A Long Retirement - Part 1: 1988
I started this story before Little Did They Sleep. The first section was actually its original opening. But then Peggy took over that fic instead.
This turned into Tony's story for some reason and well, it did not want to be written. That’s my excuse for how long the darn thing took.
(Also, I've managed to upload more userpics than my current plan allows, so everything that isn't the random 15 they let me keep is gonna default to pony now :))
Title: A Long Retirement - Part 1
Fandom: Captain America/Avengers
Series: To Rewrite History
Pairings: [For the series]Very minor Steve/Bucky and Tony/Pepper
Ratings/Warnings: None for this section, other than Howard's crappy parenting
Word Count: 5724
Disclaimer: If I owned it it would be a family story
Summary: No one could have survived that fall, but for Steve they look.
1988
Tony isn't expecting much from his eighteenth birthday party. Some cake, some gifts, and if he’s lucky, that ray gun prototype he's been begging Howard for. His father always gives him the sickest presents to make up for the fact that he's never actually around when Tony opens them.
Except that he had promised. Tony's father had promised to be there for this birthday and he’d actually believed him. He’d wanted to believe even though he should’ve known better than to trust such guarantees by now.
Howard has bailed on every occasion that Tony can remember. He’s missed parties, holidays, and his son’s college graduation; even being summa cum laude at seventeen wasn’t enough to make him show. Sure the old man usually sends his secretary to take some photos in his place, but while it’s nice to know he cares a little, that’s really not the same.
Tony knows his father’s work is important. Honestly, the teen thinks his work is fascinating and whenever the old man lets him, he does his best to help. But that doesn’t ease the sting of Howard’s absence. Tony is pretty sure he’s listed near the bottom of his dad's priorities, somewhere under work, science, politics, and the rest of the damn world.
Even when he isn’t working, there’s always some new project. Or an old one actually. Tony has seen the notes; he's gotten in the habit of ransacking his father's office when he’s bored. No names, no details, no explanation, just a personal obsession that consumes the old man's mind. The teen wants to help; maybe then he won’t keep leaving. But he doesn’t have the data and when he tries to ask about it, Howard won’t explain. The old man just gets angry - he gets harsh and nothing changes - and Tony has learned to hate the phone that calls his dad away.
Despite his father’s promise, tonight is little different; the teen has barely started on his entree when the phone begins to ring. He stops in the middle of a sentence, his joke hanging without a punchline as he turns to glare at the machine.
You must be kidding me. With every ring, Tony’s smile dips a little lower and it falls off his face completely when his dad moves toward the phone. Of course Howard had to answer - he always fucking does - and now he's gonna disappear. He’s going to leave his wife and son alone with nothing but half-assed apologies and the teen knows that there’s no point in pleading for him to stick around.
He used to try when he was younger. He used to beg and plead and clutch at his dad's legs. But when Howard’s job comes calling, neither tears nor supplication can turn the man aside. So Tony is honestly surprised when his father pauses on his way out of the room. He pauses and for one brief instant the teen lets himself hope that Howard changed his mind.
And he did, sort of. For the first time ever, his father stops to ask, “Do you want to come along, son? You’d miss your cake but if I’m right, we’ll alter history.”
“Are you serious? Of course, I’ll come,” he answers instantly.
“Then pack a bag and make it quick,” Howard orders and Tony dashes off. He throws his clothes into a suitcase as fast as possible; terrified that he’ll be left behind if he dares to take too long. Even then, his father looks impatient by the time he finishes, barely giving the teen enough time to hug his mother before he strides off toward the garage.
Tony waits in the car while the driver loads his suitcase, picking at the threads of his sweater nervously. His father gives the man directions before sitting down across from him and his son is nearly dying with curiosity. But as soon as they start moving, Howard opens up his briefcase and the teen can’t bring himself to interrupt.
“Don’t bother your father while he’s working” was the mantra of his childhood, a lesson well-ingrained. No matter how Tony's feeling, some things are sacrosanct.
But when their car drives into the airport, the teen just has to ask. “Where are we going anyway?”
“Europe,” his father answers absently.
“Europe?!” Tony exclaims. “Why are we going there?”
“I’ve been searching for something for a very long time and my people think they’ve found it. Congratulations, son. This is your chance to see the Alps. You’ve always wanted to go there, haven’t you?”
“Yeah, for skiing,” the teen bites back, but his dad just shrugs. The man doesn’t seem to understand his son’s annoyance and suddenly Tony knows what’s going on here. As much as Howard loves his work, only one thing puts that obsessive look into his eyes.
