Just A Broken Lullaby 3/4
[Master Post]
[Part 2]
It was Tony's idea to institute Saturdays as Movie Night when they all first moved in, and it seems easy enough to just keep going with the tradition. Pepper joins them this time around, dressed in yoga pants and a pink t-shirt that she still manages to make look pulled together, hair tied back in a loose ponytail, her face free of make-up. She settles on the sofa and tucks her bare feet beneath her in a gesture that would look childish or coy on any other woman but that she makes look nothing but comfortable, and sips on a glass of white whine while Thor argues amiably and loudly with Bruce over the choice of movies.
"Star Wars has the mightiest battles, my friend," Thor is proclaiming. "Ones worthy of being made into song in Valhalla!"
"We've watched those three times already," Bruce protests. "There's only so much Han Solo I can take, even if Tony worships the guy."
Steve glances over to where Tony has wedged himself on the sofa between Pepper and Natasha, dressed in a pair of Captain America pajamas, bare feet pulled up in front of him in a position reminiscent of Pepper's. If the situation were any different, Steve would be tempted to think that someone, somewhere-probably Tony himself-was making fun of him, but the boy seems to be genuinely a fan of all things Captain America. To hear the others speak, he chatters on about nothing else whenever Steve's not in the room, and when he is present, Tony turns awkward and surprisingly bashful and yet still manages to dog his footsteps everywhere he goes. In his more unguarded moments, Steve wonders just what happened to make Tony let go of his childhood admiration for what Captain America represents and instead began harbouring the deep-seated resentment that Steve encountered when they first met. Somehow, he suspects the blame might lie squarely on the shoulders of Howard Stark. Yet another reason to knock the man down off his pedestal, Steve thinks bitterly.
"Anything other than Star Wars you'd like to watch, Tony?"
No one seems to mind Tony being in charge of movie choice this evening, maybe because they all realise that they're not exactly experts on what is and isn't appropriate viewing for a six-year-old. Tony hesitates, gaze flicking from Steve to Thor to the television.
Natasha nudges Tony in the ribs, and he beams up at her as though she's the Second Coming incarnate. "Have you ever watched The Wizard of Oz, zajchik?"
Steve knows for a fact that Tony has, but when Tony shakes his head he re-evaluates, realising that Tony might have watched it when he was a little older. Natasha breaks out one of her open, sweet smiles that she seems to reserve only for children and sometimes Clint and Phil Coulson and, on one notable occasion, for Steve.
"You like the flying monkeys, don't you Steve?"
He grins and finds himself blushing a bit, rubs the back of his neck. "I'm partial to the Tin Man, actually."
"Of course you are."
"An excellent choice!" Thor booms, clapping Bruce on the shoulder seemingly out of reflex. Bruce flinches and smiles, though it's more of a pained grimace at this stage. "I look forward to seeing the great lion discover his true nature!"
"That settles it, then," Pepper takes another sip of wine. "It's a classic, after all. JARVIS?"
"Very good, Miss Potts. If you could perhaps persuade Thor Odinson to cease standing in front of the screen, I will bring up the film."
Thor roars with laughter, as though JARVIS has just made the best joke of all time, and all but drags Bruce to sit with him on the other side of the sectional sofa. Steve takes his place next to Pepper and accepts a glass of wine, while Clint perches on the back of the sofa directly behind Natasha's shoulder. How he finds balancing on a surface less than three inches wide more comfortable than actually sitting is beyond Steve, but he figures to each his own.
"Agent Coulson not joining us?"
Natasha shakes her head. "He's still at S.H.I.E.L.D., he thinks Pym and Reed might be onto something that will help Tosha here go back to his old self. Would you like that, zajchik?"
Tony looks uncertain, but doesn't say anything. Steve leans over a bit. "What's that word you keep using?"
To his surprise, Clint is the one who answers. "What, zajchik?" he grins down at Natasha, who blushes faintly. "It's a term of endearment. Essentially translates to 'bunny.'"
Bruce sniggers, then immediately stops and tries not to look terrified when Natasha glares at him. "Uh, sorry."
"Just start the movie," Clint snorts, visibly amused.
The Wizard of Oz is a hit. Tony isn't a big fan of the Wicked Witches, regardless of cardinal directions, but he laughs at the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion, and watches the bright colours of the Emerald City with something akin to fascination. Once, he leans over and asks Pepper, very quietly, how they made the horse change colour on the screen like that, and she smiles and whispers in his ear that they used multiple horses for the same scene, using many different takes.
"Nowadays they do it all with computers, but back then they had to change the colour of the horses' coats. Actually, the ASPCA wouldn't let them dye the horses, so they used flavoured gelatin, and between takes they had to keep the horses from licking themselves."
Tony giggles at the thought, but Steve is impressed. He remembers seeing the movie and wondering himself how they managed that. "That's pretty neat," he says, and Pepper grins at him.
"I looked it up, once, when it was bugging me at three o'clock in the morning. One of the perks of having Tony around, is that there's always a computer handy to answer all your questions."
Tony's asleep long before the triumphant cry of "Hail to Dorothy-the Wicked Witch is dead!" goes up on the screen. He's tucked in along Natasha's side, head pillowed on her stomach, arms pulled in protectively over his chest, breathing softly and regularly. He doesn't so much as stir when Steve, by unspoken accord with everyone else, carefully scoops him into his arms and carries him, cradled against his chest, all the way back to his bed and tucks his new favourite Captain America blanket snugly around his shoulders.
