Caregiver

Great. Wet sheets. That was just the perfect way to start a day. A day that already threatened to be horrible, for no good day had ever begun with Tony losing control of his bladder at the crack of down. This was his version of getting up on the wrong side of the bed, and Tony knew everything could only go downhill from now on regardless of how hard he tried to make things better.

Hiding his face behind a pillow, Tony let a miserable grunt escape from his mouth, debating whether it was a good idea to get up or not. Staying in bed might help him avoid some of the inevitable suckiness of the day. However, if he didn't leave the room, he would have to deal with the sheets and that was something he did not want to do.

“Good morning, sir,” JARVIS greeted as soon as Tony swung his legs off the edge of the bed, his mind already made up, "Would you–"

“Not now JARVIS.” Tony didn't hesitate to interrupt. He was so not in the mood for hearing anything the A.I. had to say, since there would probably be a not-so-well-hidden ‘I told you so’ among the suggestions JARVIS would give him to deal with his current problem.

Why did JARVIS have to be right all the time? Why couldn’t Tony wake up dry the day after JARVIS had advised him to wear a pull-up to bed? The fact that the A.I. could read Tony that well was sometimes annoying.

"Sir, the mattress–”

“I said zip it, JARVIS, don’t make me mute you,” Tony warned as he got up from the bed and lumbered toward the bathroom.

What was JARVIS going to say? That he should deal with the result of his accident so the mattress didn’t get damaged? That what happened was exactly why Tony should get a waterproof mattress pad? Again, he was not in the mood. Tony would buy another mattress if he had to. He was a billionaire; he could afford to get his mattress replaced every day if he wanted to, and he would do exactly that if circumstances so required.

A bit harsher than he should, Tony opened the bathroom door and started undressing almost immediately. He had never been able to stand the smell of pee all over him, so a shower was essential before anything else. Besides, he didn’t want to give anyone in the team the slightest indication of what had happened, as that would make them be all over him and that was something he wasn’t in the mood for either.

“JARVIS, turn on the water, please,” Tony asked, kicking some of his clothes out of his way just for the sake of it, and he could feel his bad mood turning into irritation when the A.I. began filling the bathtub up. “The shower!” he demanded, glaring at the roof – he had inevitable picked up that motion from the rest of the team.

“Sir, don’t you think taking a bath–”

“No! I’m taking a shower,” Tony said with determination, interrupting JARVIS for the third time in less than fifteen minutes.

“I could ask Captain Rogers to–”

“Okay, that’s it! Mute!”

Muttering plenty of curses, Tony stepped into the shower, and the fact that he had to muster his courage in a matter of seconds in order to be able to walk under the stream of water didn’t make him feel exactly better. It was at times like these when Tony had a particular hard time getting over his aversion to water, but it he hesitated more than usual, somebody would casually show up in his bathroom with a lame excuse; courtesy of JARVIS, of course.

How was it possible that Tony couldn’t overwrite JARVIS’ coding? Trying to overlook all the signs for the sake of staying in the right mindset had proven to be sufficiently difficult to have to be, on top of that, extremely cautious not to set off the A.I.’s Little Emergency Protocol. It was one thing to have to bear with his obsession with getting help whenever Tony was injured or ill–a coding that Tony had been actually able to modify and now such aid just arrived if his life was in real danger–but quite another to lose control over him just because JARVIS had realized that Tony was about to slip into his Little headspace.

Being completely ignored by one’s own creation and witness that he only listened to the ‘adults’ around was something that frustrated and annoyed Tony greatly. And the fact that that same protocol had prevented several disastrous situations caused by Tony’s stubbornness, which led him to do things that no Little should ever do, went generally unnoticed.

So, Tony would always do everything in his power to hide from JARVIS all the signs of how close he was to the edge. Regardless of what that stupid paper had said about his classification so many years ago, Tony refused to believe that a person couldn’t control his own brain and be whatever classification he chose to be. And Tony had chosen not
to be a Little.

With that in mind, Tony did his best to shower and get dressed as well and fast as possible. The sooner he went to his workshop, the better. That was the only room in the tower where absolutely nothing childish could be found and, therefore, nothing could trigger a sudden and unwanted regression. Staying all day there – more if possible –trying to get his mind completely immersed in an unfinished and appealing project usually helped him to remain himself, so, that was exactly what Tony planned to do. JARVIS couldn’t deny him the access to his workshop, not when Tony was clearly not Little.

Once Tony stepped into the elevator, he could feel some of the moodiness wearing off, only to return again with greater intensity when Steve joined him a few seconds later.

If JARVIS’ Little Emergency Protocol was tough to avoid, so was Steve’s daddy mode. Perhaps even worse.

