Rebirth
“ – ogers, did you hear me? Mr. Rogers?”
Steve heard his name called as though from a great distance.
“Steve?” Sam’s worried voice cut through his haze, and his eyes snapped to his friend. He blinked.
“I’m – I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” he asked, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.
King T’Challa eyed him sympathetically and inclined his head. “In the wake of the evidence that Wanda Maximoff has been influencing and controlling your minds since she engaged the Avengers in Sokovia, you have all been cleared of all charges in every country that brought a suit against you.”
Steve’s mouth opened and closed, surprise cutting through his numbness. “That seems…extremely generous,” he said finally. He heard noises of stunned agreement from the other Rogues around the conference table. A series of emotions crossed T’Challa’s face.
“Yes, well Dr. Strange’s assessment of her degree of control over your minds made a quite…convincing argument for your having no power over your actions,” the king stated, his own opinion on the matter carefully concealed. The Dora Milaje behind him were similarly expressionless.
“That’s bullshit. People died,” Clint said hoarsely, and Steve looked at his hands in silent agreement. “We…we shouldn’t get off free after that.” King T’Challa cleared his throat, an expression of sympathy crossing his face.
“By that logic, Mr. Barnes should still be locked up,” he said gently, and Steve’s heart froze. His eyes darted to Bucky, whose face revealed nothing, gaze locked steadily on the king’s face.
“What’s that supposed to mean? Bucky did nothing wrong, he was being controlled by Hydra,” he snapped, unable to help himself at the defense. T’Challa raised an eyebrow.
“That same logic can be applied to all of you,” the king pointed out, and Steve swallowed.
“It’s not the same,” he protested, but his voice sounded weak to his own ears.
“And why’s that?” T’Challa asked carefully.
“Because – because,” Steve choked, uncertain if he could finish his sentence. But the words burst out of him, almost as though of their own accord, as though they simply had to be said and not even his own guilty conscience could hold them back. “Because I killed Tony Stark!”
“Steve – “ Sam protested, but Steve shook his head, unwilling to hear any comforting words. He ached, the words pouring forth like water bursting from a dam.
“I killed him, I killed Iron Man, how can that just go away?” he asked, voice rising in something akin to hysteria. The other Rogues around the table were studiously avoiding his gaze now, though the king’s eyes were still meeting his calmly.
“And I killed Howard and Maria Stark,” Bucky said quietly, and all eyes snapped to him. But Bucky’s eyes were locked on Steve. “You didn’t want to. You wouldn’t have done it if you could help it. But someone made you. Just like me.”
“Buck,” Steve said weakly. “It’s not the same. Hydra took away your memories and took away your free will.” But Bucky was unflinching at his denial.
“And the witch bent you to her will. You’ve told me how much she hated Stark. There wasn’t anything you could’ve done to stop yourself under her control,” Bucky said firmly. Though the words didn’t do much to soothe Steve, he could see that Bucky’s defense was having an absolving effect on the others sitting around the table, a mixture of guilt and hope for forgiveness highlighted in the tension in his friends’ shoulders.
“That’s not…” Steve’s voice trailed off, and he wasn’t sure even where he’d intended for that sentence to go. Not good enough? Not fair? Not going to bring Tony back?
He wanted his team to find peace with everything that had happened; heaven knew he’d have been the first to offer them absolution for everything they’d done under Wanda’s control if he could. But for him? How could he seek any measure of peace when his hands had murdered his friend and ally? A grieving son, a good man? A hero?
But his inner turmoil couldn’t intrude on T’Challa’s hospitality forever, and the king cleared his throat.
“Regardless of whether or not you believe you should be forgiven, the decision to clear you has been made. The quinjet is waiting in the hangar to take you to the Compound, where an Accords council member will be waiting to discuss the details of your return with you,” T’Challa said, his voice the very epitome of professionalism.
And those words were what it took for the information to start to hit Steve. They were going home. They were going home. Two years after seeking sanctuary in Wakanda, two months after Wanda’s death at the hands of the Dora Milaje after the witch lost her temper and endangered the lives of civilians around her, one month and 29 days since Steve and the other Rogues had woken as though from a deep sleep with scattered memories and a sense of deep personal horror, and they were finally returning home.