"Sleep tight, Tony," he says, softly enough so as not to wake him, and without quite knowing why, he presses a kiss to the boy's forehead.
He leaves the door open a crack, makes his way down the hall, strips and slides under the bed covers, where he spends the next few hours staring fruitlessly at the ceiling.
~*~
Steve must doze off eventually, because the next thing he knows he's jerking awake with a gasp, the feeling of being encased in ice already fading away into darkness. He sits up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, noting the luminous dial on the clock says that it's not quite three o'clock in the morning.
"Uncle Steve?"
That's what woke him, he realizes. Steve scrambles over on his bed to switch on the light, revealing Tony poised halfway between the door and his bed, hair even more mussed than usual, his cheeks flushed bright red.
"Hey, buddy. Everything okay?"
Tony shakes his head, and to Steve's alarm he sees that the boy is trying very hard not to cry. "I don't feel well."
He's up and crouching next to Tony in a flash. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I don't know. I had a bad dream. There was a monster and there was all this light and my chest feels funny."
"Funny how?"
"I don't know," there's a definite whine to his tone. "I'm hot and it's hard to breathe, and I promised Agent Phil I'd tell you if I was sick."
"That's right, you did exactly right," Steve presses the back of his fingers to Tony's forehead, isn't surprised to find it burning to the touch. "Yeah, looks like you're running a fever. Come on," he lifts Tony up onto the bed. "What do you mean when you say your chest feels funny? Can you describe it for me?"
Tony coughs and doesn't answer right away. "I dunno. It's tight? It hurts when I breathe."
Steve doesn't know the first thing about childhood sickness. He was a sickly kid himself, and he remembers that all too well, but there wasn't all that much by way of medication when he was Tony's age-no one ever expected him to make it into his twenties, not with asthma as bad as he had, but he'd surprised them all-and he's remarkably ill-equipped to deal with this. It sounds like Tony's just caught a bad bug, but there's no way to be sure.
"JARVIS, do we have any kind of children's medication here? Or a thermometer, at least?"
"There is a thermometer in your en-suite bathroom, Captain Rogers," JARVIS answers promptly, "and an order can be placed with the nearest pharmacy for delivery if you tell me what you need."
Steve runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay. Um, hang tight, Tony, I'm going to get the thermometer and some water, okay?"
Tony nods and draws up his knees to his chest to rest his head on them, hugging his shins. He's in the exact same position when Steve comes back, and doesn't say a word in protest when Steve holds out the thermometer and asks him to hold it under his tongue for at least ten seconds. The fever's higher than Steve was hoping it would be when he checks the digital readout, and he coaxes Tony under the covers and encourages him to finish off the whole glass of water.
"Does anything else hurt aside from your chest? Your throat?"
"My head hurts."
That's probably the fever, not that Steve knows enough about these things to be sure. "I'm going to call a doctor, get someone to take a look at you, okay Tony? I want to make sure this isn't anything serious."
"Okay." Tony sounds subdued, moreso than usual. It's still disconcerting-Steve can't reconcile this quiet, unobtrusive child with his brash, often obnoxious adult counterpart. He wonders just when Tony adopted his present persona, if it wasn't, after all, a necessary wall that he'd had to build to protect the shy boy who worshipped his father and Captain America and yet had neither.
"JARVIS, could you connect me to Dr. Pym, please?"
"Of course, sir. Please hold."
~*~
Steve supposes he shouldn't be surprised at the speed with which someone ends up at Tony's bedside. Mysterious age regression combined with illness isn't something any of them really wants to mess with at this stage, given how easily it might turn out to be a lot more serious than any of them suspect. Pym and Richards both come, and Reed surprises Steve even more by turning out to have a gentle demeanour with Tony while he examines him, keeping him distracted with a quiet stream of chatter, both explaining what he's doing and keeping Tony's attention on the less scary aspects of what's happening. It takes a few minutes for Steve to remember that Reed has young boys of his own, that this is probably not his first time sitting up with a sick child.
"It looks like an ordinary lung infection," Reed tells Steve later, when Tony's curled up and sleeping fitfully in his bed. "In a normal child I wouldn't be worried-this sort of thing usually clears up with a course of antibiotics-but given that we don't know exactly what's going on with Tony, not to mention the presence of the arc reactor, I want to keep a close eye on this."
Steve chews on his lip, runs a hand through his hair again. "What aren't you telling me?" He can always tell when someone's holding back, seems to have had an uncanny knack for ferreting out the truth even before he was injected with the serum, and Reed is definitely playing his cards close to the vest on this.
Reed sighs. He looks tired, more careworn than Steve has ever seen him. "I think the problem may be the arc reactor itself."
"What?"
"It was designed for an adult-a fully grown man with a fully grown heart and lungs, and even then, it caused some interference with lung function. At Tony's age and size now, it's taking up a lot more room in his chest."
"Is that why he's sick now?"
"I think so. It's an opportunistic infection, taking advantage of his diminished lung capacity. Has he been short of breath at all before the fever set in?"
"Uh, yes."
Steve racks his brain, trying to remember the last time he saw Tony even try to run and coming up blank. He remembers all too vividly just what a nightmare running was when he was a kid, when it felt like a vise was tightening around his chest, when the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth after a particularly bad attack-the doctors had tried to explain that it wasn't really blood, but that didn't change the taste, nor how scary it was when you were just a kid and felt like your lungs were on fire, like there was a metal band tightening inexorably around your chest, cutting off your air. The notion that Tony's been living with this for days without saying anything just doesn't bear thinking about.
