Archive of Our Own

It has always been enough for Tony to have JARVIS. Sure, the AI can't physically hand him a coloring book, or pull a blanket over him, or soothe his hair back after a nightmare. But JARVIS can—and does—keep all of Tony's secrets, and he does not judge Tony.

JARVIS watches the time when Tony wants what he has come to refer to as a Day Off. It's never really a day. He can't afford that, of course. But JARVIS keeps track of the four or five hours Tony manages to find where he can sink into the world of a eight-year old. JARVIS even gives him praise on occasion, like when he's managed to rig together something clever, or is good, and stays away from the oven and the stove. Little boys can get burnt on those.

Jarvis Mark 1.0 was as much of a parent as he had the first time around at eight, so it's not weird, Tony decides, that JARVIS Mark 2.0 is enough of a parental presence when he wants to pretend. Honestly, Tony's not sure how a kid who's not lonely feels. At this point, it'd probably be scary to find out.

**

There’s a set of shelves hidden behind a bland, silver panel in Tony’s workshop, a panel that looks like all the rest, but Tony knows which it is. He’s been using it since he built the workshop. JARVIS has a code, either a word or a gesture, depending on Tony’s mood, that he responds to without question, opening the panel and locking the workshop down into privacy settings that only an Avengers emergency or Tony coming to harm could unlock. The code word is ‘howling’ and the gesture is Tony’s arm reaching out to hold a shield, steady, strong and sure.

Either code causes the panel to slide open, revealing a set of shelves filled to bursting with toys, games, coloring books, Lincoln Logs, Legos, hand-held video games from all generations of the devices, art supplies, a jump rope, and a box marked “robots.” That box has a book in it, and some basic parts and design components, and although Tony doesn’t dig into it very often, sometimes he does.

The book is filled with brainstorming ideas about robots who could cook, robots who could play a sport, robots who could play chess, robots who could draw and paint, robots who could do any puzzle, robots who could navigate rocky terrain and maybe hike, and countless other robot designs that may seem simplistic to a serious designer but were really fun to think about on a Day Off.

Today is the day for a Day Off by Tony’s standards. He’s banged up and bruised from a two-day Avengers mission and everyone else on the team is still sleeping off the effects of the long fight they’d had in Miami, of all places. Heat and exploding pastel for two days. Even Tony had slept for nine hours when he got home, but that was about all he could manage. He doesn’t figure anyone will be looking for company for a while, so he limps into the lab and says, “JARVIS, I think today’s a howling day, ‘kay?”

“Absolutely, sir,” comes the prompt, crisp reply. “Would you like me to have a tray sent down from the kitchen before we start?”

Tony thinks about it and shrugs. “Sure, why not. I didn’t exactly keep track of meals while we were at the beach.” He throws himself into a swivel chair and smiles at DUM-E and YOU as they whir up to him. “Gimme a minute, okay? People keep telling me that food is good for me. You guys can wait.” The robots scurry around his feet for a few minutes until the dumb waiter beeps to announce the tray’s arrival, and Tony grabs it and sets it on one of the workbenches. It’s filled with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, a bowl of goldfish crackers, an apple with the peel already off, OREO cookies, and a tall glass of apple juice. Tony loves Day Off food.

“Okay, JARVIS, howling it is,” he calls out, and the security system settles into place and the secret panel slides open with a whoosh. Tony feels his shoulders relax as he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and crouches down on his heels, rocking backward and wrapping his arms around his knees. It’s been a long two days.

DUM-E whirs over to the shelf and starts chirping, and Tony lets out a laugh. These robots are so cool. DUM-E is his favorite, although he doesn’t really know why. He stands up, grabs a sandwich, and wanders over to the toy cabinet. The moment when he always wishes someone else would help him pick what to do this afternoon doesn’t last too long today, and he finds himself reaching for the coloring books. There’s a Captain America book and a Star Wars book and a Muppet Show book, and he flips through each of them for a minute, deciding. He chooses the Muppets because laughing at DUM-E had felt good and Fozzie makes Tony laugh even when he’s still on a page. He pulls the Tupperware container filled with colored pencils and markers out and throws himself down on the floor.

“Sir, the tubing you’re laying on is valuable and rather dangerous. You should move to the back table if you’re going to color,” JARVIS says, and Tony throws his head back and groans.

“I’m not messing with it, JARVIS. I don’t weigh that much.” He pulls out an orange pencil and flips to the page he wants.

“Sir, I’m afraid I have to insist. Please do not lie on that tubing.”

Tony glares at the ceiling for a minute and then lets out a loud sigh. “Fine, JARVIS, I’ll move,” he answers, and gathers his supplies and book and moves to a small table tucked in the back corner of the lab. He spreads his book and pencils out in front of him and glances toward the front of the room. After a minute he stands again and goes to the workbench where the tray is and grabs the apple and goldfish and carries them back to his table. A few minutes later he is coloring Fozzie’s hat and munching on the apple.

**

When Tony's Day Off secret is compromised, it is both the most horrifying thing to ever happen to him, and the most predictable. After all, good things are put in his life more to come to an end than any other reason.

Phil is the first to find out. Of course, because Phil does shit like come back from the dead despite being one hundred percent human, and has the world's biggest fan-crush Captain America thing but does not spend his free time playing with toys. Unless you count Clint's junk. Tony does not, but he can see an argument being made for it.

None of this goes through his head at the time that Phil—responding to an Assemble call, closest to Tony's workshop, and wanting to grab the latest comm. tech from the lab—finds Tony with a milk mustache, putting away Bear—his favorite plushie—and trying not to glance regretfully at his latest Lego invention. He's still in the in-between space, pushing himself back into an adult mindset, but not entirely free of his child one.

As such, when Phil sees him tucking Bear into his proper spot and blinks, Tony's first thought is please, I'm sorry, I won't—I know I'm supposed to be a big kid, followed by, fuck, fuck, please don't tell. He does what he does best, though, and covers with glib meanness. "What, never seen the first stages of an engineering project? I know it's a little out of your league—"

Phil's, "Stop," is implacable, and while it would normally just prod Tony into pushing back more, there's enough of the kid left in him for him to listen. Phil says, "We're going to go save the world for a little bit, all right? And when we get back, you and I will talk about this."

That's what you think. Tony has always been a master of evasion. Never more so than when it is essential to his pride and sanity. "Sure, sounds good."

Phil gives him a look that tells Tony Phil is one hundred percent aware of his bullshit, but is going to let it fly for the moment. Tony, depressingly, is glad for the reprieve.

**

Saving the world happens annoyingly quickly, given that it was basically a false alarm. They don’t happen often, but are always incredibly annoying when they do. Tony's plan to avoid Phil like a combination of bubonic plague and Ebola fails almost immediately due to the one-two punch of Phil being a ninja and a psychic. Phil texts him: "You can either talk with me, or with the whole team."

He finds his way to Clint and Phil's quarters after that. He's not having this discussion in his own space. Fuck that. And fuck Phil for making him have it at all. When Phil lets Tony in, he peers around, but Phil says, "He's having some down time with Sam and Natasha. I told him to call before he comes home."

Tony does not feel appreciative, absolutely not. Phil wouldn't have to keep Clint away if he wasn't forcing this conversation in the first place. Phil, dressed in fucking sweats with bare feet—Tony isn't stupid, he knows what trying to be unintimidating looks like—pads his way to the kitchen, and asks, "Water? Iced tea?"

"Scotch," Tony tells him, because it's expected. Phil sets water in front of him and Tony takes it.

"I'm going to say some stuff," Phil tells him. "When I'm done, you can decide whether you want to say anything in response or not."

Tony finds that desire to be highly unlikely, but he just glares and takes a sip of his water. It tastes faintly of cucumber and mint and is more soothing than he really wants to admit.

Phil says, "The Avengers have been a team for nearly three years. They've been an entity under the auspices of Stark Industries for almost a year without the presence or interference of SHIELD. And while I realize that the subterfuge regarding my unlikely return to the flesh and your general trust issues have caused some road bumps, it's a little insulting that you think that I—or any other member of this team—would judge what is, quite frankly, a fairly normal psychiatric response to the lack of a normal childhood."

Tony fights not to say anything, but silence has never been his foremost strength. And trust Phil to be the one damn person on this team who could verbalize any of that to Tony, get far enough inside his head and be willing to talk about it to force Tony on the defensive. "And yet, on a team chock-full of people with childhoods ranging anywhere from tragic to terrifying, I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who nee—does that."

Phil watches him, expressionlessly, for a few minutes. When he speaks again, it's cautious. "What you're saying, then, is that you judge Clint's need for small spaces and the ability to see without being seen? Or Natasha's fondness for too much sugar in her tea? Bruce's desire to—"

"You know I don't," Tony cuts him off. He doesn't want to hear. It doesn't matter. The others have earned their quirks.

He sees the moment Phil knows Tony's arrived at this conclusion. Phil tilts his head. "But not you?"

Tony breathes through his nose. "It's not the same. Theirs are adult ways of coping with past trauma. What is more, they're solitary coping mechanisms."

"Seems you've been doing all right on your own."

Tony tries to find words, but ends up just looking away.

"Just all right, huh?" Phil asks.

Tony glares at him. "Don't."

Phil sighs. "You've given us a home and a place to be ourselves and the supplies necessary—beyond necessary—to do what we do best. Just for once, let us do something that isn't having your back when bullets and other things are flying."

Tony finishes off the water and smiles sharply at Phil. "Thanks for the offer, but I've got everything I need."

He's not certain whether he's relieved or hurt when Phil lets him walk away without so much as calling his name.

**

He should have known Phil wouldn’t just leave it. If he’d had a little more practice with friends, maybe he would have known, but instead he's surprised when a package is sitting on his workbench a couple days later, labeled “Confidential” and "From: Agent Coulson." He locks his lab and opens it, sitting back with a “Well shit,” when he finds what's inside. Clearly it's from Phil, not Agent. He’s simply used the official packaging to make sure it doesn’t raise any suspicions.

Inside the box are three card games: UNO, Phase Ten, and a mixed set of Old Maid and Go Fish. There's a little Post-It note on Phase Ten that reads, “This is Clint’s favorite. I bet he’d be happy to play it with you sometime.”

In addition, there are two new coloring books and a kick-ass set of colored pencils in a wooden box, with a package of M&Ms sitting on top. The whole thing forces Tony’s perspective to shift a little, like a small wave from a pebble thrown into a lake, and he blinks back the desire to find Clint immediately.

