Chapter Text
1985
At fifteen years old, there was little Tony knew of the real world. He’d be the first to admit that his privileged childhood was sheltered beyond rectification. Just a spoiled little rich kid living off of daddy’s money — that’s all he was. All he’d ever be. He knew nothing. The universe was vast, and the world uncertain. But, in spite of all that, there was one thing Tony knew to be true. A fact he was willing to take to the grave.
His father, Mister Howard Anthony Walter Stark, was a complete and utter prick.
He came to that conclusion after watching his old man crush the mini-bot Tony had been working on for weeks under the heel of his shoe, hollering about how he was ‘too f*cking old’ to be playing with toys. Tony bit back tears that day. Not because the bot had any sentimental value to him — hell, if he really wanted to, he could make an exact replica from the scraps of his last computer. He cried because, until that moment, all he’d ever wanted was to make Howard proud. The bot was supposed to be a gift. A show of his talents. ‘Look what I made, pop, ain’t you proud of me?’ How f*cking naïve.
No less than a month later, Tony was off to MIT.
He settled down well, all things considered. Being away from his parents gave him room to breathe, and time to think. He didn’t have anything to prove. For years he’d been trying to win over his father’s affections; making his first circuit board, crafting his own engine from scratch. Tony grew to love his father’s workshop because it was the only place where they seemed to see eye-to-eye.
But it didn’t mean anything. Not now, at least.
If he couldn't make his father proud, the least he could do was surpass him. He didn't want to be like Howard anymore. He wanted to be better than him. So he studied hard. He clung to knowledge like a lifeline, devouring everything there was to know in his field. Electrical engineering became his first college sweetheart. Kind of depressing, when you think about it. Still, Tony wasn’t about to complain.
The first time Captain America crossed his mind was when his roommate, Rhodey, tacked a new poster to the wall of their dorm room.
Tony tore his eyes away from his book to shoot the poster a sour expression. It was a vintage style enlistment piece from the second world war, featuring the one and only Steve Rogers in his classic 'we want you!' get-up.
"Do you gotta'?" Tony whined.
Rhodey laughed in response. "What? You don't like it?"
He scrunched his nose, recalling the hours upon hours Howard had spent lecturing him about being more like straight-laced Steve Rogers. Barf. "A little obnoxious."
Despite himself, he didn't force Rhodey to take the poster down - partially because he was trying to convince himself he didn't give enough of a sh*t, but primarily because seeing that walking-talking piece of propaganda had sparked a thought in him.
Losing Steve in the ice had been Howard's greatest failure.
He knew it was true, because every year on the anniversary of the Captain going into the ice, Howard finished a bottle of bourbon all by himself; muttering useless things beneath his breath about how he couldn't save him. Howard had tried and failed to save Captain America.
For whatever reason, Tony found that absolutely f*cking hilarious.
---
1986
Tony’s sixteen, and half way through his second year at MIT, when he manages to find Steve.
Well… sort of.
Trying to outdo Howard had become a semi-problematic obsession of Tony's. He was already on the way to becoming one of MIT's best and brightest. But finding the Valkyrie bomber-plane's coordinates would really be the cherry on top of a happy little 'f*ck you, Howard! I'm twice the man you ever were!'
So Tony decided to call in sick for two weeks. Two weeks was all he needed.
"Obie's gonna' kill me," he thought out loud, tapping away at his computer.
Rhodey took a sly glance at Tony's monitor. "I swear to God, if you're about to get us under house arrest again--"
"Ehhh," Tony waved a dismissive hand, "don't worry your pretty little head about it, honeybear."
Rhodey scoffed at the nickname. "Why's your godfather gonna' kill you, Tones?"
"Because…" his words trailed as he finished entering his last line of data into his coup encryption software, "... I'm about to use him to bypass my dad's security firewall on the S.Rogers Search and Rescue mission."
Rhodey squinted at him. "Um... Okay… why?"
