[Fic] You Can Leave Your Cape On - Tony Stark x Bruce Wayne Part 1
Story Title: You Can Leave Your Cape On
Fandom: Marvel (mostly MCU and some 616 comics continuity)/DC (mostly Batman: the animated series and other cartoon cannons, plus some comics) mash-up
Alternative Link(s): AO3 | tumblr
Rating: NC-17 for explicit sex
Summary: He hasn't seen or heard from Bruce in six years and the asshole is just going to pretend like they have nothing to say to one another. Or maybe he honestly thinks that Tony can't tell, doesn't know who exactly is behind the mask, and isn't that just completely insulting? Tony may not be cognizant enough to put one foot in front of the other with any consistency but his mind, even strapped into the hell's amusement park whirly-gig of benzodiazepines, is coherent enough to do basic math.
Tony will always know Bruce. That is the simplest equation in the world.
Warnings: there's hinted-at darkness, but this is mostly fluff, much to my embarrassment, non-graphic child abuse/allusions to child abuse, cannon character deaths, Howard is unkind and Maria isn't much better, so if you have any love for those two characters I would respectfully suggest you skip this story, also, sections of this story are NOT BETA'D because I changed my mind and re-wrote some things without giving my beta enough time to look through it when I was done.
Pairings: Bruce Wayne/Tony Stark
GORGEOUS ART!!! part I: LINK
GORGEOUS ART!!! part 2: LINK
This art is SO BEAUTIFUL, that I can't even. My story pales in comparison.
Story Parts: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Epilogue
Tony's eighteen and on his knees with a stranger's hard hand in his hair and everything in a pretty halo of smeared light when he first meets the Batman. One second, Tony's pulling desperately against the silk ropes binding his wrists, snaking in intricate effective patterns up his arms, looping his throat-silk because Tony's an expensive commodity and that makes him laugh and laugh-the next, the man who paid good money for Tony, the man with a million-dollar smile and an expensive suit, designer shades-shades; shades indoors, what a douche-is gone, out of Tony's vision just...vanished. Tony's scalp stings. Tony thinks the man took a handful of hair with him, wherever he went.
Then the Batman looms over him, grim and all in black, like a living shadow sucking the light out of the room. Tony tries to focus on him, really tries, tries to understand what's going on, but he hasn't felt right for...days? For a while. Tony has a decent knowledge of drugs, mostly recently acquired, but they gave him a cocktail and though he's tried to figure out what was in it because then maybe he could counter it, maybe he could escape, he hasn't had much success, hasn't been thinking straight for...for days, weeks, maybe almost a year. Not since...
Tony shies away from memories of rain, of sharp, glittering displays of wealth, of problems a whole ocean away and flinches back when the Batman reaches out a spiky black gauntlet because Tony doesn't know the Batman from Adam and the Batman is terrifying, the hulking form of a demon, gargoyle, monster from under the bed when you don't know that he's on your side.
Later, Tony would come to learn that the Batman could be intimidating even when he was obviously an ally.
At the moment, though, Tony only barely manages to hold onto the fragments of his conscious not intent on freaking the fuck out and descending into trippy drugged-up madness, and only because the Batman hesitates, the tight line of his mouth wavering or maybe that's just Tony's eyesight going.
"Tony," the Batman says, rough and low.
That voice, that voice melts warmth down Tony's spine, fills the hollow spaces between his bones, speaks of home home home in a way that Tony's not heard in years.
Bruce, Tony thinks, but what he says is, "You're wearing a cape," and then he laughs and can't stop, even when he feels like he might throw up or start crying.
~~~~~~~~~~
Tony's three and on his butt in the dirt he's not supposed to be anywhere near, chewing on a galvanized copper gear bigger than his fist the first time he meets Bruce Wayne. Tony's sitting under a stone bench in a garden that seems bigger than the whole world. His parents brought him here with his nanny, one more party in a string of parties, each one full of sparkle and high heels and silk ties that Tony's not to touch. It's hot, but the big fountain is fascinating and the shadow under the bench is cool. Tony hasn't seen anyone he knows for a while, hasn't seen anyone for a while, in fact, but he's used to being alone, so that doesn't upset him, much.
Tony doesn't hear Bruce's approach, but he can't miss when the boy sticks his face in Tony's face, upside down because Bruce has somehow managed to climb on top of the bench without Tony noticing.
"Hey," Bruce says, loud in the relative quiet. "Hey, what are you doing under there?"
That's a very complicated question. Tony's not sure he has the words to answer. So he holds up his teething gear and then points to the fountain. These are the two things occupying his time, right now.
"Are you lost? Aren't you afraid?"
Tony thinks seriously about this, and then shakes his head. Tony's more afraid of the big-person-lady who's supposed to take care of him than he is of being here by himself in a strange place. Bruce doesn't seem to take his answer at face value, though, his face scrunching into a serious expression.
"Come with me; I'll show you how to get back. It'll be okay. I'll protect you. Keep you safe."
Safe is a word Tony's heard before, but hasn't attached much meaning to. He thinks it would be better if he stayed here where things are quiet and there are no big-people. He shakes his head again and scrunches his own face into something he'll later know to be stubbornness.
Bruce considers him, black hair a fringe pointing straight toward the ground. Tony wants to put his fingers in it, but he knows better than to touch without permission.
"Don't wanna, huh? Okay." Bruce flops back on the bench, seeming ready to settle in for the long haul. "I'll stay with you."
Something in Tony loosens, feels immediately better when he realizes the other boy isn't leaving.
"My name's Bruce."
To this, Tony has an ingrained response. "Anthony Edward Stark. Pleased to meet you."
Blue eyes fringed with think lashes peer at Tony over the edge of the bench. "That's a big name. For a little guy. How old are you?"