“This is for your secret project, isn’t it?” Tony asks, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “The one that you keep running off to check on. What makes you think this breakthrough is different from the rest?”
“Because they found the shield,” his father says like that’s supposed to mean something. “I think you’ll find the tech quite interesting if you want to take a look. I know you have a flair for algorithms and you may be able to help my people narrow down their search.”
Tony is so thrown by the unexpected praise that he forgets to ask more questions. The teen didn’t know his dad had paid that much attention to his schoolwork; he’d discovered early on that excellence was merely average when Stark was your last name. Even graduating early hadn’t garnered any fuss and Tony was starting to think that he’d need to create something truly radical to gain his father’s praise. But Howard just said that his son was good at something, good enough that his opinion matters, and the teen follows him onto the plane in a daze of happiness.
His dad gives him a whole mess of data, reams of paper on triangulation, radiation, and tracking algorithms, most based around a substance that should not be possible. Tony thinks that it’s a metal but the readings make no sense; if this data is correct then the substance bends the laws of physics constantly.
With this, I could actually make those jet boots, the teen muses, his mind spinning with the possibilities. He would love to experiment with this stuff - the applications are enormous - but he also doesn’t want to let his father down.
So Tony makes himself focus on the tracking algorithms rather than the substance and as promised, the math is beautiful. Howard’s people have been trying to pinpoint the trajectory of a falling object from circumstantial evidence: its speed, location, and direction more or less unknown. Only a few data points are certain and other known debris from the same source are marked upon the map, calculations noted by each one.
There’s definitely a pattern here, that much is obvious, and while the author of the report thinks the location of the metal was a fluke, Tony is convinced the man is wrong. So the teen works through most of the flight, too excited by the math to admit that he’s exhausted. Instead, he just keeps jotting down equations until he passes out.
Tony doesn’t stir until the plane is landing and even then he sits there yawning, struggling to wake up properly. But he thinks he hears his father mutter, “Good work, son,” as he collects his scattered papers and he can’t stop his smile from stretching ear-to-ear. The teen kind of hates himself for caring but he’s too tired to dissemble and he honestly can’t remember the last time that his dad was proud of him.
However, the thrill starts to wear off halfway through customs. Tony hates waiting in line - he’s not a normal person and he shouldn’t have to fake it - but this stupid tiny airport only has one immigration officer.
So the teen is cranky and exhausted by the time they reach their hired car. He dozes in his seat as his father reads the messages that their driver handed him and even Howard’s obvious excitement can’t improve his mood. All Tony wants to do is sleep for fifteen hours but when the car finally stops, he looks outside and sees an unmarked building instead of a hotel.
He has to scramble to keep up when his dad rushes into the building. Another man meets them at the entrance, his arms waving wildly.
“Mr. Stark, your son was right. We found him!”
“Are you sure?” Howard asks.
“Positive. We have a team on location and it should only be a few more hours before they dig the captain out.”
The words mean nothing to Tony - except the part where he was right. But he doesn’t think he’s ever seen his father grin that widely in his life.
“Did you hear that, son? We found him!” Howard exclaims as he pulls the teen into a hug. To be honest, it feels a little awkward. He can’t actually remember the last time his father hugged him either and he stands stiffly in the old man’s arms until it ends.
“I told you we’d be making history.”
“Yay?” Tony replies. He’s glad that his father is trying to include him - well, mostly glad, a little bitter for all the years he never cared. But he still wants to know just what the heck is going on. “That’s great and all, but you still haven’t told me who or what we’re looking for.”
“Are you joking?” Howard asks. “I know I’ve told you about Steve Rogers and even if I hadn’t, his part in World War II is basic history.”
“Oh sure, you’ve mentioned your old war buddy, that perfect paragon of human decency,” the teen says sarcastically. “Mostly when you’re telling me that I can’t measure up. But Rogers died like forty years ago. He went MIA while completing some super secret mission in… the… Alps…”
Tony trails off as all the pieces snap together: the location, that strange metal, the mention of a captain. “You’ve been looking for him, haven’t you? That’s your special project. You’ve been trying to find his body ever since he died. Are you after Erskine’s serum? People have been attempting to recreate it since the forties but having a sample - even an old, frozen sample - would give you a step up.”
“How do you know about Dr. Erskine?! That isn’t common knowledge.”
