Chapter Text
A teenager. Unsupervised. Standing in the middle of Tony’s workshop. Wearing… Yes, Steve is pretty sure that is Tony’s favorite sweatshirt.
“Excuse me?”
The boy’s head snaps up. Brown hair; damp. Brown eyes; they widen, then narrow. “What are you doing here?”
Steve’s visit is unplanned, sure. He has barely spoken to Tony since his return from Wakanda. But he had caught flashes on the news, of Iron Man and some sorcerer roughhousing in the pouring rain, and just wanted to drop by and make sure… “Where is Tony?”
The boy’s lips flatten. “Looking right at you.”
“What?”
“A minor side effect,” teenage Tony Stark says with a casual shrug. “I’m fixing it.”
“Did that sorcerer—?”
“I’m fixing it, Capsicle!”
It seems ridiculous. But probably the least ridiculous explanation for a child being in Tony’s workshop. And the evidence supports it. The wet hair. The sweatshirt. Even the fuzzy, purple socks that Steve has seen Tony wear on lazy Sundays. “Anything I can do?”
“Actually, yes. See that blue cabinet, built into the top shelf? I need my twizzlinator to recalibrate my neurochromatosis. Problem is, that cabinet is locked with a fingerprint combination and it doesn’t recognize my stupid tiny fingers. I don’t remember if you have the right clearance level, but it’s worth a go.”
“Sure thing.” Steve looks around for a chair.
“I’ll give you a boost,” Tony says, moving closer to the shelves and lacing his fingers together. “Come on.”
“What? Tony—”
“Just come on, I can take you, come on, I’m a teenager, my back feels better than ever.”
Steve approaches and reluctantly wriggles one foot into Tony’s hands. He braces himself against the shelves and pushes himself off the floor, coming face to face with the blue cabinet.
Tony’s grip is surprisingly firm. “Do you see the little scanner?” he asks eagerly.
“Let me just… Hang on…”
And then, a new voice: “What the hell is going on here?”
Steve turns his head. Normal, regular, adult Tony stands near the door, a blanket folded up under his arm. “Peter,” Tony says, his voice entirely flat. “What are you doing?”
The teenager’s grip on Steve’s leg tightens. “I, uh… nothing?”
“Are you trying to get into the candy cabinet? I locked that stuff away for a reason!”
“I was hungry. I need a twizzler. Getting rained on makes me hungry.”
“There are healthy snacks in the kitchen, you know that. I can’t believe you. No, actually, I can believe you. Rogers, I can’t believe you!”
“Uhm.” The teenager is still holding his leg.
“Come down!”
Steve lowers himself to the floor, feeling chastised. The teenager gives him an entirely unapologetic grin, eyes sparkling with mischief. He obviously knows that Steve can’t possibly explain himself. Not without running the risk of being mercilessly teased for, most likely, the rest of his life.
Tony impatiently breathes out through his nose and moves closer. He shakes out the soft blanket and tucks it around the boy’s shoulders. “You are nothing but trouble. Showing up like a drowned puppy, then stealing my food. And after the day I’ve had, too. I can’t believe you even managed to rope freaking Captain America into your schemes.”
“All his idea.” Peter grins again.
Steve exhales slowly. “What can I say,” he spreads his hands. “I’m a sucker for a twizzler.”
Peter giggles.
Tony glances at Steve. He doesn’t seem all that annoyed. If anything, Steve would label his expression as pleasantly surprised. Tony shakes his head and puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go find you two troublemakers a healthy snack.”