"Three and a half." And he holds up the correct number of fingers to prove it. The half finger is tricky, but he manages.
"I'm five."
Tony nods. Apparently satisfied, Bruce flops back on the bench and falls silent. Usually, quiet doesn't bother Tony, usually it's soothing, but now he finds himself distressed, wanting to hear the other boy's voice again. The world is suddenly too big.
"Boose," Tony says, as close as he can get to the unfamiliar name.
Bruce doesn't lean back over the bench, but his hand-bigger than Tony's but still much smaller than an adult's-gestures down at him, imperious, open, palm up as if to grasp sunlight.
"Take my hand, Tony."
Tony does.
"See?" Bruce says, fingers closing around Tony's, warm and solid. "Safe."
Years later, this is the moment that Tony will associate with that word.
~~
The next time he sees Bruce it's a lot colder. Tony is four. The sky is gray and the glass buildings of the big, loud city street loom above him. He's tired and hungry and doesn't want new shoes. He's fighting his nanny, on the verge of tears and her hand on his arm hurts and she's hissing viciously about how much worse it'll hurt if he doesn't shut up.
She yanks. He stumbles, but doesn't fall, and suddenly there are arms lifting him up and the smell of warm leather and crisp wool and a sweet hint of pipe tobacco.
Tony doesn't really understand what's happening, except that there's a man he doesn't know holding him securely, propped on a hip. He seems a little familiar, but not enough to be anything but frightening.
Tony almost reaches out to his nanny when she tries to take him back, but then there's another woman standing between them. Her eyes are blue and fierce and her voice is firmly disapproving as she speaks to Tony's nanny. There's a touch on Tony's ankle. When he looks down, Bruce is looking up at him, fingers wrapping more firmly around Tony's leg as they hold eye contact and Tony relaxes. Now that he has context, it's easy to recognize Bruce's parents. Bruce's father's arms feel like an endless hug and Bruce's mother, though a little scary in the face of Tony's nanny, is nothing but kind as she turns toward him, her hand soothing in his hair.
"Would you like to spend the rest of the day with us, dearheart?" she asks. "We'll tell your parents, of course."
The answer is obvious, and when the Waynes learn that Tony's parents are on an extended vacation somewhere far away, they offer to watch Tony until their return. Tony is a little surprised when his parents acquiesce. Surprised but tentatively happy.
Winter at the Wayne house is beautiful, not cold at all-full of tinsel and holly, smelling of pine and hot chocolate.
Hot chocolate is a staple at the Wayne household during the Christmas season, Tony learns. That and warm apple cider and hot, fresh bread. The Wayne's head chef is a large, boisterous man with a French accent that makes everything he says rub like soft fur against Tony's ears.
"Chef de cuisine," Anton says with exaggerated haughtiness. "That is my correct title." Then his eyes twinkle and he puts a little more powered sugar on Tony's pancakes.
The pastry chef-the pâtissier, as Anton insists-is a tiny Japanese woman with no discernible accent, but command of at least four languages as far as Tony has counted. She yells at Anton in two of them, declaring him lazy and arrogant and then slips the boys homemade chocolates with a wink and a grin that takes up most of her face, makes her eyes almost disappear behind her cheeks.
The housekeeper is Mrs. Williams. She wears her dark hair in a neat braid and her dark skin hides a wealth of laugh lines around her deep dark eyes. Her presence is calm and commanding as she introduces Tony to the rest of the staff, a full regiment of maids and groundskeepers, though most of the latter are gone for the season.
Then there's Alfred, the Waynes' butler, who has warm eyes and a gentle touch and when he rubs ointment on the bruises Tony's nanny left behind it doesn't even hurt.
Tony's not used to this many people. His own house is staffed very minimally-mostly a few lab assistants and a nanny for Tony and sometimes a girl who helps his mother with her day-to-day. But the Wayne household learns quickly that he doesn't like to be picked up or held or even touched, much. Other people's clothing is scratchy on Tony's skin and there are too many scents: lotions, shampoo, detergent, perfumes on the girls and cologne on the guys, tobacco smoke. His father keeps himself and the house very clean, sterile, in deference to his many delicate projects. The Stark staff follow suite and Tony almost never sees his mother so he has no idea what she smells like.
The Wayne household staff don't push him and let him set his own boundaries and are patient with his stubbornness and his skittishness. A few of the younger maids try to speak baby talk at him until they realize it makes Tony withdrawn and quiet. Word spreads quickly that the young master's new friend prefers to be addressed as an adult, despite being very far from one. They accommodate without much fuss.
Bruce stays at his side throughout it all. They go exploring their first day, running up and down hallways, dodging the swish of woolen skirts that the female staff wear in the winter, ducking into rooms, each one like a separate world. Every space had its own light and look, textures and colors all interesting and distinct. Tony's own house is uniform and exact. The Wayne house is eclectic and just a little whimsical. Tony could've lingered long minutes in any one of the rooms, but Bruce is impatient, making a quick circuit to show Tony his favorite bits and then lingering by the doorway, practically vibrating with the need to move on to the next.
Tony doesn't usually like to be rushed, but for Bruce he lets himself be dragged through the house at a ridiculous pace as he tries to absorb as much of it as he can as quickly as possible.
There's Great Aunt Mildred's sitting room which is wallpapered with pictures of cats, each one in a tiny, antique brass frame. The actual wallpaper is possibly a mint green or a teal; Tony doesn't get the chance to get close enough to see for certain. Cousin Claire had been an aspiring movie star in the forties. Her vanity is bright like the sun when Bruce flips the switch to show Tony. There is a collection of dusty makeup in the drawers, the pancake dry and cracked, the mirrors cloudy. A fake head sits on a stand to one side, sporting a stylish wig and a hat with a sweeping brim. Tony stares into the blank eyes until Bruce pulls him away.