“And I’m not a common guy,” Tony snaps in reply. “I tracked down your old notes in Junior High. Wanted to know what made Captain America so damn special in your eyes. And okay, maybe I look through your research sometimes when I’m bored. If you didn’t want me looking then you shouldn’t leave it out. And seriously, why do you get to bogart the best projects? I know I’m young, but I’m not stupid. I could help.”
“Steve is not a science project!” Howard tells him, his expression sharp with disapproval. His son knows that face; he’s used to that face and he’s almost happy to be back on his father’s shit list. The flickers of approval were nice but at least now he doesn’t have to wonder when the other shoe will drop.
However, that doesn’t stop the stab of hurt when his dad continues, “Where did I go wrong with you? Steve was a good man and a good friend, Anthony. He deserves better than an unmarked grave in Europe and that is why I’m doing this. Not so that you can play at being a goddamn scientist.”
“Play? I’m sorry, play?!” the teen demands, his hands curling into fists. “Who fixed the design on your brand-new rifle series? Fucking Santa Claus? Maybe next time I’ll let our company lose billions when your latest weapon blows up on the assembly line!”
“Maybe you should!” his father shouts before visibly restraining himself. He starts to speak a dozen times but never gets the words out and finally the old man sighs. “Look, son, we’re clearly overtired. Why don’t you go rest while I take care of the logistics? Whatever you think about Steve Rogers, you’ll probably like the science and you’ve earned the right to be there when he’s thawed.”
What if I don’t want to be there? Tony wonders sulkily. But he doesn’t voice the question. Howard has offered him an olive branch and he’s not stupid enough to snub the gesture. Sure the teen wishes that Steve-perfect-fucking-Rogers had never met his father, but maybe they can bond across the captain’s corpse.
Despite the old man’s protests, Tony is sure that Howard’s grand ideals won’t hold out for very long. Not against the lure of a formula that no one has ever cracked. Exploring new frontiers is the whole point of science and whatever his father thinks of him, the teen knows that both of them are scientists at heart. Who knows, maybe without the specter of Captain America driving Howard crazy, the man might stay at home more often. Tony has to hope that if only for his mother’s sake. Otherwise, she’ll be alone when her son finally moves out.
So the teen doesn’t argue when Howard asks another stranger to show him a room where he can crash. He just follows the man to some sort of dormitory, long and narrow with dark curtains across the windows and rows of cots set up against both walls. There are several other people passed out on the beds when they arrive - doctors by the look of them - and this facility clearly expects its employees to work around the clock.
Of course, with Howard Stark that’s practically a given and if they’ve really been trying to locate Captain America, his father wouldn’t want anyone leaving to spill secrets on his watch. From everything that Tony read, the Russians would kill to get their hands on Erskine’s serum and he knows his old man has gotten death threats in the past. It’s a dangerous thing to be a Stark sometimes.
“Take any bed that you want. If you need a toilet, there is one in the hall,” his guide explains in awkward English. “Someone will summon you when the package has arrived.”
The man leaves without another word so Tony just shrugs and drops his suitcase by the first open cot. There’s no point in changing his clothes now; he feels seriously grody but he knows that sleeping will only make it worse. So he just removes his shoes and jacket before lying down on the thin mattress. Tony is asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow, even the faint snores of his new roommates failing to bother him.
When the teen wakes up, he’s disoriented. This isn’t his bed or his room and he doesn’t remember going out last night. But when Tony sits up and looks around, everything comes rushing back: his birthday, the phone call, Captain-fucking-America, and Howard’s olive branch.
He’s dying to know if the body has arrived yet. But the room is empty so the teen can’t ask and he’s not sure he can find his way back on his own. So Tony decides to find a shower instead. He grabs a change of clothes out of his suitcase and wanders out into the hall.
Several doors later, the teen finds some sort of locker room - the kind he saw in high school before he left that place behind. The water pressure isn’t great but being clean feels awesome and his mood has improved significantly by the time he finishes. Not enough to feel guilty about yelling at his father - the old man deserved that - but enough to feel curious about this installation. Tony wants to know what’s going on here: whether this entire building is devoted to finding Howard’s captain or if there’s other secrets hidden in its walls.
So while he knows he was supposed to wait for someone to come get him, the teen decides to bounce. Tony shoves his clothes back in his suitcase, grabs a couple notebooks in case he has a brain wave, and takes to wandering.
No one pays him any mind. He sees a few other people, mostly administrative types, but they just ignore him as he walks by purposefully. Tony learned years ago that attitude is everything in being where you don’t belong; that was his main trick to get into his father’s labs. Look important, seem decisive, and act offended if anyone dared to question him at all.