"He's been coughing on and off from the start, but it started getting worse yesterday."
Reed nods. "Right. Well, there's the infection I want to keep an eye on, but I think it's the arc reactor itself that's going to be our biggest problem. It's too powerful for his heart right now, and I honestly can't tell if it's not doing more harm than good. We can't remove it, of course-the shrapnel in his chest would likely kill him in less than a day, now that he's so small-but the fact is, it's probably overworking his heart and it's definitely limiting his lung expansion."
Steve swallows the lump that's trying to form in his throat. "What are you saying, exactly?"
Reed sighs. "I'm saying that we're on borrowed time, here, unless we can get him back to normal."
~*~
After a restless night, Tony seems to rally during the day. He's still flushed with fever, coughing on and off, but he agrees to stay in his own room so long as Steve stays with him in order to play with the trains again, and it seems a small price to pay to get Tony to keep still. Steve has met more than his share of kids since becoming Captain America, of course, but he's never had to interact with any of them for more than a few minutes, just long enough to sign an autograph or take a photo and shake their hands. He likes kids well enough, but his experience with them is limited at best, and it's more than a little humbling to see to what extent this little boy looks up to him, expects him to set an example for the whole world to emulate.
Steve wishes Pepper were here, if for no other reason than he could use the back-up. She seems to have more practice saying 'no' to Tony than he does, after all. Right now, though, she's hopped aboard a flight to God-knows-where in order to put out a bunch of corporate fires started by rumours that something terrible happened to Tony. The rumours do have an element of truth, of course, but it's not like Pepper can let the shareholders in on that. So she's gone, and Steve is left to muddle through as best he can, not that taking care of Tony is a hardship. On the contrary, Steve is a little surprised at how much he's been enjoying this quiet interlude. The only thing he'd wish different is just how sick it's made the boy.
It doesn't take very long before Tony starts to flag again, coughing more than he's playing. He resists a bit when Steve tries to put him back to bed, but he's so small that it's easy enough to just scoop him up and tuck him back under the covers.
"Tell you what. Will you stay put if I read you a story? There's a whole bunch of stories that I can have JARVIS pull up on your tablet-thing," he reaches over to grab the aforementioned tablet from Tony's nightstand. Apparently Captain America is not above bribery when it comes down to it.
"You won't go?" Tony's already listing against him, eyelids drooping.
"No, I'll stay right here. What sort of story do you want?"
"One with trains."
"Trains it is."
Tony's constant ribbing aside, Steve does know how to use most of the modern gadgets that are always lying around the house. It's usually as simple as asking JARVIS to explain their use to him, and the AI is always happy to comply, making the instructions as simple as they need to be for him to understand. He pulls up a story on the tablet called 'The Little Train,' and begins to read.
"Engineer Small has a little train. The engine is black and shiny. He keeps it oiled and polished."
It's a little young for Tony, he thinks as he reads, but Tony doesn't seem to mind, and curls up with his head resting just under Steve's arm, eyes riveted to the images on the screen. They go through three other books on trains before Tony's eyes drift shut, his breathing evening out into sleep. Steve holds his breath for a moment, not wanting to wake him, then carefully pulls up a different book for himself and settles down to wait until it's time to wake Tony for his meds. He must fall asleep without realising it, because the next thing he knows he's got a crick in his neck, and there's a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
"You need a break," Natasha tells him. "And a shower," she adds with a small smirk. "Go on, I will sit with him for a little while. He'll be perfectly safe, and I promise I'll call you if there's anything at all."
Steve nods dumbly, and is more than a little surprised to find that his muscles and joints have stiffened from sitting in the same position for so long. It doesn't happen often, which means he must have been here longer than he thought. He gets up and stretches, feeling his muscles begin to loosen almost immediately, and hurries back to his own room for a towel and a change of clothes. He doesn't like the idea of being gone any longer than he has to be, even though reason tells him that Natasha is more than capable of taking care of Tony for a little while. He washes, shaves and dries off in less time than it would take some men just to strip down, and is already pulling fresh clothes on before the last of the water has dried from his hair.
He half-jogs back along the empty hallway, only to stop just outside the door to Tony's room, halted in his tracks by the sound of Natasha's voice, low and softened for Tony's benefit.
"So you don't want to be an inventor when you grow up?" she's asking.
"I'm going to be a superhero," Tony informs her, his voice so hoarse that it makes Steve wince in sympathy. "Like Captain America."
Natasha hums something that could be agreement. "You don't want to be like your father?"
"Daddy wants me to be like Captain America," Tony confides. "He was his friend, you know. He was his friend and that's why he's looking for him. Was looking for him," he amends.
"Why do you think your father wants you to be like Captain America? Don't you think he would want you to be you?"
Tony starts coughing, and Steve purposefully doesn't step forward because he doesn't want to see the expression on the boy's face. Natasha says something he can't make out, her voice low and soothing, and eventually the coughing fit stops.
"I thought, maybe if I was more like Captain America," Tony says quietly, barely managing to speak above a whisper now, "he wouldn't be as disappointed."
Damn Howard Stark, Steve thinks, just as Natasha speaks again. "I think your father just didn't know how to show how proud he really was. You look tired, zajchik. You should try to sleep some more."
