A/N:Yo. I'm half asleep, and totally meant to post this earlier. My bad. *yawns* But, I promised an update, and so I shall deliver.

This chapter is a little heavy. I've been breaking my beta's heart with updates. Hopefully you all will make it through to the other side. I have faith in all of you. Feel free to comment about your woe. I'll be here for you. (Tomorrow. I'm going to bed now.)

Beta'd by the lovely BigTimeHiddlestoner

Warnings: Graphic depictions of child abuse. Please take care.

After the 'Chunk of Asphalt Meet Tony's Head' incident, Tony skipped school on Tuesday. His pride had taken a hit, and he figured he could take a day to lick his wounds and sift through his makeup work later. He'd been ignoring Pepper and Rhodey's texts, but he'd fielded a call from Darcy to reassure that he wasn't dead in his 'manse of opulence'.

He was well into sleeping the day away when he felt the rumble of the automatic garage door shaking the entire east wing. His father did a lot of his work in the garage/lab, so their garage was monstrous, and made a lot of racket no matter where you were in the house, but especially the east wing where Tony slept.

"Oh shit," Tony groaned into his pillow, clenching his sheets tightly while he mentally prepared himself for the onslaught of his father.

He had stayed in bed for the most part, changing his bandages per Mrs. Carter's instructions, and was generally trying to behave. The house was immaculate, because he only spent time in his room and the less used workshop in the maintenance shop out back. He'd already cleared his projects from the maintenance shop, and it wasn't his job to dust, so he knew that there wouldn't be any flak for that.

That didn't mean he was prepared for the heavy pounding on his door, and his father's yell reverberating through the wood.

"Anthony! Get your ass out here and explain the phone call I got from that school I spend good money on!"

Fuck.

Rolling out of bed, Tony changed his shirt and straightened his hair as best he could around the bandages. Finding a pair of passable jeans, he skipped shoes entirely and took a deep breath. He was so screwed. So fucking screwed. Taking a brief moment to consider texting Pepper or Darcy his will, Tony nixed the idea and stepped out of his room.

Already knowing where to go, Tony let his feet carry him down the hall and a back set of stairs to the ground floor, where his father's study was tucked between the library and the entrance to the garage. His father was seated in his leather high back, sorting through a large stack of mail with one hand, nursing a tumbler of scotch in the other. None of these bode well for Tony.

Howard Stark had a routine for when he returned from his travels. First, he would drive home in one of his cars (a horribly expensive, beautiful piece of machinery that was a strict no touchy-touchy in Tony's case), and leave his luggage with Jarvis and Maria, if they were with him.

He'd pick up his mail at the guard house, and head to the mansion. Upon parking his car, he'd make sure that Tony hadn't meddled in his lab, and would then go into his study and settle in with an old label and his old war photo albums.

More often than not, Tony was called in for god knows what (he'd breathed too loudly once), and was left standing facing the corner. It was the same introduction to his punishment that he'd been receiving since he was four years old and being punished for sneaking into the lab.

It could be hours before Howard felt the need to acknowledge his son, and he would go on about business as if Tony weren't even there. Sometimes, he'd even have business associates meet him in the office, and they'd talk and chat as if Tony wasn't standing in the corner, harboring an intense urge to pick up a desk lamp and start swinging.

The record for the corner was five hours, but Tony figured it wouldn't take more than an hour before Howard broke and decided to ream him out for all of his character flaws and then some.

Tony walked over the threshold, moving to the corner and standing, falling into parade rest. His six years at a military academy (during the scandal of his non-existent intellect) had left him with a habit of standing at attention. It was unfortunate that Howard derived a perverse pleasure at seeing Tony retain a sense of discipline for more than five minutes at a time, and would throw something if Tony slouched.

Howard only spent another forty five minutes perusing his mail, and was distressingly less sober than Tony would have hoped. Tony stared at the wainscoting on the wall, tracing lines and charting the angles, trying not to jump when his father broke the silence.

