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Wipe Your Tears Away

Summary:

Steve likes taking care of his team. It gives him focus in a confusing new world. But one member of the team never learned that it's okay to be taken care of. Until the night Tony gets a concussion, and his deepest secret - that, when he's absolutely sure he's alone, he likes to role play being a toddler - comes out into the open and affords Steve the perfect opportunity.

Notes:

I've been thinking for a while about how to best write an age play story featuring baby!Tony and Daddy!Steve, because a lot of the Avengers age play stories I see feature Tony as an older child. Which is fine, but it's not what I want. Since you sometimes have to write the story you want to read, voila.

Note: further on in the story, Steve and Tony will develop a romantic relationship that is completely separate from the age play. There will be absolutely no sexual contact while Tony is little. This is not that kind of story and I suggest you turn back if that's what you're after.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Tony Stark was one of the most stubborn men that Steve had ever met. Which, considering the sort of people that he had been exposed to both before and after he'd been frozen, was really saying something. In this case, though, he didn't intend for that to be a compliment.

He crossed his arms over his chest, watching as Iron Man took one last look around the battlefield. Normally this would be right about the time when Iron Man would take off, flying back to Avengers Tower and subsequently bypassing the medical check and debriefing entirely. Not this time. It just so happened that Steve had been close enough during the battle to watch as a lucky shot caught Iron Man unawares, sending him flying head over heels into the side of an office building. Iron Man had recovered quickly, but chances were high he had sustained some kind of trauma.

Steve was tired letting one of his teammates suffer alone, and in a couple of long strides he reached Iron Man's side. There was no immediate reaction to his presence, which led credence to the theory that the man inside the suit was hurt in some way. He reached out and clapped a hand on that red shoulder, the armor strangely warm through the fabric of his gloves. "Good job today, Stark. Now it's time to get checked over by SHIELD."

"Why don't you go and tell me all about it later," Iron Man said.

"I saw that hit you took," Steve said, working hard to keep his frustration from showing. Stark was just too good at noticing those little weak spots and using them to his advantage. If this had even a chance at working, Steve had to stay calm. "I know that the armor gives you some protection, but there's no way you got through that unscathed. Come on, Stark. It will only take a minute and then you can get back to your workshop. I won't even try to make you stay for the debriefing."

"I don't want to."

"It's non-negotiable. I would hate to have to bench you for the next two weeks because I wasn't completely certain you were at full fighting strength." Even as Steve said it, he winced internally: it was a low blow. He might not have been friends with Stark, but how seriously Stark took his status as an Avenger was obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention. And Steve prided himself on paying attention. If this was what it took to get Stark to take care of himself, so be it.

There was a long pause and Steve had the feeling that it was probably a good thing that the armor didn't have laser eyes that were activated through the force of a glare, or he would have been nothing more than a smoldering pit on the ground. Finally, Iron Man gave a short nod, then jerked himself out from under Steve's hold. He stomped away towards where Coulson was quietly speaking to Clint. Steve watched him go and sighed. It was a pitifully small win because he'd probably just earned himself another step higher on Stark's list of people he hated, but he had reached the point where he legitimately did not know what else to do anymore.

"Be patient," a voice said in his ear, and Steve turned quickly to catch Bruce by the arm. Bruce wobbled and then recovered, shooting him a thankful smile. "Tony has a hard time showing weakness to anyone."

"We all do," Steve pointed out. "But I'm the team's leader. It's my responsibility to take care of everyone." Whether that meant providing Bruce with pants and food as soon as he transformed back from the Hulk, or making sure that Clint and Coulson saw the other was physically unharmed as soon as possible, or helping Natasha find the weapons she had lost during the fight, or consoling Thor when he was on Earth and battle left him homesick, Steve took care of his team. Everyone except for Stark.

Well, that was going to change starting now.

He supported Bruce as they walked back towards the others. Coulson directed them all into the plane that would take them to the helicarrier. Clint must have been feeling fine, because he sat right down in the pilot's seat and didn't even wait for everyone to be seated before they were taking off. Steve put a hand against the wall to stabilize himself and kept an eye on Iron Man during the short trip. The suit may have been a technological wonder, but it annoyed him that he couldn't see Tony's face through the mask.

"Coming in for a landing," Clint called out a few minutes later, skillfully guiding the plane into the depths of the helicarrier. He parked and switched the engine off, then turned to say something to Coulson.

Steve watched as the rest of the Avengers disembarked the plane - all of them except for one. Iron Man didn't move until everyone else was gone. When he went to stand he staggered, and Steve lunged across the plane and caught him by the arm.