Then there's a whole wing of guest rooms. Tony likes the room with the New York City mural painted on the walls. Bruce spends the longest time in the room with the collection of chairs and spare furniture, climbing on top of high things and jumping off again. He's already constructed a surprisingly sturdy stack that almost reaches the ceiling and he tries to coax Tony into its highest point, promising safety, but Tony won't be pressured, and he's never been much attracted to climbing.
"We'll go to the circus," Bruce decides. "Then you'll want to. They have these people-trapezists-they fly high above the ground with no net. It's amazing!"
Tony doesn't even know what a circus is, but it sounds both scary and impractical. He'll take Bruce's word about how it might be life-changing, but he doubts he'll ever see anything that makes him want to fly.
They both agree that their favorite is the room that has a projector that shines the night sky on the ceiling when the light is turned off. Everything there is dark blues and silvers and makes the shadows comfortable. There's an old pirate chest at the end of the bed full of maps drawn on actual parchment and books that crackle when they're opened, a compass, a silver letter opener, the handle in the design of a falcon's stern visage, a set of hair pins made of ivory old enough to be brittle and yellowing. There's also a wardrobe full of woolen coats that smell clean, which means one of the maids laundered them recently. It's deep enough for both of them to crawl inside and make up stories in the close darkness.
They chose a room for Tony, unremarkable except that it's across from Bruce's room. The interior of Bruce's bedroom makes it obvious that he spends a great deal of time outdoors and likes to bring his favorite pastime back with him. One of the two huge bay windows with cushioned seats is covered with a collection of plants, well-tended with a clipboard hanging next to them noting growth rates and water intake, written in Bruce's large but neat handwriting. There's a collection of bird nests on his desk and a wealth of all-weather shoes in his closet, all very clean but well-used. His ceiling is hung with mobiles, so numerous it almost looks like an upside down forest.
"My mother," Bruce explains when he sees Tony's fascination. It was an attempt, apparently, to display Bruce's various collections. Bruce prefers them in neatly labeled boxes under his bed, but he's out of space and his parents have yet to give in to his demands that they bequeath him another room just to keep his collections organized.
There are shells and stones, leaves and twigs, perfectly preserved moths and one mobile of fragile-looking flowers. There are several of sea glass, organized by color. Like everything in Bruce's room, all are meticulously clean of dust, catching light like trapped stars.
Aside from that, there are books, stacks and stacks of them, taking up what space remains. First edition Hardy Boys, Sam Spade, a shelf of old fairy tales in the original German, scrapbooks of old newspaper articles. It should be confusing and headache-inducing, too many details and too many textures, scents mingling together, but it's not. Tony clambers up on Bruce's large big-boy four-poster bed and feels at home.
Over the next few weeks, he and Bruce get into all sorts of trouble. There are a lot of places for two clever boys to find mischief in the Wayne mansion and on the surrounding grounds, enough that eventually Bruce's parents tag team them to keep them from breaking too many things. Tony is fascinated by the arts and crafts that Bruce's mother offers as an activity, but Bruce is much more interested in the mock war that his father proposes outside. In the end, they realize they have the time for both.
Bruce's aim with a snowball is always true. He shows Tony the best way to build a fort, to secure defensive structures and stockpile ammunition.
Tony's fingers are small but nimble, and he loves the shine of wrapping paper. He's quick to fold intricate shapes under Bruce's mother's fond, bemused gaze. He shows Bruce the best way to make a paper airplane and spends several hours experimenting until, by the end of the day, Tony's design and Bruce's aim land the nose of a red foil plane in a cup of just-poured tea.
Then they scamper and hide for a while because Alfred responds with his "now you're in trouble" raised eyebrow and Bruce's dad's got his corresponding "yeah, so much trouble; don't tell your mother how amusing I think this is" grin.
They fall asleep in the wardrobe in their favorite guest room, tangled around each other, to be roused by Alfred and a maid some time later and bustled off to dinner. Sometimes Tony nods off before they get through the soup course, and sometimes he makes it all the way to dessert, but no one says anything, either way. Sometimes, he wakes to comfortable darkness and soft blankets and rolls until he finds the edge of the bed, slides to the floor and pads across the hall to Bruce's room, clambers into the bed and falls asleep to the sound of Bruce breathing. Eventually, they stop bothering to put him in a separate bed.
It's probably safe to say that no one expects Tony to react to the prospect of Christmas at the Waynes' as he does. Bruce's mother stares at him in surprise and Bruce's father in horror as tears well in Tony's eyes and then spill down his cheeks. Bruce hugs him and Tony's just gone, crying miserably into Bruce's shoulder. He knows this is probably bad manners, but he doesn't have presents for anyone and that's unacceptable. Presents are the most important part of Christmas.
Tony's distress leaves everyone scrambling to find something to make him feel better, until he's alone with Alfred while the other three members of the house go to find a toy, some more scraps of paper for Tony's projects or to ask Chef Anton to make a cup of hot cocoa.
"Come, Master Anthony," Alfred says, hand resting lightly on Tony's shoulder blades. "Perhaps if you tell me what you need, we can get this sorted."
"I don't have anything to give them," he tells Alfred, whispered like a guilty secret.
"I'm sure they'd be content with nothing more than your happiness."
Tony shakes his head stubbornly; says, "That isn't enough. This is important, Alfred." And thinks, thinks hard. His eyes track out across the long table he and Bruce have been sitting at, making more and more elaborate paper airplanes and Tony's graduated to three dimensional shapes, trying out boxes and lanterns and square-ish balls, imagining that there was a way to make them fly as well. Suddenly, Tony knows what he needs to do.