He moves over to his design station, but his eyes keep wandering back to the box.

Coulson is an asshole. A total jerk.

Tony stands and wanders over to the box again, reaching in to pull out one of the coloring books. He lets out a laugh. It's an Iron Giant coloring book. He shuffles through the pages and reaches back in for the new colored pencils. As he runs his fingers across the pencil case, admiring the wide range of colors included, he sees Coulson’s kind eyes, patient expression, again, and throws the pencils and book back inside the box.

It's not that he's never considered letting someone else in. Pepper, of course, and once or twice Rhodey, especially regarding his Day Off experiments. But he has never done so for good reason. This is his, has always been his, and it is safe in his hands. (Tony carefully writes off the two times JARVIS has had to coax him out of a closet or from beneath the bed.) Someone else—anyone else—will just mess it up, no matter how nice they came across, how good their intentions might seem. Phil's…a good guy. A hero, really. But, no. No.

He picks up the book and pencils again and makes his way back to his table, sitting down. He finds a picture of the robot and starts coloring, letting the pencil strokes soothe him. It's a first. He's never done something like this in the open space of his lab. Part of him is desperate to get up and hide. The other part can't seem to move, too happy to be sitting right there. He works on the picture until it is almost finished.

JARVIS interrupts him as he is working on the last tree. “Sir, the Avengers are assembling.”

**

Unsurprisingly, that puts an end to coloring for a while. The fight they'd assembled over is already brutal when they get on scene. It escalates to a bloodbath on both sides once they engage. The only childish part of Tony’s day is the blind fear that rakes his chest as he watches a laser tear through Hawkeye’s armor and leave him in a crumpled heap on the roof where he's been providing coverage and lookout.

Anger washes through Tony, bright and sharp and powerful. Once JARVIS has a medical team en route to Barton, Tony is a hurricane, crashing through the enemy, coordinating with Thor for maximum destruction and listening without question to Cap’s orders. Even the times when he makes Tony pull back. He'll yell at Steve, later, blowing off steam. Steve will yell back and Tony will have a drink and Pepper or Bruce will put Steve to bed and everything will be fine. Everything.

An hour later, they all stand, sweaty and trembling at the foot of debris and corpses, looking around for Coulson.

Sitwell climbs over a pile of concrete and waves them over, looking weary and rumpled. “Coulson’s at medical with Hawkeye. I’ll debrief you after you’ve cleaned up.”

Tony feels a lightning cold shot of fear run down his back. Coulson never leaves a site, no matter how scraped up Clint may be.

Cap steps forward, because he's going to be the one to ask for the rest of them, of course he is, “What’s Hawkeye’s situation?”

**

As it turns out, getting partially dissected by a laser is bad for a person's health. Clint hovers in the touch-and-go zone for three days. Two emergency surgeries leave him intubated and sedated. Coulson, Phil, Phil's pretty much living next to Clint's recovery bed. Tony watches Phil sit the first night, his head and shoulders held low, making him small in a way that Tony can't quite wrap his mind around. Phil talks to no one, even Natasha.

Tony arranges takeout meals delivered to Phil, checks to make sure Cap and Bruce deliver coffee and, at Bruce’s insistence, tea. Natasha sits in the lobby for three days, because the staff will only let Phil in with Clint. Sometimes she'll let Steve or Bruce sit next to her, or Hill, when she's around. Tony is afraid to try. He doesn't want to know if she'll send him away. He wishes Pepper were here. She'd let Pepper sit next to her.

Bruce and Thor hover over the rest of them, the muscle with nobody to lash out at, between Jane forcing them to catch some sleep.

Clint's a stubborn asshole, though, and two weeks later he's signing himself out AMA and moving back to the tower. Two weeks is just long enough that Phil actually helps him home, instead of sedating him, like he did the first few times Clint had tried.

Tony has food from three of Clint’s favorite restaurants delivered so that Clint can have whatever the hell he wants as soon as he's back in the Tower. He bullies Clint and Phil to let JARVIS increase his monitoring of Clint while he recovers. He may or may not put in a few more precautions than he lets on.

A week or so after he's returned, Tony finds Clint sitting at the kitchen table alone, staring at nothing.

“What’s wrong, Artemis?” Tony asks, pulling ingredients for a smoothie out of the refrigerator.

Clint looks up, clearly just noticing him, which is freaky enough. He glares at Tony, but it's half-hearted. He's lost weight, and the bruising staining his eyes has yet to recede. According to Phil's eerily self-contained bitching, Clint's still on an unusual amount of pain medication for him and isn’t eating much.

“Bored,” Clint says before face planting. Let it not be said that a heavily medicated Hawkeye is not a Drama Queen Extraordinaire.

“Wanna play Mario Kart or something?” Bruce is out of town and the labs, which Tony has felt fine by himself in all his life, are annoyingly quiet.

Clint looks up, cocking his head. “Or something. Not sure my stomach can handle Moo Moo Meadows right now.”

“Can it handle a smoothie?”

“Strawberry?” Clint's eyes widen plaintively in a way that make him seem about four.

“Sure, okay.” Tony sets to making a smoothie for Clint, going with blueberry for himself. He sits down across the table from Clint, not even bothering to bite back a laugh when Clint makes a face after sipping and sighs deeply.

Tony feels better with Clint in his sights. He's thinking of ways to distract Clint when a thought pops into his head. He throws it right back out and takes a drink. One look at Clint’s tired face and the thought barges right back in. “Uh, do you want to play cards?”

Clint looks startled for a minute before he grins. “I’m kick-ass at Phase Ten, if you know what that one is. I have a deck in my apartment.”

Tony shrugs, doing his best nonchalant. “Sure, I remember playing it as a kid.”

“Let’s just play at my place,” Clint says, shoving himself back from the table and grabbing the cane he's dependent upon for the moment. “I don’t have the energy to traipse back down here.”

They end up at Clint and Phil’s dining room table playing Phase Ten. It’s a long game, and Tony loves it. He finds himself unwinding into the chair he's sitting in, Clint’s now-eased laughter and terrible jokes leaving him breathless and grinning. It's the closest he's come to a Day Off in the presence of another person ever. He tables that thought for later, and concentrates on winning.

**

Pepper comes home a few days after the beginning of what has turned into a life-and-death Phase Ten tournament. She finds Tony with Clint and touches Clint gently, as if to reassure herself he's still there. Then she kisses his forehead and says, "Thanks for keeping him off the streets."

Clint laughs a little. He looks over at Tony and says, "I'm due for some unconsciousness anyway."

Tony follows Pepper back to their floor, feeling jittery in a way he hasn't since he and Clint started playing cards. She looks at him for a long moment and asks, "Have you been sleeping? At all?"

He flashes her a grin. "My bed's been empty."

She smiles, half amusement, half implied eye-roll. "Tony."

He has missed her. The sensation is always sharp, so much so he barely feels it until it's agony. When she returns, it softens to an ache, but it takes a while to go away completely. He pulls her to him and holds her close. After a few minutes she says, "Hey, c'mon. Tell me."

Tony shakes his head. He's always had secrets from her, but he's never had a secret that someone else knew and she didn't, not since they'd cemented their relationship. He doesn't like the way it makes him feel, like he's lying to her, and not about what version of the suit he's working on. That's…that's avoidance. This is a lie.

Tony rubs a hand over his face. "I need a drink. You want a drink?"

She considers him for a moment. "I'll share yours."

Tony pours an extra finger of the scotch. She's the only person in the world he'll do this with, but there is something calming about it, like he's being claimed. He takes a sip and hands it to her. She takes it with one hand and tugs him to the sofa with the other. Once they're sitting, she sips and then gives the drink back to him. "Tony, whatever it is—"

"I like to be a kid sometimes." Tony flinches when he realizes how that sounds and takes a larger swallow of the drink than he should. It burns, the pain grounding.

Pepper tilts her head. "I suspect we all do."

Tony shakes his head. "I—I pretend. I go somewhere private and I…play."

Pepper's, "All right," is soft, meant to encourage.

"Agent caught me." He looks away from her. It's a tell and if he could force himself to maintain eye contact, he would, but he can't.

Her hand hooks under his cheek and she turns his face back to her. "Tony, Phil cares about you. I know you guys have a stupid way of showing it to each other, but he won't—he would never use something like that against you."

Tony's nod is sharp. "He…he said I should trust them."

"You're trusting me," she points out.

"You're Pepper," he says, and it occurs to him that he's possibly not as much of an adult in his real life as he likes to think he is.

She says, "I am, and I love you." She leans forward to give him a kiss. "But the others do too. Maybe differently. I hope, in any case," a small, quick smile crosses her face. "Even so, Bruce and Steve and Thor, and yes, Natasha and Clint, if they knew there was a way to make things better for you and you didn't trust them enough to give them that knowledge?"

Tony closes his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

She tells him, "You wouldn't much like it if it were one of the others, and you were the one not being trusted."

He opens his eyes. "I can't, Pepp. I—I don't know how they could trust me to be what they need after playing older sibling or parent or uncle or whatever."

She frowns. "Because you've never let them down. In all this time, when you've never asked for anything from them, you've always been at their sides, their backs. Asking for help won't make you weaker in their eyes, Tony. Every single one of them knows how terrifying that is. If anything, I would imagine it will cement their faith."

It's so like Pepper to always have a point. He asks, "Can we go to bed?"

She nods. "Yeah, baby. You sleep on this. That's a good plan."

Mostly, Tony just wants to sleep.

**

He does think about it, though. Like most things, once he starts thinking about it, he cannot stop. In the end, one thought keeps coming back, over and over. The hilarity of it is not lost on Tony: baby steps.

Pepper and Phil know. The hard part is over. (That's a lie, but it's a good lie, and Tony likes it.) Pepper and Phil can…be there. Be around on a Day Off. And they'll see how it goes. If it's awful, Tony can go back to relying on JARVIS and nobody need be the wiser.

If it's, um, not awful, well, Tony will re-engineer that bridge while crossing it.

**

Phil insists on discussion before he's willing to participate. Tony tells him where he can take his participatory self, but Phil just presses the point, sitting Tony down, asking what Tony likes, what he doesn't like, if there needs to be a safeword. At that last, Tony shakes his head. Phil doesn't look pleased, but Tony's not ready to go there. Maybe if this works, maybe.

