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Chapter Text

Anthony Edward Stark wasn’t unfamiliar with secrets. Everyone in his life had kept them at some point, some for good reason and others far worse than anything he’d ever imagined. He had them himself. Most were the types of “secrets” that everyone knew because they got leaked to a reporter. Or, at least, Tony allowed them to leak. If he didn’t want someone to know something, he had both the power and money to ensure it stayed that way. And there was one secret he would take to his grave if he had any say on the matter. One he buried as deep as possible and guarded like a dragon did its hoard. 

    In a world where classifications were integrated into the very crux of society, and how everyone and everything treated someone was dependent on them, Tony needed to control the narrative of what he was. Classifications aren’t just quirks about people or arbitrary ways that everyone is organized, much like most other labels humans have come up with. Classifications are the core facets that make up a person. It influences nearly everything. The way they perceive the world, what jobs they typically hold, the ways they interact with others, and more. A person can be one of five main classifications: Dominant, Submissive, Caregiver, Little, and Switch. The first four are relatively straightforward, as one might expect. 

    Dominants are individuals who display, well, dominant tendencies. They often are deeply integrated with the BDSM community and tend to take on jobs that put them in positions of power. Government employees, CEO’s, police force, military personnel, etc. They crave control over every aspect of their life, and often the people closest to them. Many are fiercely protective and often possessive of anyone they perceive as under their control or protection. They’re more likely to make friends with other dominants, and occasionally caregivers, as doing so with a sub often ends up falling into a dynamic of sorts. Most, though not all, are likely to avoid littles, especially younger ones, as their behaviors and tendencies tend to be too harsh for them. 

Submissives are the opposites of Dominants. Displaying submissive tendencies, they too are often deeply involved with the BDSM community and tend to take on jobs that put them in subservient positions. Secretaries, butlers, and so on. Anything that best fits their personalities. Most unclaimed subs tend to move and live in larger packs. Never seen alone in public, and opting to room with other subs. They make the best of friends amongst themselves and, in some cases, with caregivers. However, it isn’t unheard of for them to befriend older littles. Obviously, this isn’t a rule of any sort, just what tends to occur. 

    Caregivers act as guardians to littles, and occasionally subs, caring for them and their needs. They often partner with other caregivers and develop large families where they share the care of multiple littles amongst themselves. They are frequently the mediators amongst mixed classification groups; however, they are undying protectors of those they perceive as vulnerable. And they often display paternal behaviors towards anyone they care about. Caregivers tend to take on jobs that involve working with children and littles. Teaching, babysitting, pediatric medicine, and other related fields. They are often the only classification that can easily get along with all four other classifications, as they mesh well with nearly any personality. 

Much like submissives are the opposites of dominants, littles are the opposites of caregivers. They are individuals who regress mentally to a younger age than they are physically. This age range can vary from infancy to teenage years, depending on the individual. Most littles, even in modern times, don’t hold jobs as many view them as not being able to handle them and, as such, are raised to believe the same. However, those who decide to do so anyway tend to take up minimum wage work such as fast food or retail. They get along best with other littles and often need to have a caregiver, as the side effects of not having someone to aid them are often incredibly detrimental. 

The fifth classification isn’t quite as simplistic, though honestly, none of them are simple. Switches are individuals who display tendencies of more than one type of classification. In modern days, researchers have found that switches are the most common classification, despite previous beliefs that insisted otherwise. The most common switch types are ones that flip between caregiver and little or dominant and submissive. However, there have been documented cases of all the other possible combinations and even cases of people displaying three or even all four classifications. Switches tend to fill in whatever jobs and roles are available, or sometimes ones that match the classification they display the strongest. 

    It is worth noting that most people exhibit physical characteristics that align well with their classifications. Dominants and caregivers tend to be larger and stronger than average, while submissives and littles are often smaller than average. Littles frequently tend to be the physically weakest of any classification. It is, of course, evident that not everyone fits into these stereotypes, but most individuals fit within these characteristics. As for relationships, people tend to bond with their classifications “counterparts”. Dominants with submissives, caregivers with littles, and switches filling themselves in where they best fit. Polyamorous relationships are prevalent, especially amongst switches. However, in modern day, other pairings are becoming more common.

    From a young age, Tony showed the classic signs of being a little, though his guardian, Obadiah Stane, followed in Howard Stark’s footsteps and refused to acknowledge it. He consistently reminded Tony of how every Stark man had been a dominant, and so he needed to be one as well. Because “Stark’s are made of iron, Anthony. Not glass.” 

The Stark family butler, Jarvis, tried his absolute best to undo the damage that Obadiah caused the young Stark heir, but he was unsuccessful. By the time Tony reached fifteen and took his test, his view on classifications was firmly skewed, and not in a good way. The young genius hated himself when the results came back. Anthony Edward Stark was a little? No. It wasn’t allowed. It couldn’t be allowed. And Obadiah Stane made sure of it. Money was power, and it was an excellent way to bribe people into silence. No one breathed a word when the young Stark’s guardian submitted the forged documents. Tony is mislabeled as a dominant, and he spends the next five years resisting his headspace.

James Rhodes was the only person that Tony ever told. It was an accident, really, but one that the genius never regretted. It happened one late night after Tony had one too many drinks and ended up having an accident right in front of his roommate. The dominant, who had been suspecting something for a while, had instantly stepped up. The bond that developed between the two from that moment was unshakable. 

Having someone know his secret was nice if Tony was honest with himself. Especially James. James, who never judged him. James, who loved him as he was. James, who was his biggest supporter. However, even his best friend was incapable of convincing the stubborn Stark that regression was okay. That his classification wasn’t a mistake or a fluke that needed to be hidden. He gave up, eventually, but Tony could always sense his best friend’s quiet disapproval. 

Jarvis had died just a few short months after Tony’s classification. Two years after that, J.A.R.V.I.S. was born, the A.I. was an attempt on the genius’s behalf to cope with the heart-wrenching loss. The two became inseparable. The A.I. saw the little through the rest of his college years and into the inheritance of his company. They were never parted for long until Tony found himself in Afghanistan at the age of twenty. 

Stuck in that cave, thousands of miles away from his life and home, Tony nearly broke entirely. He tried desperately to cling to his sanity and precarious hold over his headspace, but alas, it wasn’t possible to entirely hide things, especially from his perceptive co-prisoner. 

    Yinsen didn’t take long to uncover the truth about Tony’s classification. He brought it up one day, as he sat, watching the little pick at his food in silence. His perceptive gaze always made Tony nervous, and now it was making his skin crawl with anxiety. He knew that Yinsen knew something. But he never expected the words that left the man’s mouth as he leaned closer. 

    “So, you’re a little.” 

Tony choked on the water that he’d just sipped, gasping for air as the man patted him on the back firmly, almost nonchalantly. He looked over at Yinsen in shock, his brain racing as he tried to decipher how his secret had been revealed. He tried so hard. He worked desperately to conceal his tendencies. To hide his precarious hold over his headspace. “How do you- ” 

“I’m a doctor, Stark. It’s my job to classify people in my village. And on top of that, you’re not hiding it very well right now anyway.” Tony lurches, looking up towards the cameras he knew were hidden, recording them, and Yinsen lets out a small huff, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, they’re not knowledgeable enough to identify it. You’re showing small signs, signs that someone like me, an experienced caregiver, would pick up. And I promise that none of those men are caregivers or experienced. It’s only natural, considering the level of stress you’re under.”

Tony relaxes slightly, shakily leaning back in his chair with a long exhale. He draws his knees up to his chest, pressing his face into them as he attempts to calm down. For a while, silence reigns. Neither of them spoke, one waiting for the other to process their words. He was a little more groggy and fuzzy-headed than he usually was due to everything that was going on, and everything was a little more complicated to process. Finally, he peers over at the man. “Yeah, I’m a little. So what?” 

There was a beat of silence, and then Yinsen spoke again, confusion evident in his voice. “I thought your classification came back as Dominant?” 

“It did…what about it?” 

There is another moment of silence, and the other man sighs quietly before answering. “I suppose I’m wondering why you have a fake classification.” 

“You know how society views littles, especially in places like the one where you live. It’s not much better where I’m from. They would never allow me to run my company or manage my wealth if they knew my true classification.” 

“I…suppose you’re correct. Where I’m from, littles don’t have an adult headspace. You must spend an extraordinary amount of time in one for this secret of yours to remain as such for so long. Americans get classified at fifteen, yes? And you’re twenty. That’s five years you’ve been hiding this. Not to mention all the signs that would’ve shown up throughout childhood.” Yinsen quips, surveying Tony closely, a frown gracing his features. The genius shifts underneath his gaze, looking a bit nervous now. Typically, he wouldn’t be so bothered, but that was a caregiver look through and through, and Tony was far too close to headspace to ignore it entirely.

“I haven’t dropped,” He finally mumbles, hiding his face, and there is a moment of confused silence before he sighs loudly, begrudgingly elaborating. “Ever. I haven’t dropped…ever.” The expression on the man’s face morphs from one of confusion to one bordering on horror. 

“That is…” he trails off, and Tony lets out a much quieter and shakier sigh, turning away entirely. He hopes silently that Yinsen will catch the hint and drop the subject. There are a few moments when Tony thinks that something more might be said, but eventually, a quiet sigh precedes the man's suggestion that they continue working.

 “Anthony, I think you should allow me to stay the night with you. We have many things we need to discuss, and you may need-“

“Obi, I’m fine. Just…go.” Tony barely recognizes the scratchy, lifeless-sounding voice that falls from his lips. His eyes are trained on his reflection in the mirror, face gaunt, eyes hollow, and his entire body shaking like a leaf in a storm. “I need to be alone.” 

Obidiah goes to protest again, but J.A.R.V.I.S. smoothly interrupts him. “Mr. Stane, I promise I will contact you if something goes amiss. You will be the first to know.” The dominant looks uncertain but finally gives up with a huff. 