He beckons Alfred closer. The butler bends his head and listens intently to the list of supplies Tony rattles off.
"I think most of that can be found in the house. Would you like to help me look?" Alfred holds out a hand. His very white gloves are soft and his grip is just the right amount of firm and gentle.
He and Tony walk the house, peering into nooks and crannies, opening old closets and wardrobes, gathering up the things Tony needs and a fair pile of things he doesn't, things that just caught his eye, like the box of antique buttons, a neat coil of silvery wire, a black and white photograph of the empty field that used to be where the house stands now. It feels like an adventure, like a game and after a time, Tony's completely forgotten his earlier distress.
When Tony's satisfied and both he and Alfred are weighed down with an armful of bits-and-things, the butler finds Tony a private room with a large, empty desk and bars the others from entering. Tony thanks Alfred, spreads his supplies out on the desk and sets to work.
He doesn't finish by dinner, but no amount of coaxing through the door breaks Tony's concentration. Alfred eventually ventures in just far enough to deposit a simple meal: a sandwich, a glass of milk and a cookie on a tray. Tony ignores that, too. When his body starts to shut down and he knows it won't be long before he passes out, Tony stumbles off his stool and curls up against the door, lying long-wise across the threshold. Later that night, a little bump startles him awake as someone tries to get into the room and ends up hitting him gently with the door, which is exactly why he slept in front of it.
"Go 'way," Tony mumbles without even looking to see who it is. "Not done, yet."
"I want to see it," Bruce says, crouched down so he can whisper close to Tony's ear through the crack in the door.
"No. Can't."
"I want to see you."
Tony thinks about this, tries to figure out if there's a way to let Bruce in or for Tony to leave without risking the secrecy of his gifts. But he's drowsy and not up for complicated problem solving.
"No."
Bruce sighs, as long and loud as an almost-six-year-old can muster. "Fine." He shuts the door, a little forcefully, and Tony hears a muffled thump and some shuffling from the other side, but he's asleep again before he can wonder too hard.
In the middle of the night, or maybe very early morning, Tony wakes to a rumbling stomach and a full bladder. He opens the door, intent on finding a bathroom and almost trips over Bruce, who has bedded down just outside the door, wrapped in a quilt and laying on a cushion Tony remembers seeing on one of the loveseats in a nearby reading nook. He's dead asleep, just a tousled mop of hair sticking up over his impromptu bedding. Tony reaches out and touches the dark locks before he thinks, enjoying the texture, the cool-soft slide of the strands through his fingers. When he realizes what he's doing, he jerks away, embarrassment stinging his checks.
The only other person whose hair he's ever touched is his mother's. She has beautiful, shining dark curls, usually worn in a perfectly elegant upsweep. Tony's own hair is thicker, coarser, more like his father's and Tony'd been curious about the difference. She had not been appreciative. The lecture on correct and incorrect behavior had lasted a half an hour. Tony had been too young to really understand most of it, but he'd come away with a very vivid impression of her anger, her words like the precise cutting edge of his father's utility knife.
Bruce stirs, burrows deeper, but doesn't wake. Relieved, Tony slips by him, closing the door firmly and then moving hastily down the hall.
He gets lost, of course, because he's in an unfamiliar wing of the house and most of the lights are dim or turned off. Normally, it wouldn't bother him. Darkness doesn't frighten him. But right now he's hungry and tired and needs to pee. He's so focused on his own frustration that he runs headlong into Alfred's leg and falls straight back on his butt.
"Master Anthony!"
"Alfred!" Tony's relief, strangely, makes him feel more upset, like suddenly he has permission to acknowledge all the stress he is suppressing.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes." He feels a little bruised, but the pain's already fading. "Bathroom?" And it's stupid that Tony's voice wavers on the word, like he's a baby and about to cry.
"Of course," Alfred says, taking everything in stride immediately. He's carrying a candle in an old-looking brass holder, the kind with a curly-cue of metal that serves as a handle. It looks like something out of a fairy tale, not that Tony knows much about things as frivolous as fairy tales. He's not dressed like he's working, but in a soft, striped dress-like pajama. He holds out his free hand and Tony takes it. Alfred never reaches for Tony, only reaches out, letting Tony decide if he wants to complete the circuit. His hands without gloves are a little rougher, but Tony still likes them.
He shows Tony to the nearest bathroom and then waits until he's done so he can lead Tony back to his work room. They both stop to observe Bruce, still asleep and oblivious to the world.
Alfred's voice is gentle in the dark. "He was very insistent on staying near you, Master Anthony."
For some reason, that makes Tony blush and tuck his head against Alfred's hip.
"Don't talk about me when I'm asleep," Bruce mutters, rolling over and squinting as balefully as an almost-six-year-old can manage.
"You're not asleep," Tony reasons.
"Don't talk about me when I'm not asleep, then," Bruce says with a bratty grin, sitting up after a brief struggle with the quilt.
"That makes no sense," Tony informs him, a little exasperated. Really, Bruce should try to be more logical.
Bruce shrugs which means he thinks he's won despite all evidence to the contrary. "Are you done hiding?"
"Not yet."
Tony should not find Bruce's pout compelling. Tony's parents are intolerant to any hint of whining, and have taught Tony to be the same. Still, he finds himself saying, "Maybe for a little while."
Tony's stomach flutters and the world seems to brighten with Bruce's smile. They settle into Tony's untouched dinner, splitting the sandwich and cookie between them. Alfred leaves them to it. Peanut butter and homemade blueberry jam on fresh bread with the crust cut off proves delicious. Tony is wary of the room temperature milk, but Bruce shows him it's tasty enough when you dunk cookies into it. Alfred returns fully dressed, just in time to whisk the empty tray away.