But Steve wasn’t entirely sure he could call it a home. Could it be a home if the person who’d made it feel that way was no longer there? If Steve didn’t get to spend spare moments on the couch in Tony’s lab drawing while the engineer created whatever new world-changing device he’d dreamed up? If he didn’t get to see Tony stumble in at ridiculous hours, bleary-eyed and hair sticking out everywhere, blindly seeking out coffee before returning to the lab for another inventing-binge? If he couldn’t watch the genius’s hands wave around wildly, grin bright and alive as he described some new idea that fascinated him that was far beyond Steve’s comprehension, but that Steve would listen to for hours on end anyway?
Could it be a home if he’d murdered the only person he’d felt at home with?
The news had broken on a warm Tuesday morning, the sunny weather perfectly at odds with the tone of the news.
“Iron Man Dead!”
“Stark Falls in Civil War!”
“The End of the Superhero Era!”
Headlines cried out fatalistic proclamations for the future, stirring up anger against the Rogues and fear for the populace now that Earth’s best defender had fallen. It had been a bitter kind of irony; the news had loved to hate Tony Stark in life, but he was a martyr in death, a hero who’d stood up for the will of the people against his fellow superhumans and had been betrayed and cut down by them for it.
People had held candlelight vigils nightly outside of the newly-renamed Stark Tower from the moment the news broke until the day Tony Stark was laid to rest, and his funeral had been broadcast around the world and attended by the largest crowd in recorded history. Many world leaders had offered to speak, requested to speak at the great Iron Man’s funeral, but in the end only two speakers had been announced. Pepper Potts, regal and composed as she’d faced the masses with red-rimmed eyes that outshone even her fiery hair, had stood at a podium with the setting sun haloing her at her back, a large image of Tony Stark to her right and the images of every man, woman, and child he’d saved who’d wanted to donate their picture to her left covering every inch of countless large whiteboards. She’d given a eulogy that spoke of Tony Stark’s fierceness and determination, of his love and compassion, of a man who’d freely given the world all of his brilliance in the hopes of making it better. Colonel Rhodes had followed, solemn and serious as the sun disappeared and the sky faded from gold and red to melancholic blues and purples, conveying a gravitas felt by each member of the audience as he spoke of Iron Man’s honor and loyalty, of his courage and sacrifice, of a hero who’d never shied away from making the sacrifice play.
There was not a sound to be heard when the speeches had finished and Colonel Rhodes had stepped of the stage, the dying sunlight fading away entirely at last, leaving the onlookers shivering in its absence. And as Iron Man’s, as Tony Stark’s, coffin was lowered into the ground, the crowd had linked hands one-by-one, forming a sort of united front as a tribute to the world peace that had been so desired by their fallen hero.
And so Iron Man had become an ideal in death, a legend far beyond anything a flawed mortal man could possibly be in life, a symbol of peace, courage, and the strength to stand up for what was right for the many. It was exactly what Tony Stark would have wanted Iron Man to stand for – so far from the Merchant of Death legend that the former title was finally found laughable in its inaccuracy.
And it was blessedly, thankfully, a lie. Or, more accurately, a ruse perpetrated by friends who deserved the title of family in their devotion to the fallen hero.
For Tony Stark had opened his eyes six weeks after Siberia to find himself very much alive.
He was not, perhaps, the Tony Stark that he had been, however – and that was something that even now, two years later, he was still coming to terms with. So many changes had been made; the physical were the most obvious, of course, but the mental and emotional changes…those ran so much deeper. After being betrayed by people he’d considered nearly family, how could they not?
And though the changes had been oh-so-necessary for him to continue existing, sometimes he wondered if Tony Stark had ever truly come back from Siberia, or if the loud, magnanimous, charismatic man he’d been had died in the snow as the world believed. Such thoughts always left him quiet, reticent, and introspective in a way he hadn’t been before, and those spells seemed to almost frighten Rhodey and Pepper sometimes. It was understandable; he was no longer the person they’d come to know, and for them to see the depths of the changes had to be disconcerting. Sometimes he wondered if they regretted bringing him back.