“Fine, but you can’t avoid these conversations forever, Anthony. The board has questions. And concerns. A lot has been happening since you left.” 

Tony nods numbly, resisting the urge to scream at him. To break down and beg him not to go. To stay. Stay and care about him. Like a guardian should. But no words leave his mouth. He knew Obidiah would never care about him. He would only sneer and berate him.  

“Starks are made of iron, Anthony. Not glass.” The words echo in his head as his guardian leaves, the front door closing with a slight slam, leaving the little entirely alone. Tony numbly makes his way through the house, looking blankly at each room. All of it is untouched. Left exactly as it was when he’d left for Afghanistan, with maybe a small layer of dust across the surfaces. It indicates how long has passed. 

Had it been days? Weeks? He wasn’t entirely sure. His mind was so scrambled, and he hadn’t exactly looked at the date. His hands shake as he pulls out his phone, flicking the screen on and looking at the date. May 23. His mouth goes dry as his brain quickly does the math. He’d left halfway through February. He’d been there for over three months. It didn’t seem possible, but he supposes that it must be. 

Dropping his phone, he stumbles his way into the kitchen, jerking open the fridge. Most of the food in there is rotten. He filed that information away, knowing he’d have to clear it out at some point. But what he was looking for is still sitting on the lower shelf. His fingers wrap around the cool bottle of whiskey and draw it out. Above him, J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice sounds.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s a very good idea considering-“

“Quiet, J.A.R.V.I.S.” Tony grits out, opening the bottle, and without preamble or even a glass, he starts chugging it. The liquid burns as it slides down his throat, nearly making him choke, but somehow he manages to keep it down. He stumbles out of the kitchen, feet turning him in the direction of his lab. “Lock it down, J.A.R.V.I.S., I need to be alone.”

“Sir, are you sure that you don’t need me to contact someone? Colonel Rhodes, perhaps?” J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice echoes through the lab once more, and Tony sobs, covering his ears. 

Everything was spinning. Every time the little took a step, the ground threatened to rush up to meet his face. He stumbled around, crashing into things, sobbing harder and harder each time something slammed into the floor. The alcohol had long since overtaken any sense of cognitive function, and Tony was spiraling. Fast. 

“N-no, I’m fine.” He insists, determinedly making it towards the lab door. He must’ve taken a wrong step because he stumbles forward, crashing face-first into the ground. The harsh impact knocks the breath out of him, and he can feel liquid dripping down his face. He lifts his hand to rub at his nose, and when he draws it back, red stains his skin. 

Tony broke. His soft cries picked up into full-blown wails, the force of his sobs shaking his body. He curls up in a ball, his distress only growing as his pants become soaked. He can faintly hear J.A.R.V.I.S. talking again, and he screams out a hysterical “MUTE” before balling up in the middle of his lab floor. 

His brain flickers between memories of Afghanistan. The beatings. The waterboarding. Yinsen’s slack-jawed face as he lay, dead on the ground beneath him. He bangs his hands into his head, screaming, becoming louder, silently begging for it to stop. He lies there for what feels like hours, choking and gasping through his cries until finally, finally, he crashes into unconsciousness. 

Three days later, he emerges from his lab as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just spent that entire time curled up in his soiled clothes, horrific images plaguing him in both sleep and consciousness. Crying and sobbing when he was awake, which eventually exhausted him into sleep, only to wake up from a nightmare, starting the whole process over again. He pretended he hadn’t spent those countless hours wishing someone would rescue him. That someone would show up and scoop him into their arms, soothing away his woes and fears.

He never tells anyone.

The second time he drops is the night after Obadiah attempted to kill him and Pepper. The day had been filled with interviews, meetings, and a plethora of other chaotic events that left the man exhausted and mentally fragile. He hadn’t meant to drop, truly. He’d thought he had it under control. 

He didn’t realize that he didn’t have it until he was sinking to the ground, sobs picking up when he felt the wetness between his legs. It wouldn’t have been so bad, really, except that Pepper was standing right in front of him, shock written over her face. 

Tony expected her to ridicule him. Maybe even reveal his secret to the public. What he wasn’t expecting was for her to coo gently and gather him into her arms. He never would’ve thought that Pepper had any knowledge of littles, especially considering her submissive classification. But she proved that wrong by expertly guiding him into his bathroom, stripping away his soiled clothes, and getting him into a bath. 

Neither of them outright talked about it. They came to a silent agreement. Pepper knew and would help, but neither would ever discuss anything about it unless necessary. As far as anyone else was concerned, Pepper Potts believed that he was a dominant. 

A few months later, Happy found out by walking in on Tony watching a cartoon alone while Pepper stepped out to pick up food. The dominant hadn’t been too surprised, always silently notating the differences between himself and Tony. And, much like Pepper, he didn’t care. His job was to protect him, and that’s what he would do. Never mind if the dominant became hyperprotective over the little now that he knew. 

After that, things became a lot easier. With Obadiah gone, Tony started to flourish, slowly leaving behind the twisted mentalities that his guardian had instilled in him. With Pepper and Happy filling in the blanks that Rhodey couldn’t fill, things started to fall into place. It became almost laughably easy to keep his secret hidden in the years that followed. 

His newfound family refused to allow him to resist dropping entirely, so whenever the urge got too strong, they’d jump into action. Pepper would clear his schedule, Happy would find a reason to stick around, and more often than not, Rhodey would take a short leave to see him. Tony quickly realized that occasionally allowing himself to drop made it much easier to function.

However, he couldn’t allow himself to do so nearly as often as he truly needed. It was hard for him to care for himself, considering he was on the younger end of the spectrum, and he never allowed anyone actually to take care of him. Supervise, sure. But only as far as being in the home with him. J.A.R.V.I.S. ran some tests and concluded that he tended to shift anywhere between eighteen months and about two and a half. Pepper set up a nursery space that was kept locked when Tony wasn’t using it. But it tended to remain mostly unused except for the times the little truly couldn’t hold onto his adult headspace any longer.  

When he wasn’t little, he threw himself into work. He decided eventually that he wanted to get away from Malibu. It holds far too many bad memories for him. So, he announced he was moving back to New York, but not to his family’s mansion. He had sworn to himself a long time ago that he would never return there. So, he got to work building a tower smack in the middle of the city, aspiring for it to be run on entirely clean energy. 

Now that he was not in the weapons business -something that would have his Father rolling in the grave- he expanded his horizons to well…everywhere. He began designing cell phones, tablets, computers, and other devices. He developed his program for human welfare, delved into clean energy, and more. His days were so busy that he found time flying by faster than he could comprehend. 

Tony was finally settling into a rhythm. Sure, the urge to drop was like a niggling itch that never went away. Sure, he was sleep-deprived most of the time and lived almost solely off of coffee and spite. But he was mostly stable. And happy. And nothing was going to change that. Or so he thought. 

Years ago, he would’ve trashed the folder that Nick Fury sent him documenting what was now known as the Avengers Initiative. He had heard about Captain America being unearthed from the ice and about the multiple other individuals that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been tracking down. A team of superheroes. It would make any other person laugh. It was something straight out of a comic book. But Fury was insistent that this would work. And that it was necessary. 

It had been public knowledge that Tony was Iron Man for a while. And he was not only unfathomably intelligent but one of the wealthiest people in the current economy. Of course, Fury would want to recruit him. Sure, he wouldn’t be a full member, at least not yet, but he would be an adviser. Someone who helped gather information, fund, and organize projects, and if absolutely needed, would be called to the field. 

So…he agreed. It wouldn’t be changing anything in his life. He’d occasionally receive a phone call discussing a new project that either required his money or intellect. He never thought that he’d be pulled into the field. That “absolutely necessary” scenario came out of left field. And it would fundamentally change the trajectory of his life. 

Deranged god and alien army wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d have to face, but in his opinion, there are worse things out there, like his self-sacrificing tendencies. No matter what others said about him, he was always the one to play the sacrificial move. To lay his life down on the line when all else failed. So when he found himself flying a missile straight through a portal into space…well, he couldn’t even be surprised at himself anymore. He just wished his family had picked up the phone. 

As he slowly lost consciousness, his vision overtaken by the endless vacuum of space, he wondered how he’d gotten here. What action or decision led to this moment here? Could he have changed it? Did he even want to? He didn’t know. Still, when he woke up on the ground, the rest of the team hovering over him, he knew one thing for sure. The life he had come to know was over. If only he had known just how good it was about to get.

Chapter Text

Tony knew deep down that agreeing to let the Avengers take up residence in his home was a terrible idea, especially if he wanted to keep his secret. Because how can you keep a secret, especially one like this, when you’re living with a super soldier, two of S.H.I.E.L.D’s best agents, and one of the world’s most renowned scientists. Not to mention the literal God of Thunder, who made it clear he would be dropping in on occasion. This was the worst fucking possible thing that Tony could do. But of course, like the people-pleasing pushover he was, he agreed. 

So here he was, having to house four out of five of the Avengers permanently. For the foreseeable future. Great. How was he meant to hide his classification from them? Especially when three out of four of them had caregiver headspaces. Nice going, Tony, you shot yourself in the foot, as per usual. 

Of course, the genius’s solution, as usual, was to hide away in his lab. And it worked….at first. There was the occasional dinner or movie night and all the S.H.I.E.L.D. and Avengers-related meetings, but other than that, he buried himself in his work. It seems like he never got over his most problematic coping mechanism. Isolation. He even started pulling away from Pepper, Happy, and Rhodey. They, of course, understood, but they were worried. Not to mention the other Avengers instantly expressed a dislike of Tony’s distance. Though it wasn’t for the reasons that one might assume. 