Bruce coaxes Tony from his project for almost half a day, but after lunch Tony is back at it, hunched over the desk and working until his back aches and his fingers feel raw. By the time he's finished, it's dark outside, again. Tony hears a thump outside his door and slips off his stool, stretching his arms and moving to investigate. He finds Bruce in the process of bedding down, a long-suffering look on his face.
"Silly," Tony says.
"You're more silly," Bruce retorts. "Done, yet?"
Tony nods and bites his lip.
"Well, c'mon, then," Bruce says and helps Tony carry the carefully wrapped gifts to the tree in the main den.
One of the maids is turning off lights and she pauses to coo over the packages. Bruce holds them up proudly as if he's the one that produced them, showing off for Tony's benefit. She turns a smile on Tony, who is too tired to fend off her hand when she pats his head. Bruce crowds between them, making her back up a step, protective though he's all smiles and boisterous movement and she doesn't seem to notice the rebuttal for what it is. She helps them arrange the gifts just so. Then all three stand back and admire them.
Of course it isn't until after the gifts are finished and wrapped and waiting under the tree that Tony thinks to be nervous. What if no one likes them?
The days leading up to Christmas are frantic, though, leaving Tony little time to fret. The boys get drafted to help with the cleaning, bringing wood in for the fire, carefully setting various tables and carrying already-prepared food to the huge refrigerators. There's a pre-Christmas party for the staff before everyone but Alfred goes home for the holidays. Tony falls asleep on Bruce's father's lap and wakes up to Alfred throwing the curtains open in Bruce's room. Beside him, Bruce grumbles and burrows deeper into the bedding.
"Alfred?" he queries over breakfast, sitting at a small breakfast nook by himself. He's much more of a morning person than any of the Waynes.
"Yes, Master Anthony?"
"Why aren't you going home?"
Alfred whisks eggs with efficiency for a few moments before answering. "My home is here."
Tony considers this, letting it settle in his mind as he cuts his tomato slices into precise triangles. When breakfast is over, he helps Alfred wash dishes and then slips away just as the Waynes are starting to stir. He returns to the study and the desk he's beginning to think of as "his" and begins a new project. Bruce finds him later and manages to distract him with the prospect of a snowball war.
The night of Christmas Eve is spent in the main den, watching every holiday-related movie in the Waynes' not inconsiderable media library, eating caramel apples and drinking hot chocolate. Tony and Bruce argue over what cookies to leave Santa. Bruce's mother suggests they leave carrots and celery because Santa could stand to watch his weight a little, but Bruce and Bruce's father reject that idea with almost identical looks of horror.
Bruce's father insists, "Santa likes those M&M cookies the best."
Tony falls asleep while a bell rings in an angel's wings on the big screen and wakes to an insistent poke in the side. He rolls and finds himself nose-to-nose with Bruce, who's already out of bed and standing next to Tony, eyes wide and full of excitement.
"It's Christmas!" Bruce crows and literally drags Tony from bed, catching him before he can face-plant onto the floor and hauling him to his feet and pulling him toward Bruce's parent's bedroom.
It is Christmas, but only just. The sky is barely light and even Tony doesn't want to be awake, yet. Unfortunately, gone is the drowsy, I-hate-mornings Bruce, replaced with a maniac intent on getting everyone up right now. Bruce's parents are resistant to the idea, but Alfred comes in bearing coffee and hot chocolate with a peppermint stick in each cup on a silver tray and forestalls the threat of a riot. Eventually, everyone's up, though Bruce's parents are sleep-mussed and lazy-eyed and wrapped in dressing gowns.
Santa has been to the house, the plate of cookie crumbs irrefutable proof.
Alfred puts on a record in an old fashioned kind of record player. Bing Crosby croons and Bruce begins passing out presents. Tony gets a gift form Bruce, one from each of Bruce's parents and one from Santa. Tony fingers the bright wrapping paper, enjoying the anticipation, and then freezing with nerves when Bruce finds the first of Tony's gifts for the family, passing it to his father.
Bruce's father dives in without preamble, making a delighted sound when he lifts the origami crown out of Tony's careful wrapping. He puts it on immediately and then shows off for Bruce's mother, light catching on the alternating red and gold foil. She smiles and says, "Very apt."
Tony feels the knot in his chest loosen, feeling easy enough to open one of his own gifts.
From Bruce's mother there's a thick packet of beautiful paper, cut in squares specifically for origami and a book on more advanced designs. From Bruce's father there's an exactly detailed model kit of a Lockheed SR-71 Blackbird.
Bruce's mother looks prettily pleased at her gift of tiny origami flowers strung together in a necklace and bracelet. She thanks Tony and gives him a soft kiss on the top of his head which he finds he doesn't mind, and then gets her to help him put them on before he returns to his own gifts.
Tony's gift from Bruce is a thick book on the theory and current research into artificial intelligence. Tony is lost almost immediately in the dense text. There's a lot of it that he doesn't understand, but what he does understand in fascinating. He's studying a diagram when Bruce opens his gift from Tony and almost misses the sound of fascinated appreciation that the older boy makes.
"Oh, Bruce," Bruce's mother says. "Look at that!"
Tony glances up to see Bruce standing on top of the couch cushions so that he has room to hold up and display the mobile that Tony's constructed for him.
"Bats?" Bruce's father says, amused. "That's not very Christmas-y."
The thing is, Tony only knows so many shapes, and most of them are girlish things and he didn't want to give Bruce butterflies or lady bugs. The whole house is decorated with his and Bruce's paper aircraft experiments, so it seems repetitive to make a gift of them.
Tony doesn't know what his expression looks like, but he can feel his lower lip wobble and his cheeks get hot. Bruce and Bruce's father look alarmed and Bruce's mother puts her foot down on Bruce's father's toes.