But he knew that was silly, and he always forced himself to pull back on those thoughts. They had proven their love and devotion to him time and time again, just as he’d happily shown them the same. They were his family, and he was theirs, and nothing would ever change that.
Unless Rhodey irritated him to death, of course.
“Tony! Tony, get your ass up here or I swear to god I’ll send you to that nicely made up grave that everyone else thinks you’re lying in right now!” Rhodey hollered through the intercom, and Tony let out an annoyed huff.
“FRIDAY, save my progress, will you? Can’t have Platypus huff and puff too much, he keeps complaining about his poor old heart and I can’t have that collapsing on him. He’d never let me hear the end of it,” Tony said absently, flicking away the flickering blue bits of code that floated around him, mind still whirring through his most recent calculations.
“Sure thing, Boss,” FRIDAY agreed, and the painstakingly assembled hologram that Tony had been poking at blinked away. He pushed himself to his feet easily, dusting off and heading to his nice private elevator. No sweaty workmen to be found there, nosiree.
“Check our backup server from 2010 for any pieces that might’ve been overlooked. There are a few lines of code I’m not happy with that I think we could fix if we can just tap into those reserves,” he said thoughtfully as the elevator rose.
“You got it, Boss. Do you want me to assemble whatever I can find?” FRIDAY asked, Irish lilt echoing in the small space.
“Thrill me,” Tony responded with a tiny smile. The doors slid open, and he stepped out – and directly into the line of fire of a very unamused Colonel Rhodes and Pepper Potts in his living room.
“You were supposed to be up here thirty minutes ago, Tony,” Pepper said disapprovingly, and Tony aimed a beatific smile at her.
“Aww, Pepper, sweetums, did you miss me?” he simpered, striding across the room. She stood to greet him, arms crossed.
“Like a root canal on my birthday,” she responded drily, but didn’t resist when he tugged her in for a quick hug, his head coming up just below her chin.
Rhodey snickered from his spot curled up in a chair. “Y’know, Tones, I’d forgotten how short you were in college.” Tony glared at him, releasing Pepper.
“Hey, I’m barefoot, and Pep’s wearing heels. It’s not a fair comparison,” he protested, and then Pepper Absolutely Did Not Help matters by ruffling his hair.
“Sure, champ,” she said indulgently, smiling sweetly at his answering glare before patting him on the head and taking a seat on the couch. Tony plopped down in a huff beside her, arms crossed.
“I thought we were done with this whole ‘let’s give Tony shit and treat him like a little kid’ thing,” he said grumpily, very pointedly not pouting. Rhodey aimed a shit-eating grin at him.
“But Tones you’re such an adorable child, such a cute innocent little thing, we have to appreciate it while it lasts,” Rhodey cooed and Tony stuck his tongue out – which, so not helping his case, but it made him feel better, okay?
“And when exactly did we stop treating you like a little kid, anyway?” Pepper deadpanned with a raised brow. Tony’s eyes narrowed at her.
“Mean, the both of you,” he decided. “I’m not sure why I put up with either of you.”
“Social security number.”
“MIT blackmail material.”
Pepper and Rhodey respectively answered immediately, then grinned at each other.
“Ah,” Tony said. “That.”
Pepper smirked, then cleared her throat. “Alright, we should get down to business.”
“Right, right. You have updates?” Tony asked, and Pepper nodded, then closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and seeming to steel herself.
“There’s been a…development with the Rogues.”
Tony very, very carefully froze. The Rogues – the very people he’d been trying his damnedest not to think about for the past two years. He’d done everything to erase their memory from his Tower and the Compound – he’d cleared out their rooms and their stuff, redecorated some of the residential areas so that they had a different purpose, rearranged his lab so that it no longer had the place where St – Rogers used to sit and draw, and had FRIDAY censor all news stories pertaining to them unless they were of the utmost importance. He’d tried so, so hard to erase them from his life entirely – or, to erase the memory of them. He didn’t want to erase everything. He didn’t want to erase the lessons he’d learned at their hands – the lesson that trust should never be freely given just because someone called themselves a hero, the lesson that relying on someone once didn’t mean you could rely on them forever, the lesson that sometimes-my-friends-don’t-tell-me-things was a two-way street but the blame went only one way apparently.