They weren’t upset with his busy schedule or even his discomfort with constant social interaction. They were, to his great surprise, concerned about his well-being and the impact isolation can have. Tony found it…strange to have someone outside of his small family care even a small bit about him. But his housemates were determined to make it known. He tried to stop it, truly, he wanted to separate himself, but it all happened too quickly. And by the time he realized what had happened, it was too late, and he folded underneath them like a sapling in a storm. 

He gracefully accepted the carefully prepped and plated meals that Steve would bring him, dutifully consuming them while the man hovered over him like a concerned parent. It took Tony only one lecture to realize it was pointless to fight the super soldier. When he was in his caregiver headspace, he was the epitome of Daddy, even with those he didn’t perceive as littles. Stern, but caring, with a no-nonsense attitude about any neglect. The kind of caregiver that would see an out-of-control little like Tony and put them firmly back on the straight and narrow. He, on rare occasions, would indulge Steve in early morning walks, and he, with quiet delight, accepted the gifts of knitted clothes and art pieces. 

Tony more easily accepted the freshly brewed coffee that Bruce brought him, and often would allow the other scientist to stay and watch him work. They would idly chat about anything and everything, and the genius honestly loved having a friend who was not only interested in his work but knowledgeable enough to keep up. When he’d get tired, he’d allow the caregiver to usher him off to bed, dutifully promising to be mindful of his health and needs. Bruce was much more reserved than Steve was, but he had a soft side that Tony was slowly becoming privy to. He’d sit for hours, listening to Tony ramble on and on about whatever he was working on, attentively absorbing each step and piece of information that the genius shared. And the little gleefully allowed him to do this. Allowed him to see his innermost thoughts that not even Obadiah ever got to know. 

When Clint showed up in his lab, begging for a new expansion on his bow or to play with Tony’s robots, he obliged. When the archer demanded that he put aside his work and play video games, Tony would more often than not sigh and put down whatever tool he was holding. There were numerous times that he allowed himself to -not so begrudgingly if he was honest- be dragged into watching whatever kiddie show or Disney movie Clint was latched onto at the moment. 

Even Natasha would show up and insist that she urgently needed him for something. No matter the reason, Tony saw right through her facade, but he never once said anything. He just did whatever she needed him for and then accepted the offer to get food or obligingly agreed to help her go shopping or watch her spar. 

He knew it was a stupid and dangerous game to be playing. The rest of the team were all knowledgeable and experienced individuals, and their pattern recognition skills were unmatched. But he couldn’t help himself. The companionship, the genuine concern for his welfare, the idea that he could have a family, it was everything he’d ever wanted. To have someone outside of his best friend, secretary, and head of security. Even if they didn’t know the real him. Even if they only knew Anthony Edward Stark, dominant, CEO of Stark Industries, and Iron Man…they still cared. And that’s all he ever wanted. 

So, he continued to allow all of this, praying that no one noticed anything off about him. Days slowly melted into weeks, which turned into months, and then into a whole year. As time passed, he became incredibly close to each of them in different ways, and, by the grace of whatever God had blessed him, kept his classification a secret.

    He couldn’t help but feel guilty about his secrecy when he had such free access to knowledge about them and their classifications. He’d honestly been surprised to hear that Steve was a switch; nonetheless, a caregiver-little switch. He’d read in the numerous S.H.I.E.L.D. files that he’d been classified as a dominant, which explained his enlightenment in the military. 

He supposed that it wouldn’t have been tough to influence results or to be innocently misclassified during that time. The tests weren’t nearly as advanced as they are today. You had to actively commit fraud to even hope of being “misclassified,” not to mention the copious amounts of hush money that were needed. 

Then he looked into the stories about him and James Buchanan Barnes. How close they were depicted as being, and things just…clicked. He wondered how no one else had seen it. Perhaps they did, and it was simply overlooked. They didn’t want to lose Captain America. However, James Barnes was classified as a caregiver, which, while unusual, wouldn’t have thrown up any red flags at that time.

Sometimes, Tony got the urge to admit his secret. He’d imagine blurting it out one night during dinner or maybe telling just one of them to start. Maybe Bruce or Steve. He hoped deep down that they would accept him like they did Clint, and there wouldn’t be any repercussions. That maybe, just maybe, he could have the care that was so given to Clint, Natasha, and Steve when they were little. But, unsurprisingly, he chickened out each time. 

His worries about his company, reputation, and ability to be Iron Man were too strong to ignore. He knew, logically, that he wouldn't be kicked off the team. If he were, then Clint would have to be as well, and maybe even Natasha and Steve. But that didn’t stop him from being afraid, nor did it solve the concerns surrounding his company. 

So he sat there, watching Clint get doted on by the others, the small seeds of jealousy and the urge to come clean rooting inside him. He wanted what the other little had so desperately. He was never upset at Clint. Never. Every little deserved what he had. He just wanted so badly to be doted on. To be coddled and loved so freely and easily. He hated himself for it. He’d resolved himself to a life of silent longing and desire, but fate was proving determined to unravel his expectations. 

    As usual, when Tony finally settled down in his new life, when he thought he could let his guard down, fate would rear up and laugh in his face.

It started with a phone call. Innocent. Tony got dozens of phone calls a day, and so he answered this one without much thought. What he wasn’t expecting was for Nick Fury’s gruff voice to be on the other end, demanding the presence of the Avengers. Okay. Not super out of the ordinary. All it took on his end was a message through J.A.R.V.I.S., and the genius had everyone, sans Thor, on the way to HQ. 

    He tried to deduce what Fury could want on the way. The worst-case scenario was another end-of-the-world situation. But perhaps it was something innocent. However, the more Tony thought about it, the less confident he was. What could all of them be needed for? By the time they arrived, he was a bundle of nerves, and he sent silent gratitude to whatever higher being was listening that he was excellent at masking his genuine emotions. 

    They all sat down at the long table, Fury standing at the head, waiting with mild impatience for everyone to settle. Finally, a hush fell over the room, and Tony had one final moment of peace before three little words shattered it. 

    “Barnes is alive.” 

    As expected, the room exploded into chaos. Bruce immediately starts questioning Fury, demanding explanations because, according to every file that any of them had been given…James Buchanan Barnes had been declared dead. Clint began to spout off his own questions, the news sparking his curiosity in a way that quickly drew him closer to littlespace. Natasha instantly moved to Steve’s side, the blonde looking like he was either going to pass out or throw up…or both. 

    Tony’s ears rang loudly, drowning out most of the sound, and he couldn't help but empathize with Steve as his own stomach turned. This complicated things more than he wanted to admit to himself. Steve would obviously want his best friend, and very likely caregiver, to move in with them. And the longer that Fury talked about the circumstances that Barnes had found himself in…the more precarious the situation got. 

As expected, Steve’s first question was when and if it would be possible to move him in with the rest of the team. Tony didn’t blame him, honestly. If his best friend from childhood were suddenly found alive, he also would want him back. As soon as possible. It was just complicated in a way that the genius couldn’t put into words.

    “Rogers, you’ve got to understand. He’s been brainwashed for years. He won’t just pop out of this immediately. He’s lucid now, sure, but there are times when he slips back into that programming. Times where he’s not only dangerous to himself but everyone around him.”  Fury was insistently trying to talk Steve down, and the desperate, borderline panicked look on the blonde’s face had Tony intervening before he could stop himself. 

    “That shouldn’t matter.” The room falls quietly immediately, starting him slightly, but he presses on, not wanting to give them an inkling of his inner turmoil. “If Steve wants Barnes to be with him, no one should deny him that. It’s my tower, and I say he’s welcome. And honestly, could you think of a better place to have him than in a building designed to withstand freak-outs from Big Green?” 

    Tony exhales quietly, looking between all of them, waiting for protests, before finally settling his gaze on Fury. “I doubt someone who is essentially like Steve but a bit more deranged, no offense meant, of course, is going to be much of a problem at all. Regarding the brainwashing, I have numerous contacts who may be able to assist with that. In the meantime, he could probably use the help from Steve and the team to readjust to everything.” 

Fury seems to be grappling to find some retort to Tony’s logic, but it, of course, is pointless. Steve looks at him with a grateful expression forming on his face. He mouths a small “Thank you,” which Tony responds to with a smile. Fury finally huffs and grits out his response. “Fine, but I swear, Stark. One mess up and he’s-”

    “Yeah, yeah, I’ve got it, Director. Have him sent as soon as possible. If you need any help with transportation, just let me know.” With that, the genius stands up, flashing his trademark smile. “Now, are we done here? Because, unlike you, I have actual responsibilities and, y’know, a business to run?” His usual sass and snark routine does its job in covering up how unstable and disoriented he’s feeling, and, to his relief, Fury nods. 

     “I’ll stay,” Steve says, jumping up from his seat. “I want to be the first to talk with him. Try to acclimate him before introducing the others.” Tony quickly pushes away the sudden flash of hurt and jealousy that rushes through him. Obviously, Steve would want to stay behind. He had no reason to be upset over that. 

    “Fine, I’ll have Barnes and Rogers transported back once everything is cleared.” Fury mutters, sounding disgruntled, and Tony nods, quickly excusing himself. He sweeps from the room, leaving the others to trail after him.  He locks himself into his lab as soon as they arrive back at the tower, needing time to process everything he’d just signed up for. 

Two super soldiers. One of whom was a documented murderer. Sure, he was brainwashed, so no one could blame the guy. But still. What was he thinking? Why did he keep getting himself tangled up in these situations? And then there was the strange jealousy and hurt that twisted in his stomach each time he thought about Steve being with Barnes. Getting close to him again…forgetting about Tony entirely…

He shakes those thoughts from his head and forces himself to focus on his work. It didn’t matter. Steve was going to bring Barnes back, and the two were going to go right back to whatever they had before getting separated. And Tony should be happy for them. Their relationship was something of a legend, and the last thing Tony wanted -or needed- to do was let his strange feelings get in the way of that. 