He's never tried going down in anyone else's presence before. Pepper and Phil aren't even really paying attention to him at this point, both of them working on something. He gets some of his toys, but nothing is right, nothing is comfortable. He's still in his own skin.

"This…this isn't going to work," he says. "I thought—well, it's just not."

Pepper pushes aside the folder she's perusing and asks, "Since when do you give up so easily?"

Tony flips through his projects mentally, looking for an example, which is probably why he misses it when she crosses the room. She brushes the hair back from his forehead, but not in the usual way, like an invitation, or a secret. No, she does it the way a mom would, fond and casual. She says, "C'mon, kiddo. Let's get you an afternoon snack."

Tony closes his eyes, because he needs everything to go away for a moment. He asks, "Can I have the Little Debbies?"

"Only one,” Pepper says, "and only if you eat all of the cantaloupe I put on your plate."

Tony opens his eyes cautiously, but the feeling of having dropped holds and it's easy to make a face and say, "Fine, I guess."

He sits at the counter and watches as she cuts the cantaloupe into bite-sized pieces and he makes a show of eating all of it. Phil, from the table, says, "Well done."

The responsive pleasure Tony feels is so intense it's nearly sexual except for how it's nothing like that. He almost misses Pepper handing him an oatmeal cream pie, already unwrapped. She tells him, "Eat that in the kitchen so you don't get crumbs everywhere."

Tony asks, "Can I go play after that?"

"Sure," Pepper says, and reaches out to ruffle his hair. Tony hasn't adequately prepared himself for positive physical contact in a Day Off context and for a second, he thinks he's going to cry. Big boys don't cry, though, so he wipes at his face and focuses on his treat.

Phil catches on. Tony finishes the cookie and walks into the living area, where he's set out big rolls of paper and an endless assortment of crayons. He sits down to consider his choices and Phil sits down next to him, bumping their shoulders. "Whatcha planning on drawing?"

Cautiously, Tony leans back in. Phil wraps an arm loosely over his shoulders. Tony stills, seeing how long he can make it last. After a few moments, Phil, without moving, asks, "No plans?"

Tony shakes his head. "We could draw something you wanted."

"Maybe we should draw something for Pepper," he suggests.

Tony nods his approval of this plan. "She likes red and black."

"What else?" Phil prompts.

"Shoes," Tony tells him, completely sincere. There's the sound of soft laughter behind him, but it's a safe sound, a pleased one. "And bears."

"We could make our own bear. Complete with bright colors."

Tony's smile wells up from his stomach and he reaches for one of the red crayons. "Yeah. Yeah, that'll be cool."

**

The Days Off are necessary. They settle, ground, and shore up his defenses for regular days. They’re necessary. He doesn’t always get them as soon as he’d like, though, and this time? It's been nearly three weeks. Tony’s skin feels tight, his clothes feel too big, and his feet feel like he’s playing dress up with his dad’s shoes. The last time he went this long without one, he’d been living in a cave. It only made it worse that the last Day Off had been with Pepper and Phil and it had been…good. Really good. Tony hasn't sorted all his feelings on it yet, but he knows when they get tired of helping, it’s going to be hard to go back to the way things had been before.

It had been so good with them that when he’d emerged from his headspace, he hadn’t gone away and hiddden. He hadn’t downed a scotch to reassure Phil that he was himself again, he hadn’t closed down and felt like running for his lab, which he’d half-expected to need when he’d agreed to allow Phil and Pepper the chance to try and play along. No, he’d just resurfaced, had given them both a grin, and thanks. Phil, in turn, had just nodded and said, “Anytime. It was fun.”

Pepper had fixed all of them a glass of cranberry juice with a small shot of vodka and they'd sat on the patio, sipping in relative silence, before heading back to their own projects.

Now, though, it’s been three weeks and Tony feels like he’s wrapped in cellophane, hot and smothered. Everything feels fake and vaguely unreal. He’s jittery, which isn’t really unusual, but he also snaps at Bruce three times in an hour, enough to make Bruce shove his chair back and mutter, “Fuck off, Tony. I’m taking a break.”

“Bruce,” he calls. “Wait.”

Bruce turns and rubs the back of his neck as he glares at Tony.

“We have to finish this,” Tony says, throwing down the remote he was using. “I know. I’m sorry for snapping again, but we have to finish it. Any changes to Clint or Natasha’s equipment have to be inspected and approved by those motherfuckers at SHIELD and we haven’t had a call to assemble in a few days. We’re bound to get one soon and Clint needs this.”

He'd enlisted Bruce’s help to improve the harness with a grappling hook arrow attached – they were adjusting for trajectory and impact dynamics so Clint didn’t smash so hard into whatever he was throwing himself at in the event he had to use it. Phil was also worried about reliability. Tony just doesn’t want to watch Clint get peeled off the floor of an office building again anytime soon.

“I know he needs it, but I need to take a break, Tony. You should, too.” Bruce pulls what he calls his ‘engineering sweater’ over his head, tosses it on the workbench, and walks quickly from the lab, his shoulders drawn up in clear irritation.

“Fuck!” Tony shouts as soon as the doors slide shut. He wraps his arms around himself and says “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“Sir?” JARVIS says, and he realizes it would probably give a psychologist a heyday, but Tony feels his muscles relax at the sound of his AI’s voice.

“Yeah, J?”

“Perhaps some Lincoln Logs would help you feel better?”

Tony sighs. “I don’t know how long I have before Bruce is coming back, J. And I do need to finish this harness design.”

“Sir, you and Dr. Banner have been working on this for fifteen hours straight. I imagine he’ll take enough of a break for you to play just a little.”

The thought of making something actually fit together and work properly does sound impossibly soothing. He could set up his log mat (it has Transformers painted on it and is big enough for a replica of Xavier’s school, grounds and all) in the back of the lab and play a little. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. As busy as things have been, he's pretty sure he's not going to get a decent session in any time soon.

He doesn’t expect to go down so quickly, but the past few weeks catch up with him as soon as he opens the closet door, and there's a moment where he fruitlessly, embarrassingly wishes that Phil or Pepper were around right now. He quiets the voice and settles down to play.

“Tony?” A grown-up is talking to him. A grown-up is near. He knows that's not right.

Tony looks up to see the origin of the voice and his eyes widen. He’s playing. He’s playing and this is Bruce, the introverted scientist who mutters a lot and drinks tea. Bruce is standing over him, looking confused.

“Sir, I tried to call you, but you weren’t listening," JARVIS says quickly.

Tony’s not sure what to do, but something in him hesitates, keeps him in place. He thinks maybe he should lash out, come up out of this space, but he doesn’t—he can't. He needs to be here longer, just a little while longer.

Bruce, for his part, scans the floor and the mess Tony has made. He smiles. “Are those Lincoln Logs?”

Tony hears kindness in Bruce’s voice and a touch of curiosity, so he nods, keeping quiet and waiting to see what happens. At Tony’s gesture, Bruce looks around the room again, then folds his hands together in front of him. “Do you want to keep playing?”

Tony looks at the logs. Pepper said to trust his teammates. Pepper is nice and takes care of Tony even when he’s a grownup, and Phil was good to have around the other day, so . . . maybe this is okay. Trust. He looks up at Bruce and says, “Yes, please.”

Bruce nods and crouches down in front of the mat. “What’re you making?”

“Swiss Family Robinson house. I’m going to get some string for bridges and I might make some trees to put in and around.” He’s always loved the story of the family marooned on the island, ingenious people who simply learned and built and played.

“Can I watch?” Bruce asks.

Tony nods, picking up a couple of logs. He plays quietly for a few minutes, seeing Bruce settle down to watch in his peripheral vision. Tony ignores him and works on the library part of the tree house. He gets stuck, though, on connecting the library to another part of the house, not finding the right logs.

Bruce hands him two logs without a word. His lips twitch, but it doesn't look mean. More like he's happy to be there, too.

“Thanks,” Tony says. He wonders, for a moment, what Bruce could possibly build, if he was playing too. He sneaks another look and says glancing down, “You can make something. If you want.”
Bruce nods in agreement, reaching for a log. Tony frowns, “I need that pile. You can use the ones left in the box.” Tony has calculated very carefully what he needs for connecting the library to the house and doesn’t want Bruce to mess it up.

Bruce is careful, though, and uses the logs in the box to craft a small room with a chimney, too small to be a kitchen.

“What is that?” Tony asks, leaning back on his hands and stretching a little.

“Smoke-house,” Bruce answers, glancing up at Tony only for a second.

As they build, Bruce asks Tony questions about the house itself, and about the book. It turns out Bruce has read it, too, and they compare favorite parts and argue over the inclusion of Jenny, the small girl introduced toward the end. They agree to disagree, and keep talking about subtext, ways that church might have impacted the story – Tony doesn’t go to church, but he knows enough. Bruce says he used to go to church and brings up a few things about the book Tony hadn’t considered before.

It’s easy. More than that, it's fun. After a while, though, Bruce stretches and stands. “I have to go back to work, Tony. Okay?”

Tony looks up. He knows he should go back, too, but he’s really having fun with Bruce. “Do you have to?”

“Yes. Maybe we can play this some more later, though, okay?”

Tony sighs and shrugs. “Okay. Maybe.”

He watches as Bruce rolls his shoulders, wandering back toward the front of the lab, leaving Tony alone with his toys. He stands, too, crossing his arms against his chest. “JARVIS?” he says quietly.

“Sir?”

“Please take a picture of this set-up just in case, but I’m going to leave it out for now.”

“Yes, sir. Would you like me to have YOU set up a barrier of sorts so that it doesn’t get stepped on?”

“Good idea. Thanks.”

He walks back over to the cupboard and locks it, leaning his forehead against it for a moment after. He closes his eyes and pulls himself out of his headspace with some deep breaths, and then goes to face Bruce.

**

Tony's first instinct—in everything, if he's being honest—is to go full-steam ahead in asshole mode. But a) he's already pissed Bruce off once today, and b) the guy was super decent about finding his science bro acting like a eight year old. He takes several deep breaths and says, "Now you know about my big bag of weed."

Bruce doesn't even look up from where he's focused on the harness. "I'd figured you for someone who liked being put down. I just didn't realize you did it differently. Makes sense, though."

Tony ruthlessly ignores his desire to fidget. "You're taking this pretty easily."

Bruce does look over at that, one eyebrow cocked. "You seriously think I don't get it?"

Tony opens his mouth, shuts it, then opens it again to say, "I think the last place you'd want to go back to is childhood."

