever had gone down, and he had not thrown up since the previous night. After a solid ten hours of sleep and a less than fulfilling meal of buttered toast and apple juice, he felt like he might be able to make a trip to the bathroom without needing to lean on someone.

He stared at Cassie, sizing her up. Because, as he had already noted, this person was not on the list of people he truly trusted. He did not know what she was going to do.

"No one would tell me what happened," Cassie mumbled, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Tony tracked the movement, not happy with the knot of unease that settled in his gut. Nervous behavior like that—it made him edgy. Lately, a lot of the people who had acted like that around him had behaved in ways he had not liked.

It sent a flash of an idea through his mind, a horrible one. The thought of himself, of his body, suddenly lunging at him, attacking him, holding him down. Was Cassie frightened enough to go on the offense?

Tony shoved the thought away ruthlessly.

"Have a seat," he suggested.

Thankfully, Cassie took him up on the offer and sat carefully on the chair beside the bed. Natasha's chair. When Natasha was in the room, no one else sat in that chair. Tony was grateful for the attention, he supposed, but it still felt awkward.

"I know you made this happen, Cassie," he said bluntly.

Cassie flinched, ducking down, hiding behind a fringe of too-long hair. Next order of business when they got out of here—get the hair dresser to come in. His face was not meant to sport the grunge look.

"Did you know you were pregnant when you did it?" he asked finally.

Tony had felt plenty of shame in his lifetime. Despite his wild public life pre-Iron Man, he was a very proud man. He did not embarrass easily, but there were things that could make him feel the way Cassie looked just now. He was just certain he had never expressed it to the extent that Cassie was. He was not really the type to bury his face in his hands like that.

Cassie nodded.

"I didn't know what to do," she whispered. "Everything was so horrible. Then you came through town with your limo and your driver." Tony almost flinched at the agony shining from his own eyes, Cassie's pain, his face. "You had everything! You had no idea what you had! You were such a stuck-up son of a bitch! I thought… I just thought if anyone…"

"You thought you would appreciate it more than I could," Tony concluded. It was not a difficult leap of logic.

"I didn't think… I didn't mean for you to be hurt!" Cassie blurted. "I just… I couldn't be there anymore. I can't go back."

Tony sighed.

"I wasn't lying, kid," he said sternly. He was well aware of how odd the statement sounded coming from the mouth of a teenage girl, rebuking someone who, for all appearances, was Tony Stark. By this point, he just did not care about outward appearances. "I won't let it happen. If I have to foster you here, I'll do it. Can't say I'd make much of a dad, though."

"Probably better than mine."

"Kid, Hitler was a better father than yours."

That earned a puzzled look.

"Didn't he, like… kill a lot of people?"

"Doesn't mean he didn't care for his family," Tony countered. "And don't do that. You make me sound like a valley girl."

"Valley girl…?"

"I am not explaining it," Tony retorted. "Look, kid. This is important. I need you to listen and answer honestly, because this won't work otherwise."

Cassie nodded earnestly. Tony tried not to let it happen, but his hopes were rising.

"Your cooperation with social services is imperative," he told her. "If we switch back, and you suddenly clam up about all this, it will become exceedingly difficult for me to protect you. I'm talking coming clean with them. Telling them what your family did to you—your uncle specifically."

"Oh, my god," Cassie breathed. "Did he… did you—?"

He did not want to think about this. Tony closed his eyes and breathed slowly through his mouth. That was behind him.

"Yes," he stated, looking directly into Cassie's horrified face. His face. Damn it. It was like talking to a mirror whose reflection spoke back in a poor imitation of his voice. "I need to know, Cassie. Will you cooperate?"

"You want me to tell them everything?"

"If you don't, I will," he murmured.

The rage was still there, simmering beneath the surface. Tony understood what Bruce meant when he said he was always angry. The very circumstances of Bruce's life were maddening enough. Tony hated to think it, but it was a good thing he wasn't the one who changed into the Hulk. His emotions were difficult to contain on a normal day. He wore a good mask, but he was volatile. He would explode every other day. Right now, he was filled with so much hatred for so many people. That was going to come out sooner or later, but for now he just shoved it aside.

"We've got DNA evidence that will ensure Danny goes to prison for a long time," he said. Hank really was one of the best people to have on his side when it came to DNA testing. "Your parents are going to be harder, but I'd be willing to bet that Danny will incriminate them."

"You'd really do that," Cassie looked shocked. "You'd… be me. And testify against them."

Tony wanted to say no. He wanted to tell her that he couldn't do it. He could not take this anymore. But the truth was that he could. He could, and he would.

"If that's what it takes," he said softly. It hurt to say it, because he knew what that would mean.

"Why?" It was a little disconcerting to be on the receiving end of that intensely focused stare. Tony knew he could make that expression, could probably do a better job of it, and he had many fond memories of those times when Clint or Steve went skittering away because they could not handle the look. He almost understood it now, having Cassie pin him with that direct stare. "You barely know me."

"Kid, I don't think anyone is quite as intimate with you as I have been the past month," he said wearily.

Damn it, he was getting tired again. The day had barely begun, but this body was struggling to recover from too much. He shifted, winced as the aches of the previous day's procedure made themselves known, and sagged back against the pillows.

