heroic_jawline | Apartment Above Stark Industries, Saturday morning [Oh God, so early]

"It's too early," Tony whined, trying to bury his head under a pillow. Hopefully he could be forgiven for not realizing right away that things were off.

"It's almost six!" Steve wheedled. "Get up, get up, sleepyhead!"

Tony whined as that voice filtered through his brain. Then shot up to find where it was coming from. "What."

"Hi!" said the scrawny nine year old bouncing next to him. "This is a real swell bed."

"Hi," Tony started warily, glancing around the room in case Steve was hiding from a child he could be inflicting basejumping on. "Steve?" he guessed when that came up with nothing.

"'Course I'm Steve," Steve said, swiping his bangs out of his eyes.

"Of course you are," Tony agreed helplessly. "How silly of me."

"Breakfast time!" Steve chirped. "The most important meal of the day. We've got oatmeal, right?"

"I think? Probably." They did, but it was next to the protein powder and god help anyone who got them confused. "Yes. Do you want me to make you some?"

"Yes!" Steve shouted. "Please," he added more quietly.

"Okay, okay. Just... let me get dressed." Because oh god, he hadn't been expecting this. "JARVIS, can you--"

"Babysit, sir?"

Steve glared at the ceiling. "Don't need a babysitter," he said sulkily. "I have a job."

The 1920s were fun.

"Well then, maybe you can keep an eye on JARVIS for me?" Tony suggested. Because the 1920s were awful, Steve.

Steve glanced around the room suspiciously. "Is he hidin'?"

"He's sort of a... ghost. But a friendly one," Tony added quickly.

"Bucky says there's no such thing as ghosts," Steve replied.

"And most of the time he would be right." Until you met Thor or Strange or Mephisto or something.

"But you have a ghost," Steve said dubiously.

"Named JARVIS," he added. "He doesn't have a body, so you might need to help him get bowls and spoons out for the oatmeal."

"Ooooh," Steve said, suitably impressed. "Does he eat oatmeal too?"

"He doesn't, but he likes to make sure us living people don't forget to eat," Tony replied. "Right, J?"

"Of course, sir. It would be a great strain were you to die from malnutrition having only consumed coffee."

...he regretted giving JARVIS sarcasm sometimes.

"Can I have coffee too?" Steve asked.

"You can have milk. Coffee will stunt your growth." BECAUSE THAT MATTERED WITH A SUPER SOLDIER.

Steve made a face. "I'm getting taller!"

This was...not at all true. Steve was nine but looked seven.

"One day you'll be taller than me, I promise," Tony replied, pointing a finger at him. "But coffee won't let that happen. Capiche?"

Steve stuck his lower lip out. "Can the milk be warm, at least?" he tried. "Please?"

Edited 2017-11-18 20:58 (UTC)

"We can heat up the milk," Tony replied. "Hey, we might have some hot cocoa mix to add to it."

Steve's eyes went wide. "Really?"

"You bet." Okay, Tony was starting to be okay with this because that? That was adorable.

Steve beamed at him. "Thank you!" he said excitedly, bouncing up and down until he accidentally worked himself into a coughing fit.

"Oops, oops," Tony said, keeping his panic shoved down as he was out of the bed and hunting for that inhaler from last time Steve had been younger. "Sit. Breathe for me?"

Steve nodded, big blue eyes fixed on Tony as he concentrated on breathing more slowly.

Tony, wearing an oversized and borrowed set of clothing from Steve returned only a moment later with the inhaler to hold up for him to use. "In. And out."

Steve nodded, breathing in carefully and closing his eyes as the medicine did its work.

Tony rubbed Steve's back, waiting for his breathing to even out again. "Wow, hot cocoa gets quite the reaction, huh?" he teased gently.

Steve let out a slightly watery laugh. "Maybe a little too excitin' this morning," he said softly.

"Okay, new plan is that you sip cocoa while I make oatmeal and bacon."

He probably couldn't burn the bacon, right?

"Okay," Steve said, looking resigned. "But I clean up after, okay?"

He had to pull his weight.

"You can dry the dishes," Tony granted him. "I hate drying."

"And do the washing," Steve said, doing the wee version of Captain America's righteous jaw clench. "I can reach the sink now!"

It was insidious. "Alright, and do the washing."

All five dishes.

Steve nodded. "Good," he said stubbornly.

Tony sighed, ruffling Steve's hair for that. "C'mon. Before one of us starves."

"I had dinner last night, so I'm good for a while still," Steve said, nodding stoutly.

Welcome to the Great Depression, Tony. Give him a hug.

STEVE, WHY?

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," he said, soldiering on. "Especially for a growing kid."

Steve nodded again. "That's what Ma says. She also says that the lumps in oatmeal are the best part."

Sarah was not a brilliant cook.