"I'm waiting for Uncle Steve," Tony mumbles.
"He'll be here soon, but you should sleep anyway. I promise he'll be back and sit with you, even if you're asleep." She laughs quietly when Tony mumbles something else Steve can't make out. "I know it's hard. Here, I'll show you what my babushka used to do for me when I was your age and sick in bed. You close your eyes-yes, like that-and you imagine that you are looking up at all the stars in the sky, stretching out as far as the eye can see, like millions of diamonds in the moonlight. Good," Natasha says, her voice dropping even further.
For a few moments, there's nothing but silence, punctuated by the beeping of the monitors, and Steve is about to put a stop to his own self-imposed exile from the room, when suddenly he hears Natasha's voice again, raised in song.
"Spi mladyenets, moi prekrasný, bayushki bayu; tikho smotrit myesyats yasný f kolýbyel tvayu..."
The melody is a haunting one, Natasha's voice perfectly suited to it. Steve can't understand a word of it, but he's certain it must be a lullaby, filled with sadness and longing and passed from mother to daughter for God only knows how long. Steve takes a deep breath, steps back into the room. Natasha turns her head just long enough to smile at him-a quick quirk of the lips, nothing more-and keeps singing.
"Stanu skazývat' ya skazki, pyesenki spayu; tý-zh dremli, zakrývshi glazki, bayushki bayu."
Tony's asleep, one hand draped over his chest, the other loosely gripping one of Natasha's hands, breathing laboured. Gently Natasha pulls her hand away without waking him, and tucks his Captain America blanket more snugly over his shoulders. She gets to her feet, pats Steve's arm.
"He was waiting for you."
"I know," Steve takes her place by the bed and delicately clasps Tony's hand again. "That was a beautiful song."
"Every child in Russia knows it. My grandmother used to sing me to sleep with it. I had almost forgotten about it," she says.
There's an entire history behind the simple words which Steve isn't sure he even has the right to ask about. It's hard to imagine Natasha as anything other than she is now, let alone a little girl being sung to sleep by her grandmother, wide-eyed and still innocent of the ways of the world, so he stays silent.
"I'll stop by again later," she says, but Steve stops her.
"Would you teach me the song?"
"When I come back," she promises, her gaze suddenly far away, trained on something only she can see. "Later."
~*~
There isn't much to do while Hank and Reed work on trying to find a cure for Tony, except watch and worry while the boy gets sicker. After a few attempts to convince him to go stay in bed on his own, Steve gives up and sits with him in the bed, with Tony curled up against his side, one small hand pressed up constantly against the arc reactor in his chest, as though he's physically trying to hold it in place.
It's more than a little frightening to see just how quickly Tony is deteriorating. He rallies at first, but it doesn't last very long before he starts succumbing to the infection again. Steve stays close, not wanting to leave him even to go work off some of his stress in the gym, and lets Tony lean against him, too tired to do much except drowse in his lap or watch the children's programs JARVIS brings up on the television with only minimal interest. Steve rests his hand on Tony's head, absently stroking his temple with his thumb. The medication is helping to keep the fever under control, but both Hank and Reed warned him that it was a temporary solution, that eventually even stronger drugs wouldn't help, that Tony's lungs are going to deteriorate until he'll need mechanical assistance-a ventilator, in other words. Right now, though, he's holding his own, and Steve resolves to be grateful for that.
He's a little surprised when Thor makes his way into the room, as much by the fact that he's here at all as by the fact he's making a point of being quiet so as not to disturb Tony, who's fallen asleep again in the interim.
"How is he?" he asks softly.
"Getting worse. He's hanging in there, though. Same brave son of a gun as ever," Steve spares the sleeping kid a fond glance. "Something I can do for you, Thor?"
Thor comes over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Steve. "I have been thinking," he says, "that perhaps the reason the scientists have not been able to find a cure for our friend, here, is that the cure is not to be found in your human science."
"You think it's something else?"
"I don't know," Thor admits. "But I would like to consult with the Allfather, and see if he has some insight into this. None of us were struck by those energy beams except for Tony, and his suit might have offered a measure of protection the rest of us lack. This might be the work of Loki's allies, or the Enchantress. If you think you will not need me in the next while, I will return to Asgard, and seek out a cure there."
Tony stirs under Steve's hand and starts coughing before he's completely awake. He leans into Steve's touch, blinks a little blearily until his eyes start to focus again. "'s happening?"
Thor beams at him. "I am going to Asgard to find you a cure!" he exclaims, all thoughts of volume control gone from his mind, and Steve winces a little.
Tony just nods, though. "You think it's there?"
"Perhaps. It is worth the trip to find out."
"Isn't it hard to go there?"
"It requires a great deal of energy, yes."
Tony worries at his lower lip with his teeth, but he doesn't say anything else. Not for the first time, Steve wonders just what's going on in his head that he's not telling anyone. Keeping things to himself appears to be a habit Tony picked up early in life, in spite of his outward appearance of spewing everything that pops into his mind. It's all white noise, Steve has figure out, though it took him long enough-white noise that serves as a smoke screen for what's really going on. Tony once told him that the best form of magic trick isn't the one that makes you ask, "How did he do that?" but the one no one knows took place at all.
When Thor is gone, Steve gives Tony's shoulder a quick squeeze. "You want to tell me what that was about?" But all he gets is a quick headshake. He sighs. "Okay, then."