He spends the rest of the afternoon focusing on fine-tuning the safety protocols and ensuring everything is up to date. As J.A.R.V.I.S. confirms the update, Tony lets out a soft exhale, leaning back in his chair, eyes glancing over at the clock. He starts a bit, realizing that it was well after seven p.m. He was surprised no one had come to bother him about dinner, though he supposes he’s grateful. He needed the space. Though there was a tiny part of himself that wondered why they’d left him be. 

    He gets up, flicking out the lights as he leaves his lab, stepping onto the elevator, J.A.R.V.I.S. automatically whisking him to the communal floor. As he steps out, he’s surprised to see everyone gathered, though it only takes him a moment to realize why. Sitting on the couch, looking shockingly put together, was James Barnes. Ah. That’s why no one came around. They were busy up here. 

    “Tony! There you are. Bucky, this is Tony Stark. Owner of the building and CEO of Stark Industries. Though S.H.I.E.L.D. probably referred to him as Iron Man. Tony, this is Bucky!” Steve gestures enthusiastically between the two of them, and Tony couldn’t help but soften at how excited he was. 

    “Hello, Tony,” Barnes says quietly, his smooth voice washing over Tony with a warmth he wasn’t expecting. He slowly stands up and approaches, as if he’s afraid of frightening the genius, hand extending. “I’m truly grateful that you’re being so accommodating towards me. Especially given the…circumstances. I promise to try my absolute best not to cause problems.” He looks so earnest that Tony can’t maintain his aloof mask. He exhales, grasping the other man’s hand firmly. 

    “Lovely to meet you, uh…” 

    “You can call me Bucky…or James if you prefer.” 

    “Bucky. It’s truly no problem. You mean a great deal to Steve, and he means a great deal to me. So, of course, you’re welcome. If you need anything, just let me know.  Or you can ask J.A.R.V.I.S.” On cue, the A.I. speaks up. 

“Good Evening, Sergeant Barnes.” 

    Bucky jumps, and Tony throws a reprimanding look at the ceiling. “Sorry about that. He’s an artificial intelligence. And he usually knows better than to startle people. He can resolve any issues you may have, except those that require physical labor. And can complete just about any task you ask, unless for some reason his coding prevents him from doing so.” 

“Ah. I see. That’s…” 

“It’s a lot, Buck, I know. We’ll all be here to help you adjust.” Steve says gently, and Bucky smiles at him warmly, hand moving to cup the blonde’s head in an affectionate gesture.

“Of course,” Tony remarks agreeably, though the little voice in his head was telling him to shut up. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, you can always come to me. If, for whatever reason, my lab is locked, you can ask for a message to be sent.” Bucky nods, and Tony inclines his head politely, that voice screaming for him to escape immediately. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a long day. I’m going to retire for the night. As always, you’re always welcome to ask J.A.R.V.I.S. to order food and anything that is needed to help Barn- Bucky settle in. Goodnight.”

Tony turns on his heel and quickly flees to the elevator, desperately hoping he looks natural. The doors thankfully close instantly, and he’s whisked off to his penthouse. He lets out a shaky sigh as he steps into the living room, collapsing on the couch. He lies there for a moment, face burrowed in the cushions, before finally speaking up, his voice muffled. “J.A.R.V.I.S., tell Pep I won’t be in tomorrow. I think I’m going to regress.” 

“Of course, Sir, I shall inform Miss. Potts. Is there anything else I can do for you?” 

“Just dim the lights and turn on a show, J.A.R.V.I.S.. That’s all.” The A.I. complies, and Tony feels himself drifting closer to his headspace as one of his favorite movies, Peter Pan, starts playing on the screen. He half watches it for a while before slowly drifting off entirely, sinking fully into his headspace.

Chapter Text

Tony wakes up mid-morning, feeling entirely like shit. He is definitely somewhere between headspaces, and he hates days like that. He forces himself to get up and hop into the shower, washing away the grime from yesterday that only built up when he slept in his dirty clothes overnight. Then, he has J.A.R.V.I.S. order his favorite breakfast from the deli down the street and heads down to the lab with an oversized cup of coffee. 

    The rest of the morning and the entirety of the afternoon were spent there. He easily lost himself in his blueprints, sketching out the newest ideas he had for a new StarkPhone. Suddenly, J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks up, the music dulling just enough for the A.I. to be heard. “Sir, Doctor Banner is requesting entrance.” Tony looks up at the clock, huffing out a laugh when he sees that it’s 6 pm, just like clockwork. 

    “Sure, let him in,” Tony replies, tossing his pencil down so he can stretch out his sore muscles. A few moments later, the door opens and the brown haired man steps inside. A smile forms on Tony’s face, and he has to stop himself from rushing over to greet Bruce. His headspace, which had been tugging at the edges of his consciousness all day, suddenly felt like a heavy blanket that nearly overtook him. He forces himself into composure. “Hey, Brucie.” 

A soft smile crosses Bruce’s face, and Tony finds his shoulder being grasped in a gentle hold. “Hey, bud, you really should come up and get something to eat. I made chili…” There’s a teasing note to his voice, and Tony groans. 

    “Come on, Big Green. You can’t bribe me with chili. That’s just not fair.” 

    “Come on, it’ll only take a little bit. The others are really hoping you’ll join.” Bruce’s voice is pitched lower than usual and is achingly gentle. Almost akin to the tone that the caregiver uses on Clint when the archer is little. It makes butterflies explode in his stomach, and that fuzziness clouds his brain even more. 

        Tony’s heart skips a beat, and it takes all of his composure to mask his voice in a tone of playful annoyance. “Don’t baby me, Banner. I’m not a little.” There is a moment where Bruce studies him, an indecipherable expression on his face, before he suddenly speaks. 

    “Are you sure?” 

Tony chokes on the sip of water he was taking, his heart nearly stopping as he looks over at Bruce, terror building in his chest. “Y-yes, of course. I’m a dominant…remember?” There are a few moments of silence as the two stare at each other. Bruce exhales slowly, eyes narrowing a bit. But not in anger or annoyance. 

    “I am quite aware of your legal classification, Tony. I’m just…saying that if you have something you need to tell me…I’m here. And I won’t judge you. Or tell anyone else if you don’t want me to.” 

    Tony swallows hard, averting his gaze from Bruce’s scrutinizing one. His brain is going a mile a minute. Did the caregiver know? He had to; he was saying he did without outright saying it. But how? Tony had been so careful. Had he slipped up somewhere? Did he let his guard down too much? The little doesn’t realize he’s starting to hyperventilate until gentle hands cup his face. 

“Hey..hey, Tony, breathe. It’s okay, bud. Just breathe.” Bruce’s voice is achingly soft, and Tony almost breaks right then and there. “I’m not saying you do or don’t have anything you’re hiding…I just wanted you to know that I’m here. And if you’re not ready, that’s fine. But just know…when you are…” The scientist trails off, fixing him with an imploring look, and Tony slowly nods.

    “Yeah…right…I hear you.” He sounds so little, even to himself, but thankfully, Bruce doesn’t say a word about it. He nods and helps Tony get back up to a straight position. 

    “Good. Now. Come along, you really should come eat something.” His tone allows for no argument, and Tony slowly nods, letting the caregiver grab his hand and pull him from the lab. He stumbles a bit, but quickly regains his composure, forcing his face into a neutral expression. They step out onto the common floor, finding everyone already waiting for them at the table. Tony is quick to notice that Bucky is there, and he almost turns back around, but Bruce quickly tugs him towards the two empty seats, pushing the genius into the chair.     

    Food is quickly served, a decent-sized portion being placed in front of Tony, who focuses on scooping up a bite carefully. “Yay, we can eat!” Clint cheers, quickly digging into his food, and Natasha rolls her eyes at the boisterous little. She’s quick to tuck a napkin into his shirt, catching most of the mess that ensues. 

    “Slowly, Маленькая птичка. I don’t want you to choke,” she murmurs, and fortunately, Clint slows down. (T: Little Bird) 

    Tony picks at his food, keeping his eyes down as he carefully scoops bites into his mouth, thankfully managing not to spill anything on himself. He can feel eyes burning into him, and a quick glance tells him that it’s Bruce and Steve. The first is surveying him, that contemplative expression from earlier painted across his face. Steve, however, simply looks worried. However, neither says a word, and he can ignore them for the most part. 

    Dinner drags by, and he is about halfway through his bowl when he realizes someone’s staring again. He glances around, frowning when he realizes that it’s not Steve or Bruce…or even Natasha or Clint. Instead, he locks eyes with calculating, stunning grey ones. Tony’s heart skips a beat, and his breath catches in his throat. 

    Bucky is surveying him quietly, an unreadable expression on his face. Tony can tell he wants to say something, but the man seems to refrain. There’s something…intense about the way he looks at the genius. Like he’s looking right into Tony’s soul, reading all his secrets hidden away there. The little quickly looks away, hoping that the other man will stop soon. Within a few moments, he does, and Tony relaxes just a bit, trying to focus on his food once more. When he’s just over three-quarters of the way, he pauses, instinctively looking up at Bruce for approval without even realizing he’s doing so. 

To his credit, the caregiver doesn’t say a word. He simply looks down at his food and nods, a smile forming on his face. Tony’s chest fills with pride, but he quickly catches himself before his neutral expression slips. He grabs his bowl, trying to mask his clumsiness as he stands, scurrying away into the kitchen to clean his dish. He busies himself for an unreasonable amount of time, scrubbing the glass until it’s beyond clean. He can feel someone’s eyes burning into his back, but he refuses to look, not wanting it to be Bucky again. 

    “Tonnyyyyy,” Clint suddenly whines, and Tony is grateful that the little manages to draw whoever was staring at him away. He turns to look over at the little, tilting his head a bit. “Did ya finish the new phone??”