So, basically it was hereditary.

"I'll see what I can do about the lumps for you," Tony said, starting for the kitchen to cook a meal on par with Sarah Rogers.

Not that high a bar to clear, frankly.

"Thanks," Steve said, following along behind with his hand still grasping the inhaler, shivering slightly.

For him it might have been a pretty reasonable bar.

"You're washing dishes. Me cooking is only fair."

"It's important to be fair," Steve agreed, pulling a chair over to watch Tony cook and wrapping his arms around himself to keep warm.

"Are you cold?" Tony asked, getting the bowls out and dishes out.

Steve, this way lay madness.

"I'm fine," Steve said. "My pants're nice and long."

And built for a supersoldier twice his size.

Tony frowned for a moment before saying, "Stay here," and disappearing back into his room to hunt down a sweater or three.

Which were brought back and placed next to him. "It's nearly winter. You should bundle up."

"But the heat's on," Steve muttered, already halfway into the first sweater.

"You don't have any body fat to insulate you," Tony insisted, grabbing all the bacon to make now. And the milk for cocoa.

"'snot my fault," Steve grumbled, futilely attempting to roll the sleeves of the sweater up.

"No, it's not. But that's why the sweaters." Because you needed them like an emaciated Chihuahua.

Steve still looked grumpy but he burrowed into another sweater, shooting Tony a very clear "Happy now?" look.

"Ecstatic," Tony replied, getting the bacon and his beloved coffee going.

"You know how to make oatmeal, right?" Steve checked. "You just add water. Or milk if you have extra."

"I know how to make oatmeal."

He said, looking at the back of the container for the ratios.

Steve looked even more dubious. "You're reading the box."

"It's good to know how they recommend things!" Yeah, it was going to be lumpy without even trying.

He put that aside to warm up milk in a pan for the hot cocoa instead.

"Uh huh," Steve said. "Ma just knows."

"I hear moms are like that." Not that his mother was a cook or anything.

"She's magic," Steve said, nodding.

"Again, a secret power of mothers," Tony replied, adding the cocoa mix to the milk and getting a mug out for Steve to pour into.

"What's your mom's secret power?" Steve asked, watching the cocoa mug with interest.

"Her secret power was that she sand the best lullabies when I was little," Tony replied with small smile as he put the mug down in front of Steve.

"Did she know Toora Loora?" Steve asked, taking a cautious sip and letting out a small, contented sigh.

He could make decent hot cocoa at least!

"No, how does that go?"

Steve took a sip of his cocoa again and began singing. "Toora, loora, loora. Toora, loora, li. Toora, loora, loora, hush, now don't you cry--"

He smiled. "She sings it to me when I'm sick."

"That's very nice of her," Tony replied earnestly, biting the bullet and getting that oatmeal started. "My mother sang opera."

Because it was the most Italian she could manage.

"The man next door to us sings opera," Steve shared. "He's very...loud."

And not good.

"She wasn't that loud about it," Tony replied, placing some of thr cooked bacon on a plate to shove at Steve.

"That probably made it better," Steve said, looking wide-eyed at the mound of food. "I can have more than one piece?!"

"You can have as much as you want," Tony replied, eyeing the goop of his oatmeal attempt. "Save me a slice or two."

"I'll save more than that," Steve promised. "I don't want a tummy ache."

"Okay, so a happy medium of bacon."

Which was still probably a lot.

"Maybe three pieces?" Steve asked, still feeling impossibly greedy.

"Three is good," Tony replied solemnly, turning to face him with a bowl of oatmeal that was probably better than wallpaper paste.

Steve looked at the bowl of oatmeal. "Are you sure Ma didn't show you how to make it?"

Because it totally looked like that at home.

It would be a new layer of weird to have Tony know Sarah Rogers like Steve knew Howard Stark.

"I would only be so lucky."

"She would like you," Steve said, nodding.

"You think so?" Tony asked as he finally got his life nourishing coffee

Steve nodded. "You listen," he said earnestly. "And you know how to make bacon."

Tony smiled at that. "The bacon is the important part," he said, stealing a piece.

"That one was mine!" Steve said, laughing.

"See, you need to put your name on it so I don't make that mistake," Tony chided with a little grin.

"How about if I do this instead?" Steve asked, reaching over and licking two of the pieces. "Bucky taught me that!"

Of course he had.

"I am so unsurprised by this," Tony said. Because he so wasn't.

Steve laughed, chomping happily on his first piece of bacon. "You know Bucky?"

"I know Bucky," he confirmed, leaning back against the counter and sipping his coffee. "We could see if he's around this weekend if you want."

"We should save him some bacon," Steve decided.

"We can also bring him donuts." Because he would shove food at two Great Depression urchins. So help him.

"Maaaaybe there will be bacon and donuts together," Steve said, eyes lighting up.