"Because I wanna' find the Cap'n."
“... Again, why?” Tony snorted at Rhodey’s pitching voice. “Thought you hated Captain America?”
Tony didn’t humour that with a response, reclining in his desk chair as the processing bar crawled across his screen. A moment passed, and Rhodey was still lingering. Swallowing a sigh, Tony muttered, “I’m doing it ‘cus I can, Rhodes.”
He decided not to go into detail about the cathartic process of dwarfing his father’s legacy. He didn’t need someone telling him this one-sided feud was unhealthy. That was a can of worms for another time and place. And thankfully, Rhodey seemed happy enough to leave the conversation there.
It took Tony another three days to construct the search and rescue simulation, using a combination of experimental holographic projection technology, and his own knowledge on environmental probability. He'd had to deconstruct a couple library computers, as well as the new prototype engine he'd been working on (ah, the cruel things he did for science), but eventually it worked. It worked.
He faxed Captain America's exact coordinates to Howard the very next morning.
---
In all honesty… Tony had been so caught up in plotting his childish one-up over his father, that he hadn't really given himself the time to process what he'd just done. The feat he'd just achieved. None of it really clicked into place until about a month later, when Howard courteously invited him to see the man he'd saved.
I saved Captain America.
The words rolled in a mantra inside his skull as he stared glassy eyed at the super soldier from behind a one-way mirror. The man was sitting upright on a medical bed, being tended to by both Agent Peggy Carter and Howard. According to Aunt Peggy, Steve had been awake for the past forty hours. Initial shock aside, he was taking it all very well. Tony couldn't say he was surprised. If Steve was even half the man his father claimed him to be, he'd be able to withstand more than just a few years of sleeping.
The Captain was… much more handsome than history had led Tony to believe. Broad shoulders sturdy as the mountains, with soft looking golden hair and a stone carved bone structure. Tony had known he was at the very least bisexual since he was thirteen. This little ordeal seemed only to support his suspicions. Of course, he'd always known Steve was attractive. The video documentaries funded during the war effort were true to his looks. And yet, beneath all that alabaster American propaganda, he was just soft flesh and tender skin. Hot blood and sinewy muscle. Real. Human and beautiful. Tony blushed at the thought.
Another half hour passed before Peggy came to collect Tony. "He wants to meet you, sweetheart," she said.
Tony blinked dumbly. "Me?"
Peggy nodded, giving his shoulder an encouraging rub. “I can’t say I’m surprised. If I’d been lost for forty-one years, I certainly wouldn’t turn my nose up at a chance to meet my savior.”
Though Aunt Peggy wasn't related to Tony by blood, she'd known him since the day he was born; even helped change his diapers and rocked him to sleep. Things were always better in the Stark mansion when Peggy was around to visit. She knew how to put Howard in his place, and that meant less grief for Tony.
She must have seen something in the way Tony’s eyes kept darting from place to place, because she followed with, “There's no need to be nervous, Tony. He's a lot softer than he looks."
“I'm not nervous," Tony said, a little too defensively. "Who said anything about nervous? Let's just get this ice-pop unpacked so I can get back to cramming for finals."
Peggy shook her head, her eyes soft and doting. "You're just like your father. You know that?"
"Take that back."
Peggy laughed, before showing Tony inside.
Steve was busy making smalltalk with Howard. Or rather, Howard was busy chatting away about something frivolous while Steve smiled along, listening intently. It was only when Tony stepped into the room that the super soldier’s attention wavered.
“Steve, this is Howard's son,” Peggy said, nudging Tony a little closer to the medical bed. “The young man that managed to draw up an algorithm to calculate your coordinates.”
Tony stiffened on impulse, suddenly a little bashful. Steve gave him a quick once-over, his eyes of crystalline blue so tender in their graces. With a resolute nod, he said, “You've got a great mind for your age, Anthony."