"Whoa, careful," Steve said, helping him to straighten. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Because you always have trouble walking? You're not leaving until you get checked out, Stark, so you might as well tell me."

Iron Man sighed so loudly the sound was clearly audible even through the suit's transmitter. In lieu of a response, he detached his helmet from the suit. Steve's eyes widened at the sight of the blood matting Stark's hair. Some of it was even smeared across his face and left cheek. And when he looked at Steve, he couldn't focus: he kept blinking and squinting, his head bobbing.

"Jesus, Stark," Steve hissed, pulling him as gently as possible out of the plane. He enlisted Bruce's help to get the suit off as quickly as possible, and then personally escorted Stark to the infirmary. Natasha, Clint and Coulson were already there - Natasha had taken a bad fall on her right arm, and Clint had a knife wound that needed stitching - but a doctor came over to tend to Stark immediately.

"Please come with me, Mr. Stark, and sit down on the bed so that I can examine you," the doctor said, ushering them both into a separate room.

Stark perched on the edge of the bed and followed the doctor's instructions with unnerving silence. He didn't protest or make excuses or try to make a run for it, just sat with his head slightly bowed as the doctor gently felt his scalp, then parted his hair to get a look at the wound. Only when the doctor shone a light in his eyes did he respond, flinching back with a low sound of pain.

"You have a bad concussion," the doctor announced finally. "And you need a few stitches on the back of your head. Also, I'd like to give you a more thorough examination to make sure you're not hurt anywhere else. I'll go gather the equipment. Please change into one of these robes. Captain, I trust you'll make sure my patient does not disappear."

"Yes sir," Steve said, glancing at the doctor's name tag. Doctor Harding. He waited until the doctor was gone, and then turned to Stark. "I'll turn my back while you get changed."

"Sure you don't want a show?" Stark asked, sneering. In spite of his words, his movements were slow and jerky as he gripped the bottom of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Steve bit down on an invitation to help and turned away.

Doctor Harding came back a few minutes later, shooting Steve an impressed look when he saw that Stark was still in the room. It only took about twenty minutes for him to administer the local anesthetic and do the stitches, but by that time Stark was half-asleep. He didn't even complain about wanting to go home; he was out like a light the second Doctor Harding told him he could lay down.

"Remarkable," Doctor Harding said, performing a quick examination of Stark's body. Fortunately there was no other visible damage.

"What?" Steve asked.

"That's the furthest any of us have ever gotten with Tony Stark. I thought for sure he'd be gone by the time I came back. I'd like for him to stay overnight for observation." He was stripping off his gloves as he spoke, moving to dispose of them in the medical waste container. "Not that it matters; he'll be gone before the morning."

"No, he won't. I'll make sure he doesn't."

The doctor raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. "Just let him sleep for now. He'll probably wake up naturally on his own at some point. If he shows any signs of confusion or is slow to wake or anything else that seems abnormal, ring for a nurse. Someone will be in to check on him at some point."

"Thank you," Steve called after him. He glanced back at Stark, then slipped out of the room and ran to take a quick shower and change. Even if all SHIELD had were sweatpants, it was better than staying in his sweaty, bloody uniform. Surprisingly Stark was still there sleeping when he got back.

There was a chair in the corner of the room and Steve took a seat. Coulson and Bruce came in at different times to check on Stark, but other than that he was alone. The medical staff stayed away from the room. Steve amused himself by reading the newspaper on his Starkphone. The sun went down without anyone else interrupting them, and he not been sitting in an uncomfortable hospital chair he might've even been enjoying himself.

Then a quiet sound caught his attention. Steve lifted his head, zeroing in on Stark. The sheets shifted as Stark sat up suddenly, looking around the room in confusion. The room was dark, the overhead lights dim, and Stark's fingers clenched tightly in the sheets.

"Where am I? What happened?"

"Relax. You took a blow to the head during the fight and the doctor thought you should stay in for observation," Steve said.

"But I don't like hospitals," Stark whispered.

"Well, there's no way I'm letting you hide yourself away in the workshop where no one but JARVIS would know if you collapsed."

"But..." Stark trailed off, his chin quivering.

Steve stared at him. Should he be calling for a nurse? He'd never been around Stark when the man had a concussion. Was this normal behavior? It wasn't probable given that this was Stark, but he hated to sound the alarm if nothing was wrong. For one thing, Stark would probably never forgive him.

He got up, putting his phone back in his pocket. "Look, Stark -" That was far as he got.

Tony Stark burst into tears, drawing his knees up to his chest and burying his face in his hands. "I want to go home," he sobbed. "I want Jarvis."