     Tony smiles, mentally thanking Clint for his ability to break the tension without even trying. He sits back at the table and delves into the plans that he’d drawn up that day. The fact that everyone was so attentively listening made warmth grow in his chest. Obi was never interested in his rambles; in fact, he was always annoyed by them. It was refreshing to have people who cared about what he wanted to say. 

    After dinner was cleaned up, Clint demanded that they watch his latest fixation, the movie Cars. Tony really couldn’t insist on going back to his lab in the face of the pleading look the toddler fixed him with. So, he curled up into one of the chairs, trying to mask that the movie entirely entranced him. Towards the end, Clint passed out, prompting Natasha to take him to bed. Once she got back, she threw on some action movie that Tony hadn’t ever seen before. 

     It happened suddenly. He was watching the movie idly when something rather violent happened, and he was thrust instantly into headspace. He barely stopped himself from screaming out loud and bursting into tears; his body shook, unable to move otherwise. He faintly considered trying to slip away, but he knew that someone would notice. And the moment they saw him, they’d notice his upset, and there would be questions. 

    Suddenly, he feels eyes on him, and he slowly looks over, heart pounding in his chest. It’s Bucky again…except…it’s..not? His eyes are…different. More intense. Colder. Almost…dominant. The two stared at each other for several moments before the older man started breathing in a slow, exaggerated manner. Deep, steady breaths that Tony slowly began to follow along. Slowly, ever so slowly, he relaxes, and his heartbeat and breathing return to normal rhythms. 

    The little peers back over and finds Bucky still staring at him. The man’s lips quirk up in a smile, and it suddenly hits Tony that he’s most definitely not looking at Bucky. The eyes…the smile…the way he’s holding himself. The genius’s mind flickers back to Fury and his warnings about the brainwashed soldier that HYDRA had abused into Bucky. The Winter Soldier, if Tony remembered correctly. 

    He knows he should say something. Should signal to the others what was going on. But…he didn’t feel like he was in danger. And either way, the man’s gaze froze him in place, calculating eyes seeming to be picking him apart. To be fair…instead of attacking everyone like Fury claimed he would, he peacefully sat next to Steve, shoulder pressed against the blonde’s, and he…helped Tony discreetly work his way through a panic attack. That didn’t sound like something a “dangerous murderer” would do. 

    So, instead of saying anything, he watches as the man looks around discreetly, seeming to be ensuring everyone is paying attention to the movie. Then, his hand lifts and Tony’s eyes flicker to it, watching as his fingers make small motions that the little quickly recognizes as sign language. 

    Good Job.

Tony’s face flushes, and suddenly the other man’s expression shifts, softening back into what the genius recognized as Bucky. The man looks around, seeming disoriented, and Tony frowns, his mind whirling with possibilities. It’s evident that there was some personality fracture going on, and he wondered internally just how far that went. Their eyes meet again, and Bucky gives him a sunny smile before looking back at the screen. He doesn’t realize. 

    The realization hits Tony, and his curiosity is thoroughly piqued. The genius sits there for the rest of the movie picking apart each theory. His curiosity wriggles in him, demanding to be allowed to study the enigma of a man in front of him. He already had the prosthetic arm, which Tony was dying to get his hands on, and this was just another incentive to get him into his lab. He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t realize that the movie has ended until Steve’s face slides into view, a gentle hand falling on his knee. “You alright, Tones?” 

    The little jerks, looking around, slowly processing Steve’s question as he realizes everyone in the room is looking at him worriedly. His face flushes again, and he quickly nods, waving them all off. “Yeah, Capsicle, I’m fine. Just…going over some blueprints in my head. Y’know…work stuff.” 

    Steve lets out a soft sigh, looking at him with that disproving expression that had the little fighting the urge to squirm in his seat. “You really need to take genuine breaks, Tony. Time where you’re not filling your head and time with your job.” 

    “Yeah, you’re right. Uh…I…I should probably head upstairs. Take some time to unwind before bed.” Tony hops to his feet, sliding by the blonde, and for a moment, he thinks the switch might grab him. He doesn’t know how he would react, so he’s grateful when it doesn’t happen, and he’s allowed to scurry away. 

    “J.A.R.V.I.S., makes sure he actually sleeps,” Steve calls out, and Tony barely holds back from whining when the A.I. replies. 

    “Yes, Captain Rogers, I’ll ensure that Sir goes to sleep.” 

    The little huffs as the door closes, leaning up against the wall with a pout firmly on his face. “You’re supposed to be on my side, J.” He grumbles, and when J.A.R.V.I.S. responds, there’s an amused note to his tone. 

    “With all due respect, Young Sir, my job is to ensure your safety and well-being. That is my priority. I deeply apologize that I do not bend to your every whim and will just because you demand something.” Tony sighs, kicking at the wall in frustration. He didn’t want to go to bed. He had so much to think about. “Don’t fuss, Young Sir. It seems that Miss Potts has left you a gift in your nursery.” 

Tony perks up near instantly, that childlike curiosity overtaking him momentarily. He wonders what it could be as his feet carry him down the hallway, moving instinctually towards the nursery that is hidden behind the locked door hidden in his own bedroom. His hand shakes a bit as he grasps the doorknob, J.A.R.V.I.S. having unlocked the door before he even reached it. He steps inside, and sure enough, there is a wrapped present sitting on the table next to the rocking chair in the corner. He steps over, his movements becoming increasingly unsteady as he slips closer to headspace, his fingers running over the smooth wrapping paper.

He grabs it, moving to sit in the middle of the room, admiring the bow tied neatly around the box. He hesitates, for just a moment, hands hovering above the box. That all too familiar voice speaks up, whispering nasty remarks, berating him for getting so close to headspace. For being so excited over a gift that was probably meant for babies. He inhales sharply, moving to shove the box away, but before he can do so, J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks up, voice as gentle as it can be.

“Aren’t you going to open your present, Young Sir? Miss Potts bought it for you. I watched her wrap it. She was rather excited.”

Tony nods, shoving the nasty voice that sounds too much like Obi away firmly, hands digging into the paper, stripping it away with a satisfying sound. He continues like this, stripping away each piece, giggling at the sound. Finally, he’s left with a box. He opens it, and the gasp that leaves him is entirely involuntary. Inside is a brown bear, a new pacifier, and a set of foam blocks. He pulls out the bear, hugging it close, burrowing his face into the soft warmth. It smells like the detergent that Pepper likes to use, and a faint hint of her perfume.

“Do you like your gift, Young Sir?” J.A.R.V.I.S. speaks back up again, and Tony nods, tucking his new stuffed toy under his arm, fingers plucking the pacifier out of the box and popping it into his mouth. He then pulls out the blocks and slowly loses himself in building a tower. “Good, I’ll inform Miss Potts. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

Tony spends the next hour playing, stacking the blocks over and over into towers and other vague structures. He delights in it, the activity stimulating enough for his intellect, but not so much that it draws him out of headspace. Eventually, however, he starts to grow tired, and it only takes a small bit of convincing from J.A.R.V.I.S. for him to put away the blocks. He slowly stands, wavering a bit on his feet, turning to head towards the door. His eyes stray over to the crib situated against the wall, and for a moment, he hesitates. He’d never actually used it; Pepper had insisted that it would be good to have around “just in case.” He considered just for a second allowing himself to do so, taking a few hesitant steps closer. Before he makes it, however, the voice is back, demanding that he turn around. He lets out a shuddery whimper and obeys, fleeing the room. He closes the door harshly behind him, panting a bit as he leans against it, tears pricking at his eyes. Stupid. He thinks. Stupid desires. Shouldn’t want them.

He turns away from the door and goes to take a quick shower, trying desperately to pull himself from headspace. By the time he gets out, he feels slightly better, though not enough that he feels safe going to bed without a pull-up. So he gets changed into that and a soft set of sleeping clothes, collapsing into his bed. He prays mentally that what he has on will be enough to soak up any accidents he may or may not have. Lying there, his mind whirls with the events of the day, alongside the buzzing urges from his still simmering headspace.

He groans, turning over to burrow his face into one of his pillows. It was like an annoying gnat that he couldn’t ever quite get to leave him alone. He momentarily wishes he had an actual Caregiver. Someone besides J.A.R.V.I.S.. The A.I. was phenomenal at watching him and ensuring nothing dangerous occurred, but he couldn’t replace an actual Caregiver. Someone who could carry Tony around and coddle him. Someone to dress him up for bed and tuck him in.

Tony sighs quietly, turning back over and forcing his eyes shut. He tosses and turns for a while, unable to keep the longing thoughts from slipping into his brain. He finally succumbs to frustrated, longing tears, sobbing his heart out until he exhausts himself, finally falling into a dreamless sleep.

The weeks slip by smoothly. Bucky settles in easily, almost seamlessly. Falling into the same routine that Steve is on. Tony finds himself going out of his way to attend dinners, movie nights, and team outings, among other things. Just so he could have more opportunities to get close to Bucky. He told himself that it was simply due to his curiosity about the Winter Soldier. And definitely not the warmth that filled him when Bucky smiled at him, or because of the thrill that would rush through him each time that they touched, even in the slightest. James Buchanan Barnes was charismatic, and smart, and kind, and caring, and stern, and everything that Tony looked for in a Caregiver. With Steve combined…the two were a deadly combination. One that had Tony weak at the knees in a way entirely different from most people.

But no. It was simply his curiosity. And speaking of the Winter Soldier, it seemed that something kept triggering him. It reached the point where even other team members were noticing. Nothing ever happens, usually. The Soldier would just stand there, staring at them - usually Tony, which he was not thinking about - until suddenly Bucky was back. It was driving the man up the wall that he couldn’t control it, and Steve was getting progressively more worried each time it happened. Bucky started attending more therapy sessions and isolating himself in his room, which meant less time for Tony to sneak around and study him. It ended up not mattering, though, because Tony got his perfect opportunity to see things up close and personal a little more than two months after Bucky’s arrival.