Tony's brow twitched, his defences dulling any gingerness he'd had. For my age? What the-- "Tony," he corrected. "Just Tony. And for the record, I'd say I've got a pretty damn sharp mind in general. Comparatively speaking. Certified genius and all that jazz." He didn't miss the death glare Howard shot him from across the room.
Steve blinked, slightly taken aback. But soon his lips relaxed into a genuine smile. "Okay, Just Tony. I'm sorry if my phrasing offended you. I only meant to give my thanks."
Tony swallowed. Ah. Well now he felt like an asshole. Clearing his throat, he tried again. “Um… y’know, my roommate’s got this cool lil’ poster of you in our dorm room. Gotta’ say though, it doesn't exactly beat the real thing.” sh*t. Was that flirting? Tony really shouldn’t be flirting. Especially not with Steve f*cking Rogers. His face began to heat up. God, is it warm in here?
But Steve simply laughed, turning towards Howard. “Your kid’s somethin’ real nice, Howard.”
The man grumbled. "When he's not getting himself arrested, sure. Real somethin'."
Peggy hummed slyly. "Go on then, Tony, why don't you tell Steve about the time you almost hacked the pentagon. I'm sure he'd love to hear that one."
Tony scrubbed a hand over his reddening face, surprised he was still breathing. “In retrospect, I probably should have…” His words trailed when he accidentally made eye contact with Steve, thoughts fizzling under the super soldier’s charming gaze. f*ck. “... Um. Nevermind.”
---
It was another week before they let Steve leave the observation facility. With nowhere else to go (and not particularly compelled by the idea of sharing a flat with Peggy and her not-so-new husband) Steve resigned to temporarily moving in with the Starks. It wasn’t ideal, and he’d sworn to Howard that as soon as somewhere suitable became available, he’d be on his way. The last thing he wanted was to be a burden. To which Howard had barked out a laugh, before shoving a glass of bourbon into Steve’s hand with a sturdy pat to the shoulder. Steve suspected that the man’s hospitality was in part due to the guilt he felt for taking so long to find him.
Maria Stark was as sweet as ever, if a slightly unexpected match for Howard. She showed Steve around the house - taking a moment to show off Tony's collection of competition awards. Steve couldn't help but smile. The kid really was a genius, if slightly narcissistic. He had the same kind of spark Howard used to have whenever he went on about the technical side of his inventions. It was sweet.
And then the first night rolled around.
Steve had been struggling to sleep. Hell, was it really such a surprise? He'd had enough sleep for a lifetime already. So, instead of trying to force himself into a frustratingly fragile state of slumber, he decided to do some sit-ups.
The shouting started mid-way through his one hundred and seventh rep. He paused, recognising Howard's voice ringing from the study. That couldn't be good.
Worry coiled in his stomach. Enough to stop Steve from minding his own business. He got up and lingered at the guest bedroom doorway, using his enhanced hearing to strain for any words.
"Are you f*cking serious, old man?" Tony shouted. The fact it was Tony Howard was arguing with didn't surprise Steve as much as it should have. That alone was concerning.
"Not another goddamn word out of you, or I'm pulling you out of your degree all together."
"You can't do this to me, I'm not your f*cking prisoner!"
"You're my son, and you'll do as I say!"
Steve winced. Goddammit, Howard. Don't raise your voice at your own kid. Truthfully Steve had known from the moment he'd set eyes on Tony that there was friction between the two. He just didn't know it'd be like this.
"And if I say you're staying here, you bet your ass no car of mine's driving you back to Massachusetts."
"Why are you doing this?" Tony's voice had grown small, soft around the edges like he was biting back tears. It was full of pleading, so close to breaking. Something in it made Steve's heart ache. Poor kid.
"Your family needs you, Anthony," Howard spat. "Until Rogers is back on his feet, you need to be here to keep the fort down. Your mother and I are gonna' have our hands full dealing with the political aftermath of your little discovery, so if you could stop acting like a f*cking brat for two goddamn minutes, that'd be real swell."