The lesson that sometimes he, Tony, was in the right. Followed by the lesson that being in the right wouldn’t save him.
Because he’d come back from Siberia – but he hadn’t come back as himself. The doctors had done everything, everything, humanly possible to save him, but the damage had been too extensive. A vibranium shield to the chest had been more than his poor heart could handle, and he’d slipped into a coma nearly as soon as he’d gotten stateside and hadn’t woken. And so they’d given his friends a 48 hour prognosis and left them to grieve.
But his friends, his foolish, stubborn, wonderful friends had refused to give up. Tony had heard everything secondhand, about how Vision had spirited him out of the hospital and raced him to Dr. Cho. About how FRIDAY, his clever baby girl, had overridden his protocols to give Dr. Cho his modified version of Extremis. About how Pepper had found a vial of St – Rogers’s blood at SI, left over from their attempts to rescue as much from SHIELD as they could after it had fallen. About how Rhodey had helped FRIDAY find the files hidden under layers and layers of code names on the super soldier serum. About how Dr. Cho had taken the super soldier serum notes, the blood, and Extremis and combined them into one supremely dangerous cocktail, Powerpuff Girl style.
It was an act of desperation, one last effort to save him from the claws of Death that had become so firmly entrenched in his too-pale skin.
But it was an act of desperation that had worked, though not in the way that it had been intended.
Tony had watched the footage a hundred times since he’d woken up. Watched the syringe enter his vein, the plunger pushing in and the glowing blue serum entering his system. Watched as his old, battered body had gone still for the briefest moment before it started to writhe. Watched as the glowing blue crawled up the veins in his arm, spreading and working its way slowly through his system, lighting him up as it went until he was covered in a crossword-puzzle of softly shimmering light tracing its way through each vein in his body. Watched as his wounds sealed over, bruises faded away, caved-in chest filled back out as the light grew brighter and brighter. Watched until the light grew so blinding that the cameras hadn’t been able to record any further, then continued watching until the light faded away, leaving a 19-year-old Tony Stark lying on the table, face peaceful and unblemished skin a healthy, rosy hue.
To say waking up to being a teenager again was a shock would be an understatement – but that, sadly, was actually the most normal part of the changes that occurred. Over the next few weeks, Tony had tested out his newfound increased strength, stamina, speed, and durability, courtesy of the super soldier serum – all changes he’d expected, once he’d reviewed Dr. Cho’s notes on the changes made to him. His healing factor was off the charts, and he was far more agile than he remembered being. And, wonderfully, his brain now moved at a speed he’d never managed before – he’d always been fairly good at multitasking, but now he could do a dozen different mental tasks at once with ease. His memory had never been better, and his brain practically flew through new ideas and new information.
All of those changes, however, were at least fairly predictable; the much more jarring adjustments came from Extremis. Tony couldn’t say for certain whether it was because of the interactions with the super soldier serum or if his own tinkering with Extremis had inadvertently led it down this road – but Extremis, for his sins, had made him a technopath.
It was an ability he’d have dreamed of having as a child – he could talk to technology, essentially, interface with it and interact with data and code in a way that was impossible. It opened up doors that he’d previously labeled as walls, made technological advancements a foregone conclusion. And Tony was grateful – truly, he was.
But there would always be a part of him that would wish this had never been necessary.
Because for all that he loved being able to interface with FRIDAY and his bots – and he loved it, treasured this new connection between them – he couldn’t help but ache at the family he’d lost.
Yes, it had been two years of healing, but he still felt broken so much of the time.
Although he supposed part of that could be the isolation. After the transformation, he, Rhodey, Vision, and Pepper had sat down to discuss the proper steps moving forward, the other three staring at his youthful face with a mixture of sadness, wonder, and relief. It had been quickly decided that telling the world exactly what had happened – that he was Tony Stark post-experimental procedure – would be a terrible idea. SI would suffer, and the future of superheroes and therefore the safety of the public would suffer. For the moment, Iron Man was a beacon of hope, a shining example of heroism; if Tony showed his new face, there was a very real chance the public would turn to fear instead – fear sown by the Rogues but that could be nurtured by the uncertainty that always accompanied the unknown. And Tony would certainly be an unknown.
