Chapter Text
Tony's first letter was a disciplinary one from his school. He had been 6, mischief in his blood and brain, and there had been an incident with a blunt spoon, some kid's ear, lots of toilet paper and blood. That was the first time Tony had ever seen somebody write a letter about him. The end result of it was insignificant, thanks to Howard's dismissive interest in Tony's school dynamics as long as he didn't waste his intelligence. There had been no desert for two weeks though and Tony remembers Jarvis telling him later, much later, that Tony had learnt his mother's weakness for his puppy eyes in those weeks.
Tony had told Jarvis to fetch him a bottle of the Macallan Select Reserve Single Malt when he had heard that.
Truth be told, Tony didn't do well with letters. They came too close to subpeona notices, resignations, rejected love letters and other bitter memories for him. He preferred emails or messages, things he could delete without a trace. He would take technological lies over tangible truths any day.
Yet he was here, in an expansively silent and breezily vacant Compound, sitting on his lush leather chair, reading a letter. Not just any letter either. A letter from Steve Rogers.
When the phone rang, Tony was inexplicably thankful for the existence of Thaddeus Ross, just momentarily, and let his mind divert from the terrifyingly naked piece of evidence in front of him. Evidence, not of crime, but of punishment. Of weakness. Of failure.
He knew about the Raft even before Ross told him. A security breach in an underwater prison with precautions heavy enough to contain an Asgardian army? There was no doubt in Tony's mind about the person behind it.
He told Ross that he didn't know about it. He promised to try and find out. He cut the call and threw the promise out the window. It wasn't the first time for him and there was no guilt.
He looked at the phone in front of him, an inexcusably old piece of tech that should have offended Tony at first glance. It doesn't. It reminds him of an open ending.
Tony knew that Steve had broken the team out. He won't condone it, not when he knows that it could have been avoided altogether if they had agreed to stick together. He doesn't condemn it either, not when he was relieved that they weren't stuck in a place they didn't deserve to be.
We all need family.
He folds the letter into a square, smoothing the edges and testing the creases. It goes into his drawer, under lock and key. He doesn't do well with letters, but he does need words. He hates silence and the Compound feels less like a graveyard when the words on paper swirl around in his head. He has known Steve well enough for years, knows his voice better than he knows his thoughts and he hears the words in that voice. Low, firm, unyielding and sincere. It doesn't weaken the thorn from his heart but it over-rides the pain. Words are his morphine. He keeps the letter.
The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine.
He pockets the outdated piece of tech, the beetle looking phone, right next to his left pec. His breast pocket feels heavy but he theorizes that it couldn't be as heavy as the pumping organ under his skin. He hates Steve a bit more at that weight. He feels a little lighter at the insinuation of his words. Tony has always taken what is his, sometimes rightfully and other times not so much. He doesn't seek permission always, not when he doesn't see the point of it, but families are not property or objects that he can sweep away. He had been befuddled and cautious before, when he had seen no conviction or reminder of where he stood in this group.
... yours, maybe more so than mine.
He doesn't seek validation for this. He gets the message, even if it's unintended. Tony Stark always takes what is his. He taps the phone lightly through his shirt, feeling it's presence grounding.
He gets up and goes down to meet Rhodey. He can't do this without telling him. Family means nobody left behind and Rhodey is his first part of the family. He won't seek permission, he knows that and he knows that Rhodey knows that. He won't go behind his back either, so he figures that is a balancing ground.
... maybe more so than mine.
Rhodey takes one look at him and knows. He probably suspected since the minute he saw the courier for Tony Stank. But the look on Tony's face tells him everything he needs to clarify and confirm.
"Why?" he asks, quiet and controlled but wary of any indication to suggest a bad hand.
"It's mine," Tony says simply, not wording it purposely to replace they with it, but on second thought it makes sense. He's not doing this for the people, he's doing it for the right he has. The group. His group.
Rhodey sits on his bed and looks away from Tony, disapproval stark on his tense lines. Tony thinks he looks beautiful in the dim light of morning and grief. After a breath or a lifetime, the seated man looks up and speaks.
"If you cross the line, we won't be on the same side," he warns, gentle and assuring in his threat, the way only those who love you can be. Tony knows what he means, he always knows what Rhodey means. He knows where he stands in Rhodey's list - beside the law. Not above but not below either. If he does this, he risks going below and going against Rhodey.
"I'll let you win," he says with a small smirk and Rhodey cracks a smile at that, the asshole knowing that he would win anyway. He's Tony's family. He'd always win, with or against him. He simply waves a dismissive hand and grabs a tablet from the bedside stand, signalling that he's getting into other work.
Tony leaves the room and the floor. He doesn't meet Vision. He suspects he wouldn't need to. Chartering his personal chopper, he leaves to get what is his.
As he crosses through the dull sky, he wonders if Steve forgot an important piece of information when he wrote that letter. Steve was part of the Avengers.
...more so than mine.
He doesn't care if Steve doesn't realize it yet. Tony is used to people getting blindsided by him. He cares more about what he is promised and that includes a lot.
