The Blanket Negotiation's
Tony Stark was many things.
Brilliant. Obnoxious. Loud in a way that set Bucky's teeth on edge.
But most of all?
He was a coward.
Bucky had known that since the day he figured out Tony knew Harry was his son and just… didn't say anything.
Bucky had waited. Watched. Watched Harry move through the Tower like something wild learning how to trust, while Tony danced around him like a guilty cat avoiding a laser pointer.
Enough was enough.
Bucky found Tony in the kitchen, stress-eating pistachios and looking like he was trying to rewrite the laws of space-time via caffeine consumption.
"I need to talk to you," Bucky said.
Tony didn't look up. "You're not pregnant, are you?"
"Worse."
Tony finally looked up. "You're breaking up with me?"
"Worse."
Tony frowned. "You're keeping Harry."
Bucky crossed his arms. "I already have Harry. This is about you."
"Hard pass."
"Not optional."
Tony sighed, eyes narrowing. "I've had forty-seven conversations with Fury this week and somehow this one's already worse."
"Because it matters," Bucky said simply.
That shut him up.
"Let me guess," Tony muttered. "You think I'm a bad person for not telling him."
"I think you're a terrified person," Bucky replied. "Which is worse. You've had ten chances. You don't get an eleventh."
Tony was quiet for a long moment.
Then: "He's happy."
"He's settling," Bucky corrected. "He's starting to feel safe. And you're the one person who could take that from him. Which means you're the one person who needs to make it real."
Tony swallowed. "What if he doesn't want it?"
Bucky tilted his head. "Do you honestly think he doesn't already know?"
Tony blinked.
Bucky continued, "You think Harry can hack Stark Industries in under two minutes but can't read a man choking on fatherly guilt from across a room?"
"…Fair."
Bucky stepped closer. "He's not waiting for you to be perfect. He's just waiting for you to stop pretending."
Tony sighed and dropped his head to the counter. "This is awful."
"You're awful," Bucky muttered. "Fix it."
Meanwhile...
In the lounge:
Harry was on the floor wrapped in three blankets, a cup of tea balanced on his knee, surrounded by Avengers like some kind of smug little emperor.
"Why are there seven blankets on you?" Bruce asked.
"I'm a cold-blooded creature. Like a gecko."
"You stole three of those from Clint."
"Reparations for emotional suffering."
Natasha raised an eyebrow. "From what?"
Harry sipped his tea. "Tony didn't tell me something very important. So now I'm punishing him with petty theft."
"You know what it is, don't you?" she asked.
Harry didn't look up. "Of course. I'm not blind."
Clint flopped onto the couch. "So why haven't you said anything?"
Harry smirked. "Because he's squirming."
That night, a note appeared on Tony's desk.
In Harry's handwriting.
"Your move.
P.S. I stole your favorite blanket. It's mine now.
P.P.S. You better make tea before you talk to me or I'll cry for dramatic effect."
Tony stared at the note.
Then sighed, turned to Jarvis, and said, "Prepare the tea set."
Jarvis paused. Then replied, "Finally."