A brief silence, sharp as a blade, pierced through the mansion. Broken only when Tony muttered, "I can't study here. You're gonna' make me fail my exams."
Howard scoffed. "Please. You'll figure something out. You're a Stark."
"I wish I wasn't."
A harsh clap rang through the Mansion. Steve's body rusted stiff, heart falling to his stomach.
Howard had hit him. He'd hit his son.
Steve wasn't about to pretend like he knew anything about raising kids. Hell, giving a screaming toddler a light slap on the wrist wasn't exactly an uncommon concept back in the 40s. But that sounded like more than just a warning smack. Howard had hit him with the intention of hurting him.
That seemed to end their conversation.
He heard Tony retreating to his room just across the hallway, walls rattling as he slammed the door shut. Steve continued to listen, for what he wasn’t certain. Within a few minutes, he heard the labored breaths of someone crying. It had to be Tony.
Steve stayed planted to the ground. He didn't know what to do. The urge to comfort Tony was nagging and unexpected. No kid deserved to feel unloved by their father; even if they were a little spoiled. But it wasn't Steve's place to intrude. After all, this wasn't even his family. He didn't have a family. Not anymore.
He swallowed, ignoring the solitude hollowing his chest. Tony continued to weep softly in the room across the hall. This wasn't right. Tony didn't deserve this. Steve barely knew him, but he knew he didn't deserve this.
f*ck it.
Steve left his room, taking two quick strides over to Tony's bedroom door before knocking twice.
The shallow breathing behind the door stopped, replaced with erratic hiccups. When no verbal response came, Steve tried knocking again. "Tony? It's Steve. I heard what…" he paused, thinking for a moment. "... Are you okay?"
He heard the boy sniff, before clearing his throat. “Peachy, Cap’. Just peachy.”
Steve’s lip quirked a little. Even in the face of adversity, the kid still had a mouth on him. “Can I come in?”
Tony gave no immediate response. Steve worried that perhaps he’d made the wrong call. After all, it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure Tony was okay; besides, he knew how teenagers could be (or had heard about it at the very least). But a moment later, the door cracked open.
The boy emerged, blushing and puffy eyed; not meeting Steve’s gaze. The left side of his cheek and jaw was rosy from where Howard had hit him. Something cinched its way around Steve’s heart, clenching ruthlessly. Despite himself, Tony managed a weak half-smile. “Um… hi.” Steve swallowed, resisting the urge to reach out and hug the boy. The door was opened a little wider, allowing Steve to slip inside.
Tony’s room was just as he’d expected; a cavern consumed with increments of brilliance. The walls were peppered in parchment designs for obscure inventions Steve hadn’t thought to be conceivable. Books on everything from quantum physics to mechanical engineering littered the floor and study desk. Tony mumbled something beneath his breath about the mess, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to care.
He sat down beside Tony at the edge of the bed. It was awkward, at first. But then again, Tony had let him in for a reason. If he didn’t want to at least talk about it, Steve wouldn’t be here. “Does that happen often?” Steve asked. “With your father, I mean.”
Tony shrugged, eyes a little glassy. “Depends how you look at it. I’d say my pops has a habitual quota of Anthony degradation he likes to hit on a monthly basis. But usually he doesn’t actually…” Tony gestured vaguely at the bruise forming by his cheek. “You know.”
“Let me see you.”
Tony turned a slight shade of red. “I’m alright, Rogers. Really.”
“Indulge me.”
The teen swallowed, eyes trailing the floor. Nevertheless, he turned to face Steve; still not meeting his gaze. Steve’s brow furrowed as he brought the boy’s chin up to better examine the injury. He pretended not to notice Tony shiver under his touch — probably still shaken by Howard’s discipline. Thankfully, the damage was only surface level. He doubted the bruising would last longer than a couple of days.
“... Well?” Tony murmured. “What’s your verdict, Doctor Rogers? How much time do I got left?”