"Here's the short of it: If you would have come up to me asking for help when I passed through that postage stamp of a town, I would have been on the phone with my assistant two seconds later asking what the hell I could do about it. I might not have handled things personally, because—let's face it, you're right—I didn't know you." Cassie's eyes were painfully wide. Tony didn't even know his eyes could get that large. "But I wouldn't walk away from a girl who told me her mom hit her, her dad shoved her around, her uncle fucked her, and the town deputy knew about it and didn't give a flying fuck. Now, of course, having been on the receiving end of that treatment, I'm feeling a little vengeful, so yeah. I'm handling it."

"Are you okay?"

"Don't ask that question," Tony cracked an eye to glare at his doppelganger. Cassie. At Cassie. Jesus. His mind was drifting. He grimaced and looked away. "If someone looks like shit, they probably feel like shit."

There was a long silence. Tony tried not to let it bother him. He was always hurting people's feelings, and now he was verbally assaulting a teenager. A teenage abuse victim no less.

Well, fuck it. He was on even footing here. She could deal.

"I wasn't trying to teach you a lesson," Cassie said, voice dipping into a lower, more familiar register. Tony blinked, cursing the body, its strange hormones, and his own inability to control the emotions. "I'm sorry."

The tears drained down his face unchecked. He half hoped that they would go unnoticed if he ignored them. Maybe they would have, but he failed to control his breathing. His chest heaved as he struggled and failed to keep his breathing even. A large hand wrapping around his did not help matters.

He flinched from the contact, glaring at the girl hiding behind his face. No matter how much he wanted to fix this, to help this girl get her life on track… there was no way he could handle her apology.

"I'm going to fix this," he said, his voice shockingly steady despite the tears still flooding his eyes. He wiped at the wetness, a pointless gesture with his inability to stop the tear flow, and refocused his dark look on Cassie. "I will fix it because no one deserves to live like that. But I need you to understand this: you did not make a friend of me. All I can think when I look at you is that there was something awful in this world that—shockingly—I had not experienced before you went Freaky Friday on me. Now I have, and I hate you for it."

Cassie looked horrified.

"But you said—"

"I know what I said!" Tony interrupted, voice lifting shrilly. He struggled to regain control. If he could not stop the crying, then at least he should be able to remain somewhat calm. Taking a breath, he focused on keeping his tone steady. "So maybe you should think about it and decide where you want to go with this. And know the consequences."

"What do you mean?" Cassie pleaded. "Consequences?"

He needed her gone. Tony did not want her here. He wanted… well, he could not recall the last time he had ever ached for a specific individual.

"Ask someone else," he said flatly, turning his gaze back to the window. "Pepper would be a good start. Now get out. Send Bruce in."

Thankfully, Cassie did not attempt to pursue the matter. She went quiet and still, probably watching him to see if he would change his mind about talking. He did not look at her. He just swallowed and held onto what remained of his pride until he heard her stand and walk away.

Tony closed his eyes when the door opened, and the quiet murmuring drifted toward him. This ranked up there on the list of top five worst experiences of his life. Actually, if he were to rank it, he would slot it right behind betrayed and nearly killed by Obadiah and impromptu open-heart surgery in a cave in Afghanistan. Because waking up in an unfamiliar place in a stranger's body wasn't bad enough, but the stranger had the life from Hell.

"Tony?"

Bruce.

His breath caught, and the tears came again.

"Fuck!" he hissed, scrubbing furiously at his eyes, growing increasingly frustrated when the tears refused to abate. "I hate this shit!"

Bruce, thankfully, did not say anything. He lowered the side rail and climbed onto the bed beside him. It was rare when Tony did not immediately tense up and pull away from an embrace. It was even more rare for him to actually return a hug. He was doing this a lot lately, but he was also crying a lot more than usual, so he supposed he could make some exceptions for himself.

Bruce seemed okay with Tony clinging to him desperately. Bruce was awesome. Amazing. Tony could not think of anyone better for this job. Really, there was no one better to have his back. If anyone came for him, they would have to face the Hulk. Only an idiot would take that challenge. Or maybe Thor. But Thor was safe too. Mostly.

"You're still a little feverish," Bruce observed when the tears finally stopped. Tony opened his eyes and stared at the dark gray of Bruce's shirt. It was a good color, he decided, though there was a distracting print on the front. Plus, he could not recall Bruce ever wearing anything that pulled quite that tight over the chest. Not that it was a bad thing. It was just unusual.

"Is this my shirt?" he blurted.

The hand on his head stilled.

"Um… I forgot to do laundry this week," Bruce mumbled. "We were in your room the other night… I didn't think you'd mind."

Tony snorted. It felt good, that warm coil of amusement in his chest.

"You've been working out," he remarked, which was kind of an awkward thing to say, but Tony had never really cared much about those social niceties. "I'm pretty sure I don't fill this shirt out quite that nicely."

"You look fine in it," Bruce assured him. "It's okay if you want to sleep, you know. I won't go anywhere."

"Promise?" He did not mean to say it. It just spilled out, barely a breath behind it. He closed his eyes, willing Bruce not to have heard him, but that was wishful thinking.

"Yeah," Bruce said gently, hand soothing over Tony's temple. That was nearly enough to send him tumbling into sleep. "I promise."

As it turned out, those two words were enough to release the last of the tension. Tony sighed, and that was the last thing he recalled until he woke again, several hours later.

And Bruce had not been lying. He was still there.

Note: Now, I'm not a psychologist, but behavior and the reasoning behind it always fascinates me. The one thing I found interesting when I started writing this was this attempt to get in the heads of the people involved. The friends, the teenager who is self-centered by nature yet legitimately hurting, and then Stark. All of them are hard to pin down normally, being that they're all twisted enough not to react the way most people would.