"And?" Bruce prompts. "Say it."

Tony can't help his smirk. "You clearly have different methods of release."

Bruce holds his best unimpressed expression—which is pretty darn unimpressed—for a moment. "Are you freaking out? Is that what's happening here?"

Tony is kind of regretting all the times his tack with Bruce has been brutal honesty. It works, is the thing. Poking at Bruce, with words or pointy objects, often prods him to where he'll say something he hasn't extensively thought out. It's not so much the honesty that's defeating Tony at this moment, rather, the way Bruce has his, "I trust you to be straight with me" face on.

Somewhere between knowing that Bruce would come to them in the fight, and endless hours of lab accidents, only some of which have led to anything interesting, Tony's weakness has become Bruce's belief in him. It's a problem with other people, too, sure, but Tony likes to concentrate on one emotional clusterfuck at a time. Tony looks to the side. "Not exactly an irrational reaction."

"One of your more rational ones, I'd say." When Bruce does sarcastic, he does it very well.

Tony flips him off without even thinking about it. Bruce laughs a bit. "Why do you think it's a big deal?"

Tony's never really gone down the rabbit hole of what it is, exactly, that discomfits him about the thought of other people knowing, when people know all kinds of embarrassing things about him. The team knows all kinds of things that make him vulnerable, which is probably at the root of Tony's hesitancy to reveal this aspect of his coping mechanisms. He quips, "All evidence to the contrary, I'm not into public humiliation."

Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. "I know it's your default setting and all, but try to dial back some of the asshole here, okay?"

Tony crosses his arms over his chest. "Same to you, I'm sure."

It's a weak comeback, and normally Bruce would pounce. Tony almost wishes he would, but instead he says, "We're not everybody, Tony. We're not the public. And so far as it is in our power? We're never going to let them have you again."

"I am your landlord, it'd be poor planning—"

"You're our friend. Part of this dumbass idea about superheroes that somehow ended up being the Brady Bunch with slightly less drama."

"Depends on the day," Tony mutters.

Bruce's face softens, but he doesn't turn from Tony, doesn't let him off the hook. Tony rubs a hand over the back of his neck. "I let you in."

"Because I found you."

Tony shakes his head. "No, I mean, yes, but no. I stayed in that space. Trusted you not to ruin it."

"And you think the others would?"

Tony, in truth, doesn't want to think about it. Three people knowing within the space of a month is anxiety inducing enough. Because honesty has gotten Bruce to back off before, he says, "I'm not ready to."

After a moment Bruce nods his head once. "Okay then." He turns back to the project.

Tony gapes for a second. Okay? He reminds himself about gift horses and goes to do his job.

**

Tony isn't ready to tell anyone else, but now when he thinks about another Day Off, Pepper, Phil, and Bruce are woven into his vague plans. Pepper would read to him as he sits under a blanket, Phil would ruffle his hair while telling Tony how awesome his drawing is, and both of them sitting at the table with him, having time to eat cheese and crackers and drink from juice boxes and be there. And now, with the memory of Bruce patiently watching until Tony invited him into the game, Tony's gone from low-level pining to full-out wistful. He kind of loves the Lincoln Log island Bruce and he built. It's awesome.

Pepper, Phil, and Bruce were all predictable in some senses, when he analyzes their actions through his adult lens. To his chagrin, it maybe makes him wonder how the others would fit, what they would do, who they would be.

Maybe Clint would just play cards, but then again, maybe he'd take Tony to the range, too. Tony's never told Clint watching him shoot allows Tony a space that's almost meditative, a mental rhythm he can never reach himself. That he's, on occasion, considered pretending to withhold new tech for lessons on the basics, just to see how it actually feels.

And maybe Thor would go climbing with him, or maybe even flying. Phil probably would say no to that, but they could sneak out. Thor seems like he'd be up for some mischief.

Steve…Steve would probably sit and draw, but unlike normal, Tony could allow himself to really watch Steve. And Steve could give him pointers and help him have better pictures, so Pepper doesn't have to ask him to explain.

Natasha – no. She, of all of them, would think he was crazy, that his need was superfluous. Indulgent. Natasha's records were hard to piece together given the fall of the Red Room, but if anyone deserved a second childhood, it was definitely her, and Tony knew she found other ways to give herself space. He'd accidentally walked in on her dancing, once, and she has a full library of magical realism novels in a bevy of languages.

As much as he might think—fuck, okay, daydream—about it, he's not ready to ask the others. But he could ask Phil again. Yeah, he can do that.

The next time Pepper is out of town for some CEO thingy he should probably know about but doesn't, and he's scaling the walls after a few days without her, he does ask. There’s a lull in Avengers action; Clint is at SHIELD doing some training for junior agents, Steve is out with Bruce at an art museum, Thor has returned to Asgard for the moment, and Natasha is out on a mission.

It's quiet. It's safe to ask.

"Hey," he says to Phil as he grabs a glass and fills it with ice.

Phil is sitting at the table on the common floor with files spread out and his laptop open. "Hello," he mumbles around a pen in his mouth, without looking up at Tony. He's got a cup of coffee sitting on some of the papers, his suit jacket is slung on the chair behind him and his shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows.

"So, you look busy but you look casual," Tony says. "Which is kind of a weird look for you."

Phil looks up at that. He sips his coffee. "I was actually ordered to stay home today. I'll fall behind if I don't do a little work, though."

"Is at least starting in your suit something you need to get into the work mindset?"

Phil colors a little and sets his coffee down. "Actually, yes."

Other people have zones they have to get in, too, Tony thinks. Phil works so much that Tony figures being off work is a bit disorienting and maybe causes moments of feeling not-quite-right. It’s reassuring. "I guess you have to learn to keep work and play pretty separate in your world," Tony says, sitting himself down across from Phil.

Phil simply nods and shuffles a few of the papers, eyes sparking with a sort of quiet knowledge as he looks at Tony.

"So," Tony says, not allowing himself to wipe damp palms over his pants. "I was wondering if you had a little free time this morning while the others are out." He might rush the words at the end, just a bit. But he looks up at Phil and sees warmth in his eyes and knows he was right, he is allowed to ask.

"I might. Can you give me," Phil checks his watch, "Twenty-five more minutes or so?"

"Sure. Yeah. Great."

"Where do you want to be?" Phil asks as Tony stands.

It's quiet up here, and the couch looks inviting. "Here," Tony says. "I'm gonna go change clothes, though. I'll be back."

He watches the clock carefully, aware that Phil is precise about timing, and also that he’s doing Tony a favor here. Tony doesn’t want to rush him. Twenty minutes later he’s standing in his room, pulling on a pair of blue sweatpants and a bright green sweatshirt, and when he digs deep enough in his closet he finds a pair of slippers he's had to repair six or seven times from the amount of wear they've handled. He slips them on and pats the little bulldog head at the toe, he feels himself start the slide down into the correct headspace. It's a warming sensation, a jolt of excitement, a small landslide of safety.

He knows he's there when he finds himself hoping Phil properly appreciates his slippers.

“Those are adorable,” Phil says, as he pours both of them a glass of fruit punch.

Tony beams. “I have some kitten ones, too.”

“Next time, huh, champ?”

Tony nods and grabs his drink. Next time, definitely.

Phil smiles at him over the rim of his glass. “So. What’s on the to-do list today, Tony?”

Tony considers for a moment before a sudden burn of shyness furls in his chest. He can’t help but hug himself a little, and he ducks his head. “I dunno.”

Phil cocks his head slightly and says, “Do you want to color?”

Tony just shrugs. Why would Phil want to play? Grownups don’t play. This was a dumb idea. “We can just watch TV or something,” he suggests. Grownups like TV.

“We could,” Phil says, the single syllable of it drawn out while he's coming around the counter to sit next to Tony. “But that doesn’t sound very fun. Do you want to play with Play-Dough?”

“No." He remembers his manners, then. Phil probably thinks he's a terrible kid. "Thank you.” He goes back to trying to figure out what someone as smart and cool as Phil would want to do.

Phil interrupts his thoughts with, “Do you want to play Wii Bowling?”

Tony cannot help the “Woo Hoo!” that bursts from him. In his excitement, he slams his drink down on the counter. Whether Phil really wants to play or not, Wii Bowling is the best ever and Tony can’t resist the lure that has been dangled in front him. His glass, though, has no appreciation for the game's awesomeness or Tony's enthusiasm regarding it. The drink tips, spilling fruit punch all over the counter. He freezes, looking down at the floor and steps back, waiting. He doesn’t look up, he doesn't breathe. He just waits.

“Tony,” Phil says, and Tony marvels at the soft tone of his voice.

He forces his eyes up—big boys are supposed to be brave and Tony…Tony wants to be a big boy for Phil—to find Phil calmly heading to the sink for a paper towel. He's not even walking fast. He grabs a handful, heads back to the counter, and wipes the spill away with no fuss. When he’s finished and thrown the paper towels into the trash can, he looks back at Tony. "Hey. Can you try breathing before you're about to pass out this time?"

Tony exhales shakily. Phil pulls him slowly closer, and Tony's absolutely powerless to resist. He finds himself resting his head on Phil's shoulder. Phil's hand is rubbing circles on Tony's lower back and Tony closes his eyes, allows the contact to become his whole world for a few moments.

"Accidents happen, kiddo," Phil says, but there's a question in his voice, even in this headspace, Tony can hear it.

"Wasn' an accident," Tony mumbles. "Put my glass down too hard."

"True, and you should be more careful next time, but you didn't mean to spill it, weren't even really thinking about the drink. So, an accident."

"Sorry," Tony says.

"I'm not mad."

Tony believes him. “Still sorry."

“Okay,” Phil replies. “It’s okay. Why don’t you go get the game set up and I’ll finish up here?”

Tony nods, but it takes a moment before he can pull himself away and head into the TV room. He steals glances at Phil as he searches for the remote. Phil hadn’t yelled at Tony, or pointed out sharply that Tony’s too smart to make dumb mistakes. In the back of his mind he knows this shouldn't be novel: Phil's not quick to anger, especially over little things. But his eight-year-old is almost completely unsure of what to do with such a non-reaction.

He finds the remote after a short search, loads up the game, and feels even more relaxed when Phil actually plops down next to him on the couch with a contented sigh.

“I hear you made Miis for everyone,” Phil says.

“Yeah.”

“I get to approve mine before we start.”

“Okay,” Tony replies, and he holds his breath as Phil pulls it up to see.