Using those well-honed skills, the teen manages to explore this whole level unmolested. But it’s hardly worth the effort. Tony was hoping for awesome projects and finds living areas instead, clearly somewhat slapdash and designed by scientists. It’s all efficiency over comfort, dorms filled with cots and seven different coffee makers, but no pillows to be seen. This place probably used to be some kind of warehouse before Howard took it over and his people can’t have been here very long. Tony knows scientists and there would be more coffee otherwise.
Overall, the floor’s a bust. So he finds the stairs to the next level and heads down to see what’s what. This time, Tony strikes gold almost immediately. The teen hears a commotion up ahead and when he follows his ears, he finds a group of scientists talking in the hall. They’re speaking in a mix of languages so he misses half the conversation, but he catches enough to realize that they’re waiting for Captain America to be brought into their lab. So he attaches himself to the back of the group and acts like he’s been there all along.
A few minutes later, several men escort a well-wrapped bundle past the scientists. The men are moving quickly but Tony can see dark spots along the package; whatever is inside must be thawing rapidly. Who am I kidding? That has to be Rogers’ body, he thinks and the other scientists must agree; they rush after the bundle en masse, a cacophony of voices shouting about procedure and running proper tests.
Tony follows the group to their laboratory but tries to stay out of the way. As long as no one notices the teen, they won’t try to kick him out and he doesn’t trust his father’s promise that he’ll get to see this through. Even if he did, the old man is strangely absent. Maybe exhaustion finally caught up to him.
So the teen watches from the edge of the room as the scientists secure the package on an examination table and set up their equipment. Cameras, medical equipment, sensors and thermometers; these people have it all. Howard must have given them free access to his pocketbook.
All for a man who died back in the dark ages and probably wasn’t actually that amazing anyway.
However, Tony can’t deny he’s curious to see Steve Rogers in the flesh. He’s not the only one leaning forward when one of the scientists starts to unwrap the bundle piece by piece. Dark blue cloth still stiff with frost, a patch of paler skin, and then… Brown hair?
“Who is that?” Tony hisses, sidling over to another scientist. He’s heard this man speaking English and he needs to know what’s going on. While the teen has his doubts about his father’s stories - no one is that perfect - Rogers being blond is a known fact.
“Sergeant… Banes? Something like that,” the scientist tells him absently. “He and Captain America were lost on the same mission and the collection team mentioned that they were bringing both men in. Banes may not have research value but giving him a proper burial is the least we can do. Besides, Smith said they were frozen tight and couldn't be separated; the captain must have tried to break their fall.”
Tony has vague memories of his father mentioning a sergeant in the past. A bit of a hell-raiser, he’d sounded like more fun than his damn captain, but the teen had largely forgotten that till now. History books always seemed to focus more on Captain America than his men and Howard was no better. None of his father’s notes had mentioned Banes - just the search for Rogers - and he feels a little sorry for the guy. Tony knows how much it sucks to live in Captain America’s shadow and it must have been even worse when the man was still alive. In death, Banes was forgotten and other than his family, no one is going to care that he’s been found.
However, as more of the canvas is pulled away, the teen thinks that someone must have cared about the sergeant after all. Because the man is lying on top of Rogers, curled into his body as though bracing for a blow. Captain America himself has his right arm wrapped around Banes and the other raised to protect them both from some past threat. The shield itself is missing, as is his left arm below the elbow, and Tony swallows a surge of bile in his throat. That wound looks gnarly and even stupid perfect assholes don’t deserve a painful death.
Probably just being a hero, he tells himself, trying to put that thought out of his mind. The teen focuses on the scientists instead and as he gets caught up in their work, his nausea gradually fades.
It takes them almost twenty minutes to separate the corpses. Even after being transported down from the mountains, the captain and his sergeant are frozen almost solid and the scientists don’t want to cause more damage than they must.
Once this task is finally done, they move Captain America to the special temperature-controlled chamber clearly built for just this purpose, keeping the body cool while all their tests are run. In contrast, Banes gets dumped back in a tub of ice with one scanner and a fan. The scientists move him gently - Tony will give them that - but the lack of care still rankles. Although the captain may have volunteered to be some grand experiment, his friend was a real person; he deserves to be treated with a little more respect.
So the teen walks over to the sergeant while everyone else is busy mobbing around Rogers. He has no chance of forcing himself through that crowd without getting noticed and gathering general data is beneath him anyway. He’d rather wait until the grunt work has been completed before swooping in and telling them they’re wrong.