Steve snickered, ruffling Tony’s hair with his large and calloused palm; keeping his touch tender. “I think you’ll survive.” Tony hummed, leaning ever so slightly into Steve’s touch before realizing what he was doing; body rigid as he pulled back. Steve frowned to himself at the thought of how touch starved the kid must be. “He’s jealous of you, Tony.”
The boy scoffed at that. “Gimmie’ a break.”
“I’m not pulling the wool over your eyes. You think your father even achieved half of what you have when he was your age?”
“Kinda’ sounds like a him problem.”
“It is a him problem.” Steve smiled as Tony dared to make eye contact. The boy’s shoulders were tense, fingers fidgeting, but he looked nonetheless. A strange sense of accomplishment warmed Steve’s chest. “All I’m saying is that whenever that man gets you down, I want you to get right back up. ‘Cus you’re better than that. And trust me, Howard’s not worth the grief.”
“... He’s still my dad.” Tony said, voice frail as though he were trying to convince himself.
A surge of protectiveness seethed through Steve’s bloodstream. Without thought, he reached for Tony — pulling him into a firm embrace. The boy squeaked, body turning brittle in Steve’s hold. But the man simply huffed, rubbing soothing circles into Tony’s back. It took a moment, but eventually Tony began to relax, hiding his face in Steve’s shoulder.
“This is,” Tony sniffed, trembling a little, “um… nice. And a little embarrassing.”
A husky chuckle left Steve’s chest. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. You’re allowed to have emotions, kiddo’.”
“Emotions are for the weak.” Steve smirked. He moved to let Tony go, but froze when the boy clung onto the front of his shirt. "Uh…" Tony swallowed bashfully. "Just… a little longer? Please?"
Steve raised his brow, but His expression softened as he obliged. He decided he'd hold Tony for as long as he needed it.
---
It didn’t take long for trouble to set in. And it was ruthless.
Tony woke almost every morning in a cold sweat, gasps turning to soft mewls in his throat as he registered the arousal between his legs. The first couple times, he'd tried to wait it out - too ashamed to pleasure himself. But by the third day, he'd become so overwhelmed with lust that he was already grinding against the bed before he was even fully conscious.
It was Steve. It was always Steve.
Tony tried to will the thought from his mind as he slipped a hand under the waistband of his boxers. He tried not to imagine Steve's big hands on him as he wrapped his fingers around his co*ck. A shiver prickled up his spine as he recalled the warmth of Steve's embrace. He stroked himself to the thought of the super soldier holding him down and taking him apart; keeping him grounded under his muscular frame. His hand sped up, growing slick with precum. His other hand clapped over his mouth to keep from moaning the soldier's name.
He fisted his co*ckhead, teasing the slit on the way down. He could almost feel the heat of Steve's breath upon his neck as he whispered words of encouragement into his ear. f*ck, this was bad. But Tony's body didn't seem to care. He began bucking into his own fist, his pace growing desperate as his org*sm began to coil in the pit of his stomach. Faster. More. Almost there. f*ck f*ck f*ck--
A knock thrummed at the door. Tony's hand stilled, body tensing and on the cusp of release.
"Anthony, sweetheart," his mother called. The heated arousal in Tony's body went tepid almost immediately. "Time to get up - your father wants you downstairs in the next ten minutes."
Tony violently shoved his head back into his pillows, biting back a curse. Through gritted teeth he muttered, "Yeah, alright, fine."
He waited for the sound of his mother's footsteps to grow distant before he pulled his hand out of his boxers, rolling onto his stomach to scream into his pillow. Distantly, he wondered if this was another one of God’s sick jokes — dangling the perfect man right in front of Tony’s face only to leave him feeling blue balled and guilty. He cringed, not wanting to think about how disgusted Steve would be if he knew about the type of sh*t Tony liked to dream about.
But sexual frustration aside, Tony realized he actually had bigger problems. Much bigger problems.