He’d woken up that morning soaking wet, his clothes sticking uncomfortably to his skin. He curses loudly and explicitly, jumping out of bed and angrily ripping off the sheet, throwing them into the corner of his room out of frustration. He berates himself internally as he starts the shower, stepping in without checking the temperature. He yelps, jumping back out as it scalds him, quickly turning it down and looking at the arm it caught. He winces, a soft whimper falling from his lips as he sees the blisters already starting to form. Just. Fucking. Peachy. Now he had a blistered arm to explain away to everyone.

He washes himself off quickly, wrapping himself in towels after stepping out, and then walks back into his bedroom. He changes into comfortable clothing, grabs his sheets, and heads into his personal laundry room. It was something he’d decided to include on all the floors, not only because it made things feel more like a home and was convenient, but also because it prevented nosy and gossipy employees. The last thing he needed was some loose-lipped idiot blabbing all about the urine-soaked sheets that came from his penthouse. Once the sheets were running, he returned to his bedroom and placed a fresh set on. He sighed in relief, satisfied that the evidence of his…predicament had been entirely erased.

Before he heads downstairs, he applies a light dressing to his blistered arm, deciding to change into a long-sleeved shirt that is light enough to work in, but still covers the bandages. He makes his way to the kitchen on the communal floor, having learned long ago that if someone saw him there in the morning, it would postpone how long it took them to show up in his lab. While he’s waiting for the coffee to brew, he snacks on a container of strawberry yogurt, leaning nonchalantly against the counter.

His attention is drawn by the sound of two voices drifting down the hallway, prompting him to look up. He is surprised to see Natasha and Bucky walking down the hallway with Clint and Steve. It wasn’t the pairing that had shocked him, but the fact that both Clint and Steve were being carried and were very clearly in their own headspace. The blonde-haired toddler saw him, and his face absolutely lit up with delight, causing Tony’s heart to melt just a little bit. “‘ony!” He exclaims, waving enthusiastically, “Look ‘ucky! It’s ‘ony!” His voice is distorted by the pacifier perched in his mouth, and Tony is simultaneously enamored and made acutely aware of his own teetering headspace.

“Hey, Bud,” he calls, smiling broadly as the group approaches. He is careful to ensure his sleeve is still covering the bandages, not wanting to upset either little because they noticed he was injured. Bucky narrows his eyes just a bit, seeing his movement, but thankfully opts not to say anything. “Hey there, little birdie,” Tony says to Clint, smoothly taking the attention off of himself, smiling when the other toddler giggles at him. Both reach out towards him, and he obligingly steps closer, letting them wrap their arms around him.

“Good Morning, Tony. I see you’re getting yourself something to eat. That’s good.” Bucky says, his tone approving, and Tony masks his delight at the praise behind an eye roll. Bucky was truly worse than Steve about mothering everybody on the team.

“Morning, Buckaroo. Yeah, I figured I’d make some coffee and grab something small before heading down to the lab. Do either of you want some? I could also make something sweet for the littles.” He nods his head towards the container of hot chocolate that is hiding on the counter, careful not to draw the littles attention to it, should either of their Caregivers say no.

“That’s really sweet of you, Tony. I think the littles would like that,” Natasha replies, smiling warmly, and Tony has to work even harder to mask his reaction to the praise. He pours some coffee for himself and the two Caregivers, and then sets up the machine to make some hot cocoa for the littles. They all sit down at the table while they wait, Tony humming happily as he enjoys his coffee. Suddenly, Bucky speaks up.

“I’m sorry if I sound rude, but I can’t help but notice that you’re rather…small for a dom. You’re truthfully sized more like someone who is a submissive or a little. Not saying you are, of course, simply…making an observation.” The man’s voice is neutral, and when Tony looks up to survey his expression, nothing about his intentions is given away. The little is careful to keep his own expression neutral alongside his tone as he responds.

“I suppose I am, never really thought about it. I’m pretty strong, you know, from all the physical labour I do in the lab. So it just hasn’t ever impacted me.”

Bucky hums in response, his eyes narrowing just a bit at him, and Tony feels as if he is missing some sort of vital piece of information that the other seems to possess. The billionaire is quick to hop up, busying himself with pouring the hot chocolate into some sippy cups as the machine goes off, popping them into the fridge for a moment to cool them off. He can feel Bucky’s eyes on his back, and he tries his best to ignore it as he pulls out the cups and hands them to the littles, who both squeal in delight.

He hesitates for just a moment, trying to decide if he should take his leave now. But then his eyes trail to Bucky’s arm, and the words pop out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Would you mind if I looked at your arm? I’m an engineer, so perhaps I could make you something that works a bit better and is more comfortable.” He snaps his mouth closed, mentally beating himself up for such an impulsive action, but Bucky doesn’t seem uncomfortable. Just surprised. And to Tony’s surprise, he nods.

“Uh, sure. I’d appreciate it.”

Tony nods jerkily, blurting out another response. “Uh..great! Just come on down to my lab whenever you like, and I’ll take a look at it. J.A.R.V.I.S. can direct you. Anyways, gotta go. See ya later. By kiddos.” He quickly ruffles Clint’s hair and boops Steve on the nose before escaping to the nearby elevator. He sighs in relief as the doors close, leaning his head against the wall. God, that could’ve gone really wrong. And seeing Steve and Clint little had only made his own fuzziness worse. Not to mention watching the caregivers dote over them….fuck. He groans, holding his head, wishing desperately that he could make it go away. That his body would just pick a headspace. Being stuck in between was like Tony’s personal hell. It clouded his mind more than it did when he was properly little.
Once he reaches his lab, he is quick to throw himself into work, hoping that doing so will clear his mind. It worked to some extent, and Tony managed to get some actual work done. It is about lunchtime when there is a knock at his door. He turns, surprised to see that it’s Bucky standing there, a plate of food perched in his hand.

“Uh, Bruce sent this…and if you have time…uh…I have time for you to look at my arm. Bruce is watching Stevie for me.” The man cautiously approaches Tony as he speaks, holding out the plate.

“Oh! Uh…thanks.” He takes the plate, setting it on his worktop. “And sure, I was about to take a break anyway…as long as you're sure Steve will be alright.” He waits until Bucky nods affirmatively before nodding his head again. “Alright…then uh you can go sit over there,” he points to a chair settled next to one of his work tables. Bucky obliges, crossing over to seat himself, watching as Tony finishes up what he’s doing.

Once the genius has everything he needs, he moves over, placing the plate of food and the tools down on the table. He takes a few bites…and then a few more when he realizes how hungry he is, groaning a bit in delight. Bruce was the best cook. Today was the most amazing lasagna that Tony had ever tasted. And he had an Italian Mother. “Right, Buckaroo, this shouldn’t hurt. I don’t promise it’ll be comfortable, especially if you can feel anything in your arm. But please, please tell me if it starts hurting.”

As Tony says this, he sits himself on another stool, scooting as close as he can get without genuinely invading the others' space too much. He positions the soldier's arm so he can easily access everything before opening it up, letting out a low whistle. “Damn…this looks like a kindergartner made it. Alright, uh…this may take a while, so just tell me if you need a break.” Bucky nods, and Tony launches himself into work. The next hour or so is spent with him picking at the arm, figuring out how it all fits together and works. He is already devising a better plan in his head, but it will take time. He hums quietly alongside the music playing in the background, tongue sticking out as he focuses. He’s so caught up that he almost misses Bucky speaking.

“Ты так мило выглядишь.” (T: You look so cute)

Tony frowns a bit, looking up at him as he tries to decide if he hallucinated or not. “Sorry, did you say something?” He asks because he could’ve sworn that Bucky just spoke Russian to him. He’d always assumed that Bucky was American and English-speaking, like Steve was. Any files on him stated he was from New York. The man chuckles, the sound sending chills down Tony’s back. It is dark, almost predatory. He meets the others' eyes, and his blood runs cold when he is met with that sharp gaze that he’s come to associate with the Winter Soldier.

“Nothing, малиш,” the man says, voice silky smooth, and Tony can’t help the shudder that rushes through him. However, it’s not one of fear, or even purely arousal. Tony inexplicably finds himself slipping further into headspace the more the other man speaks. (T: Little one)

“Well…if you’re here and talking to me…do you mind if I ask a few questions?” Tony’s tone is cautious, slowly going back to what he was doing, trying to act as naturally as possible. Thus far, the Winter Soldier hasn’t done anything to indicate he wants to harm anyone. But Tony is alone in here. Sure, J.A.R.V.I.S. could alert someone the moment he thinks something is going wrong…but they might be too late. So he has to play his cards carefully.

“Not at all, малиш.,” the Soldier purrs, carefully leaning back in the chair, ensuring not to disturb Tony as he worked. (T: Little one)

“Are you separate from Bucky?”

“Yes.”

Tony feels a bit of satisfaction in knowing that his theories were correct, though the question was how. And why. He stays silent for a moment, getting through a particularly messy part of the arm. “How are you…uh….here? I suppose.” Tony didn’t want to come off as rude or unintentionally offend him, but he wasn’t entirely sure how to phrase that.

“The Soldier considers his words carefully, seeming to be formulating a very intentional explanation. “Not…sure. Honestly. One day it was…him…and then…I was there. I could feel him there…but he didn’t seem to be aware anymore. I took on all of it. The conditioning. The brainwashing. Everything HYDRA did. That’s why he’s….stable.”

“That’s fair, I suppose. The brain does strange things when put under such large amounts of stress and trauma. And given your…special circumstances, something like this was bound to happen.” Tony carefully screws up the arm, deciding that he’s fixed it enough to be functional until a new one can be built. “I’ll get started on a new arm for you guys. That one is rudimentary at best. It’ll be much easier to start from scratch, and it’ll be a lot more comfortable. It’s just going to take time.

“...Thank you.” The Soldier responds, eyeing him with curiosity.