For now, Tony focuses on making Banes more comfortable. He adjusts the fan so it’s actually pointing at the sergeant’s body before adding some more ice. The corpse is already warmer than it should be as the teen starts to straighten out its limbs as best he can.
Holy shit, is that…? Tony thinks as something flickers beneath his hand. It felt like a pulse, but that’s impossible. So he focuses on Banes, doing his best to block out the chatter in the room. At first the teen feels nothing. Just cold skin against his palm. But just when he decides that he's mistaken, he feels that beat again.
Tony scrambles for the scanner, tapping his foot against the floor impatiently while the machine whirs to life. He swears that Stark equipment has never been this slow before. The scan itself seems to take even longer and when it’s finished, the teen has to run a diagnostic before doing it again. Because these results are crazy and Tony needs verification that it isn’t just a glitch. But the numbers are the same both times. According to his scanner, this body isn't a corpse at all.
“He’s still alive…” the teen whispers. “Holy crap, he’s still alive!”
Tony spins around still shouting and finds that all of his father’s scientists are staring right at him. Most of them look skeptical or just plain annoyed, but he really doesn’t care. Because the teen is right, he’s right, and his father will have to trust him after this.
“I’m serious. Check my data. Check my data and tell me that I’m wrong,” he challenges, waving his scanner at the closest scientist.
The man sighs heavily, an irritated huff, but he takes the scanner and that's all Tony needs. This guy doesn't have to like him; he just needs to read.
Indeed, the scientist's eyes quickly go wide, his expression changing from disinterest to shocked excitement when he realizes that Tony wasn't lying. He's not wrong; he's not mistaken. Somehow Banes survived being frozen stiff for decades and, Oh crud, that means the captain probably survived too.
The teen isn't the only one coming to that realization. He sees it ripple across the group, the scientists suddenly swarming over both their finds again. Tony only keeps his place by judicious use of elbows, growling at anyone who tries to nudge him from the room. He's the one who figured this out - hell, he's the one who found them - and he's not letting any jumped up scientist take the credit now.
Tony is right up front during the thawing process, his dislike for Captain America forgotten in the joy of a challenge like none he's ever seen before. The bodies can't melt too fast, that risks muscles and skin cracking, but no one knows how long they'll last in their suspended state.
The teen nearly chews his lip through during that transition - the careful step from frozen soldiers to two men breathing on their own.
Without the doctors here on standby, Banes wouldn't have made it. He would have choked to death before he woke on the melting water in his lungs. That's where Tony finally steps back, when the calculations have been finished and all that's left is the nitty gritty of keeping stuttering hearts alive.
He slumps back against the wall, his stomach turning just a little as the pristine laboratory turns into a hospital.
The doctors are on their second round of bandages when his old man finally joins him, those thawing bodies revealing all the wounds that they still hold. Tony's father looks a little green as he takes in the spectacle, but he doesn't look away.
“I hear you're the one who figured it out,” Howard says. “Without you, we might have lost them without ever realizing.”
There's that hint of pride again, that tiny sliver which keeps Tony from giving up completely. That keeps him thinking maybe things can change.
“Yeah, I-”
And then the old man goes and cuts that final thread.
“You really proved yourself a Stark today. Maybe you really can uphold my legacy,” his father tells him. “You'll have time to meet the board now that you're not in school. That'll free me up to work back in the lab.”
You don't even see me, do you? Tony thinks.
His father doesn't know him. When the teen does something right, Howard takes the credit and when he does something wrong, the old man cuts him loose. There's no way for him to win. No way to escape his father's shadow as long as he keeps trying to play the game by Howard's rules.
The old man isn't even looking at him. His son isn't worth that much attention in his eyes. Instead he's staring toward Steve Rogers, still chasing after science-made perfection as he casually dismisses his own blood.
I'm never going to be good enough.
In an instant, Tony's joy at what he's done here turns to ashes. He feels himself go numb, flashing cold and frozen but for a kernel of pure fury igniting in his chest. There's a rushing in his ears that nearly overwhelms him, a building storm of rage at the lost time and energy which drowns out whatever else his father tries to say, He doesn't want to hear it. Howard's words are lies and poison anyway.
Years of trying and of failure. The teen has tried so hard, he's done everything his father wanted and this is all the thanks he gets. To be cast aside as second best, as a faulty imitation - thrown over for a ghost that was only built for war.