[Part 4]
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[Part 2]
It was Tony's idea to institute Saturdays as Movie Night when they all first moved in, and it seems easy enough to just keep going with the tradition. Pepper joins them this time around, dressed in yoga pants and a pink t-shirt that she still manages to make look pulled together, hair tied back in a loose ponytail, her face free of make-up. She settles on the sofa and tucks her bare feet beneath her in a gesture that would look childish or coy on any other woman but that she makes look nothing but comfortable, and sips on a glass of white whine while Thor argues amiably and loudly with Bruce over the choice of movies.
"Star Wars has the mightiest battles, my friend," Thor is proclaiming. "Ones worthy of being made into song in Valhalla!"
"We've watched those three times already," Bruce protests. "There's only so much Han Solo I can take, even if Tony worships the guy."
Steve glances over to where Tony has wedged himself on the sofa between Pepper and Natasha, dressed in a pair of Captain America pajamas, bare feet pulled up in front of him in a position reminiscent of Pepper's. If the situation were any different, Steve would be tempted to think that someone, somewhere-probably Tony himself-was making fun of him, but the boy seems to be genuinely a fan of all things Captain America. To hear the others speak, he chatters on about nothing else whenever Steve's not in the room, and when he is present, Tony turns awkward and surprisingly bashful and yet still manages to dog his footsteps everywhere he goes. In his more unguarded moments, Steve wonders just what happened to make Tony let go of his childhood admiration for what Captain America represents and instead began harbouring the deep-seated resentment that Steve encountered when they first met. Somehow, he suspects the blame might lie squarely on the shoulders of Howard Stark. Yet another reason to knock the man down off his pedestal, Steve thinks bitterly.
"Anything other than Star Wars you'd like to watch, Tony?"
No one seems to mind Tony being in charge of movie choice this evening, maybe because they all realise that they're not exactly experts on what is and isn't appropriate viewing for a six-year-old. Tony hesitates, gaze flicking from Steve to Thor to the television.
Natasha nudges Tony in the ribs, and he beams up at her as though she's the Second Coming incarnate. "Have you ever watched The Wizard of Oz, zajchik?"
Steve knows for a fact that Tony has, but when Tony shakes his head he re-evaluates, realising that Tony might have watched it when he was a little older. Natasha breaks out one of her open, sweet smiles that she seems to reserve only for children and sometimes Clint and Phil Coulson and, on one notable occasion, for Steve.
"You like the flying monkeys, don't you Steve?"
He grins and finds himself blushing a bit, rubs the back of his neck. "I'm partial to the Tin Man, actually."
"Of course you are."
"An excellent choice!" Thor booms, clapping Bruce on the shoulder seemingly out of reflex. Bruce flinches and smiles, though it's more of a pained grimace at this stage. "I look forward to seeing the great lion discover his true nature!"
"That settles it, then," Pepper takes another sip of wine. "It's a classic, after all. JARVIS?"
"Very good, Miss Potts. If you could perhaps persuade Thor Odinson to cease standing in front of the screen, I will bring up the film."
Thor roars with laughter, as though JARVIS has just made the best joke of all time, and all but drags Bruce to sit with him on the other side of the sectional sofa. Steve takes his place next to Pepper and accepts a glass of wine, while Clint perches on the back of the sofa directly behind Natasha's shoulder. How he finds balancing on a surface less than three inches wide more comfortable than actually sitting is beyond Steve, but he figures to each his own.
"Agent Coulson not joining us?"
Natasha shakes her head. "He's still at S.H.I.E.L.D., he thinks Pym and Reed might be onto something that will help Tosha here go back to his old self. Would you like that, zajchik?"
Tony looks uncertain, but doesn't say anything. Steve leans over a bit. "What's that word you keep using?"
To his surprise, Clint is the one who answers. "What, zajchik?" he grins down at Natasha, who blushes faintly. "It's a term of endearment. Essentially translates to 'bunny.'"
Bruce sniggers, then immediately stops and tries not to look terrified when Natasha glares at him. "Uh, sorry."
"Just start the movie," Clint snorts, visibly amused.
The Wizard of Oz is a hit. Tony isn't a big fan of the Wicked Witches, regardless of cardinal directions, but he laughs at the Scarecrow and the Cowardly Lion, and watches the bright colours of the Emerald City with something akin to fascination. Once, he leans over and asks Pepper, very quietly, how they made the horse change colour on the screen like that, and she smiles and whispers in his ear that they used multiple horses for the same scene, using many different takes.
"Nowadays they do it all with computers, but back then they had to change the colour of the horses' coats. Actually, the ASPCA wouldn't let them dye the horses, so they used flavoured gelatin, and between takes they had to keep the horses from licking themselves."
Tony giggles at the thought, but Steve is impressed. He remembers seeing the movie and wondering himself how they managed that. "That's pretty neat," he says, and Pepper grins at him.
"I looked it up, once, when it was bugging me at three o'clock in the morning. One of the perks of having Tony around, is that there's always a computer handy to answer all your questions."
Tony's asleep long before the triumphant cry of "Hail to Dorothy-the Wicked Witch is dead!" goes up on the screen. He's tucked in along Natasha's side, head pillowed on her stomach, arms pulled in protectively over his chest, breathing softly and regularly. He doesn't so much as stir when Steve, by unspoken accord with everyone else, carefully scoops him into his arms and carries him, cradled against his chest, all the way back to his bed and tucks his new favourite Captain America blanket snugly around his shoulders.