"Er," says Bruce's father. "What I mean to say is-bats! How perfect. How wonderful! Who doesn't like bats? I certainly like them."
"Yes, dearheart," Bruce's mother says to Tony with a great deal of sweetness as she turns a warm smile on him. "It's lovely."
"It's the best thing ever!" Bruce declares and wraps an arm around Tony, pulling him close. Tony beams at him, prickly disappointment turning into joy, and that is that.
Bruce's mother dons a red and green Christmas apron and makes breakfast for all of them, including Alfred. Everyone chooses their favorite plate and cup from a walk-in pantry stacked high with ceramic and glass. Tony chooses red and gold glass plate with sharp geometric shapes in black and a square, clear glass mug. Bruce chooses a cup and plate set, both dense black ceramic with a yellow rim. Then all five of them sit down at a small round table in one of the cozier dining rooms, eating off mismatched plates and enjoying the pale light that shines in through a large bay window. Outside, snow lays bright across the broad expanse of the Wayne Estate.
When breakfast is finished, Bruce and Bruce's father take Tony outside and attempt to teach him how to ski. When they learn that Tony's feet are not nearly as nimble as his fingers, Bruce's father brings out a set of sleds and Tony and Bruce spend the rest of the day testing all the hills around the Wayne estate for the best sledding location.
They get called in for dinner, which is simple but good turkey soup with rice. Afterward Bruce's father sits them on his lap together in a large overstuffed chair and reads "The Night Before Christmas" because it is, apparently, Wayne tradition to read it the day after. He falls asleep halfway through naming the reindeer and Bruce takes over, finishing the rest of the poem from memory, flipping pages so Tony can look at the detailed illustrations. Bruce's mom breezes in, her hair down, wearing a dressing gown and fuzzy slippers and snaps a picture before anyone notices that she's holding a camera.
Then she sweeps Tony up to her hip as Bruce clambers down from his father's lap.
"Bedtime?" she says, jiggling Tony a little and grinning at him. She smells like apples and cinnamon and dish soap.
Bruce is carefully taking off his father's reading glasses, but he mumbles an affirmative and then grabs a blanket, throwing it over his father, who sleeps through it all.
Tony keeps himself carefully still, trying to balance without causing too much fuss. "Where's Alfred?"
"Hm. Finishing the dishes, probably."
"I need to see him."
She considers him curiously, but doesn't question. "All right. Do you want us to walk you to the kitchen?"
"No, I can find it."
He doesn't squirm to get down, instead waiting patiently until she sets him on his feet. Bruce steps up beside him with his arms out and they switch places, Tony moving back as Bruce's mother picks him up and sets him on her hip.
"Oof, darling. You're getting so big!" They flash identical grins at each other. "Don't take too long, dearheart," she calls after Tony as he makes his way toward the door.
"I won't," he promises.
He has to stop by his study and pick up a final present before heading to the kitchen. Alfred is, indeed, there, wearing a frilly white apron with absolutely no sense of self-consciousness, his jacket off and his shirtsleeves rolled up, elbows deep in dishwater.
"Master Anthony," he says when he spots Tony, a note of surprise in his voice.
Tony swallows, suddenly nervous all over again. He holds up his gift and the wrapping paper crinkles as he clenches his fingers a little too much. "Merry Christmas."
Alfred turns to face Tony as he dries his hands on his apron, his face settling into gentle lines. "Thank you, Master Anthony. How very thoughtful."
Tony ducks his head a little and watches anxiously as Alfred takes the package from his hands and unwraps it with delicate skill, not ripping any of the paper or breaking any ribbon. When Alfred pulls the glass bottle full of tiny paper stars free Tony almost wants to take it back. It's a silly thing. Why did he think Alfred would want something like that? Alfred is a very tidy, practical person, not given to collecting clutter or indulging whimsy.
But Alfred's expression has warmed into a soft smile, moving from his usual patient fondness into actual pleasure.
"Lucky stars," Tony blurts.
"Yes," Alfred agrees.
"For luck," Tony adds and then bites his lip at the stupidity of stating the obvious.
"Yes, I know," Alfred says and crouches down. He holds out an arm and Tony only hesitates a moment before tucking himself into a gentle embrace. "When I was a little boy, my father was called to war. My mother made lucky stars for him, to bring him home. She had me help her. She said that if we could make a thousand, he would come home safely."
"That doesn't sound logical."
"Love rarely is."
"Did it work? Did he come home?"
Alfred squeezes him and smiles. "Yes."
Tony puts his arms around Alfred's neck and hugs him back, a little tentative, and finds himself smiling, too. Then he looks at the little bottle Alfred holds in his free hand.
"I didn't make one thousand."
"I don't have any wishes I currently need answered, so I think this is the perfect amount."
"Where are they, now? Your parents."
"Long gone."
And by that, Tony knows he means "dead," something his father had once explained to him. Tony's father dislikes using softer words to disguise facts.
"I'm sorry," Tony says, because a nanny had once told him that was the polite thing to do.
"I rarely think of it anymore, Master Anthony, but thank you."
Tony yawns in the middle of saying, "You're welcome" and Alfred's eyes twinkle.
"Shall I accompany you to Master Bruce's room? I dare say that it's about time for bed."
Projects finished and mission accomplished, Tony's body is finally shutting down. Alfred begins to pull away to stand and Tony tightens his arms, tucking his face into Alfred's shoulder. After a moment, Alfred shifts to hold Tony more securely and when he stands up he lifts Tony with him, settling him on his hip. Tony doesn't usually like being carried, but in this moment he wants to make an exception.