Phil takes one look at his Mii and laughs, a now-familiar sound that fills the room in a comforting way. "Perfect, kid. Don't change a thing."

Relief Tony isn't expecting floods his chest. He doesn't want to change anything, about any of this, really.

They play. Phil's cutthroat in his tactics, but he doesn't cheat, and he always gives Tony high-fives when Tony is ahead. He laughs more than Tony’s ever heard him laugh before. Tony finds himself glad for the sharpness of his memory, which is so often a curse. He knows he'll replay that sound now and then, when he needs it.

They switch to Mario Kart after a few games of Bowling, take a break for Phil to get them both brownies and milk for a snack, and then set into Kirby’s Epic Yarn when the sugar kicks in. Phil just chuckles when Tony hops up and jumps and contorts his body as he plays, as if twisting and jumping will help his character win.

He’s actually sweating when Phil finally groans and says, “Enough. You’re way better than me at all of this, Tony. Wayyy better.” He stands, turns the system off, and stores the remotes. Returning to the couch, he drapes his arm along the back of it, inviting but not insisting.

Tony savors the compliment and moves right in, shoving his shoulder under Phil’s arm and letting Phil pull him close against his body. It's different than before, when Tony was panicking, and Phil wanted him to calm. Phil's scent is light, but it brings the sound of orchestral music to mind, the sort Tony listens to when his own emotions are overwhelming and need a type of busy but organized counterpart. He rests his head on Phil’s shoulder again and asks, “Can we put on some cartoons?”

They find an old episode of He-Man and Tony relaxes into the soft cotton of Phil’s shirt and dozes. He thinks he hears an elevator door open and the footfall of someone in boots, but he’s too wrapped up in the cartoon and Phil’s touch to care.

“Tony,” Phil says as he pats Tony’s shoulder to wake him. “Tony, wake up.”

Tony really doesn’t want to leave his cocoon of perfect comfort, so he just groans and burrows a little more into Phil’s side.

“Hey, kiddo. I’ve got to go back to work and the others are coming home. You need to wake up.” Phil’s voice is gentle, soothing – not very helpful when it comes to waking, but it sounds like frosting tastes and Tony loves frosting.

“C’n I stay here?” he mutters into Phil’s chest.

A soft rumble of laughter vibrates against Tony’s cheek.

“Sorry, Tony. I really do have to work. Come on, wake up,” Phil says, and then he shifts his body and Tony has to move.

“Okay, okay,” Tony says, and he sits up and stretches hard enough to hear his back crack a little.

Phil stands and stretches, too, and Tony feels himself coming up from the game. It’s a gentle ascent, though, a cresting wave of contentment that carries him back from the game. He exhales, puffing his cheeks, and looks over at Phil, who is watching him fondly. “Thanks,” Tony says.

Phil shrugs. “It's not a chore, Tony. You're not the only one who needs a different headspace now and then.”

He's moving back to his work table. “Listen,” he says carefully, and the ease Tony was feeling siphons away a bit at the tone. “You should know Clint wandered through while you were sleeping. He didn’t stay and I didn’t say anything. I won’t say anything,” Phil assures him. “But it’s an opening for you to talk to him about it if you want to." Then, after a second, "He’ll understand, Tony.”

Tony clamps down on the twinge of panic the thought of Clint catching him sends through his body. He swallows and nods. “What will you tell him?”

Phil pauses and says, “I’ll think of something. He won’t know about your game. But he enjoys games and he considers you a friend, at the very least. You need to understand he’d be safe.” He sits down, then, focusing back in on his work.

Tony is left standing in his slippers. His head feels crowded with considerations of Phil’s reassurance, Bruce’s quick acceptance, and Pepper’s plea for Tony to trust the others. He’s remarkably optimistic about what it all might mean in the case of the others, and figures maybe he should ride the feeling out, see where it takes him.

**

Tony finds Clint in the space where he's not completely in the high still—so he can trust his own decisions—but also hasn't gotten to the point where he'll question his every move. He goes to Clint and Phil's floor and the permissions are open for the team at the moment, so he's able to walk off the elevator without JARVIS asking.

He finds Clint in the kitchen, debating the merits of popcorn versus peanut brittle. Tony sits on one of the bar stools they have at their island and says, "Both. Especially if you melt the peanut brittle over the popcorn."

Clint says, "That's either genius or sacrilege."

"It's me, so probably a little bit of both?"

Clint laughs. Then walks away to find a bowl. "Did you need something? Aside from assaulting the true nature of popcorn and destroying what sanctity I had left?"

"I enjoy spending time with you as well, Barton, how nice of you to mention it."

Clint flips him off lazily, without even looking at him. Tony grins. He realizes he hasn't thought of how to say this, of where to begin. The words, "Phil'd make a good dad, y'know?" spill out, like ideas sometimes pour off his fingers and onto screens.

Clint does turn around at that. After a moment he asks, "He knock you up? Because there are ways to handle that."

It's Tony's turn to flip Clint off. "Do a lot of research on that? Just in case?"

Clint smirks. "I'd keep the kid, Stark."

It takes a second for Tony to process that. "What? Really?"

Clint tilts his head. "If Pepper got you pregnant, you'd get rid of it?"

And, well…huh. Of course he wouldn't. "Touché, young sir."

"Seriously, though, has Phil said something to you about wanting kids? Because last I checked they were letting gay couples adopt in New York and why is he talking to you about this before saying anything to me? Should I be worried?" He doesn't sound worried. He sounds confused.

Tony shakes his head. "I don't think he wants kids. Or, I guess, not now. Our lifestyle isn't exactly ideal for it, is it?"

Clint raises both eyebrows. "So what the fuck are we talking about, here?"

Tony says, "He told me you saw me, Clint. Sleeping."

Clint frowns. "You were napping against him. Everyone knows your sleep patterns are fucked."

"I had on puppy dog slippers," Tony calls bullshit. "And you're Hawkeye. You don't miss details."

Clint crosses his arms over his chest and slowly says, "No, but I do see better from a distance."

Tony just sits back in the chair. He's done as much work as he's going to for the moment. Eventually, Clint breathes in through his nose and says, "Phil playing dad helps you sleep."

"Not exactly. But…something like that. I, uh. Sometimes I kind of need a redo of those years, some space to create and make mistakes without consequences."

Clint nods a little. "Yeah. I mean…yeah."

Tony swallows. "He said you'd understand."

Clint's smile is small, more a flick at the corner of his mouth. "He tends to see who I could be, rather than what I always am. But, yeah, in this case, I get it."

"You don't have to—"

"Barney, my brother, he wasn't always mean."

Tony has to make sure his mouth is closed, because Clint never talks about his birth family. Clint catches the surprise, because his expression is wry, but he just continues. "When we were little, he was a good older brother. Protective and funny and…I dunno. At some point it all got to be too much for him, I guess. But I always thought that if I had a younger sibling, I'd want to be like that, like Barney when we were kids."

Tony sorts through what's being said. Cautiously, he offers, "I thought it'd be cool, to have siblings. The older ones would probably make fun of me and all that shit older siblings do, but they'd also listen and help me with my projects, and the younger ones I could impress, because I'd be their older brother."

A silence that's full but not uncomfortable settles. When Clint breaks it, it’s to tell Tony, "Anytime you want an older brother, man, you know where to find me."

He goes back to his popcorn making, and after a couple of moments of just watching, letting the offer sit inside himself, Tony slips away to his own floor.

**

The whole older brother thing gets Tony thinking. Thor's been back for months, bringing Jane along. It's hard not to be happy, or at least enthusiastic and settled around Jane. But when she's not around, Tony has caught Thor sitting by his lonesome in the dark more than once. He never disturbs him. It's selfish, in a way, but Tony's decently certain Thor is mourning Loki and Tony can't help him out there. He just can't.

At least, he can't be sympathetic that Thor's douchebag, genocidal younger sibling has gone from this world (and a few others) in terms of listening and understanding. But Steve manages to get shot enough times on one particularly nasty mission that he's down for the count for a few days. And for the first time, Tony sees how Thor treats Steve when Steve can't push back all that much.

He treats him like a kid brother. Tony blows it off as coincidence: he's been thinking about siblings since the talk with Clint, he's projecting.

Only, one of the aspects of brilliance is pattern recognition, and Tony's got that in spades. Thor's careful about it, but he treats all of them as younger siblings from time to time, even Natasha, who has, on more than one occasion, told him to stop with the "chivalry bullshit."

Her misreading of it had become Tony's, but actually, Thor's just protective and indulgent of them in the way Rhodey sometimes is with his first cousin, Danny. Danny's four years younger, and they grew up like brothers, living only miles away from each other.

Thor has to be careful about it. Not only with Natasha—who probably will find a way to make him regret it if he ever crosses a line—but with Bruce, who's touchy about family, and Clint, whose automatic response to familial care is suspicion and the expectation of betrayal. And Tony, who cannot give Thor much of anything, Thor with his immortality and Asgardian advancement, Tony can give him this: the chance to be an older sibling to his heart's delight.

Tony lures Clint down to the labs with the promise of improved arm-guards. While Clint is trying them out, Tony casually drops, "I've been thinking about, uh, the thing. We talked about."

Clint, to his credit, does not pretend not to understand or even look at Tony. He just keeps shooting and nods. It gives Tony the ability to say, "I think Thor'd probably like the same thing you'd like."

Clint does snort at that. "Understatement of the fucking century."

Not usually Tony's strength, but yeah, he can see that. "I—well, I was just wondering, I mean, since—"

"I'll talk to him." Clint snaps off an arrow and then glances over at Tony. "That was what you were getting at, right?"

"Explanations aren’t my forte."

"Did you just admit to a weakness aloud?"

"Don’t worry," Tony tells him, "JARVIS will erase all evidence and anyone you tell will take it as temporary insanity on your part, or a drug-induced hallucination."

Clint smirks. "Asking for favors: also not one of your strengths."

Tony acknowledges this with an eyebrow raise. "But you'll do it?"

"Only because these arm-guards are pretty bitching."

Tony's surprised to find himself skeptical of this pronouncement.

**

"JARVIS," Tony calls as he wipes down a workbench in a pique of cleanliness - he has to take advantage of them in the rare moments when they hit - "The supply order was high this month."

He lets Pepper handle everything related to SI, but personal supply orders for his labs are something she forces him to oversee and keep track of, to his dismay. He and Jarvis have a pact, though, and the AI rarely bothers to do more than remind Tony to sign off on the requisitions. As such, Tony usually doesn't even glance at the forms.