"Sleep tight, Tony," he says, softly enough so as not to wake him, and without quite knowing why, he presses a kiss to the boy's forehead.
He leaves the door open a crack, makes his way down the hall, strips and slides under the bed covers, where he spends the next few hours staring fruitlessly at the ceiling.
~*~
Steve must doze off eventually, because the next thing he knows he's jerking awake with a gasp, the feeling of being encased in ice already fading away into darkness. He sits up, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes, noting the luminous dial on the clock says that it's not quite three o'clock in the morning.
"Uncle Steve?"
That's what woke him, he realizes. Steve scrambles over on his bed to switch on the light, revealing Tony poised halfway between the door and his bed, hair even more mussed than usual, his cheeks flushed bright red.
"Hey, buddy. Everything okay?"
Tony shakes his head, and to Steve's alarm he sees that the boy is trying very hard not to cry. "I don't feel well."
He's up and crouching next to Tony in a flash. "Tell me what's wrong."
"I don't know. I had a bad dream. There was a monster and there was all this light and my chest feels funny."
"Funny how?"
"I don't know," there's a definite whine to his tone. "I'm hot and it's hard to breathe, and I promised Agent Phil I'd tell you if I was sick."
"That's right, you did exactly right," Steve presses the back of his fingers to Tony's forehead, isn't surprised to find it burning to the touch. "Yeah, looks like you're running a fever. Come on," he lifts Tony up onto the bed. "What do you mean when you say your chest feels funny? Can you describe it for me?"
Tony coughs and doesn't answer right away. "I dunno. It's tight? It hurts when I breathe."
Steve doesn't know the first thing about childhood sickness. He was a sickly kid himself, and he remembers that all too well, but there wasn't all that much by way of medication when he was Tony's age-no one ever expected him to make it into his twenties, not with asthma as bad as he had, but he'd surprised them all-and he's remarkably ill-equipped to deal with this. It sounds like Tony's just caught a bad bug, but there's no way to be sure.
"JARVIS, do we have any kind of children's medication here? Or a thermometer, at least?"
"There is a thermometer in your en-suite bathroom, Captain Rogers," JARVIS answers promptly, "and an order can be placed with the nearest pharmacy for delivery if you tell me what you need."
Steve runs a hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay. Um, hang tight, Tony, I'm going to get the thermometer and some water, okay?"
Tony nods and draws up his knees to his chest to rest his head on them, hugging his shins. He's in the exact same position when Steve comes back, and doesn't say a word in protest when Steve holds out the thermometer and asks him to hold it under his tongue for at least ten seconds. The fever's higher than Steve was hoping it would be when he checks the digital readout, and he coaxes Tony under the covers and encourages him to finish off the whole glass of water.
"Does anything else hurt aside from your chest? Your throat?"
"My head hurts."
That's probably the fever, not that Steve knows enough about these things to be sure. "I'm going to call a doctor, get someone to take a look at you, okay Tony? I want to make sure this isn't anything serious."
"Okay." Tony sounds subdued, moreso than usual. It's still disconcerting-Steve can't reconcile this quiet, unobtrusive child with his brash, often obnoxious adult counterpart. He wonders just when Tony adopted his present persona, if it wasn't, after all, a necessary wall that he'd had to build to protect the shy boy who worshipped his father and Captain America and yet had neither.
"JARVIS, could you connect me to Dr. Pym, please?"
"Of course, sir. Please hold."
~*~
Steve supposes he shouldn't be surprised at the speed with which someone ends up at Tony's bedside. Mysterious age regression combined with illness isn't something any of them really wants to mess with at this stage, given how easily it might turn out to be a lot more serious than any of them suspect. Pym and Richards both come, and Reed surprises Steve even more by turning out to have a gentle demeanour with Tony while he examines him, keeping him distracted with a quiet stream of chatter, both explaining what he's doing and keeping Tony's attention on the less scary aspects of what's happening. It takes a few minutes for Steve to remember that Reed has young boys of his own, that this is probably not his first time sitting up with a sick child.
"It looks like an ordinary lung infection," Reed tells Steve later, when Tony's curled up and sleeping fitfully in his bed. "In a normal child I wouldn't be worried-this sort of thing usually clears up with a course of antibiotics-but given that we don't know exactly what's going on with Tony, not to mention the presence of the arc reactor, I want to keep a close eye on this."
Steve chews on his lip, runs a hand through his hair again. "What aren't you telling me?" He can always tell when someone's holding back, seems to have had an uncanny knack for ferreting out the truth even before he was injected with the serum, and Reed is definitely playing his cards close to the vest on this.
Reed sighs. He looks tired, more careworn than Steve has ever seen him. "I think the problem may be the arc reactor itself."
"What?"
"It was designed for an adult-a fully grown man with a fully grown heart and lungs, and even then, it caused some interference with lung function. At Tony's age and size now, it's taking up a lot more room in his chest."
"Is that why he's sick now?"
"I think so. It's an opportunistic infection, taking advantage of his diminished lung capacity. Has he been short of breath at all before the fever set in?"
"Uh, yes."
Steve racks his brain, trying to remember the last time he saw Tony even try to run and coming up blank. He remembers all too vividly just what a nightmare running was when he was a kid, when it felt like a vise was tightening around his chest, when the coppery tang of blood filled his mouth after a particularly bad attack-the doctors had tried to explain that it wasn't really blood, but that didn't change the taste, nor how scary it was when you were just a kid and felt like your lungs were on fire, like there was a metal band tightening inexorably around your chest, cutting off your air. The notion that Tony's been living with this for days without saying anything just doesn't bear thinking about.
