Work Text:
It occurs to Tony one day that he’s never done anything in the right order. He’s riding back in the helicarrier from the latest pitiful attempt to destroy Manhattan Island (trying resolutely not to stare at the rips in Steve’s suit) when he realises that his life has been the furthest thing from conventional.
It’s not a grand revelation he feels the need to preach to the world but all the same... Food for thought.
But why should his life be conventional? When has Tony Stark ever done anything by numbers? He completed a circuit board before he could ride a bike. Dismantled a toaster before he could swim. Built his first robot before he could drive and graduated from MIT before he could legally drink.
Hell, he underwent major heart surgery (in a cave, no less) before privatising world peace. Tony Stark doesn’t do by the book - he rips out pages, sticks new ones in and rewrites the book until the book looks like a step by step guide on how to be a total badass.
So, really, all things considered, Tony shouldn’t be surprised when things continue to happen in the wrong order.
Tony is a lot of things but systematic is not one of them. He works erratic hours when he feels like it and spends unreasonable lengths of time in his workshop or cooped up in a lab, doing important things like inventing and sciencing and being Iron Man.
Sometimes he makes it to his bed and the times he thinks he won’t, he either collapses on his couch or heads towards the coffee pot in the kitchen because coffee, yes, always.
It’s late one night, maybe around two a.m., when he’s returning from his caffeine fix. He remembers stumbling from his empty workshop, table strewn with the innards of a faulty repulsor circuit he’d been working on. He’d definitely have remembered anyone else being in his shop with him.
Especially Steve.
So Tony’s heart pretty much stops when he finds him sitting on a stool in his suit, carrying a blanket over his shoulder. In fact, it stops twice, no, three times. Firstly because of Steve being Steve (and he’s looking shifty - when does Captain America ever look shifty?), secondly because he didn’t even hear Steve get back from whatever mission Fury decided to send him on and thirdly because the blanket moves.
Tony’s eyes are as wide as saucers. “Steve...” He trails off because Steve has a baby in his arms. Tony’s voice is weak and confused and all things Tony Stark should not be because Steve has a baby in his arms and this is his mansion and people don’t just bring tiny babies into his mansion because it’s his mansion and it’s home to the Avengers and Steve especially doesn’t bring babies into the mansion. Steve wouldn’t do that. Wouldn’t endanger an infant. Unless...
Tony starts to shake his head.
“Tony, I know what you’re thinking.”
His head spins. It feels like some kind of twisted revenge for his snide remarks and teasing when they first knew each other but Steve wouldn’t do that because they’re past that and he’s Steve and Steve has a baby in his arms. Stupidly perfect and selfless Steve who always has to do the right thing with-
“You have to understand, I couldn’t just leave him there. I couldn’t.” He’s earnest and genuine and it’s so suffocating that Tony can’t look him in the eye. Instead he looks at the sleeping toddler tucked into Steve’s side with its mop of brown hair and tiny limbs and this can’t be happening.
“Steve...” Tony repeats, distraught and, Jesus, he used to be so eloquent.
“He’s different - special,” Steve says in a stage whisper. “Social services would... He wouldn’t survive it, Tony. He’s only-”
“Steve, we’re Avengers! ” He runs a hand through his hair. “We can’t have a child around here. It’s too dangerous. We can’t keep him!”
Steve’s jaw sets as the kid stirs in his arms from the raised voices. He blinks up at Tony - big, brown, curious eyes - and Tony’s argument dies in his throat.
“Hey, big guy.” Steve pulls him onto one hip and he looks up at Steve. “Why don’t we show Tony here what you can do?”
The child looks back to Tony and then nods. Steve holds him to the wall and the kid places his palms against it. Then Steve lets go.
Tony flinches. He’s too far away from the wall to catch but the kid doesn’t even move. Just stays firmly planted on the wall, palms outstretched. Those curious brown eyes flicker between Tony and Steve.
Tony’s pretty sure the next sound out of his mouth is a garbled croak.