“The f*ck?” Tony mumbled behind a mouthful of cereal.
“Watch that tongue, slick,” his father warned from the opposite end of the dining table.
Swallowing his food, Tony gave a huff. “What do you mean you want me to work at SHIELD?”
“I want you to intern at SHIELD,” Howard clarified. “Your involvement in the search and rescue of Captain Rogers has proven you competent enough to handle yourself in our scientific division. You’ll finish the rest of your studies vocationally under Peg’s supervision. Do well, and you’ll be eligible to take a directorial role in the agency.”
Tony spared a nervous glance at Steve, who was lingering at the kitchen threshold with his arms crossed over his chest. Ever since they pulled the man out of the ice, Howard had been drip feeding Tony information about SHIELD; telling him everything from the SSR reform to Hank Pym’s experimental shrinking technology. Tony could take a hint.
“What if I don’t wanna’ join your little national security club?” He said, stuffing another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.
“Then you go back to MIT, finish your degree, and after you’re done you can have that independence you’re always hollering about.”
Tony dropped his spoon into his bowl, eyes widening. “... Wait, really?” Howard nodded. “... What, like, emancipation or something?”
His father’s chest deflated with a sigh. “You’re my son, Tony. I’m not about to cut you off.”
“Why not?”
“Because, in spite of what you may or may not believe about me, I actually do give a rat’s ass about your wellbeing.”
Tony’s hands turned to fists upon the table, mind clouded with suspicion. This was wrong. His father had no right to turn his back on him for years, only to show him a shred of kindness and expect everything to be okay. He held his breath to stop himself from shaking.
“Stark,” Steve cut in — always coming to the rescue, “give the kid some time to think about it. It’s a big decision.”
Howard tsked, but lowered his head. “You got ‘til Monday. Don’t wait up, Anthony.”
---
Steve came to find him in the garage a couple hours later. Tony rolled himself out from under the car he’d been tinkering on, mostly just to shoot the man a suspicious gaze. “You put him up to that, didn’t you?”
“Isn’t it a little dangerous for you to be operating heavy machinery by yourself?” Steve said firmly.
Tony rolled his eyes, sliding back under the car. “I’ve been doing this kinda’ stuff by myself since I was ten, Cap’. Trust me, I know my way around a car.”
“Never said you didn’t. But you’re small.”
“So were you once,” Tony mumbled, recalling how gangly Steve had looked in his photos prior to the serum. “Anyway, you didn’t answer my question.”
He yelped as something grabbed him by the ankle, pulling him out from under the car. Tony’s heart stuttered as he looked up at Steve, who was crouched beside him with a crisp cut look of certainty sharpening his gaze. “I didn’t put anyone up to anything. Your father made you that offer on his own accord.”
After composing himself, Tony drew a deep breath. “... But you talked to him about it.” He flexed his ankle, urging Steve to let go. He did. “Don’t lie to me, I can tell.”
“I might have put the idea into his head,” Steve admitted. “But he didn’t have to agree with it. He agreed because he knows you’ll do good by him either way.”
Tony forced himself to sit up from his creeper. He flushed when the action brought him closer to Steve than he was expecting. Close enough to catch the rich scent of pine mingling upon the man’s skin. “I… um…” He swallowed. “... Why would you do that for me?”
Steve spoke without hesitation. “Because I think you’re good enough.”
His words soften in Tony’s mind, making him feel a strange fuzziness. He tried to hide the flushing of his cheeks behind a half-smile. “Good enough, huh?” Steve nodded. “... Just… out of visceral curiosity, are you planning on working for SHIELD too?”
“That I am.”
Tony nodded resolutely. “Cool, cool.” He leaned back onto his creeper, rolling under the car as he feigned returning to work. “I’ll tell Howard to clear out some desk space for me at SHIELD then, shall I?”
He almost missed the warm chuckle that left Steve’s lips. “Yeah. Alright, kiddo’.”