He brings out the phone from his pocket and cracks it open. The jammer was expected, its make a little surprising but Tony isn't intimidated by Wakandan technology yet.
He palms his pocket tool kit and brings it out. He has a destination to crack and some promises to claim.
He decodes the jammer within minutes and confirms his route.
...mine.
Tony is going to take what is his. Doesn't matter if it is hidden in a foreign thicket or an uninhabited farm.
He brings out his own phone and begins a code to another number.
He won't let anybody stop him this time.
**************************
Steve sat on the porch, an abandoned book on his lap and his navy blue t-shirt bunched up at his middle by the angle in which he was lounging. The echoes of beef sizzling onto a pan reach his ears from inside the house along with the gentle hum of an unheard song. He doesn't understand Sokovian and he suspects neither does Clint. But the tune is catchy and the archer had caught on after the fourth time Wanda had hummed it under her breath as they lay lazy and empty on the garden outside. The stretching melody drowns out the noise inside Barton's head, Steve suspects as he hears it pick up pace, indicating that Clint is almost finished with breakfast.
Sam and Scott have gone to get supplies for lunch, though Steve knows that that's an excuse for Sam to get away from the house, even if it's just for a few hours. The ex-VA has changed; it reflects in the shuttered eyes he has when he catches himself laughing with Steve, the high-string shoulders when he imagines someone spying on them from afar, the way he gets upset when his things are touched or misplaced. He has changed, maybe not in an existential level but in the small things that made Sam what he had been before. In full disclosure, Steve has to amend his statement and reveal that everybody has changed. Scott probably to a lesser extent, but Steve doesn't know all that well. He doesn't have any prior experience to compare to. He doesn't know Scott Lang. He knows Ant-Man.
And that in its entirety speaks volumes about Steve.
He closes his eyes briefly, tilting his head at an angle that can afford the sun to hit it and lend some warmth. He seeks out the sun nowadays. In the foggy crack of dawn, in the pleasant morning breeze, during the sweltering afternoons and in the dying resplendence of the sunset - he seeks the unchanging ball of fire. At first he had presumed that it was for the warmth. He had seen enough cold for a lifetime. Cold in his lungs when he was a kid, cold in his fingers when he let go of Bucky, cold in his eyes when he crashed his plane, cold in his mind when he had woken up to an unwelcome world, cold in his guts when he had made friends into family and finally cold in his heart when he had let Bucky go back into the ice. Steve was defined by cold, even if ironically, he was always assumed to be a warm man.
"Cows are ready to be consumed," Clint announced as he walked out into the porch, wearing his ratty checkered shirt over a worn-out grey t-shirt. Steve let himself keep his eyes closed for a second longer before he twisted around and looked at Clint with a raised eyebrow.
"You really have to call it cow instead of beef, don't you?" he asks with a quirk of his lips. Fake, it's all fake and a mirage, but Clint knows that too so Steve doesn't feel guilt more than he does.
"Well, at least it's not ham. Can you imagine the 'pigs are flying' jokes Lang will come up with?" Clint shrugs and gestures to the house, "Come on, I'll rattle up the real kids, you load up the moody teen."
Steve sighs at that but complies with a small smile, one that Clint doesn't return, making himself busy as he jogs in to call his kids and Cassie. Steve doesn't mind much, shutting the book he had abandoned half-way and walking into the house, going towards Wanda's room. Natasha is out on another of her secret intel missions and so Wanda isn't sharing the room with her right now. It's all the better, Steve thinks, knowing that the two women aren't all that compatible after the airport fight, where Wanda had taken things a little too seriously in regards with Natasha.
He doesn't begrudge her, knowing that he wasn't one to speak of restraint when he had dropped trucks and bridges to get out of the situation. Strangely, Steve's hidden hypocrisy and ability to deny himself the truth has some limits.
He tries knocking, like he always starts, when he reaches Wanda's room. Once, twice, thrice - it doesn't work.
"Wanda? Breakfast's ready," he calls out and receives silence in response. It isn't the first time. Steve wishes it was the last.
He waits for fifteen minutes, alternating between knocking, calling out and tempting with food. It doesn't work. Wanda isn't a child.
She's a kid. Steve knows that his definition of 'kid' has changed over the decades.
He doesn't accept defeat but doesn't hassle her further either. He simply informs her that her plate will be set aside when she wants to come down.
She doesn't tell him to leave. She doesn't tell him to stay either.
Steve leaves. It's something he has come to realize he does well.
Clint and Laura's expression when they see him come back without Wanda isn't surprising. They aren't disappointed in him, not for this. They have become accustomed to it and Laura assures to bring up a plate later for the girl. Steve thanks Laura with a smile and a nod. Laura doesn't smile back but she does load up his plate.
Clint focuses on feeding his kids and Cassie. Steve tries to remind himself that that's what fathers do, they put their kids before them and others. He has seen that in Clint before. It doesn't come familiar to him though.
