Chapter Text
Carol had been drunk once, in the early days when Tony was trying to help her sober up and he kept wondering who gave him the right to tell Carol how to make it stick, when the alcohol on her breath made him tremble with need. Her head was on his lap, fine blond hair twisting around his fingers, and she kept looking at his face like she had been caught in some mischief. Tony knew he didn’t have any orange slime left on his body from the fight that afternoon - a fight that Carol was benched from after she answered her identicard slurring - the thorough hot shower he took had taken care of it. He had trimmed his mustache, put on his cologne and his favorite blue shirt, then went to see his friend. Someone had to look like they had their shit together and it sure as hell wasn't Carol. Couldn't be Carol, no matter how much they both wanted it.
She laughed, then she patted his cheek clumsily and called him prince. Or, knight - knight in shining armor. Or at least that was what Tony understood from her drunken babble. He frowned and she shushed him, because clearly he couldn't see what she saw and she had to illuminate him. Prince like a prince from children's books, from fairytales, who went out in the desert and got captured, went through trials and tests, who grew and discovered his power - she said, as her hand slipped down his chest - and transformed himself into a hero to save them all. The knight who came home to right the wrongs of the past.
Her eyes were wide with disarming openness, a scorching softness that made something hot churn inside his gut. He focused his eyes on the strands of hair tangled by his fingers. Prince charming. He was no hero. So Tony had laughed and told her she’ll feel different in the morning, and she shoved her face in his stomach. God, what bullshit.
It starts like this :
Tony is five, biting his lips while adjusting the blanket over his head to hide the light of his lantern. He’s smoothing his hands over Captain America’s adventures printed on battered pages. He’s five and he hasn’t yet acquired the skill to pull an all-nighter over a passion project. His mother has given him a new book, about King Arthur and his noble knights, and he would've been insulted by the colorful illustrations on the cover if the story hadn’t captured his attention. But he can't abandon Captain America, no matter how tired he is! It’s their tradition, his and Cap’s, to read at least a comic every night.
He’s five and he falls asleep with his face smushed down next to his hero’s face. He dreams of Captain America on a white horse, white star shining as pure as the steel blade in his hand. He dreams of a faithful knight riding side by side with his king into battle, wearing a red and gold armor - not silver, no, silver is brittle and gold is soft but mixed up with the right metal, gold could endure forever.
It starts like this :
Tony is eight, trembling while waiting for his father to open the door to his study. It’s stupid. His father is the one who summoned him; it’s not like Tony is disturbing him. His hands shake when he knocks again.
His father opens the door suddenly, amber liquid sloshing on the floor, and he smiles at Tony. Tony’s fists clench at his side, his father’s cowardly little soldier. Howard is in a rare good mood, one that means he’s looking at Tony with interest like he might still be worth his time. His father pushes him to the couch and shows him an old album filled with Captain America memorabilia. Posters asking for recruits, posters asking for donations, Cap beating Nazis in Italy, Cap liberating cities. Photos of Howard and Captain America.
Red-white-blue. Howard talks about the summer sky-blue of his chain mail like he could see it in front of his eyes, no matter how many decades passed. He talks about bravery and strength and discipline, of strong men fighting for this country and how could Tony ever be strong if all he does is hide in the library. He shoves his glass at Tony and pours himself a new one. Orders Tony to drink, to make him proud.
Tony is eight, trying to swallow the burning liquid without spitting, and puts down his glass on one of the posters. Captain America’s face looks at him through liquid amber, determined and brave and strong and everything that Tony was not.
He leaves stain marks on Cap’s blue suit.