And when Captain-fucking-America finally wakes up.... When his old man pulls him forward like a trophy to show off and that stupid perfect face smiles vacantly at him.... Tony's anger spills out of his control.
He ignores the captain's outstretched hand and shakes off his father's touch. There's no pleasant introduction; he doesn't want to meet Steve Rogers. Instead, he rushes forward and socks the blond across the jaw with his entire body weight.
“I should have let you freeze to death,” he snarls before spinning on his heel, his knuckles a line of fire where he probably cracked bone.
The teen stomps toward the door in the shocked silence that follows his pronouncement, for once dear old Howard Stark with nothing left to say. All that Tony hears as he storms into the hallway is the sound of someone cackling with laughter in his wake.
---
“That was a bit dramatic.”
Tony isn't sure how long he's been here, curled into the corner of some empty storage room. He feels like he should be crying but instead he just feels empty and in truth he doesn't mind. Numbness hurts less than sorrow and Tony doesn't want to grieve for his own damn foolishness.
“Seriously, that was an impressive display. Steve was bruised for a few seconds and that's hard to do these days.”
The teen finally looks up as someone sits down beside him. He's not sure what he's expecting, but it's not the sergeant, freshly dressed and grinning at him too cheerfully.
“What do you want, Banes?” Tony asks. He thought he was numb. He thought he was over this, but his voice turns bitter anyway. “Did Howard send you to talk down his wayward son? Or is he too busy with Captain Perfect to bother with me anymore?”
“My name is actually Barnes, you know - James Buchanan Barnes,” the other man replies and the teen can’t stop a wince. If anyone is going to understand his issues with Captain America, it’s probably the sergeant and he’s been calling him by the wrong name since he first set eyes on him. Forgotten by history indeed.
“Sorry,” the teen offers weakly.
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Barnes answers, waving off his apology. “I’m not surprised to be forgotten and you might as well just call me Bucky like everyone else. To answer your question, though, your father didn’t send me. I came here to find you on my own. I wanted to know what your problem was with Steve.”
“My problem? You want to know my problem?” Tony snaps, fury rushing back again. “How about the fact that my father barely knows that I exist? That he's spent my entire life chasing after your stupid captain, caring more about an icon than his own family! I'm the one who solved it! I'm the one who found you and dad still doesn't fucking see me anyway.”
He's panting by the end of it, his hands curled into fists. Tony didn't mean to spill his guts out for a stranger, but Barnes just listened calmly and he doesn't seem annoyed.
Instead, the sergeant waits a moment to make sure the teen is finished before coming out with, “Yeah, so Howard is a dick.”
Tony gapes for a second - did he seriously just say that? - and then lets out a startled laugh. Choked and a little broken, but a laugh nonetheless.
“I know it probably doesn't help much, but he's always been self-centered, more concerned with science than actual living human beings,” Barnes tells him. “I think Howard mostly liked the Howling Commandos as an excuse to build new toys and while he certainly did that, we never would have asked him to comfort civilians.
“So yeah, you were unlucky. You won the shitty father contest and he screwed you over good. But that isn't Stevie's fault. I'm not asking you to be best friends. You don't even have to like him - that punk still does his best to burn me up sometimes. But if you could refrain from punching him, that'd make things easier. If nothing else, you'll break your hand if you do that regular.”
It's a weird sort of pep talk. Nothing fancy, nothing nice. Yet Tony finds the sergeant's words oddly comforting.
People never say things straight. When faced with the Stark name, they talk around the problem, bowing and scraping so as not to make his father mad. But Barnes clearly doesn't give two nickels about Howard; he's just plainly asking Tony to be nice.
And well, he's not wrong about the punching. The teen's hand is still hurting from where he smacked the captain's face.
“So what do you think, kid? Will you give him half a chance? I promise Stevie can be fun once you peel that costume off.”
Tony still hates the idea of the perfect fucking soldier. He still thinks that Captain-fucking-America deserves no accolades. But if he's being honest with himself - which he tries not to do too often - he's frankly well aware that his hate's not rational. As stupid as that costume was, there's still a man inside it. A man who's only actual crime is to not die properly.
“Fine. I'll give you civil,” the teen grumbles, scowling up at Barnes. “But my name ain't kid, it's Tony. You'd best remember that.”
“Sure thing, pal,” the sergeant answers. He claps Tony on the shoulder and his grin is almost blinding. “I know you don't believe me, but you won't regret this. You've got people in your corner now and we'll be sure to see you right.”
Part II: 1989