"What, exactly, is wrapped around your head?"

"Bandages, sir."

"Why?"

"I cut my temple, sir. Asphalt."

"How?"

"I tripped, sir."

His father fell silent, and out of the corner of his eye, Tony could see him tracing a finger around the rim of his glass before taking a hearty swig.

"Front and center, Anthony."

Tony was quick to obey, standing in front of his father's desk with a niggling feeling of trepidation settling in his stomach. This wasn't going to end well.

"Don't lie to me, Anthony," his father murmured, voice deceptively level.

"I didn't…"

"Your school called my cell phone, Anthony. I dislike being interrupted while I'm on business."

"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't know they had a reason to call," Tony reasoned. Why the fuck would they call in the first place?

"Do you recall how I treat liars under this roof?"

Tony flinched back, not liking where this was going. The last time Howard accused him of lying, Tony went to the hospital with a broken arm from 'falling down the stairs'.

"Yes, sir."

"Your school called first to inform me you had been injured by a chunk of asphalt thrown across your cafeteria. Were you aware of this?"

"…Yes, sir," Tony ground out.

"I don't appreciate being lied to, Anthony," his father said, and Tony could see the shift. There was something else, he just didn't know what.

"I apologize, sir. I didn't think it was worth bothering you with."

"It matters a great deal, Anthony. I got a second call. Saying some kid groped you in the hallway and you might be 'emotionally compromised'," Howard spat, a bit of spittle falling on his blotter.

Tony paled then swallowed hard. He hadn't anticipated the school calling about that shit. Why couldn't they just leave well enough alone?!

"Did you like that queer feeling you up, Anthony? Did you like it when he pressed you up against the lockers, hands all over you, ready to put the Stark name to shame?" He asked, brown eyes glinting dangerously in the low lamplight.

Tony figured this would be a horrible time to say, Dad, I think I'm bisexual. Just thought you should know.

"No, sir."

"Do you know what you are, Anthony?"

Sighing internally, Tony straightened a bit, shoulders back. Time for The Faults.

"Stupid. Useless. A disappointment," Tony recited dutifully, the words the same as they had always been. At least he didn't take them too personally anymore.

"We'll add embarrassment to that list. You are truly an embarrassment to this family," Howard snapped.

He gave Tony an expectant look, and Tony had to count to five so that he wouldn't try and strangle his old man.

"I am stupid. I am useless. I am a disappointment. I am an embarrassment," Tony repeated, his eyes burning with tears that would never fall, and his jaw aching from how hard he was clenching his teeth.

Howard hummed, downing the rest of his scotch and pouring another from the decanter. Tony could tell his father was looking to get wasted. He knew he'd be involved when Howard stood up and walked around his desk.

With a twisted sense of gentleness, Howard unwrapped the bandages from Tony's head, peering under the patch of gauze over the wound itself. Making a small, noncommittal noise, Howard peeled the gauze pad away and tossed it, with the bandages, into his trash can.

Tony was very careful not to move or make any sound, concentrating on the bookshelf behind his father's desk to keep his focus.

That focus was exactly why Tony was unaware of his father's backhand flying at his face. He felt the familiar splitting of skin from his father's MIT ring, and managed to catch himself on the far corner of the desk before he smashed his face into it.

Tony knew there was a reason he hated being on the small side as his father hauled him around, landing a vicious jab to the right side of his face 'for good measure'.

Black eye? Check.

Blood? Check.

Patricide plans? In Progress.

"You are still a Stark, no matter how useless you may be," Howard spat. "But I pay good money to keep you out of the papers, so you damn well better keep your fucking nose clean when I'm not around. Do you understand me?"

Tony nodded, biting his lip to keep from spitting blood at his father.

"Yes, sir," he ground out eventually, hands clenched at his sides.

Howard returned to his chair and his scotch, an unspoken cue for Tony's dismissal. With that Tony left his father's study, seething and in pain and lifting silent prayers to a god he didn't believe in to make the next two years pass quickly.

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