Original Brooklyn hipster.

He really, really was and it was precious.

"You know what. I think we might be able to swing that."

Steve beamed at him. "You're the best."

Tony snorted, leaning over to ruffle his hair. "I'm okay."

Steve frowned at him. "You're better than just okay," he said earnestly.

"Only in the eyes of important people," Tony replied. Because Steve was precious at any age, really.

Steve sat up taller in his chair and puffed his chest out a bit. "You think I'm important?"

"I know you are," Tony said with another hair ruffle.

Steve batted at his hair. "Hey."

It was just turnabout!

"Might want to brush your hair before we go anywhere."

"To find Bucky?" Steve asked eagerly. "Or to go exploring?"

"We could do both of those things."

And it would involve shoving more food at Steve.

"But we'll need to find you a jacket."

"I already have two sweaters on," Steve said, sounding long-suffering.

"But it's cold out." So maybe put on another sweater.

"It's not snowing," Steve argued.

"I'm putting on a jacket too." So there.

"But you're not already wearing two sweaters."

SO THERE.

Also in case Tony had ever wondered, Steve had always been that stubborn.

"I might be putting on those sweaters." He would not be.

"I'll wait while you do," Steve said helpfully.

"...fine." Now he had to find some thin sweaters. Damn it, Steve.

Steve beamed at him. "I'm gonna go find socks!" he said, heading back to the other bedroom. "Wow!" he called. "This bed is really big!"

If you think he's not jumping on it right now, Tony, it's like you don't even know him.

"Please don't fall off!" Tony called after him, wondering how Sarah Rogers managed this.

"I'm fine!" Steve called back, followed, inevitably, by a heavy thunk. "I'm still okay!"

"That's good," Tony replied weakly. Then mouthed 'why?' Up at JARVIS like he was in charge of Steve's safety

"Ow," Steve muttered, rubbing his elbow as he reemerged from the back room.

"You didn't break anything, right?" Tony asked, only half teasing as he tugged on an MIT sweatshirt.

"Me or the room?" Steve checked carefully.

"You. Stuff can be replaced." People, not so much.

Steve smiled at that. "I'm okay," he said stoutly. "I've had waaay worse."

Probably not as reassuring as you think, Steve.

"What does that consist of?" Tony, why even ask that?

"I had scarlet fever last winter," Steve said, "so now my heart's not so strong. Plus the asthma. And Ma says I catch every cold in the borough."

"And this is why you're wearing a jacket with those sweaters."

MAYBE A THIRD SWEATER.

Steve gave him a mulish look. "I don't wanna."

"You can wear my leather jacket," Tony wheedled. Because that was a cool thing for kids, right? Right.

Steve had a weakness for leather jackets going way back. "What color?" he asked.

Score one for Tony!

"Black." And it would look oversized and adorable on him.

"Ooooh," Steve said quietly. "Okay. And we're still getting donuts?"

"We are still getting donuts," Tony assured him. "And maybe something for breakfast again tomorrow."

"Your oatmeal was good," Steve said with a smile.

In case Tony was worried or something.

"Sometimes Ma and I stop at the diner after church," he added.

"There's a diner here too. We can go there then."

Unless someone got sick on him.

Someone was totally going to get sick on him.

"That would be great!"

Inside voice, Steve.

Tony would graciously let that go with a smile, nudging him along. "Sweater and then jacket."

"That's three sweaters," Steve muttered, scuffing his feet along the floor.

"It'll ease my mind," Tony said, going with guilt to win this battle.

Steve gave him some pretty epic side-eye for a little kid. "You're sure you don't know Ma? Because you're about two minutes from prayin' the rosary on behalf of children who don't obey the Commandments 'n honor their parents."

"I don't even own a rosary." He had the guilt without the religion going for him!

"Did you lose yours too?" Steve guessed. "Most of my friends did right after First Communion."

"Sounds like an epidemic," Tony replied, trying not to laugh at that.

Steve nodded, eyes twinkling. "I kept mine, but I'm not gonna snitch on the ones who lost 'em."

"Uh huh." You were just going to get a million hair ruffles this weekend, Steve. Because it was adorable.

Steve wrinkled up his nose at Tony. "You like messin' up my hair."

"Its turn-about."

He had to get them in before Steve was taller than him again.

Steve frowned. "But I can't even reach your hair."

"You will soon enough," Tony promised.

Steve stared way, way up. "You think so?"

If only this had been itty bitty MCU Tony for him to do that to.

"I think so."

Then he only would've had to look way up.

Steve beamed at him. "Probably from all the oatmeal."

"And bacon now." God help you, Steve.

Steve nodded. "Bucky's gonna be so jealous."

Apartment Above Stark Industries, Saturday morning [Oh God, so early]

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