So Tony Stark would die. He would die – but that didn’t mean Iron Man had to die. With the Rogues out of the picture, the world needed superheroes to defend them, and Tony had often said the world would always have Iron Man. That wasn’t changing now. Tony had also, thankfully, had the foresight to have FRIDAY search for other supers long before the Accords and Siberia had happened in the hopes of growing the Avengers' ranks. All they needed to do now was recruit, in those cases.
But that left the conundrum of how to get this new, younger Tony into the Iron Man suit with the public’s approval. Iron Man was too revered, now, for the public to allow just anyone to step forward and claim the suit – it had to be someone with a personal tie to Tony. And in the end, there was really only one answer, only one thing they could do to carry on Iron Man’s legacy in a way the public would accept.
Tony would pose as his own long-lost son and, when the time was right, step forward and claim the mantle of Iron Man as his “birthright.”
Pepper had been the one to propose that they say that Tony had left his “son” the company for him to take over on his 21st birthday. This revelation would, of course, result in his son being revealed to the world and asked to take up his father’s mantle. It was a sound plan, especially since they had the money and resources to fake as much documentation as necessary to make this backstory appear as though it had been 21 years in the making – but it did mean that Tony was stuck indoors a lot, on the off chance that someone might see him coming in and out of Stark Towers or one of Tony’s other homes and start asking questions. They’d debated getting him a different home but had decided against it – the security systems in Tony’s current residences were all airtight, and they didn’t trust his safety to a less-secure location.
So in the end, Tony had been alone far more than he’d have liked – or, as alone as he could be with Extremis in his head letting him enjoy the company of his bots and FRIDAY. Of course, it did give him the opportunity to solidify his new identity. They’d kept it fairly simple. He’d grown up in a small rural part of Wisconsin, raised by his mother who had requested that he be kept out of the limelight, a request that adult-Tony had respected by staying away and simply providing child support to keep paparazzi from finding out. He’d been homeschooled by his mother until he was of college age and had attended and graduated MIT at age 18, following in dear old dad’s footsteps. They’d paid off a few people at MIT to swear they’d seen him there during this time, in case reporters came snooping around. His mother had died while he’d been at MIT, and he’d remained in Massachusetts to work on his PhD in mechanical engineering where he’d gotten into a lab accident that had resulted in his strange new abilities.
The hardest part for Tony had been picking a new name. He couldn’t go by Tony, it would be too suspicious. But he absolutely refused to do anything derivative of Howard or Maria’s names; he would not bear their neglect and mistreatment for the rest of his now-very-long life. He’d agonized for a while, but in the end the choice had been oh so simple.
“Jay,” he’d said to Pepper and Rhodey finally one day in the middle of a meal. They’d looked at him in confusion. “I want to go by Jay.” Pepper had swallowed her bite of food.
“Okay,” she’d said cautiously, eyeing him. “…is it short for anything?” Tony’s eyes had flicked automatically to Rhodey, and Rhodey’s expression of confusion had morphed quickly into understanding.
“Jarvis,” he’d realized, and Tony nodded.
“I thought Edwin or Edward seemed too old fashioned, and Jarvis is too obvious. But I used to call JARVIS ‘J’ all the time…so I thought Jay was a nice compromise,” Tony had said softly, and Pepper and Rhodey’s expressions were understanding.
And so Jason ‘Jay’ Anthony Stark was born. Or, well, created rather.
And now his 21st birthday was coming up, and Tony was preparing to assume the identity of Jay Stark on a permanent basis, readying himself to get back into the public eye. He couldn’t deny that he was feeling some trepidation over it. He was ready to rejoin the world, sure – but the notoriety that came with his name had never been something he’d enjoyed. But he had a duty, a responsibility to the people of the world, and they needed him to take up the mantle once again. Not to mention all the new things he’d designed in his suddenly-copious amounts of free time; he was more than excited to see the positive changes some of his newer inventions could bring.