“I found him in a lab,” Steve explains softly, picking the kid back up. He curls into Steve’s side, one hand splayed against the star of the suit, the other forming a tiny little fist to rub the sleep from his eyes. “He was all alone in a cot in a corner; they forgot about him when the evacuation started. He just reached out to me...” Steve sighs. “We’ve be tracking the HYDRA base for months but never imagined they were using a child for their testing.”
Steve’s eyes harden at the injustice in that way that always makes Tony’s breath catch, makes him wonder if Steve’s actually real.
“Couldn’t SHIELD-”
“SHIELD would try to perform every test under the sun and make sure he never saw the light of day. That isn’t an upbringing,” Steve snaps and then his eyes soften. “Sorry. It’s just... you don’t think I haven’t considered all the other options? I know it’s dangerous but he’s different and so are we. He needs to grow up with his own kind.”
Tony lets out his breath.
“What’s his name?”
Steve’s smile is glorious.
And that’s how the Avengers adopt Peter Parker. Fury flips his lid when he finds out but calms down considerably when he realises Peter really is different from any normal 15 month old. In fact, he gets very, very interested in Peter which causes Steve goes on the warpath to keep SHIELD away from the kid but really, Tony didn’t expect anything less.
When Steve’s paranoia reaches fever pitch, Tony simply has a legally binding contract written up, involving significant budget cuts from Stark Industries and several Asgardian threats should it be broken, distancing SHIELD from Peter until he’s 18. The relief in Steve’s eyes when Tony tells him is almost worth Peter’s screaming tantrums and naked laps around the mansion to avoid bathtime.
The pass the Terrible Twos together, then years three and four. When they’re exhausted they’re able to hand Peter over to other members of the team, but Peter will only let Steve or Tony read him his bedtime story because Steve is Dad and Tony is Pops. It really scares the shit out of Tony but he doesn’t back down because Peter’s somersaulting around the TV room is sort of really adorable and Steve is always there with warm eyes.
Steve’s presence is really the only thing reassuring him that he isn’t going to fuck up as a dad.
Also, JARVIS turns out to be a pretty great baby monitor.
Peter gets an amazing upbringing overall. He has a bunk bed, a metric butt-tonne of toys, and one dad who builds him robots and another who finger paints with him. He grows up around, in his own words, a man who explodes into the Green Giant from the corn cans, a wizard with a magic hammer, super spies (who are the best hide and seek players ever, just for the record) and a grumpy pirate.
He’s incredibly bright (of course) but even so, Tony’s still surprised when, at six years old, he comes to find Tony, to sit him down, and have a serious conversation with him. About him.
Tony was only trying to enjoy a beautiful cup of coffee - on one of the several breaks Steve makes him take to seem more responsible for Peter - when it happens. He climbs up onto the chair opposite Tony, swinging his legs back and forth.
“You love Dad, right?”
Tony’s eyebrows raise. “Uh, sure, kiddo. Of course I do. I love all of the team.”
“No, no.” Peter shakes his head, frown puckering his brow. “I mean, you love him like... Like...” He ends up pouting in concentration, jaw set hard which is something Tony’s certain he’s picked up from Steve. “Like Thor loves Jane, only different but it’s the same thing. The same kind.”
Oh.
Peter blinks at him and the seconds drag on. Tony needs to speak. He needs to say something sensible and adult and something that will make Peter understand but not press the issue because he does not need a conversation with his six year old about his love life.
“I sawed it,” Peter continues, nodding matter-of-factly, giving Tony’s brain a few more precious seconds to think. “Love is what makes you smile when you’re tired and you get tired lots but whenever Dad comes to see you, you get a real big smile on your face like this.” Peter demonstrates his largest grin. “Only you try to make it small but you don’t look tired no more. Not when Dad is around.”
Tony doesn’t know if this is just wishful thinking on Peter’s part for his ‘parents’ to be in a relationship like normal, non-superhero parents or if Tony is really that obvious. He really hopes it’s the former because if a six year old can call him out on it, Steve must be able to see it a mile off.
“It’s not like that, Peter,” he says after a while. “We’re not like Thor and Jane.”
Peter tilts his head, appraising. “But you love him?”