Alfred pauses to set his gift down on the counter top and then supports Tony with both arms as he carries Tony down the hallway. Alfred's coat smells like laundry detergent and faintly of wood smoke, and Tony breathes in, relaxing slowly.
"Thank you for my gift, Master Anthony."
Tony murmurs a you're welcome and rubs his cheek into the scratchiness of Alfred's jacket.
"Though it saddens me that I haven't anything to give you in return," Alfred adds. His tone says he’s open to suggestion.
"I don't need anything," Tony insists. He makes sure he states it clearly, so that Alfred knows for certain.
"Well, if ever you think of anything you need, please tell me and I'll do my utmost to obtain it."
"Okay," Tony says agreeably.
Bruce's mother is standing by the door to Bruce's bedroom and she smiles at them when she sees them, her hand gently ruffling Tony's hair when they're close enough. There's a neatly executed hand-off, and then he's being carried by Bruce's mother-to the bathroom to brush his teeth and then to Bruce's bed. Bruce has already cocooned himself in the quilts, but he stirs as Tony settles beside him.
"Everything good?" Bruce asks, words slurred by sleepiness.
Tony smiles and says, "Yes."
When the time comes for Tony to go home, there's a minor mutiny. Bruce yells and breaks things on purpose, being horrible to anyone who comes too close or tries to reason with him. Tony is tidying his room, putting his collection of paper airplanes in the boxes Alfred found for him, attempting to ignore Bruce. There's a knot of misery in his chest, but he's determined to ignore that, too. Bruce pushes a just-organized box off the bed and onto the ground. Tony starts crying and is horrified to find that he can't seem to stop.
Tony isn't sure what happens next, but one second he's hiccupping, trying to swallow sobs, dragging his fist across his eyes to rub out the tears and the next he's flat on his back, Bruce solid and heavy on top of him, holding him tight.
"Don't cry," Bruce says, voice muffled, face pressed to Tony's shoulder. "Please don't cry. I'm sorry."
Tony should feel trapped, held down, but he doesn't. He feels comforted, like Bruce is his favorite, though very heavy, blanket. He feels himself relax as he obeys Bruce's voice, feels the tension drain out of both of them.
Then Bruce sits up and takes Tony's hand and together they run to their favorite guest room to hide in the wardrobe. Tony sits in the dark, listening as Bruce spins tails of how they're going to evade the adults, live in the walls like fairy tale creatures, stealing food and playing tricks, or develop super powers and fly far far away. About how Bruce will keep Tony forever and never ever let him go.
But, eventually, Bruce runs out of stories and they're both hungry and neither one of them really truly believes in magic. People can get superpowers, but it's a rare thing and not to be relied upon. Not for something this important.
So they find Alfred and ask him for lunch, take the sandwiches back to the guest room and spread maps out on the floor to plot the distance between their houses. Bruce gets out his ruler and measures precise lines. Tony plans several alternative routes in case of flooding or rock slides or roaming bands of robbers. Something that could be possible, judging from the way Bruce's father grumbles about rising crime rates all the time.
"There," Bruce says, capping his marker with a small flourish. "Now, if you ever need me you can just come to me. Or I'll come to you."
"You will?" Tony asks. He looks over the maps, at the wide space between their two houses and can't imagine anyone crossing that distance for him.
"Always," Bruce says.
In that moment, Tony believes him.
~~
January is bleak, full of neutral colors and streamlined edges. His parents haven't hired anyone new to be his nanny and Tony's father declares him to be old enough to start learning to take care of himself. Tony's mother hasn't come home, yet, lingering in Cancun where it's warm while Tony's father has returned so he can oversee time sensitive projects in his lab.
Tony spends the first week hungry and cold. He figures out how to reach some of the food in the kitchen, but the door of the huge, sleek metal refrigerator and a lot of the cabinets have coded locks on them. Tony eats dry cereal and thinks longingly of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, of Chef Anton's hot chocolate and Alfred's gentle hands, of Bruce's parents, of Bruce.
He cries, once, curled up under his impersonal blankets, surrounded by the blank walls of his room, muffling the sound in his pillow, terrified that his father might hear.
Then he gets up, wipes his eyes and his nose and builds a rigging for the refrigerator door. The oven is a monstrous, complicated thing that Tony's not willing to tackle, but at least he has milk, now, and cheeses and fruit.
Next he finds the stashes of magazines that his parents keep around the house, in baskets under a coffee table, in some of the guest bathrooms, and carefully tears out the vivid photographs of night skies and rocket ships, Africa's vast grasslands and anything else that looks interesting. He finds a stapler and, considering this the simplest and most effective way of doing things-two markers of a good engineer, his father has told him-begins stapling the pictures to his walls, as high as he can reach, and when that's not high enough, he uses a chair.
It takes him a whole day of wandering and careful experimentation to find the thermostat that controls the temperature for his room. It takes him three more days of methodical testing to find the correct code to log in and gain access to the controls.
Later that day, Tony's father slams open his door and demands to know what the hell he's been up to. The environmental settings for Tony's room were, apparently, connected to one of the labs as well and Tony's ruined a whole day's worth of data.
Tony's ensconced on his bed, surrounded by several computer science texts, the book Bruce gave him for Christmas open on his lap. He was trying to puzzle through the first few chapters, using the other books as reference. In the face of his father's wrath, he wants to hide the book, but knows it will only draw his father's attention to it. If his father's angry enough about this, he'll take the book out of spite. Tony knows this from experience.
So, instead, he sits up straight and sticks his chin out and says, clearly, "That doesn't sound very efficient."
Tony's father stares at him for a second, and Tony can see that violence is still a possibility, though his father's momentum has slowed and now it's no longer an absolute. Sometimes the direct approach works, and sometimes it just makes things worse. Possibly, today is the former.