"Your hardware column rose a bit unexpectedly this month, due to your three new project lines."

"Two," Tony corrects.

"Project lines account for the added expenses, sir."

"Is Pepper going to yell at me for it?"

"Miss Potts has approved the increase."

"Really? I usually get yelled at a little."

"She must be in a good mood, sir," JARVIS suggests.

"Not my fault."

About three weeks after that conversation, when Tony has filed it away as minutiae and forgettable, he's starting to get antsy about Clint and Thor. He's impressed with himself for holding out that long before tying himself into knots regarding having given Clint the go-ahead to talk to Thor. Well-done or not, the tension has begun to make him jumpy. Thor walks into the kitchen one afternoon and Tony startles like a small fawn, spilling the mountain of berries he was dumping into a bowl.

“Shit!” he exclaims, and bends over to pick them up. “Give a little warning there, Outer-sized Deity Person.”

“I am sorry, Tony,” Thor says, lowering himself to help.

“Yeah, yeah.” They pick up the berries silently, Tony straightening and rinsing them off again.

“I was looking for you,” Thor says, and leans against the counter, watching Tony work.

Tony looks over at him, notices he's dressed for a workout but isn’t sweaty. He's wearing a tight blue t-shirt and black jogging shorts, and he’s shucked the usual canvas flip-flops he favors around the Tower for red and white tennis shoes. Tony catches an involuntary swallow just in time and shakes his head.

“Nope,” he says. “Not in the mood to be a punching bag today, no matter how easy you say you’ll take it.”

He recalls with a shudder the one time he took his eye off of Thor in the ring and a pulled punch still made his cheekbone turn five different colors over the course of the week afterward. “No mood,” he reiterates.

“I am not looking to spar today, although I believe I did apologize for our last encounter,” Thor says.

Tony shrugs. “So what’s up, chisel-chest?”

Thor ignores him, something the team at large has turned into an art form over the years. “Would you mind accompanying me to the gym? Clint has something to show you. He asked me to come fetch you.”

Something pings on Tony’s radar, but he can't quite read the tenor of it. “Sure,” he says. “Lemme finish this and I’ll be down.”

“I will wait.”

The ping starts to become a beep. “No, it’s okay. I’ll come down in a minute.”

“I told Clint I would escort you, so I will wait.”

Tony glares at him and shoves the berry bowl into the fridge. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Thor, oblivious, smiles broadly. “Good! Come!”

He guides Tony with a gentle but firm hand to his lower back, past the general workout gym and toward the one set aside for ops training, the one they hardly use anymore because the team has adapted into functioning like a well-oiled machine at this point. It's also the gym Tony avoids like mushy broccoli, so the beep blares into a klaxon. “What’s going on?”

“Come see,” is all Thor will say until they are standing at the door of the gym.

They walk through the entryway and Tony stops short. He sucks in a sharp breath and has to struggle to keep a hand from going to his mouth in surprise. He's so used to his own self-control, finds it frustrating that these people keep finding ways to poke holes in it.

Clint has built a playroom. A for real fucking playroom.

Tony steps further inside, twisting and turning and ducking to see everything. The only way to describe it is to say Clint built a version of the Swiss Family Robinson house right there, smack-dab in the center of the gym. About eighteen feet tall at its highest point, its width spanned roughly eighty feet. Made of wood that looks weathered, Tony figures it's solid and new, though, knowing Clint and his attention to detail, to the safety of the others on the team.

Tony can easily recall a long debate about the color of Clint's fletching on the arrows Tony made him and the various traditions in the circus. Clint won and Tony sent a whole shipment of them back to be redone.

The fort Clint (and Thor, apparently) built is towering and yet sturdy, and Tony counts two wooden ladders and two rope ladders in his sight line, as well as a slatted bridge between two platforms in the middle. At the far end, right in front of one of the glass windows overlooking the city, sits a tall tower with a red and gold roof, stretching at least ten feet taller than the rest of the structure. It holds a table and two chairs, painted in earthier red and gold tones.

He sees Clint coming toward him and just shakes his head. He must be glaring a little because he watches the open giddiness at showing something off slip out of Clint’s eyes as approaches.

“I can explain,” Clint opens with, holding his hands up in protest.

“You can explain why you built a fort in our training room? It’s probably not me who’s going to demand the explanation. What the hell are you going to tell Steve?” The thought of explaining the whole story to Cap leaves a hollow feeling in Tony’s stomach. “‘Oh, sorry, I was building something for Tony to play with’?”

Clint cocks his head a little and frowns. “Maybe?”

When Tony takes a threatening step toward him he puts his hands back up. “Okay, okay. Maybe not. I can tell him it’s a training scenario, though.”

Tony laughs. “Really? We need to practice in case we get washed ashore on a deserted island after the Quinjet crashes?”

“It’s portable,” Thor interjects calmly.

“What?” Tony and Clint ask at the same time.

“I read the instruction book that came with the formidable play set. Because it comes in sections we can easily take it apart and transport it elsewhere. Perhaps a park somewhere if you do not wish it to stay?”

Clint gapes a little and Tony just sighs and gives in, ignoring that part of it might be him just really wanting to, “Fine. It’s portable. Still, what the fuck, Clint?”

Apparently gratitude is off the table for him right now.

Clint seems buoyed by the news that taking it apart is going to be easy. “Look, I wanted to get us something fun to play on. You know. When you want to.” He pauses and runs a hand through his hair.

“Barney used to take me to the playground to get me out of Dad’s way,” he says quietly. “He’d chase me all over and we’d play hide-and-seek and crap like that and we’d stay away for hours when the weather was good. I just thought –" He cuts himself off, his face falling. “I dunno. I was scanning the web for stuff we could build for you, and it just seemed like a good idea.”

Tony stares at him for a beat and then steps around to approach the fort.

‘I’m sorry, Master Tony, but I’m not permitted to take you off of your family grounds. Perhaps the play set out back would do for a while?' Jarvis Mark 1.0’s voice echoes in his memory as he rubs a hand over the wood of the nearest ladder. He glances back at Clint, who's
watching him warily, like he's concerned Tony will try and kick the thing down in a fit.

Tony blows a breath out quickly and decides, “fuck it,” before climbing the ladder to the platform above.

He has a better look at the thing from the summit, and realizes it's just as deep as it is wide. And he's staring at a wooden arch that has another platform on its other side, and a set of wooden stairs leading away from it. He has to duck a little, but he makes it through the archway and pulls himself up the wooden steps. That leads to another platform which has a rope hanging from it and a plank jutting out in another direction, looking like it might eventually lead to the tower. He crosses the plank to find a small set of steps down and another platform with another archway. He ducks through that one and sure enough, finds the slatted ladder.

He climbs carefully into the tower, a small room about six paces square. The table has a purple wooden box on it, and Tony reaches to open it. Inside are Legos – a medieval set, if Tony's guess is right. He sits down at the table, leans back, and wipes his hands on his jeans. The tower has an open window, looking out on the window in the gym, so Tony just stares down at the city. ‘I want to go to the playground!’ he’d shouted at Jarvis. ‘I want to go play with the kids! I don’t want my stupid play set!' He remembers the sadness in Jarvis’s eyes as he’d shaken his head, no.

Tony hears a scraping noise, and glances down to see Clint’s head poking up from the ladder to the tower. He waits, and Clint throws his arms onto the floor, resting his chin on them, and peering up at Tony. “You like?” he asks.

Tony looks around again. Of course he does. He nods once.

Clint’s eyes shine, a flicker that's half-enthusiasm, half-the intent to make some trouble, and he asks, “Can I come up?”

Tony feels himself slipping, just a little, but this isn’t how he wants to do this. Not the first time. “No,” he answers, and stands up. He walks over to the ladder and shoos Clint down. Clint obeys and makes his way down to the ground as Tony follows. Tony leads them to the front, where Thor is still standing. He purses his lips and stares at both of them without saying a word. They wait.

“I want to play here. I do,” he says, looking first at Clint. “But I want--” Fuck. He doesn’t know what he wants, except that he doesn’t want it to be like this, like Clint and Thor have to entertain his silly habits now because Tony can’t help slipping into the game. “I don’t want you guys to--” He stops again, aware he isn’t making any sense, but it seems wrong to do it like this. Genius? That part of his personality seems to have checked out at the moment.

Thor peers down at him like he's about four feet tall and even leans in a little. Tony senses a hug coming on and steps back. Thor doesn't push. “You want us to come find you here? Like a seeking? When you’re doing something else, you understand?”

Clint grins. “Spontaneous. You need it to be spontaneous.”

“It’s just. We haven’t even talked about this. Phil made me talk about it first,” he explains to Clint, as if to point out that he isn't playing by the rules.

“Well, that’s Phil in a nutshell. Spontaneous is not really his thing, usually. He’s right, though. How do you want this to work? How about we’ll leave for a while, you can play by yourself, and we’ll come find you later. Surprise you a little.”

Since Tony's usually the one to steamroll people into doing what he wants, it takes him a second to realize he’s been steamrolled this time. Clint and Thor have built him a fort. They want to play. Whatever worry he’s had over how this was going to unfold was pointless, it turns out. Here it is, unfolding.

“Okay, I guess.” He glances back at the fort and a wave of eagerness swells in his chest. It's insanely enticing. “You guys need anything in all of this?” he asks, hoping they understand what he's asking, trying to quash the urge to just sprint over to the fort and start climbing again.

Clint shrugs. “I’ve done games and scenes before, just nothing at this age.” He pauses and Tony sees his shoulders clench a little, sees the way he rubs his hands on his jeans. “I guess, um, I guess the only thing is.” He stops again and looks away. His voice drops. “The only thing I worry about is slipping a little too far into big brother mode.”

Thor clasps him on the shoulder. “You will be a fine big brother, Clint. We will work together,” he says, and Tony marvels, not for the first time, at how Thor has the ability to make everyone believe things will be okay just because he wants them to be okay.

Clint's grin steals slowly over his face, but it comes, and he nods, turning back to Tony. “Just tell us if we mess it up,” he says with a shrug.

Tony looks back and forth between Clint and Thor, unsure of what he's witnessing. He's going to let them in, and they're worrying about him. They want to help him. Jesus, this whole thing is getting out of hand. It's too late to ignore it, though, pretend nothing has happened. These steps have been taken, so he might as well see where it gets him. “Give me an hour?” he asks.

