people like you must be the world's loneliest creatures

On the last day of school before winter break, Tony lies flat on his back in the workshop and absentmindedly scrambles and solves a Rubix cube over and over again.  He's not looking forward to break, and it's depressing how quickly the school days have seemed to pass post-Thanksgiving.  He's had sex every weekend he's been back, and he misses Becky like a lifeline.  One hell of a girl, he thinks to himself as he lines a red up into place to finish the second face of the cube.

"Anthony?" Mr. Yinsen says warmly from across the room.  "I'm closing up shop in fifteen minutes."

Tony sits up.  Mr. Yinsen's the only person still alive that can call him "Anthony" and get away with it.  "I wasn't doing anything anyway," he says.  "I'll head back to the dorm now."

"Dorm," Mr. Yinsen says, his eyes curious but unquestioning.  

"Yeah, I'm - I'm not going home for winter break."  Tony falls silent.  His mama's going to be vacationing in Austria and Belgium for who knows how long, and only Howard will be stopping by when he's not out on business, which will be pretty much every day.  But Tony would much rather roam freely around campus, alone, than have Pepper and Rhodey give him sad looks and try to invite him over.  Also, the household staff have been given plenty of days off, so the mansion will be even more empty.

"So you have everything, and nothing," Mr. Yinsen murmurs, and Tony looks up sharply.  "I am going to see my wife when I get home."

"That's nice," Tony says, hesitantly.  "Have a nice Christmas, sir."

"Yes," his teacher replies after a moment, suddenly sounding far away.  "I have not visited her grave in too long of a time.  I suppose it is because of all the time I spend here teaching."

"Oh," Tony says, because what else can he say - 'I'm sorry dumb students like me kind of ruin everything'? - and he gets up and starts stuffing papers randomly into his backpack, not even sorting them out into his color coded binders.  He's got two weeks to re-organize all his supplies and notes anyway, and it's not like the cleaning staff will stop by his room to yell at him to eat or sleep or hang up some stupid Christmas wreaths.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, he heads over to the door to leave.  His teacher is still sitting silent as his desk, shuffling something around in the drawers, and the workshop is filled with a silence that slips right into the grey area between unsettling and calm.  Before he can get fully out the door, however, he hears Mr. Yinsen call out from behind him: "Have a merry Christmas as well, Anthony."  When Tony turns to glance back, the older man's eyes are warm and sad behind his round glasses.

Tony smiles a little bit before he slips out the room and heads off down the hallway.  It feels good, actually, to get told nice things by well-wishers.  People who genuinely mean it, that is, not those plastic money hounds he sees at Stark Industries functions.  And anyway, who cares if he'll be alone this year?  It'll be the best fucking Christmas of all time, just like how it is every year.  It's going to be fun, it's going to be great, and maybe if he tells himself this enough he'll eventually believe it.

"Stark," Coulson says through the door at promptly three thirty pm in the afternoon, loud enough to jolt Tony out of his drowsing.  "Open up."

Tony, who is tangled up in his sheets on the floor, lets out a string of curses.  He's half-asleep and irritated, his teacher is knocking at his room for no discernible reason, and it's literally the first day - half-day? - of break.  Whatever bullshit Coulson's going to spout at him about studying for finals or whatever, he would seriously rather read it in an email.  

Tony staggers over to the door, sheets hooked around an ankle.  "Agent," he grunts, peeking around the door.  He's sure he looks like shit - one eye feels crusty, his hair is a definite mess, and he's tired down to his bones.

"There's...an issue concerning you," Coulson says, and gives him a look.  "I told you not to call me that."

"Sorry," Tony says cheerfully.  "Now what's the problem?  Not that I have any."

"You are the only student that has turned in their forms to stay here over winter break," Coulson says carefully.  "Are you sure you don't have anywhere off-campus to stay?"

Tony frowns.  "Well, I didn't book a flight home or anything.  And I prefer staying here.  You know, with the funny janitors and our favorite one-eyed pirate stopping by.  Why?"

Coulson's mouth doesn't even twitch at Tony's snark, and Tony vows to make the guy crack before the school year's over.  "The heating malfunctioned.  We don't know why yet.  But all the heaters in the dorms are broken."

"Are you fucking - "  Tony blows out an incredulous breath, not even caring that he's just cursed in front of a staff member.  Coulson probably swears like a sailor under that calm demeanor anyway; no one can be that placid.  "Okay, well, I can fix it.  Whatever.  Just give me some tools and tell Principal Fury to shove off and let me do my thing."

"Stark," Coulson warns, and Tony harrumphs.

"No?  Ok, fine.  When will it be fixed?  I don't mind sleeping in a cold room for one night."

The counselor just fixes him with the most blandly unimpressed look he's ever seen in his life.  "You'll freeze to death, and you won't be able to find a flight until at least a few days from now.  Additionally, there's frost in all the heat exchangers, and it won't be a quick fix."

"Whatever," Tony says.  "I'll just go out and buy a space heater right now.  I'll just call an Uber to take me off grounds."

Coulson's face twists for a half second so comically that Tony isn't even sure if he's imagining things.  "Any electric appliances are illegal, which I know you're aware of.  Even in the case of space heaters."