It would be an adjustment that required careful planning, that much was certain – planning that Tony had initially assumed was what Pepper and Rhodey had come to discuss with him today, until the word ‘Rogues’ had left Pepper’s lips.
“What about them?” Tony asked flatly, already connecting to Extremis and searching the web for any mention of developments in the Rogues’ cases. There was nothing online, but, if it was a new development, it was likely it was held in more secure locations. He sought out the Accords files, letting himself slip through their firewalls as Pepper continued, eyeing him worriedly.
“I – oh, Tony, I’m not sure how to say this. Wanda Maximoff has been killed,” Pepper burst out, her careful composure slipping, and Tony couldn’t keep the shock off his face.
“Okay…and that’s…bad?” he asked cautiously. Pepper and Rhodey had such an air of trepidation that he thought their news must be unfortunate in nature, but…he couldn’t help but feel some relief at the news that Maximoff was gone from the world. She scared him; he was man enough to admit it. Anyone who could delve into someone’s mind and manipulate them deserved a healthy degree of fear, especially since said person hated his guts. Her being dead, cold as it made sound, only made him safer.
But Pepper bit her lip, expression uncertain.
“Tony, after her death, the rest of the Rogues – well, it was like they came out of a trance, is what observers reported,” Rhodey stepped in, tone gentle and eyes locked on Tony’s. “They were confused at first and didn’t seem to know where they were. The reports say they seemed to slowly get their memories back of the past two years and seemed upset, so King T’Challa called on Dr. Strange to evaluate them.” Rhodey reached forward and took Tony’s hand in his, rubbing soothing circles over his thumb. “Tony, Dr. Strange’s report said that Maximoff had been controlling the Rogues for years, since she came onto the team. She’d been steadily influencing them until she had basically complete control over their minds. He said that he thinks that she was completely in control of Barton, Romanoff, Wilson, and…and Rogers by the time the Accords came around.”
Tony was silent. His mind felt sluggish, slow, puttering along more slowly than it had since Extremis came online. He swallowed. “So,” he cleared his throat, startled by how hoarse his voice had gotten. “So everything those four did…it was all her?” he asked. Siberia was all her, went the unspoken question, the question that he would never let himself ask, partially because he wasn’t sure he could handle it if the answer was no, not after this sliver of hope had been handed to him.
“From what Dr. Strange could tell, yes, Tony,” Pepper said softly, and her hand joined Rhodey’s on top of his. Tony swallowed, the sluggishness in his mind being replaced by a frantic, panicked sort of buzzing. He tried to force it down, box it up, compartmentalize.
“So what now?” he asked, forcing his tone to be neutral, forcing himself to approach the situation as a third party who would hopefully be joining the Avengers and would therefore be responsible for dealing with the Rogues in one way or another. Pepper and Rhodey exchanged a look, neither of them clearly buying his neutrality but both knowing better than to push.
“There are talks of clearing them,” Rhodey said heavily, his forehead wrinkling in obvious consternation. The words slapped Tony, though he’d been expecting them after that revelation, though he made sure to keep his neutral mask in place. Sure, it was just Rhodey and Pepper here, but he had a feeling if he broke now, he might not be able to piece himself back together any time soon. And they needed to work right now.
“Probably using the same stipulations with which Barnes got cleared,” Tony nodded, seeing the logic easily, quartering off his emotions and slipping into his professional, clinically assessing mindset. “There’s a precedent for dealing with mind control with him. Makes sense that they’d extend the same logic to the Rogues. So what’s the timeline?”
“There’s nothing official yet, but my guess is they’ll be returning very, very soon. Maximoff’s death happened a month or two ago, and the Accords council has completed their investigation. They’ve already spoken with several of the countries that leveled charges against the Rogues and gotten them dropped, so they just need to speak with a few more and the Rogues would be in the clear,” Pepper responded, adopting his professional tone. It made it so much easier, to treat it as though it was a distant sort of problem, not one that directly affected him.
“What’s our play?” Tony asked, and Pepper and Rhodey exchanged another look.