Nothing turned out well for Tony when he woke up in a wet bed.

As soon as Steve walked into the elevator, he could sense Tony wasn’t exactly in a good mood. His hands were all fidgety in his pockets, there was a slightly frown on his face, and his aura transmitted everything but tranquility. Everybody would think Steve could figure out these kind of things because of his sixth sense given by his caregiver status, but it actually didn’t take a genius to know that the only thing that could make Tony lose his charismatic composure was being afraid of slipping into his Little headspace.

There were a few things that could trigger this reaction in him. Tony either had had a nightmare, had lost control of his bladder during the night, JARVIS had suggested it had been a long time since he had allowed himself to play, or Tony had begun to feel himself the havocs of staying ‘big’ for too long. Whatever the reason had been this time, it wasn’t urgent for Steve to know, the only thing he needed to focus on was keeping Tony around long enough for him to be there once he finally succumbed.

That was never something easy to do.

“Morning,” Steve greeted, pretending not to be aware of Tony’s current mood. Tony mumbled an intelligible answer even for his supersoldier ear, and looked away almost instantly, clearly annoyed for having run into him. “Has the cat got your tongue?” he asked, and he saw how Tony’s frown deepened. That question might have been too childish for Tony’s like.

“Coffee,” Tony muttered. Of course that was exactly what he was going to say. It was common knowledge among the team that a just-out-of-bed Tony didn’t function well until he got some coffee in his system. However, Tony was very much mistaken if he thought he was going to make Steve believe that that was the cause of his grumpiness.

“Oh, so you haven’t gotten any yet? Well, you can join us for breakfast today. Bruce’s making burritos, and I’m sure there’s fresh coffee in the pot over there.” Steve suggested, and he noticed how Tony’s body tensed.

“That’s okay, I’ve already had breakfast,” Tony hurried to say, avoiding Steve’s eyes.

“You already had breakfast?” Steve echoed, disbelief in his voice. “I thought you said you haven’t had any coffee. You never have breakfast before drinking some coffee,” he pointed out, making Tony tense even more.

“I… well… I ran out of coffee, so I… I grabbed a toast and I’m on my way to the workshop to get the coffee,” Tony babbled.

Steve raised a questioning eyebrow, “a toast? Is that all the food you’re going to have for breakfast?”

“I’ll get Dummy fix me a sandwich.”

“Why doing that if you can easily go to the communal kitchen and have a decent breakfast for a change?”

“I don’t have time for that, I’ve got a lot of things to do,” Tony refuted as he lifted his head and glared at him. He must have started to get the feeling that Steve wasn’t planning on letting him get out of this that easily. And Steve wasn’t indeed.

“If you have a lot of things to do, then that means you’ll spend several hours in your workshop and you’ll forget about lunch, dinner, and maybe tomorrow’s breakfast too. So, you’re going to have breakfast with us right now,” Steve informed, face and voice serious, “and that’s not for discussion,” he warned before Tony could argue.

When the elevator doors opened, Steve stepped out and turned around to see if Tony did the same. He didn’t. For several seconds he stared at Steve with his mouth slightly open, as if he wanted to say something, but no words left his mouth. Perhaps Steve’s solemn expression deterred him from doing it.

“You know, I can always carry you,” Steve suggested, and that sentence was enough to get Tony moving. Mumbling some things Steve preferred to ignore for the time being, Tony took a couple of steps forward to catch up with him.

Good, Tony knew better than to throw a tantrum right there.

Tony could have stayed right where he had been, press the button that closed the doors and continue his way to his workshop, but he didn’t. Neither did he make a getaway when Steve had his back on him as he walked towards the kitchen, nor did he try to gather some food and leave right away with the promise of eating everything while he worked. If Tony had done any of those things, he would never get rid of Steve.

The thing with Steve was that he was much better at noticing when Tony’s Little self was fighting his way onto the surface. JARVIS might deduce it because of the childish things Tony started to do in spite of himself – like wetting the bed, sucking his thumb or crying – whereas Steve just sensed it, well before than it actually happened.

At the beginning, Tony used to think that that was due to Steve’s caregiver status, and even if that definitely gave him certain advantage, Tony had come to realize that wasn’t the only reason. Ever since Steve had found out Tony’s classification, he had kept a close eye on him, getting to know Tony so well that he had learned to spot when something was off in his behavior.

That was why Tony had to behave in front of Steve, he had to act as the adult he was and avoid doing anything that could be considered childish. If he had run away as he had wanted to – especially after failing to conceal his bad mood – he would have led Steve to believe that there was something wrong and that he was trying to hide it. If he really didn’t wish to spend the rest of the afternoon with Steve all over him, he had to resign himself to the fact that he would need to have breakfast under Steve’s scrutiny before he could get away.