Okay, confirmed: schools have the dumbest rules ever.  Tony should just convince Howard that SHIELD is a worthwhile investment so he can legally rewrite all the guidelines, honestly.

"I'm a Stark, I'm sure an airline will be willing to swap someone's seat for me if I pay enough," Tony says airily, and wow, can Coulson's face get any more judgy?

"Actually," Phil says with all the patience of a saint, "if you are willing, I can arrange to have you go home with someone."

"Like who?"  Tony makes a face.  Who the hell would be willing to take him home?  He guesses it's better than going back to his own house, but still.

"My children, Natasha and Clint, are leaving in two hours with their friends. They may be able to take you."

Tony coughs in surprise, and then starts coughing for real when he chokes on his saliva.  "Um, you mean, Barton?  Barton and Romanoff?  Wait - wait - you have kids?  And I thought - wait - they're not dating?"

"Yes, I have children, and Natasha is not legally adopted, so technically they can date.  Whether they are, however, is none of your business, Tony," Coulson says.  He looks worn out by the conversation already, and Tony is secretly impressed by how the man can convey that much exasperation without moving a face muscle.

"Um, nope, no, sorry, someone else?" Tony says hopefully.  He can't even imagine sitting in a house for two weeks of break with Scary Redhead and Boy Who Despises Him.  "Bye!"  He tries to close the door, only to have Coulson's hand flash out so fast and catch it that he has to tamp back ingrained panic.  There is no way, no way, that his teacher is anything but a spy.  Teachers don't move that fast, only, like, Olympians.  And, of course, spies.

Coulson just blinks at him, deceptively strong arm still holding the edge of the door, and says dryly, "Suck it up, Stark. They're the only students beside you still here on campus.  Pack your bags and be ready in an hour."

Tony sputters and flails his hands in the air. "I don't know where to meet them!  I don't even know their friends!  I don't - Natasha's going to kill me.  There's a thousand kids in the student body; you couldn't find one other person who can take me home?"

Coulson watches him impassively.  "Seven hundred forty two, actually.  And dismissal was at eleven, Stark.  Believe me when I say everyone else has already left."

"Then why are they still here?" Tony says into the air in disbelief.

"Bags, Stark.  And don't try to hide because you'll be frozen by midnight, and quite frankly, bodies are a mess to take care of."  The counselor nods at him and then exits the room smoothly, not even waiting for a reply.

Tony flings a hand up - what the fuck even is his life, and also, he really hopes Coulson wasn't speaking from experience - and then swears when he accidentally hits the door frame.  "God dammit, Coulson," he mutters to himself, then grabs his suitcase out of the closet and starts shoving things in.

"Absolutely not," Clint says firmly, staring his caretaker straight in the eye.  "Phil, we can't just force this onto Steve and Bucky like that."

Coulson sighs.  "I wouldn't ask if there was another option."

"See," Clint snaps, "if Rogers weren't such a wonderful person he wouldn't have volunteered to clean around the school like he does every year, and then we would be home already."

"Please," Coulson says, and cups both his children's faces - his children - with his hands.  "Please ask Steve if he has room for one more.  Stark has nowhere to go.  Don't you two like strays?"

Natasha mutters something dirty in Russian.

"Stark's not a stray though!" Clint protests, even as he leans into Phil's touch.  "Why did he even register to stay here?  He lives in a huge Malibu mansion."

Regardless of why," Coulson says patiently, "he needs a place to stay, at least until he can go home.  And considering it's very close to Christmas, every possible flight is booked."

Clint groans. "Aw, Phil.  Don't try to guilt us."

"I wasn't trying to at all."  His adoptive father smiles placidly.  "Natasha?"

Natasha glares at Coulson, spitting out another word in Russian, but the silence makes Clint relent.  "Fine," he says, grumpily.  "We'll ask Steve and Bucky.  And tell him that Stark's alone and has absolutely no place to go."

"Stark must have a friend who lives here," Natasha says suddenly.  "Why doesn't he call someone?"

"Everyone's gone home, and SHIELD is at least two hours away from the city," Coulson says for what seems like the millionth time that day.  "And in all honesty, most of the people he's seen around with are incredibly wealthy.  It wouldn't surprise me if they're all on a plane to a different continent right now."

"Of course," Clint says, sighing and shaking his head.  "Alright, fine.  We'll ask because we love you and you're the best adult we know.  But if either Steve or Buck says no or I accidentally end up stabbing Stark on the way home, you can't blame me."

"Have fun with your friends.  I know Christmas at Steve's is an important tradition," Coulson says simply, and somehow that makes everything just a little bit more okay.

"I love you both.  Don't forget that," he adds, gentler, finally loosening from SHIELD High's casually-intimidating counselor to the almost dad-like figure he is at home.

Clint hugs him tightly and Natasha kisses him on the cheek before they grab their luggages and turn away to go find the rest of their group.

"Don't forget to text an update when you've got Stark," Coulson says from behind them.  "Principal Fury loves clarification."

"Alright, okay, we won't purposely just leave Stark in the parking lot," Clint groans, but perks up enough to wave.  "See you later, Phil."

Natasha smiles at Coulson and says something sweet and lilting in Russian, and then the two teenagers walk off into the distance.  Phil watches them go and a proud, soft smile finally edges onto his face.  Gosh, he loves his kids.