“Well, we’d hoped to have Jay Stark rejoin as one of the first New Avengers, once the Accords council got around to re-establishing the group. But now, with the Rogues coming back…it looks like the New Avengers are going to be put off for a while so this can get sorted out,” Pepper said, and Tony nodded thoughtfully. Pepper seemed to hesitate, and Tony glanced at her. She let out a heavy sigh. “Rhodey and I think you should delay assuming the Iron Man mantle,” she stated as though expecting an argument, and Tony frowned. She hastened to continue. “We think you should rejoin the world as Tony Stark’s son on your 21st and take over SI’s R&D and as CTO, like you did before, but going back to being Iron Man…it seems risky.”
“Why? I’m no less ready than I was before the news about the Rogues,” Tony asked confusedly, brow furrowed. Pepper’s lips tightened.
“Yes, but before we thought you’d be able to recruit a team of people who could watch your back.” Not a group who stabbed you in the back. Tony’s eyes widened in understanding and a burst of affection bloomed through his chest. He didn’t deserve these wonderful friends who looked out for him so fiercely.
“It sounds like they didn’t have much of a choice about watching my back,” Tony pointed out, though the words were bitter and not even half-believed as they left his mouth. Sure, intellectually he was now aware that these people may not have ever wanted to hurt him – but he’d died at their hand. So emotionally? Emotionally, it was going to take him a while.
But his mind was whirring again, calculating all the possible outcomes and scenarios. “If Maximoff had control over their minds, there wasn’t anything they could’ve done. Like Barton with the scepter, or Barnes with Hydra. It’s…it’s no more dangerous to rejoin the world as Iron Man than it would’ve been before.” And again, the words left his lips like lies, the memory of a shield coming down over his chest too brilliant to be pushed aside by such fresh revelations.
“Tony – “ Rhodey started to protest, but Tony shook his head, his mind already a few steps ahead, turning over what would happen if he rejoined…and what would happen if he didn’t.
“I think I have to rejoin them,” Tony said, his voice heavy and so devoid of happiness that his friends’ mouths snapped shut. He closed his eyes, tiredness already settling back over him like a well-worn mantle that he’d only temporarily been permitted to remove. “The world hates them right now. They won’t trust them, not even after the revelation with Maximoff. Not after everything they did, especially since they did it so publicly. Barnes could be forgiven because his crimes were much less…personal to most people, but the Rogues are associated with the death of Iron Man, and they won’t be so easily forgiven. The easiest way to get the public to trust them, to trust in heroes…well, the easiest way would be if Iron Man’s son was seen to be publicly supporting and working alongside them.”
He looked up, meeting Pepper’s and Rhodey’s eyes bleakly, letting his mask slip for a moment. The two looked stricken. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he half-commanded, half-pleaded. Pepper’s eyes were quickly reddening from barely-restrained tears and Rhodey looked almost murderous.
“Oh, Tony. Tony, I wish I could,” Pepper whispered finally, squeezing his hand as a tear slid down her cheek. “Your logic, though…you’re right. I hate it, so so much, but you’re right.”
“You still don’t have to, though, Tones,” Rhodey said quietly, eyes fixed firmly on their intertwined hands. At Tony’s questioning noise, Rhodey lifted his eyes to lock onto Tony, and Tony was surprised by the fierceness he saw there. “You don’t have to do it just because it’ll make things a little easier for some people. You can be a little selfish. You’ve,” Rhodey’s voice broke, “you’ve earned that much, at least. After everything you’ve been through. You can do what’s better for you, for once.”
Tony’s heart filled, and he squeezed Rhodey’s hand. “Thank you, Platypus. But I have to do this. Otherwise, what was all this for?” he said rhetorically, gesturing at his new, young, Extremis-enhanced body. He shook his head, letting steel wash through him. “It has to be for something, and I can’t let what I want get in the way of what’s best for the people I’ve fought for. Not now, not after everything I’ve already given up for them.”
Rhodey sighed, long and heavy. “We thought that’s probably what you’d decide, you self-sacrificing bastard.” He gave Tony a wan smile, and Tony smiled back, letting the mood lift.