He reasons that it's because of his own father's absence.
He knows that it's because of his own self. And his issues.
He doesn't think about it any further.
Beef seems much more digestible than weakness and failure.
"When's dad coming back?" Cassie asks as she chews on her food, eyes wide and hopeful. Steve tries to remember that expression on his reflection. He feels disgusted to compare himself to a kid who's pure.
He doesn't look up and lets Clint answer instead.
"Soon, honey," Clint says, warmth in his voice. Steve doesn't hear Cassie's reply but he knows that she is assuaged. Clint is good at that. Assuaging fear in kids.
Steve doesn't know why he can't do it anymore. He doesn't think he should.
He chews on the bacon and pushes it down to the growing pile of thoughts he shouldn't focus on.
He hasn't fit in before. He doesn't try to change that now.
It's for the best.
Sam and Scott come back after an hour, Sam looking less worn out after the fresh air. Steve feels better just looking at him and takes up the dishes to the sink, letting the others discuss the mundane and simply events at the store.
They have no other source of entertainment or distraction. Steve doesn't pretend to not understand the need for it.
He sticks to washing the dirty dishes. Maybe he could clean it all up and feel better.
After half an hour, he still doesn't. He pushes it down to his ignored pile of thoughts.
************
Tony knows fear when he sees it. He smirks in the face of it, feeling powerful as it grows. Natasha stands beside him with the gun steady in her right hand and stick-drive firmly clenched in her left. Tony lets his smirk grow into a full-bared grin when he hears the loud swallow of the man sitting before him.
"Secretary Ross, you are hereby under arrest for the manipulation, misuse and abuse of your powers and the United Nations' resources as a liaison," the officer beside Natasha calls out calmly, no inflection in his tone, "You are also charged with second degree assault of an unarmed civilian -"
"He's Iron Man!" Ross thunders but is quickly silenced when Natasha cocks her head in her eerie murderer way.
"-along with charges of treason against the United States of America by unauthorized storage of the illegal serum termed SuperSoldier Serum," the officer continued and Tony let his inner madness glint in his eyes, "apart from aiding the assassination of Howard and Maria Stark..."
Tony licks his lips viciously, tasting the copper tang of blood and feeling an odd relish in it. He had always been warned that his mouth would be the death of him. Tony had long learnt to utilize that to his benefit.
Natasha had been the perfect accomplice, the steel of training and trickery strong in her as always. Tony had never been more amused by her deviousness when she had managed to crack through to the UN officials and had let slip hints about the Raft. Tony had warned Ross, he remembers it clearly, about using the degrading place to house people the world hailed as heroes.
People should start taking Tony's warning more seriously. Especially when he could ruin their lives with a few lines of code.
It had been relatively simple, getting the information about the serum. Tony remembered all parts of the video from Siberia, but he also remembers that the Winter Soldier hadn't been sent to just kill Howard and his mom. Zemo had been most helpful in spilling the beans, whatever he knew of them, when Natasha had shown him a hint of her questioning skills. The Red Room wasn't as human as the US force and it had shown in the way the man had cracked, displaying the first tendrils of fear after a conversation with Natasha.
The rest had been child's play.
"You should get your head stitched," Natasha remarked casually as Ross was taken away, watching the man go with a bored expression, "you're bleeding all over the carpet."
Tony shrugged, as much as he could with the searing pain of a possible broken neck.
"It was fun," he remarked with a bored undertone that had Natasha flick a glance at him, a hint of amusement, "He punches like Barton. It's insulting actually."
Natasha raised an eyebrow but didn't reflect any judgement in her face.
"Clint is stronger than you think," she comments, "He would have definitely broken your hip bone too."
This time Tony grins shark-like, the blood from his split lips tainting his white teeth.
"Still fun," he winks and Natasha rolls her eye, "People get so emotional when you insult their mother and wives. Even if they don't have either."
"I wonder why," Natasha said dryly and Tony clucks his tongue before she continues seriously, "Now what?"
Tony looks at the empty leather chair of the now ex-Secretary and lets his face morph into a cold smile.
"Now, we go get what's mine".
Natasha doesn't look convinced but Tony is out of the room before she says anything. Cursing to herself, in rich Russian, she locks her gun and follows Tony out.
When she sees the chopper, she glares at Tony who stares back in challenge. Both of them know that it will be a disaster. But both of them know that Tony won't back down.
"You'll get us all killed," she curses tiredly after a staring match and Tony grins like she complimented his entire life.
"What's new?" he shrugs happily and gestures her to climb into the chopper.
She does. They leave.
Natasha wishes she didn't have a crazy family.
Tony doesn't really care.
Precap:
Steve didn't take a step back but his eyes were growing clouded by the second. Sam was watching the two of them warily, alert enough to intervene if it got ugly.
Tony smirked when he finally got Steve to clench his hand. He loved it when Steve got angry. It always worked in his favor in the end. Using his unpredictability to the hilt, he took a step forward, daring Steve to do something.
Steve responded by punching his jaw.