Tony blinks. “Well, yes,” he answers honestly. “Only-”
But Peter has already jumped down from the chair.
Peter is quiet for a week before talking to Tony again. It goes just as well as last time (which is to say, it doesn’t). The conversation leaves Tony wondering whether he needs to buy out a children’s TV network to tell his too-smart-for-his-own-good six year old to drop it before Cap gets wind of his feelings and Tony’s life becomes even more awkward and complicated than it already is.
Which is saying something because he’s already got an arc reactor embedded in his chest cavity and a spider for a son.
When Peter takes things into his own hands, Tony realises too late. He sits his dads down in front of the TV one afternoon, asks very politely for JARVIS to put on his favourite movie (The Incredibles) then pulls a huge, melodramatic yawn. He announces that, what a shame, he’s very tired and has to go to bed (despite it being four o’clock in the afternoon) but they should definitely still watch the film without him okay?
Then he runs out of the room, giggling.
A moment later they hear a thud, a second of silence and then a slow, wailing cry.
Steve dashes out of the room to scoop him up and returns with the puffy, red-faced boy in his arms, clutching at his knee with tears streaming down his face. Steve places him gently down in the middle of the couch and Peter crawls into Tony’s side. Steve sits back down and rubs Peter’s bumped knee tenderly.
“It wasn’t meant to be like this,” Peter says once the tears stop. “It was gonna be different like on the TV when there’s fireworks.”
They spend the rest of the afternoon under a blanket. It’s quiet and just nice to stop for a moment. Steve falls asleep at one point only to be woken up by Peter tickling him and Tony decides to make popcorn. When he gets back, Peter grabs his hand and then Steve’s and pulls them together. Steve’s hand is over Tony’s so there’s really no escape, especially because it’s over Peter’s hurt knee and Tony is having trouble thinking straight because he hasn’t even allowed himself to think about doing this. Steve’s hand is warm over his and it’s making him feel like the arc reactor is stuttering in his chest.
Peter wears a silly smile for the rest of the film.
“I think-” Peter yawns, clutching his teddy bear closer as Tony tucks him in for bed. “I think you shouldn’t say ‘I love you’ unless you mean it, but if you do mean it you should say it lots and lots because people forget.” He stares at the blue glow of the arc reactor through Tony’s shirt, eyelids heavy. “I love you, Pops. And I love Dad and Teddy and Bruce and Tasha and everyone,” he mumbles. “It’s important to tell people.”
“You’re right, kiddo,” Tony sighs. “I love you too.”
Peter settles down in his match making but his words never leave Tony. They rattle around his brain, interrupting him when he’s coding or adjusting the armour or getting Peter cereal. He’s never been good with expressing emotion, that’s no secret. But Tony is much, much better at giving people things they like because, hey, that way they seem to overlook his emotional incompetence.
But Steve... Steve’s something else entirely. Showering him in materialistic gifts has no effect (the opposite effect, in fact) and Tony puts it down to the rationing and low economic climate of the 40s. It sort of bowls Tony over to realise he’s never really made it known to Steve that he appreciates him due to the fact he’s been hiding his affections.
You know, if you can call debilitating, unrequited love ‘affections’.
But each day he becomes more and more aware of the fact that Steve must have absolutely no idea and it makes him feel awful. He can’t stand it. The feeling sits heavy on his chest, like someone pushing down on the arc reactor.
Tony tells Steve on a Tuesday night, around eight thirty after tucking Peter into bed. He sinks down next to Steve on the couch and tries to tune out the pounding in his chest because he’s going to say it. He’s going to say it and it’s going to be short and sweet and then he’s going to go back to hiding in his workshop because it’s his mansion and he’ll do what he wants.
“Steve.”
“Hmm?” Steve doesn’t look up from his book.
He’s going to say it now, he’s so ready to say it but the words catch in his throat. He’s struck abruptly with how perfect Steve looks. The light from the lamp beside him catching in his hair, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks, deep breaths causing his broad shoulders to rise and fall slowly.