Damn Steve and his fixation with his Little counterpart.

“Tony!” Clint greeted as soon as Steve and he entered the kitchen. By the coloring books and crayons that there were in front of him, Tony could tell Clint was Little today.

“Hey kiddo, how you doing?” Tony greeted back, and the disappointed look on Clint’s face didn’t go unnoticed. Little Clint always expected him to be Little too, he hated not having a playmate.

“Coloring! Do you wanna color with me?” Clint suggested, handing him a crayon which Tony politely pushed away.

“Maybe some other time, I’m busy right now,” Tony declined the offer, and after he ruffled Clint’s hair, he made a beeline for the coffee machine. That motion felt awkward to him, though it was what every adult did when Littles were around, so he always tried to imitate it.

“So, you’re not joining us for breakfast?” Bruce asked, wiping his hands on his apron.

“He is,” Steve assured before Tony could say anything. Tony ignored the need to clarify he didn’t need Steve to answer for him, and focused on pouring himself a cup of coffee instead.

“Good, I’ve made more than plenty.” Bruce said as he walked to the counter to help Natasha with the dishes.

Everybody helped setting up the table. A plate with burritos, a couple of jars of freshly squeezed orange juice and a bowl of fruit salad were placed in the middle of the table – as usual – so that everyone could help themselves to whatever they wanted to have. Tony got a bit irritated when Steve placed a hand on his lower back and guided him to the chair next to Clint’s, but said nothing about it. Of all the seats that were available, why did he have to sit on that particular one? It was true that Clint wanted to be around Tony whenever they were in the same room – and he would have probably made a fuss over not being sitting down next to him if Tony had grabbed another chair – however, Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t the only reason why Steve was placing him beside the only Little in the room.

But whether Tony’s suspicions were correct or not, it didn’t matter, Tony wasn’t going to let himself make a big deal out of it. If Steve had other intentions, well, Tony would simply pay no attention to them. He was determined to shrug Steve off and the only way he would achieve that was behaving. Easier said than done, though. When Steve took his plate in order to serve some food on it – just as Phil was doing with Clint’s – Tony could feel his irritation increasing.

“Otherwise you’ll end up having just coffee,” Steve explained as he set the plate down in front of him. Tony restricted himself to only pursing his lips.

Breakfast began uneventfully. Bruce mainly focused on his Stark Tablet, and Steve on the newspaper – seriously, who still read those things? Natasha finished almost immediately and excused herself from the table, something about a mission or training, Tony couldn’t really tell. Clint was demanding his complete attention, wanting to hear what Tony thought of the drawings he had colored, while Phil tried to settle him down enough for him to actually eat some of the food on his plate.

At first, Tony listened to Clint patiently and tried to answer to his questions the best he could; nevertheless, without really realizing when, his mind started to wander, and the next thing he knew was his eyes were laid on Phil, focused on how he was interacting with Clint. That made Tony feel more vexed than he already was, and even if he ordered his head to turn away, his brain completely disregarded his demand, and he found himself watching for several minutes how Phil patiently fed Clint.

Would Tony ever get rid of those kind of urges? Through many years of practice, he had learned how to ignore them, but what he truly wanted was not having them. Tony just couldn’t get it, he had never liked being fed, not even when it was done in a flirtatious way. So, why did his Little self enjoy it so much? Because of the praises he got every time he didn’t spill anything? Adult Tony got the same amount of praises, maybe more, every time he came up with another brilliant creation. Those compliments were undoubtedly much better.

When Tony finally managed to take his eyes off the scene in front of him, he was more than ready to leave. He needed to be alone, he needed to be give his brain a task and cease that way the world of contradictory emotions that were overflowing him. He would finish his breakfast, pour himself another cup of coffee, and make his way to the workshop. Steve shouldn’t stop him, he couldn’t. Tony had agreed to everything he had asked without complaining, and he hadn’t shown at all the fact that he was struggling to remain above his Little headspace.

Unfortunately, when Tony turned around to take a bite of the last bit there was left of the two burritos he had been given, he could feel how the blood drained from his face. Steve was peeking over the newspaper, staring at him with such a gaze that it was undeniable he had witnessed what Tony had just been doing. He knew what was going through Tony’s head.

“So?” Bruce said out of the blue. Or that was what had seemed to Tony, though Bruce’s expression was of someone who was waiting for the answer to a question he had previously asked. How long had Tony been staring back at Steve?

“What?” Tony babbled.

“Are you going to pop into my lab later? You know, to help me?” Bruce restated before sipping his tea.