“Sure, okay,” Clint answers. “We’ll come back.”

Thor salutes and grabs Clint by the arm, dragging him out of the room with a laugh.

Tony scans the length of the fort, crossing his arms across his chest. “JARVIS?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You hid this from me.”

“Yes, sir.”

“On whose command?”

There's an unusual pause. “Miss Potts and Agent Coulson can be very convincing, sir.”

“And Barton and Thor?”

“Yes, sir.”

Seriously, though, Pepper must’ve used her override protocol, which she's only used once before. It won’t even work completely if Tony gets it in his mind to figure out what's being hidden from him. He just hasn’t considered that these people might do something like this for him, that they might come from the direction of only wanting to give him something.

His mistake.

He walks to the end of the fort opposite the tower, and when he spots a little mini-fridge and a shelf full of art supplies and games just like his workshop, he figures maybe it was a good mistake for once.

**

Left up to his own devices, Tony's one hundred and twelve percent sure he would never have told Steve. There's too much water under the bridge, really. There's his father's obsession, and Tony's internalization of Steve's superior worth, and the fact that he's Captain America, and that's enough of a barrier without the rest of the problems.

But Natasha is injured on a mission and won't let Steve apologize or mother hen her at all. In her words, "It's bad enough that Clint and Phil are going to be all over this, Steve. I made my choice, you don't get to regret it for me."

Steve heads back to the tower with the air of someone who has just been told they killed their own puppy. Normally Tony would allow Phil to handle this, or Pepper, but Phil is with Natasha, and Pepper's in Damask. Thor's off-planet, which is three-fourths of why they're in this fix in the first place. Bruce is hiding in his labs with the sign, "No, seriously, don't," that Clint made for him hanging on the door, which means he's handling the Natasha situation in his own way.

Which leaves Tony. Steve is one unfortunate motherfucker, sometimes.

He's moping in that way he does, the way where he pretends like he's just making food, but actually he's making something he remembers his mother making, which is Steve Code for, "I am depressed and not about to speak about it."

Tony considers just annoying him out of his funk, but it seems…mean. And, quite frankly, like a lot of energy he doesn't have. Sure, Natasha's the one in the hospital, but Tony's got his fair amount of bruises and scrapes and he'd really just like to curl up with Pepper and go to sleep.

Alternately, however, there is one other option. And Steve—Steve clearly needs to be important to someone right now. Tony finds him and says, "Hey Cap, I uh. That is—I need a favor?"

Steve half-heartedly glares at him and starts, "Tony—" which is fair, because the last time Tony asked Steve for a favor, he’d definitely been punking him. However, even given the favor he's about to ask—or maybe, ironically, because of it—he's grown since that time.

"No, seriously," Tony cuts in. "I—"

Steve stares at him. Tony sighs. "It's easier if I just show you."

Steve frowns at that, but then nods. "Lead the way."

**

Tony's not in the mood for climbing and exploring, so he takes Steve back to his room, where Phil and Pepper have set up contingencies for unplanned play. Once they get there, he's not sure how to start, though. In the end, he asks, "Do you, uh, I mean, art's definitely a thing for you, so how about some finger painting?"

Steve's stare is now a cross between bemused and concerned. "Are you feeling all right?"

Tony rubs a hand over his face. "There's a thing. It's a thing I need sometimes, and normally I'd go to—one of the others, someone who already knows, but they're not here, and you are and I trust you to, I trust you to not use this and I need it."

Steve asks softly, "Use what, Tony? Need what?"

Tony hears Pepper's amused, but not unkind, "Use your words," in his mind. He breathes in and looks away. "I kind of need to be a kid, right now." He forces himself to look back. "And a kid needs someone to be with him. Make sure he's safe and…and stuff."

For a moment, Steve just stares, clearly waiting for the punchline. When none is forthcoming he says slowly, "I'd like that. Finger-painting, I mean."

"Right," Tony says, and moves further into his living space, making a mental list of what they need. First and foremost, he needs to get into his paint clothes. And Steve is going to need something to cover up with. And they're definitely going to need snacks.

"J, Cap's going to need a smock or something."

"Miss Potts made certain there were coveralls large enough to suit the captain and Thor in case of emergency lab situations, sir. I shall send a pair up from storage."

"G-d bless that woman," Tony mutters

Steve asks, "Is that really necessary?"

"Only if you wanna be able to wear those pants and that shirt again, which, I grant you--"

Steve sighs the sigh of the severely put-upon, but there's a smile in his voice when he says, "Got it."

Tony turns his attention to the kitchen. "What d'you want for snacks?"

"Milk?" Steve hazards.

Tony nods. "With Corn Pops and vanilla Oreos."

"I like the double-stuffed."

Tony just catches the innuendo as it's about to come out of his mouth. He doesn't stop himself so much for Steve, but because he wants to go down, and the more closely he clings to his adult persona, the less likely that is to happen easily. Instead he just grabs a box of those, too.

He says, "Suit up, I'll be right back," and disappears into his actual bedroom to change into the sweats he uses for things like this, already marked up with primary colors and smears of black and white. Steve blinks at him when he comes out, but the expression on his face softens for the first time all night. Tony swipes their tray of goodies from the counter and takes Steve to the room that Phil and Pepper have designated to be for kid-Tony and kid-Tony only.

"Could you take this end and tape it to the wall?" Tony asks Steve, handing him a large roll of white paper. When they've covered the entire breadth of one wall from Steve's feet to his hair, Tony grins. "Okay, Cap. Let's get messy."

**

Tony's clearly more stressed and in need of the release than even he could have predicted, because he falls into kid headspace like stepping off a curb. Steve makes it easy, sharing free laughs and making all kinds of crazy drawings. When Tony gets shy and says, "You should paint, you're better than me," he pulls Tony to his side and says, "I need someone to help me. I'm not as creative as you."

Steve catches on pretty quickly that Tony's tactile as all get-out in this guise, and the two of them end with paint in places Tony suspects he'll be finding a year from now. Steve just laughs and makes him wash his hands before they have a cookie-dunking contest, to see whose cookie gets soft the fastest.

After they've finished eating, Steve glances at Tony. Tony's too far down to read much into it, he just smiles with his milk mustache at Steve, who says, "How 'bout we clean up in here some?"

Tony pouts, but Steve makes it into a game, a race, and Tony wants to show Steve how helpful he can be, so he wins. Steve tousles his hair. "Hey, champ. You can handle bath time on your own, right?"

Tony bristles. He's eight, thank you very much. He's been handling bath time since he was six. He just nods, though, because Steve's hand is still in his hair and he doesn't want it to go anywhere. Steve says, "Of course you can, you're a big boy."

Tony cleans himself behind his ears and brushes his teeth and his hair. He gets into the Hulk pajamas that are his favorites.

Steve is a touch pink and damp when he comes back a few moments later. He's in sweats. He says, "Cool pajamas there. Want a bedtime story?"

Tony frowns and shakes his head, digging his toe into the floor. Steve starts, "Tony--" but then stops. Tony looks up.

Steve asks, "Will you go to bed like a good boy if I read you a story and stay with you?"

Tony isn't sure his heart has ever beat this hard, it feels as if it is about to burst. He asks, "Really? You'll really stay?"

Steve looks a little sad as he says, "I'll be right here."

Tony doesn't like it when the people who take good care of him are sad, so he hugs Steve tightly and tells him, "It's okay, you can have Big Bird. Oscar's not as stuffy, but I can use him."

Steve makes a sound that Tony can't understand, so he just hugs him harder and says, "Love you, Uncle Steve."

Steve kisses the top of his head and says, "Love you too, kid."

**

Tony wakes up the next morning, and if Steve weren't sprawled out next to him, he'd ask JARVIS to verify the time. When Pepper's not here, it's a good night if he gets four or five hours, but they efinitely crashed a little over eight hours ago.

As far as Tony knows—he could ask JARVIS, but he doesn't, because he does have some limits—Steve sleeps about three to four hours a night. Granted, he doesn't need more, but it's probably useful from time to time. Tony pads out of the room, thankful that coming out of the scene this way has kept him calm.

He makes himself one of his smoothies and checks in on Natasha via Phil. Steve wanders into the main area about twenty minutes after Tony and asks, "Coffee?"

Tony waves to the batch he brewed when he awoke. The machine is set to brew at five every morning, but Tony'd thrown that carafe down the sink and started over. Steve pours himself one of the über-mugs, and comes to sit at the table, where Tony is flipping through design ideas.

Steve, because he's Steve, and earnest and too damned honest for his own good, says, "That was fun."

Tony knows he should respond with something sharp, but the good night's rest and the quietness that he feels in the immediate aftermath of a scene has him too settled. He just grins into his smoothie and takes a drink.

**

Nobody means to leave Natasha out. There's never a moment where it's discussed and decided not to tell her, it's more simply that there's also never a moment where it seems pertinent to tell her. And, if you'd asked Tony, he would have guessed taking care of the eight-year alter-ego of someone she basically tolerated wouldn't have been high on her list of things to do.

She finds out by accident, because Thor, thinking everyone does know, very cautiously suggests that movie night be pre-empted by "family night" once a month. To which Natasha asks, "How is that any different?"

Thor says, "Anthony's child persona will be given free reign."

Tony, Phil, Pepper, and Clint, who all realize that Nat does not know, have been watching with the air of people unable to look away from a train wreck. Natasha meets Tony's eyes. "Your child persona."

Her expression is blank in the worst of ways. Too exposed, Tony jokes, "Not that different from my everyday one, really—"

"Stark," she says, cutting him off.

Phil says, "He wasn't hiding it, Tasha. Well, not after a while. You just hadn't been read in yet."

"So, everyone was read in to being some kind of alternate family except me, is what you're saying?"

The casual way she throws off the question makes Tony nauseated. He offers, "I—there's something none of them know about."

After a long pause, she tilts her head. "Oh yeah?"

He's already sinking as he holds out his hand and says, "Come on."

**

Tony had debated even making this room when they’d created the tower. He’d had it in Malibu, but he’d built the Malibu house before Pepper had been in the picture. It had felt weird, hiding something from her. It still does. It's nearly a betrayal to show it to someone else first, but Tony thinks she would agree with him that this is the right thing to do. In any case, she hasn't followed, and she'd smiled slightly when he'd held his hand out to Natasha, so he supposes that's a blessing in itself.