"He's been coughing on and off from the start, but it started getting worse yesterday."
Reed nods. "Right. Well, there's the infection I want to keep an eye on, but I think it's the arc reactor itself that's going to be our biggest problem. It's too powerful for his heart right now, and I honestly can't tell if it's not doing more harm than good. We can't remove it, of course-the shrapnel in his chest would likely kill him in less than a day, now that he's so small-but the fact is, it's probably overworking his heart and it's definitely limiting his lung expansion."
Steve swallows the lump that's trying to form in his throat. "What are you saying, exactly?"
Reed sighs. "I'm saying that we're on borrowed time, here, unless we can get him back to normal."
~*~
After a restless night, Tony seems to rally during the day. He's still flushed with fever, coughing on and off, but he agrees to stay in his own room so long as Steve stays with him in order to play with the trains again, and it seems a small price to pay to get Tony to keep still. Steve has met more than his share of kids since becoming Captain America, of course, but he's never had to interact with any of them for more than a few minutes, just long enough to sign an autograph or take a photo and shake their hands. He likes kids well enough, but his experience with them is limited at best, and it's more than a little humbling to see to what extent this little boy looks up to him, expects him to set an example for the whole world to emulate.
Steve wishes Pepper were here, if for no other reason than he could use the back-up. She seems to have more practice saying 'no' to Tony than he does, after all. Right now, though, she's hopped aboard a flight to God-knows-where in order to put out a bunch of corporate fires started by rumours that something terrible happened to Tony. The rumours do have an element of truth, of course, but it's not like Pepper can let the shareholders in on that. So she's gone, and Steve is left to muddle through as best he can, not that taking care of Tony is a hardship. On the contrary, Steve is a little surprised at how much he's been enjoying this quiet interlude. The only thing he'd wish different is just how sick it's made the boy.
It doesn't take very long before Tony starts to flag again, coughing more than he's playing. He resists a bit when Steve tries to put him back to bed, but he's so small that it's easy enough to just scoop him up and tuck him back under the covers.
"Tell you what. Will you stay put if I read you a story? There's a whole bunch of stories that I can have JARVIS pull up on your tablet-thing," he reaches over to grab the aforementioned tablet from Tony's nightstand. Apparently Captain America is not above bribery when it comes down to it.
"You won't go?" Tony's already listing against him, eyelids drooping.
"No, I'll stay right here. What sort of story do you want?"
"One with trains."
"Trains it is."
Tony's constant ribbing aside, Steve does know how to use most of the modern gadgets that are always lying around the house. It's usually as simple as asking JARVIS to explain their use to him, and the AI is always happy to comply, making the instructions as simple as they need to be for him to understand. He pulls up a story on the tablet called 'The Little Train,' and begins to read.
"Engineer Small has a little train. The engine is black and shiny. He keeps it oiled and polished."
It's a little young for Tony, he thinks as he reads, but Tony doesn't seem to mind, and curls up with his head resting just under Steve's arm, eyes riveted to the images on the screen. They go through three other books on trains before Tony's eyes drift shut, his breathing evening out into sleep. Steve holds his breath for a moment, not wanting to wake him, then carefully pulls up a different book for himself and settles down to wait until it's time to wake Tony for his meds. He must fall asleep without realising it, because the next thing he knows he's got a crick in his neck, and there's a hand on his shoulder, shaking him gently.
"You need a break," Natasha tells him. "And a shower," she adds with a small smirk. "Go on, I will sit with him for a little while. He'll be perfectly safe, and I promise I'll call you if there's anything at all."
Steve nods dumbly, and is more than a little surprised to find that his muscles and joints have stiffened from sitting in the same position for so long. It doesn't happen often, which means he must have been here longer than he thought. He gets up and stretches, feeling his muscles begin to loosen almost immediately, and hurries back to his own room for a towel and a change of clothes. He doesn't like the idea of being gone any longer than he has to be, even though reason tells him that Natasha is more than capable of taking care of Tony for a little while. He washes, shaves and dries off in less time than it would take some men just to strip down, and is already pulling fresh clothes on before the last of the water has dried from his hair.
He half-jogs back along the empty hallway, only to stop just outside the door to Tony's room, halted in his tracks by the sound of Natasha's voice, low and softened for Tony's benefit.
"So you don't want to be an inventor when you grow up?" she's asking.
"I'm going to be a superhero," Tony informs her, his voice so hoarse that it makes Steve wince in sympathy. "Like Captain America."
Natasha hums something that could be agreement. "You don't want to be like your father?"
"Daddy wants me to be like Captain America," Tony confides. "He was his friend, you know. He was his friend and that's why he's looking for him. Was looking for him," he amends.
"Why do you think your father wants you to be like Captain America? Don't you think he would want you to be you?"
Tony starts coughing, and Steve purposefully doesn't step forward because he doesn't want to see the expression on the boy's face. Natasha says something he can't make out, her voice low and soothing, and eventually the coughing fit stops.
"I thought, maybe if I was more like Captain America," Tony says quietly, barely managing to speak above a whisper now, "he wouldn't be as disappointed."
Damn Howard Stark, Steve thinks, just as Natasha speaks again. "I think your father just didn't know how to show how proud he really was. You look tired, zajchik. You should try to sleep some more."