“In that case, we need to discuss what to do before they get back,” Pepper chipped in, the tension still heavy on her face, though she was clearly attempting to shake it off. “If you’re going to rejoin the Avengers from the start, it would probably be best to get your name out there now. Your 21st is in just a few weeks, and it would make sense for SI to have reached out to you at this point to let you know what you stand to inherit. With all the degrees and awards and papers that we’ve been able to set up as part of your back-story, as well as the section in Tony Stark’s will that wills Iron Man to you, that gives us good reason to go ahead and introduce you to the Accords council and get that started. We’ll ask them to keep everything quiet until you take over as heir to SI for confidentiality reasons. Then, on your 21st, we can set up a press conference to announce your identity to the public at large.”
Tony nodded. “That sounds like a good plan to me. When do you want to get started on introducing me to the Accords council? And what are the chances the Rogues come back before my 21st?”
Pepper smiled grimly. “As soon as possible. Tomorrow, if you’re ready for that. And pretty high, from what I’ve been told. Right now, the only signees of the Accords are Vision, Rhodey, and Spider-Man, since we’ve kept your lists of heroes who might be interested quiet. The Accords council is anxious to shore up Earth’s defenses, and, if the Rogues are innocent, they’re an attractive resource to the council.”
Tony sighed. Nothing was ever easy. “Right. Well, I guess I should start preparing for tomorrow, then.”
It was going to be a shit show, of that he was certain. Everything in his life always was.
Tony – or, Jay, as he was trying to train himself to answer to – tried not to fidget in the uncomfortable wooden seat, face tilted up to the incredulous faces of the council members. He was painfully aware of how young he looked, unruly curly dark hair hastily tamed, face clean and smooth, the last vestiges of puberty only having recently started to fade from his face and body. His eyes were large and dark on his face, far more innocent-looking than they’d been once he’d gotten older, and Tony could only assume that faux-innocence was a trick of his youthful appearance.
“Miss Potts, you’re saying this…Jason Stark is Tony Stark’s son and heir?” asked one councilmember, and older man who Tony – Jay, he reminded himself – vaguely remembered from two years prior.
“Correct, Councilman,” Pepper said calmly from where she was seated beside him. “As you can see in the copies of his will that I’ve provided, Mr. Stark left Jason Stark his company, his fortune, properties, and assets, as well as the Iron Man suits, with the clear directive that Jason Stark was to become the head of Stark Industries and serve as Iron Man if he so chose on his 21st birthday.”
“This…this is….” The councilman seemed to be floundering for words.
“Unexpected,” one of the councilwomen interjected smoothly, turning piercing eyes on T – Jay. He met them squarely, face a perfect mask of solemnness and seriousness. “Mr. Stark, how long have you known the truth of your father’s identity, if I may ask?”
“My mother told me when I turned eighteen,” Jay responded evenly, and several council members raised a brow.
“That would have been one year before he…passed. Did you ever speak to him? And why have you not come forward before now?” asked a councilman. Jay took a breath.
“I did, once,” he said, pulling out the story he, Pepper, and Rhodey had cooked up. “Not in person, but my mother gave me a phone number that my father had given her after he found out about me. She gave it to me on my eighteenth birthday after she told me who my dad was and said I could call if I wanted to. I did.
“I haven’t come forward before now because…I guess because there was no reason to. Miss Potts contacted me after my father died to tell me what he’d left me. Everything had to wait until I was 21 anyway, and I was in the middle of my PhD. There didn’t really seem to be a point to announcing everything to the world when I couldn’t do anything,” Jay responded, voice as earnest as he could make it. It was sound reasoning, no one could argue with that. Jay watched as the council members nodded, seeming to accept his logic.
“And now? What exactly do you want to do now?” a councilwoman asked. Jay tilted his head, appearing to ponder.
“I’ve admired Iron Man since I was a child, long before I knew he was my dad, and my talents seem like they’re similar to his. I believe in what he stood for – protecting the people of Earth and standing up for what’s right. If I can do what he did for people, I want to,” Jay said firmly, letting himself lock eyes with each of the council members, projecting as much youthful bravado, idealism, and steel into his overly-sentimental statements as he could. The council members bought it, hook, line, and sinker, nodding, pleased smiles crossing their faces.
“In that case, Mr. Jason Stark, welcome to the Avengers Initiative.”