He makes it to the room and has JARVIS run the retinal and fingerprints scan. This room is more highly secured than his lab in many ways. They step inside and Natasha stills, her hand still in his, strong enough to stop him in his tracks. She looks around for a long moment and breathes, "Oh."

Amongst the memorabilia that speaks entirely to his mother, there are a few, precious artifacts of his father, of times when Howard had actually seen Tony, or at least thought of him: his first tool set, a Christmas gift at the age of three; the plush robot his father had brought home from one of his myriad business trips, the reel of film where he admitted to loving Tony, or at least valuing him.

From his mother there are more things: paintings she'd loved and spent time explaining why to him; upscale perfume diffusers that remind Tony of the way she'd put herself together slowly, carefully, before she'd stopped doing anything carefully. There are news articles about her foundation and records and tapes she'd liked listening to, a library of movies that had been her favorites, books she'd read over and over, dog-eared and falling apart, but preserved as best Tony knew how.

"I don't usually play in here," Tony tells her. He laughs at himself, bitter and self-aware. "Still too afraid to muck something up."

Her face is once again blank, but there's a softer edge to it than before, and it occurs to Tony that he's finally started to know the difference between her expressions, or lack thereof. He offers her a sardonic smile. "Maybe if I had someone to watch over me."

She pulls her hand from his, only to bring both her palms to cup his face. It causes the harshness of his expression to be impossible to hold, which he suspects is her whole reason for doing it. She says, "Tell me it was an honest mistake."

"Nobody was supposed to know, Natasha. You have to—Can you even believe anything else of me?"

"But the others did know."

"I told Pepper and Phil. Because—"

"Because Pepper and Phil," Natasha says, and she does smile at that, small, like it's a mistake, but there.

"The others, though, it was an accident or a slip-up or because the timing was right. And I mean, come on. Was I supposed to guess you'd be willing to babysit?"

"There's a difference between babysitting, and helping a friend fulfill a need."

"But you can see how I might confuse the two in this instance, right?"

She gives him this with a slight nod of her head. "I…you need this. I need to be a part of this, whatever this is, this stupid group of crazy people who've decided we can save the world if we have to. We—no family nights without me."

"That was never going to happen." He shakes his head. "Never. I wasn't expecting what Thor said, and I would never have posited it myself, and I have a feeling it's going to take hours for me to go down unless maybe I do it in private first, but none of us would have stood for you not being there, not even if you were the one being resistant."

"Do you like the idea?"

"Hate it," Tony replies immediately. "Makes me want to sink into the floor in abject humiliation."

"But?" she prompts.

"But kid me is gonna love it," he admits. "And so will everyone else."

She shakes her head, just once, sort of like an eye-roll, and spares him the indignity of pointing out that he'd do it for that, even if nothing about it would have been good for him. She asks, "Let me see him?"

Tony pulls away from her, and she stiffens, but he gestures, a hold-on-a-minute. He walks to his mom's perfume bottles and fits one inside his right hand, the familiar-special contours of it beneath his skin helping him to sink. He closes his eyes and thinks of little boy secrets and the pretty girl who wants to be here with him.

When he opens his eyes, he feels shy, terribly shy. He looks at the ground and hunches up, digging his big toe in. "I dunno what you'd like to do."

The pretty girl's eyes warm like soft blankets and fire-toasted marshmallows. "I like to dance. Could we listen to some music?"

Tony knows just the song.

**

Tony hadn’t foreseen this when Phil had stumbled across his play time in the lab months earlier, or even when Thor had suggested this a week ago, but now that he’s sharing a beanbag with Thor and reaching for popcorn in the bowl nestled on Clint’s lap one purple beanbag over, he figures it’s okay.

It’s working.

Phil had suggested starting Family Night with a movie of Tony’s choosing, but Tony had insisted that everyone put their favorite kids’ movie title in a hat. It seemed like a more family-thing to do. So now he’s sitting between Thor’s flannel pajama-clad legs, leaning back against his warm chest and watching Finding Nemo – Clint’s favorite (“you know, that punk kid’s dad really swam the extra mile for him”).

He’s still feeling grownup, but he’s surprised to feel himself slipping each time he laughs at the antics on screen. By the time Nemo is swimming out to sea, he’s at least relaxed in a way he hasn’t ever really been around the whole team.

One thing that keeps getting in the way of his kid-self climbing out to play tonight is when he looks around the room. All of them. They’re all here, and it isn’t bad, but it takes his breath away, which keeps the headspace from aligning properly.

He’d known going down was going to be hard, but family night preparations had been interrupted by a call to assemble. It had been a false alarm (“You called us out for kittens?” Phil had asked Sitwell, who had thrown his hands in the air and said, “It was a fucking herd of dinosaur-sized lions twenty minutes ago!”), so they decided to try family night anyway. Tony’s plan to color or paint in his own space for a while beforehand was trashed by the timing, though.

Now he’s really warm, and the movie is making Thor laugh, which sends a low rumble into Tony’s back each time it happens, like being inside a gigantic purring cat and maybe if he stays really still Thor might wrap his arms around Tony’s chest and let him burrow a little and feel safe like Dory does around Nemo’s dad.

“Tony, did you like the movie?” Natasha asks as she kneels down next to him when the funny credits roll across the home theater screen. She’s dressed in a long nightgown made of purple fleece that looks suspiciously like something Clint might buy for her as a joke.

“Yes. Did Clint buy you those pajamas?” he asks, still slumped against Thor’s chest and maybe mumbling a little in drowsiness.

She grins and Phil snickers behind her. “Yes. Do you like them?”

Tony reaches out and runs a finger down her arm and nods. “They’re soft,” he says, and the world finally shifts just that extra inch to exactly where he wants it.

“Tony, do you want to play a board game?” Bruce asks, standing up and stretching.

“We could all play Phase Ten,” Clint suggests. He reaches down and scoops Tony out of Thor’s lap and swings him around onto his back for a piggy-back ride. He isn’t much taller than Tony, but he is a lot stronger.

Tony hugs his neck and says, “Not Phase Ten. We played three games of that last week. Can we do something else?” He’s comfortable now, he’s happy to be on Clint’s back as he gallops around the airy room, and he knows Clint doesn’t mind when Tony makes his own suggestions. Clint is a really cool big brother who will always play whatever Tony wants.

Steve says, “Monopoly?”

Tony ducks his head against Clint’s back as Clint climbs the three stairs leading to the upper level of the room, but he also shouts, “Boring! Not Monopoly!” and Clint bounces him to where Thor is standing with a wide grin on his face and his arms outstretched.

Clint bends over double and Thor pries Tony off of his back and lifts him up by his armpits and begins swinging him around like a windmill. Tony’s drowsiness falls away and he giggles in delight.

“If he throws up those two pounds of popcorn he just ate, you’re cleaning it up!” Pepper calls from the kitchen. She and Bruce are making pineapple-orange-banana smoothies for everyone.

Thor sets him down quickly and Clint laughs. Tony loves the sound of Clint’s laugh because it always bursts out and then lingers, like a balloon popping and then whizzing around a room loudly.

In the end, they settle on Arkam Horror, a collaborative game which allows all of them choose a persona and try to defeat a horrific monster. Tony sips his smoothie and they let him coordinate everyone’s moves, but he lets Phil and Natasha help with strategy.

Clint and Pepper spend the game being stupid on purpose, and when Tony pouts at one of their moves and whines, “You guys are going to get us killed!” they both stick their tongues out at him and claim they’re just acting in character. Thor and Steve spend much of the game simply trying to keep up, as it is a game unlike any they’ve played before.

Bruce plays along and nudges everyone in the right direction when things are beginning to get out of hand. Two hours later, Thor’s character lands the finishing blow on the big bad, which Tony figures is pretty fitting, too.

He yawns.

“Bedtime, kiddo,” Phil says gently, pulling Tony from the table.

He tries to stand up straighter and get a second wind. “Don’t want to.”

Natasha grasps his hand. “We’ll do this again, but it’s late. You need rest.”

Clint, who is putting the game away with Thor’s help, says, “I bet Bruce will tell you a bedtime story,” and he winks at Bruce, who rolls his eyes, but smiles and nods.

“Sure,” Bruce says. “If you want.”

“For everyone?” Tony asks as another yawn takes over his mouth. He’s tired, but he’s having so much fun. Every single one of the grownups seems like they’re happy to spend the evening with him. He doesn’t want it to end.

Bruce looks around at the others, and Tony sees them all signaling agreement in one way or another. Everyone knows Bruce tells the best stories. Thor’s are good, but they tend to all hinge on sword fights and battles. Bruce tells stories of magic and the fae, of robots and spaceships, of single engine airplanes and adventures in the jungle.

Bruce smiles softly. “Okay. For everyone.” Clint’s standing close, and he reaches over and squeezes Bruce’s shoulder.

They all find spots in the living room, and Tony is happy that Thor settles back into the beanbag from earlier and pulls Tony tightly to his chest again. Clint and Phil curl up together on one end of the couch with Steve at the other end, and Pepper and Natasha press into an easy chair, tangling their legs and wrapping each other in their arms.

Bruce perches on an ottoman where everyone can see him and starts talking. “When Ellie was four, she saw a fairy in her backyard. When she was seven, she saw the same fairy fluttering around her bedroom, lit by the light of her Pokemon night light.”

Tony laughs, and Thor booms, “Pikachu, I hope!” and Bruce nods and goes on. Tony listens, but he also watches everyone else carefully. When Pepper laughs softly, caught up in Bruce's narrative spinning, Tony’s chest fills with warmth. He is so glad everyone else likes Bruce’s stories, too. He wiggles back against Thor’s chest and giggles softly when Thor drapes his legs over Tony like a blanket.

He catches Phil’s eyes when he laughs, and the smile on Phil’s face is fatherly – the way Tony has always imagined the word meaning – and pleased. Clint winks at Tony, and when he glances over at Steve, Natasha, and Pepper, they are all watching Bruce attentively, clearly caught up in the fairy tale. Tony watches them for a few more moments before turning back to Bruce as well, who is gesturing wildly with his arms and acting Ellie’s excitement out with his twinkling eyes.

Tony watches, and startles when he is hit with a realization. Thor tightens his arms protectively, and Tony smiles as he relaxes again and closes his eyes to listen to the animated cadence of Bruce’s voice.

Tony realizes that he finally knows what it is like to not be a lonely kid.

He falls asleep wedged into Thor’s lap, and he wakes in his own bed in the morning, rested and secure.