Steve raises his eyes, bright blue like a clear day, when Tony fails to speak.
“Are you okay, Tony?”
He must look like a mess.
“Yeah, yeah, I am. It’s just...” Tony swallows.
Steve’s eyes narrow with worry. “Is something wrong? Is it Peter?”
“No,” he shakes his head. “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just- I- there’s something important I have to tell you.”
God, it shouldn’t be this difficult. He isn’t confessing his love here. Just expressing gratitude. Simple, low level emotion.
Steve shuts his book and places it on the arm of the couch. He turns, giving Tony his complete attention. All that blue makes Tony’s head hurt.
“You know you can tell me anything, Tony.”
He barks out a laugh, weaker than it should be with an edge of hysteria in it. “I know I can. That’s exactly it.”
Steve waits patiently.
“You’re worrying me,” he says after a moment.
“I don’t know how to say it,” Tony confesses, and the words tumble out of his mouth. “I should have practiced before I found you because this is so easy to mess up, mainly because it’s me and oh god, a letter, a letter would be so much more sensible because then I wouldn’t have to see you and we wouldn’t have to talk about it which is sort of perfect, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before but then there’d be a physical copy and Clint would probably find it after burrowing into the vent system again so it would need some sort of self-destru-”
“Tony.” He looks up to find Steve close, eyes boring into him. “Tell me what it is.”
Bite the fucking bullet, Stark. Do it.
“Thank you,” Tony blurts, breath falling out of his lungs. “For putting up with me. For everything.” He feels heat colour his cheeks and stands suddenly. His heart pounds in his chest. “Yep, okay, I’m going now.”
“Wait.” Steve stands too and presses his lips to Tony’s.
And, well, Tony’s brain shuts down. There’s no other way around it. Steve’s hands cup his face and the touch of his lips is so soft and simple and chaste that it almost hurts. But Tony can’t process any of it and he just stands there, stock still, until Steve releases him.
“Sorry.” Steve backs out Tony’s space, letting Tony’s brain reboot. “I know you don’t- You just looked so- I... I had to.”
“What?”
“It won’t happen again,” Steve says firmly, mind made up.
“What?” He doesn’t even begin to try and hide the shock in his voice because that is the absolute opposite of what Tony wants to hear. Tony wants to hear about how he looked so and how Steve had to and all of that.
Steve’s brow furrows and a strange expression crosses his face, oddly hopeful. “Do you want it to happen again?”
“Yes,” he replies too fast. “Yes,” Tony repeats, stronger, after clearing his throat.
“I thought... I thought you knew and just didn’t feel that way,” Steve murmurs.
“I had no idea.” Tony steps closer, shaking his head. “Do you really not see the way I look at you?”
Steve’s frown deepens. “You look at me?”
Tony laughs, incredulous and giddy. “Jesus, we’re such idiots,” he breathes then lowers his voice. “Let me make something absolutely clear to you, Steve.”
He grabs him by the nape of his neck and kisses him. Kisses him like he can pour all the desperation, want and frustration he’s had pent up over the years into it so Steve knows, so he understands how Tony’s been burning quietly for an age. It’s hot and wet and insistent and Steve’s arms wrap around him, and then they’re pulled flush against each other. Tony lets out a quiet moan because this, this is what he’s wanted for so long, what he’s dreamt of.
“Oh,” Steve exhales when they break away to breathe, eyes heavy-lidded and dark.
“Yeah.” Tony smiles, very much appreciative of Steve’s swollen lips and heated cheeks.
The door creaks open and they jump, breaking apart. Tony’s body protests violently at the cool air and space between them but it’s Peter; bleary eyed and holding his teddy bear by one leg.
“I’m thirsty,” he mumbles. “Can I have some water?”
And then Tony’s smile becomes a grin because god, his life has been so, so out of order, so messed up but after long last this feels right. Like he’s finally where he should be.
“Sure, you can,” Steve says, looking between Tony and Peter, and his smile is just as wide. He halts just before the door, right in front of Tony and leaves a light kiss on his lips.
“Eww.” Peter wrinkles his nose. “Kissing.”