“I have just one more question.” The man inclines his head, indicating for Tony to continue. The genius hesitates, slightly nervous about what the answer might be. He finally decides it’s best just to say it. Rip it off like a bandaid. “Why do you keep getting triggered?”

There is a long, long moment of Silence, and just when Tony is about to start backtracking, the Soldier’s face breaks out in an undeniably predatory smile, leaning forward until their faces are inches apart. “Because of you, little one.” And suddenly, Bucky is back, blinking rapidly and looking around. Tony gently grasps him by the shoulders, steadying him as he orients himself. He suddenly inhales sharply, hands grasping and twisting Tony gently as he looks the little over. His touch is firm, but oh so gentle and caring that Tony has to stop himself from leaning closer. He’s honestly just jarred by the sudden shift, not to mention the strange response.

“I’m so sorry, he didn’t hurt you, did he?” Bucky asks, almost frantic, and Tony shakes his head.

“No, Buck, I’m fine. Promise.” Tony mumbles reassuringly, and he is shocked when Bucky suddenly exhales, tears starting to stream down his face. “Buck..I..” He reaches out, but suddenly Bucky leaps up from the chair, backing away from him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t control him,” he gasps out. I never wanted to leave him alone with anyone. Especially you.” Tony frowns, going to say something about the implications of that statement, but he’s interrupted once more. “I’m sorry, I should go. I…I’m sorry.” And before Tony can say another word, he’s gone, the door closing behind him, leaving the little staring after him, utterly confused.

Chapter Text

It only took Tony a few hours to process the implications of the Winter Soldier directly calling him little one. Once he realized, he promptly spent the next several hours panicking in his lab, wondering if somehow the super soldier had figured out his secret. He wracked his brain, analyzing every single interaction between him and Bucky, trying to figure out where he fucked up. He also had to worry about whether only the Soldier knew or if Bucky knew as well, and that was a whole different level of panic.

He knew he had to talk to them. He devised a plan, even rehearsed what he wanted to say about a dozen times in the mirror. But it all ended up being pointless. Because Bucky was avoiding him. At first, Tony wasn’t entirely positive that it was the case. However, as the days passed, he became increasingly certain. Each time Tony even entered the room, Bucky would flee, often with some excuse about therapy, a workout session, or something else. It got to the point that the others were noticing and started to ask if something had happened. Finally, in a last-ditch effort, Tony shared bits of what had happened with Steve, hoping the man might have some advice.

“Honesty, and take it from me, Buck isn’t going to stop avoiding you unless you just confront him. He beats himself up over stuff like this, so your best bet is just to corner him and not give him a chance to leave until you’ve had a chance to get your point across. Or at the very least long enough to get it through his thick skull that you’re not mad at him.”

“Steve, I couldn’t stop you from running away from me. What makes you think I could stop him? What do you suggest? I wear the Iron Man suit, so I stand some semblance of a chance?”

Steve laughs, shaking his head in amusement. “Just go visit him on his floor, Tones. Tell him you need to talk. Don’t take no for an answer. He’ll give in, I promise. He likes you, Tony…a lot. Like…ah. You’ll find out for yourself. But anyways. It’s the reason why he’s responding like this. He’s probably convinced himself that you’re scared of him, and that’s likely breaking his heart. Even if we both know nothing happened, he’s convinced himself something did. So…talk to him. Trust me.” Steve claps him on the shoulder before walking away, leaving Tony to mull over his cryptic words.

After several hours of angsting over the situation and second-guessing himself, Tony suddenly finds himself requesting access to Bucky’s floor. He stands in the center of the elevator, recording a message for J.A.R.V.I.S. to play over the speakers. “I need to talk to you, James. It’s important…please.” He honestly is expecting to be denied, but to his surprise, the elevator starts moving only moments later. Soon, the doors open, and Tony steps out. He wondered why it was so easy to get here. He hadn’t even had to push Bucky, like Steve had insinuated he would have to. As he walks down the hallway towards the living room, the reason makes itself very apparent.

“Привет, малиш.” (T: Hello, little one)

Tony stops dead in his tracks, looking up to meet the Soldier’s gaze. “Hi…” he says, almost shyly, and he kicks himself for sounding so weak. Now was not the time for him to go all soft and doe-eyed. He clears his throat. “I mean, hello. I have some questions for you.”

“Of course, малиш, ask away.” The man replies, swirling the glass of wine he has in his hand as he leads Tony further into the living room. Tony is suddenly heavily reminded of the other day. The Soldier’s voice is just as smooth and entrancing as the little remembers it being, and he has to fight to keep himself from dropping right there. He’d been bordering all day,  and none of this was helping. His voice, the way he looked at him, how much larger he was, not to mention the assertive, almost demanding, and dominant way he held himself. The genius holds back the whimper that threatens to fall from his lips as the man drops into a seat, looking at him with an almost expectant, knowing gaze. As if he already knew what Tony was here for.

Tony was exhausted. So very tired. And he wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball and drop. He wished no more than ever that he had a Caregiver to run to, because he was terrified. It felt like his entire world was crashing down around him. But he couldn’t break now. He had to be strong. So, he steeled himself and asked his first question. “Why do you keep calling me that? That…word.”

“What? Little one? Because you are.” The Soldier responds calmly, almost nonchalantly, as he takes a sip from his glass. Tony doesn’t say a word, just stares at him, waiting for a further explanation. Slowly, he lowers his glass, meeting his gaze. Suddenly, he sighs, gesturing towards the couch across from him. “Sit.” The little obeys before he comprehends what he’s doing, his body reacting to what it only can perceive as a Dom voice. The Soldier leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, meeting Tony’s gaze head-on, speaking in a surprisingly gentle way. I knew the moment I saw you, little one. We both did. It’s not that hard to see. Your teammates are simply blind. Or, well, most of them.”

“Someone else knows?” Tony asks, panic returning tenfold, but the soldier simply hushes him gently, giving him a firm look that melts away his panic and any sort of resolve.

“The doctor has suspicions. I’m not sure if he’s come to specific conclusions, but he doesn’t believe that you’re a Dom. At least not entirely. Steve can tell there’s something, but he will not push or make any assumptions until you come to him. The others know nothing as far as I know.”

“Oh…,” Tony thinks back to the strange conversation between him and Bruce a few weeks ago, and the looks that he and Steve have been giving him since then. “Okay…and..and Bucky?”

“Like I said, we know. That includes him, and he is very concerned. Why do you not have a Caregiver, nor regress regularly?” The question is, as the other shifts back in his seat, eyes narrowing as if he’s analyzing Tony.

“Why do you care?” Tony snaps, starting to feel a bit defensive. “You know nothing about my regression schedule. And who says I don’t have a Caregiver?”

“Because there is no one else in this building except for the team. Your secretary is a submissive. Your head of security and your best friend are both Doms. You have no other friends with whom you consistently socialize outside of the team. And no one on the team is your Caregiver. As for a regression schedule. You are almost always in the lab, which, if you are regressing, raises more concerns. But something tells me you’re not. So. Not regressing regularly. No Caregiver. Why?”

“It’s none of your business.” 

The Soldier’s face hardens, eyebrows raising. He seems surprised mainly by the aggressive response, but Tony can see that Dom temper is creeping up. “I would be very, very, careful how you speak to me,  малиш. I will not hesitate to discipline you. I may not be your Dom, nor Caregiver, but I do not tolerate disrespect. From anyone.” His voice is deadly calm, and suddenly Tony is reminded that he is entirely alone here save for J.A.R.V.I.S. “Now. Answer my question, Котенок.” (T: Little one. Kitten) 

“I’m not classified as a little, I don’t need one,” Tony mumbles stubbornly, still not willing to give in just yet. He knows he’s playing with fire here, but he just can’t help it. He’s honestly peeved that this infuriating, enigmatic, and desirable individual has so easily discovered his secret. The Soldier exhales slowly, rubbing a hand over his face.

I am quite aware of your legal classification as a Dom. However, that does not matter here, nor is it my question, and you are aware of that. Last chance, Anthony.”

“I just…don’t understand why you care. And why you’re not all…you know…murdery. Aren’t you supposedly some dangerous, brainwashed assassin that’s killed God knows how many people?”

The man snorts, shaking his head. “The more lucid that James Barnes gets, the more lucid I get. We were brainwashed, yes. But I never truly wanted to hurt people. Now that Barnes is back and helping me stay lucid, it’s easier. I will not harm. Unless someone crosses me or harms anyone under my protection.”

Tony swallows, trying not to think about the implications of that. “Alright…so how are you so…aware? Bucky is so disoriented still.” 

“He’s been…out of commission, so to say. Not fully aware, if at all. Now that he’s back, he has to adjust. Hence why he can’t stop me. I still maintain power. Though as he gets more stable, it gets harder and harder for me to take control. It seems as if we must come to an agreement amongst ourselves. However, we’re getting off topic. My question, Anthony. Do not test me again.” 

Tony whines, flopping backwards onto the couch, no really caring how childish and bratty he is being at that moment. He finally sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “I cannot risk any Caregiver I bring into my life blabbing at the first opportunity about my classification. And even if they didn’t…the more I regress, the more likely it is that I’ll get caught. It’s easier this way. If the general public finds out, they’ll take my company, question my capabilities as Iron Man, and potentially more. They’ll strip me of who I am. I can’t risk that. I…I can’t.”

The Soldier falls silent, studying Tony for a few long moments. Finally, he speaks. “Is there not a possibility that you can keep everything and still be little. Barton is capable of doing so. And neither Steve nor Natasha has any issues.”

“I…I suppose. If I had lawyers who were actually on my side and enough people backing me up. But you don’t understand. The public already has iffy opinions of me. This sort of information would be the final straw for many. It would be the perfect ammo for my company’s board to deem me unfit. They already tried after Afghanistan.” Tony’s body tenses, heart skipping a bit as he recalls that. To be entirely fair, Obi had been the mastermind behind all that, but the board had been all too happy to jump on the bandwagon. They were all the opposite of loyal to him.