"Brat," Tony's father says, though it sounds more a nickname than a curse word. Then he takes a look around. "What the hell did you do to your walls?"
"Decorated."
Tony's father looks like he's about to start shouting again when a low, musical voice interrupts. "Oh, there you are."
Both he and his father freeze, but then his father's face softens and Tony uses his momentary distraction to stuff Bruce's book under the covers. Tony's mother steps into view, lovely and smartly dressed in an elegant cream blouse and midnight blue pencil skirt, her hair swept up, off her shoulders, revealing the long, slender column of her neck. She tips her head and accepts a kiss from Tony's father, gracing him with a hint of genuine smile. She doesn't look at Tony.
"Your son has done something to the kitchen," she reports.
Tony's father gives him a dire look and Tony refuses to quail. It never helps. "What," he demands.
"You should see for yourself," she says.
So Tony's marched to the kitchen with his father and mother and Tony's father gets a look at the rigging that Tony's made to open the refrigerator. Tony's father stares at it for a full thirty seconds, then a corner of his mouth quirks and his eyes crinkle and he laughs and laughs. Tony's mother looks on with a soft expression, and though her eyes never stray to Tony, her fingertips do drift down to brush gently against his shoulder, once.
Tony gets punished, anyway, though it's probably a lot lighter than it would've been if Tony hadn't been as amusing. Tony's father gives him a choice: the belt or the closet. Tony chooses the belt, because brief pain is preferable to agonizingly lonely, boring darkness. Tony's father puts him in the closet because sometimes it doesn't matter which Tony prefers. Tony's father says these are life lessons worth learning and someday Tony will thank him.
This time, Tony has the memory of Bruce's book to keep him company, and when Tony's dad finally opens the door again, Tony isn't fighting tears like he usually is, and Tony's father gives him a proud smile and declares that he's going to teach Tony to make a circuit board. He's clearly grown up enough to learn.
It's a difficult thing, much more difficult than it looks on the outside, and the hardest part is holding his hands steady to solder the tiny, delicate wires. Tony gets yelled at and cuffed more than once, but progress is steady, nonetheless, and it's worth it, to gain access to one of his father's labs.
When his father leaves him without supervision, which happens more and more as Tony's skill grows, Tony begins raiding supplies-small things, things that his father has in multiples of tens or more-to begin his own project. He's sure that his father notices, but he doesn't say anything and Tony doesn't offer any information on his own.
Tony spends January with oft-burnt fingers, developing his engineer callouses. He and his father have similar minds when they work, their focused narrowed down to the metal and the liberal application of electricity and adhesive-usually not at the same time. Both can go for long stretches without eating or sleeping, though his father has more endurance in both, much to Tony's chagrin.
Those times when tiny circuits and inductors start to blur, Tony retreats to his newly decorated room and takes up reading Bruce's book or practices folding origami, trying to figure out more patterns that the Waynes might like. Though he feels less of a stranger in his own house these days, these quiet moments are still his favorite part of the day, when he feels a warm peacefulness. Tony realizes that his mind is fully engaged in his father’s lab, but his heart is still at Wayne Manor.
~~
Tony doesn't stay away forever, even if that's what it feels like. It's summer by the time he returns, and each subsequent time is longer than that, until eventually Tony has more possessions at the Wayne's than he does at his own house. Tony's books stack on top of Bruce's. His paper creations, which eventually veer into metal and wire, are scattered throughout the house, until Bruce commandeers a second room and declares it their lab, moving all his experiments and Tony's creations into it, organizing them meticulously.
Tony isn't opposed to order, but doesn't adhere to it with the same rigid standards that Bruce does. They fight. They make up. Alfred brings them cookies as a reward every time, until he figures out that they sometimes fight just so that they can get cookies.
By the time Tony turns five, he knows the names of all the many people who come and go through the Wayne household. Susan is the maid who leaves one of the hallway lights on for him at night, because she knows he often slips out of bed when he has an idea and wander down to the lab to sketch it out or mock up a rough prototype. Ricky is one of the groundskeepers, but will carry heavy things for Tony with an unwavering amused patience no matter how many times a day Tony asks. Patrice, who dresses in a sharp suit and keeps business records for Wayne Corp, has an amazing head for math and they've had whole conversations in nothing but numbers. Aubrey, the Wayne's mechanic, lets Tony hand her tools and talks him through maintenance and repairs, promising to let him help when he's older.
Maurice is Bruce's tutor. The first time he gives Tony math homework, it's on a whim. Tony's finished a new design on a model airplane and wants to show Bruce, but Bruce is taking a test, so Tony hovers restlessly just inside the doorway to the study room until Maurice calls him over and gives him a sheet full of math equations. Maurice likely does it so that he'll stop distracting Bruce, but Tony genuinely likes math, so he finishes it. And the next, and the next after that. By the time Bruce is finished with his test, Tony's completed ten worksheets.
After that, Bruce's mother asks if Tony would like to join Bruce's lessons, and Tony says "Yes."
He and Bruce are pretty evenly matched. Tony can sometimes be quicker on the uptake, but Bruce has more focus. Every time they get a perfect score, which is often, Bruce's parents coo over it and pin it to the refrigerator with a magnet. Eventually, that gets so covered that Alfred has trouble getting to the actual food, and they put up a giant tack board to hold all the papers. Bruce keeps them organized by date and subject. Sometimes, Tony sneaks one out of alignment, just because, and whenever Tony's father notices he grins a bit and ruffles Tony's hair, and then plays innocent when Bruce discovers the sabotage.
Sometimes, quiet and furtive in the middle of the night, Tony folds paper stars at his desk, on the side of the "lab" designated just for him, and wishes very hard that the Waynes will keep him forever.
~~