"I'm waiting for Uncle Steve," Tony mumbles.
"He'll be here soon, but you should sleep anyway. I promise he'll be back and sit with you, even if you're asleep." She laughs quietly when Tony mumbles something else Steve can't make out. "I know it's hard. Here, I'll show you what my babushka used to do for me when I was your age and sick in bed. You close your eyes-yes, like that-and you imagine that you are looking up at all the stars in the sky, stretching out as far as the eye can see, like millions of diamonds in the moonlight. Good," Natasha says, her voice dropping even further.
For a few moments, there's nothing but silence, punctuated by the beeping of the monitors, and Steve is about to put a stop to his own self-imposed exile from the room, when suddenly he hears Natasha's voice again, raised in song.
"Spi mladyenets, moi prekrasný, bayushki bayu; tikho smotrit myesyats yasný f kolýbyel tvayu..."
The melody is a haunting one, Natasha's voice perfectly suited to it. Steve can't understand a word of it, but he's certain it must be a lullaby, filled with sadness and longing and passed from mother to daughter for God only knows how long. Steve takes a deep breath, steps back into the room. Natasha turns her head just long enough to smile at him-a quick quirk of the lips, nothing more-and keeps singing.
"Stanu skazývat' ya skazki, pyesenki spayu; tý-zh dremli, zakrývshi glazki, bayushki bayu."
Tony's asleep, one hand draped over his chest, the other loosely gripping one of Natasha's hands, breathing laboured. Gently Natasha pulls her hand away without waking him, and tucks his Captain America blanket more snugly over his shoulders. She gets to her feet, pats Steve's arm.
"He was waiting for you."
"I know," Steve takes her place by the bed and delicately clasps Tony's hand again. "That was a beautiful song."
"Every child in Russia knows it. My grandmother used to sing me to sleep with it. I had almost forgotten about it," she says.
There's an entire history behind the simple words which Steve isn't sure he even has the right to ask about. It's hard to imagine Natasha as anything other than she is now, let alone a little girl being sung to sleep by her grandmother, wide-eyed and still innocent of the ways of the world, so he stays silent.
"I'll stop by again later," she says, but Steve stops her.
"Would you teach me the song?"
"When I come back," she promises, her gaze suddenly far away, trained on something only she can see. "Later."
~*~
There isn't much to do while Hank and Reed work on trying to find a cure for Tony, except watch and worry while the boy gets sicker. After a few attempts to convince him to go stay in bed on his own, Steve gives up and sits with him in the bed, with Tony curled up against his side, one small hand pressed up constantly against the arc reactor in his chest, as though he's physically trying to hold it in place.
It's more than a little frightening to see just how quickly Tony is deteriorating. He rallies at first, but it doesn't last very long before he starts succumbing to the infection again. Steve stays close, not wanting to leave him even to go work off some of his stress in the gym, and lets Tony lean against him, too tired to do much except drowse in his lap or watch the children's programs JARVIS brings up on the television with only minimal interest. Steve rests his hand on Tony's head, absently stroking his temple with his thumb. The medication is helping to keep the fever under control, but both Hank and Reed warned him that it was a temporary solution, that eventually even stronger drugs wouldn't help, that Tony's lungs are going to deteriorate until he'll need mechanical assistance-a ventilator, in other words. Right now, though, he's holding his own, and Steve resolves to be grateful for that.
He's a little surprised when Thor makes his way into the room, as much by the fact that he's here at all as by the fact he's making a point of being quiet so as not to disturb Tony, who's fallen asleep again in the interim.
"How is he?" he asks softly.
"Getting worse. He's hanging in there, though. Same brave son of a gun as ever," Steve spares the sleeping kid a fond glance. "Something I can do for you, Thor?"
Thor comes over to sit on the edge of the bed next to Steve. "I have been thinking," he says, "that perhaps the reason the scientists have not been able to find a cure for our friend, here, is that the cure is not to be found in your human science."
"You think it's something else?"
"I don't know," Thor admits. "But I would like to consult with the Allfather, and see if he has some insight into this. None of us were struck by those energy beams except for Tony, and his suit might have offered a measure of protection the rest of us lack. This might be the work of Loki's allies, or the Enchantress. If you think you will not need me in the next while, I will return to Asgard, and seek out a cure there."
Tony stirs under Steve's hand and starts coughing before he's completely awake. He leans into Steve's touch, blinks a little blearily until his eyes start to focus again. "'s happening?"
Thor beams at him. "I am going to Asgard to find you a cure!" he exclaims, all thoughts of volume control gone from his mind, and Steve winces a little.
Tony just nods, though. "You think it's there?"
"Perhaps. It is worth the trip to find out."
"Isn't it hard to go there?"
"It requires a great deal of energy, yes."
Tony worries at his lower lip with his teeth, but he doesn't say anything else. Not for the first time, Steve wonders just what's going on in his head that he's not telling anyone. Keeping things to himself appears to be a habit Tony picked up early in life, in spite of his outward appearance of spewing everything that pops into his mind. It's all white noise, Steve has figure out, though it took him long enough-white noise that serves as a smoke screen for what's really going on. Tony once told him that the best form of magic trick isn't the one that makes you ask, "How did he do that?" but the one no one knows took place at all.
When Thor is gone, Steve gives Tony's shoulder a quick squeeze. "You want to tell me what that was about?" But all he gets is a quick headshake. He sighs. "Okay, then."
[Part 4]
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