“Alright, then what if you had lawyers, the entirety of the Avengers, plus S.H.I.E.L.D. on your side?” Tony looks up, picking up on the shift in tone, and sure enough, when his eyes connect with intense grey, it’s Bucky staring back at him with an imploring expression.

“Tony, I’m worried about you,” Bucky says, and the honesty in his voice is staggering. “You’re…you’re so little. And as a Caregiver, I couldn’t ever in good conscience leave you alone without anyone to care for you when you need it. I can only imagine what it’s been like for you thus far. Be honest, when was the last time that you’ve let yourself drop for longer than a few hours? Have you ever regressed positively?” He stops, letting the weight of his words sink in, and Tony’s resolve breaks just a little bit more. “Sweetheart, this doesn’t have to be your life. Would it truly be so bad to relinquish just a bit of control? Maybe not to your board, but to Pepper? Do you not trust her to handle things while you focus on yourself?”

“W-wait, this isn’t why I came up here. I just needed to know if you knew, I didn’t want…I…” Tony was rapidly breaking down, Bucky’s persuasive tone and beseeching gaze tearing away at what little strength he had left. And, of course, Bucky, being the annoyingly perceptive person he was, picked up on this. So he pushes just a bit further, his tone turning into something akin to reverence.

“I’ve seen glimpses of you, Doll, and you’re so sweet and small. Any decent Caregiver, or hell, Dom would love and be honored to have you as theirs. The team will stand behind you. S.H.I.E.L.D. will be damned before they lose Iron Man, and the funds and influence that come with. I think you’re underestimating how many people you have in your corner. Please…” He suddenly moves from his spot, crouching in front of Tony and snagging his hands gently. “Please trust us…trust me. Let me take care of you. I won’t force you, of course, but-”

“What, wait…huh? Why….why would you want that?” Tony asks incredulously, entirely overwhelmed by the situation unfolding.

“Why..why would I…? Oh, Doll. You’re so sweet, and so very little. Just…just a baby. And you’re brilliant, kind, giving, and so curious. Oh, what I would do to be able to call you mine. To scoop you up and spoil you as much as I spoil Stevie. I love him, desperately. He’s everything to me. But he’s an older little, and a switch at that. He’s in his caregiver headspace a majority of the time. I’ve always wanted a baby like you. A little to call my own and take care of. And I know Steve has as well.” Bucky lifts his hands to cradle Tony’s face gently. “Anthony, why don’t you believe that you deserve to be loved?”

And that, right there, was the last straw for Tony. He drops, right then, tears streaming down his face as a distraught wail fills the room. It only takes a moment for Bucky to realize what’s going on, and once he does, the little finds himself scooped into strong, warm arms, with gentle kisses being pressed against the crown of his head. The Caregiver hushes him, swaying back and forth soothingly as he speaks. “Oh, baby doll, you’re so tired, aren’t you? You’ve been working so hard. Fighting this for so long.” Bucky coos, brushing some wayward hair out of Tony’s face. “Don’t you worry, little love, I’ll keep you safe until you’re strong enough to be big again.”

Tony tries to protest, head shaking half heartedly as he tries to push himself back into an adult headspace, but Bucky was having none of it. “No, no, sweetheart. Just be little. I promise it’s going to be alright.” He stands up, bringing Tony with him, and makes his way towards the elevator, causing Tony to freak out. He thrashes and cries, but Bucky is an unmovable force, cooing gently as he steps onto the elevator. “Shh, it’s alright, love. I’m just taking you back to your floor, don’t worry. I’m assuming you’ll be much more comfortable there.” Tony falls limp in the Caregiver’s arms, sobbing and whimpering as the doors close. “J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Bucky turns his head upwards, “Could you take us to the penthouse? Also, does Anthony have any sort of gear for when he’s little?”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes. And yes, Sir has a fully stocked nursery and a variety of other things. Though, if I may be honest, he’s never used most of it.” Tony glares weakly up at the ceiling, the sting of J.A.R.V.I.S.’s betrayal of his secrets making him pout. Though the little is helpless to say or do anything to stop it.

“Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S. I won’t bring him into the nursery right now, I think that would be too much at this stage. Though I would appreciate it if you could direct me to it once I’ve got him settled in his room.”

“Of course, Sergeant Barnes.”

At that moment, the elevator doors open, and Bucky steps off, making his way quickly to the primary bedroom. He sets Tony in the center of the bed, carefully pushing some pillows around his body. “Alright, stay right here, bab,y” he whispers, brushing his hand through the little’s hair, before following J.A.R.V.I.S.’ directions into the nursery hidden within the room. Instantly, Tony struggles to roll over, trying to crawl after him, whimpering in growing distress. To the disoriented little, it felt and looked as if the one person who had given him even a glimpse of genuine care had just left him to cope alone. His cries grow louder and louder, distress growing to the point that he starts hyperventilating.

Bucky reappears, rushing across the room, the items in his hands being tossed aside in favor of pulling Tony into his arms. He tugs the baby’s arms above his head, guiding him with his own exaggerated breathing. Slowly, through the steady, deep breaths the Caregiver was demonstrating, Tony calmed down. The little returns to lying limply in Bucky’s arms, too exhausted to even fully cry. He just makes shivery little whimpers and whines that have the Caregiver’s heart clenching. “Alright, that’s good. That’s better, hm?” Bucky mumbles. “What happened, love?”

“L-left…” Tony croaks out, and if heartbreak were a visible emotion, it would be plastered across the super soldier’s face in that moment.

“Oh, Doll, I’m so sorry. I would never leave you to deal with this on your own. J.A.R.V.I.S. took me to your nursery so I could get some stuff for you. See?” Bucky reaches over, fingers wrapping around the bundle of items, drawing it closer. He lifts it so Tony can see the Iron Man themed pacifier and Captain America themed onesie alongside a diaper. “See? I just went to get you something more comfortable to sleep in, and I wanted to put you in a diaper so we don’t have to worry about any accidents. That wouldn’t be fun, hm?”

He waits long enough for Tony to nod before pushing the little back onto the bed, stripping him out of his dirty work clothes without preamble. He moves and acts as if this is entirely natural, hushing the boy quietly when he starts whimpering and squirming in embarrassment. He secures the diaper in place before slipping on the onesie, ensuring everything is buttoned and snug. Finally, he pops the pacifier into Tony’s mouth, smiling gently. “There, all dressed. That’s better, isn’t it?”

Tony peers up at Bucky with wide, vulnerable eyes, and if he didn’t know better, he would’ve sworn there was genuine love in the Caregiver’s eyes. The man coles and cuddles the little closer to him. “Come on, love, let’s go get something to eat and then we can maybe watch a movie together.” With that, the little is scooped up, and once the two were in the kitchen, J.A.R.V.I.S. directs Bucky to the highchair that Tony had hidden in the room. The baby whines as he’s strapped into it, pouting and reaching towards the Caregiver, wanting nothing more than to be held. “Aw, Doll, I’ll hold you in a moment. I need to get some food in your tummy, yeah? I promise I’ll give you all the cuddles you want once you eat.”

Bucky wrangles a bib onto Tony, easily snagging it each time the little yanks it off, snapping it back on without a word. Once the baby gives up, he heats some leftover lasagna, locating some kid-themed plates and cutlery to serve it on. “Goo, I was wondering if you had things like this,” He mumbles, spooning a portion onto the plastic plate and setting it in front of Tony with the matching fork. “There you go, love, eat up. I’ll get you something else if you’re still hungry after eating this.” He then spoons out a portion for himself onto a glass plate and sits at the counter, pulling Tony’s high chair closer to him.

He watches Tony as the little eats his food, making sure he doesn’t try to throw anything or hurt himself by accident. He laughs when the baby eventually abandons the fork and just starts shoving bites of lasagna into his mouth with his hands. “Silly baby,” he murmurs fondly. He lets Tony eat as much as he wants, eventually refilling the plate with some yogurt, salami, and shredded cheese. Once the baby indicated he was done, the Caregiver scooped him out of the highchair, carrying him down the hallway towards the bedroom.

The little is deep in headspace by this point, and so Bucky feels a lot more comfortable taking Tony into his nursery. He hums as he places the baby onto the changing table, ensuring to strap him down before turning to grab the needed supplies. One quick diaper change and a fresh onesie later, he is scooping Tony back into his arms. “There we go, sweetheart. Now, why don’t we pick out some toys, hm? And then you can sit in the living room with them while I clean up the kitchen.”

The question is rhetorical, mostly, as Bucky knew that the little was far too regressed to process much of anything. So, he simply picks out a few toys and carries him back to the living room. Once there, he pops on a children’s show and places the baby on the floor with the toys. “I’ll be in the kitchen, Doll. I just need to clean up.”

He ruffles the baby’s soft hair and heads back into the kitchen. Starting with the highchair, he slowly makes his way through the kitchen, wiping counters, cleaning dishes, and the floor, amongst other things. Once he’s done, he settles onto the couch, watching Tony play on the carpet. It doesn’t take the little long to see him, and once he does, he coos and crawls over, and Bucky swears his heart grew multiple sizes witnessing the display.

“Hey there, lovebug. Do you want to cuddle with me?” He scoops up Tony, nuzzling his head gently as he settles back onto the couch, switching the tv over to Lady and the Tramp. He hums along to the soundtrack, rocking Tony gently, watching as the baby grows sleepier and sleepier until eventually, Bucky has a conked-out baby in his arms. The Caregiver coos quietly and carefully stands up, opting just to take Tony into his bedroom. Once there, he climbs into the large bed and settles the little into the sheets, lying down next to him with a contented sigh.

“Goodnight, little one,” he mumbles, pressing a tender kiss to Tony’s forehead. “We’re not going ot let you suffer anymore….we promise.”