“Eh… I… I don’t think so, maybe tomorrow? I’m going to be very busy today,” Tony excused himself. Bruce might not be as obnoxious as Steve was in situations like these, but Tony didn’t want to be around him either. “In fact, I should get going if I want to finish today,” he announced.

“Have some more fruit,” Steve said right before Tony got up from the chair, stopping him.

“What?” Tony questioned, taken aback.

“Have some more fruit,” Steve repeated as he turned the newspaper page for no apparent reason. He had stopped reading several minutes ago.

“I already ate enough,” Tony argued.

“You ate too little.”

Tony couldn’t help giving Steve a dirty look, “what do you mean? I ate everything you served me.”

“It won’t kill you to eat a bit more. Taking into consideration all the meals you skip, you could really benefit from more food,” Steve reasoned, the expression on his face showing he didn’t like the way Tony was looking at him.

Taking a deep breath, Tony refrained himself from talking back for the who-knew-what-time that day. What the hell was wrong with Steve? Was he trying to get on his nerves intentionally? Why couldn't he just leave him alone? He was there having breakfast with them as Steve had wanted, wasn't he? What else did Steve want? If what Steve wanted was for Tony to lose his temper, if he thought that was going to happen, well, he had another thing coming.

Shamefully, Tony's determination didn’t last much. Extreme anger set in and Tony became distraught when Steve materialized in front of him a second after he had made the attempt to stand up. He smiled condescendingly as he took his plate away and gave it back once he had put some more fruit on it.

“Just a bit more,” Steve repeated.

“NO!” Tony refused, hands slamming against the table so loudly that everybody went quiet.

Not wanting to make things worse, Steve said nothing when Tony began yelling at him. Mind your own business, stop telling me what to do, no one asked for your advice, you have no right, and so on; Tony tended to say the same things every time Steve got on his nerves that badly. It was no use arguing with him in times like those – Steve had learned that a long time ago – it was better to let him vent before he even attempted to calm him down.

However, if Steve had known what would happen, he would have immediately taken Tony out of the room – even if had had to drag him.

Apparently, Tony was more temperamental than Steve had thought, and Steve’s passive reaction only made him angrier. Before Steve knew it, Tony had stood up and pushed him away, his shouting increasing, and the way he clenched his fists told Steve he was very tempted to throw a punch at him. That wouldn’t be good, Tony was far from being a weakling, but he would surely hurt himself if he did it.

While Steve was trying to figure out what the best way to proceed was, he saw something that would certainly make things worse. Tony’s crotch area began to darken, and it wasn’t long before there was a small puddle between his legs. Great. If Tony was already going to be ashamed for making a scene and he would surely hide from everyone for quite some time, this would only increase his isolation.

Steve had to act fast. By the way Tony kept yelling at him, he seemed not to have noticed what had happened. That provided Steve some leverage. The problem was not that the others found out about Tony’s accident, but rather that Tony himself found out about it. Of all the things he disliked of being Little, having to depend on diapers was the one he dreaded the most. It was never good when Tony lost control of his bladder when his adult side was still in charge.

“Daddy, Tony had an accident,” Clint informed before Steve had the chance to think what to do.

How could Tony hear Clint when he was almost yelling at the top of his lungs? Steve didn’t know, but Tony certainly had. He stopped dead and turned his head towards Clint, face screwed up in confusion, then he glanced at Steve before slowly looking down at his thighs, and Steve could see the look of horror he acquired when he realized Clint had been right.

Without hesitation, Steve took a couple of steps towards Tony to eliminate the space between them, scooped him up, and headed to the elevator with a strangely still body in his arms.

This was all his fault. Steve should have taken Tony back to his floor since they had run into each other earlier that morning, since he had noticed there was something off with Tony and that he was probably on the edge. But Steve hadn’t. There was a part of him who wanted Tony to come to him willingly, to let himself go without having to go through such extreme situations. Steve had wanted to give Tony that chance, as he couldn’t conceive the idea that that might never happen.

As soon as the doors opened, Steve stepped out of the elevator and into the living room. He didn’t even have to check if they were in the correct place, JARVIS knew perfectly well that Tony wasn’t that keen on going anywhere in the tower except his floor whenever he was about to slip into his Little headspace. With long steps, Steve reached the couch and sat down with Tony on his lap, disregarding the fact that his jeans were all wet.

“No!” Tony complained after a few seconds, after getting over the initial shock caused by what had happened.

“Hey, whoa, whoa, take it easy, buddy,” Steve asked as he placed an arm around Tony’s waist when the former began trying to wriggle his way out of Steve’s grip, “it’s okay, it was an accident.”

“No! Let go!” Tony demanded. And he kept demanding the same thing over and over again for the next twenty minutes, attempting to kick him, punch him and even bite him to see if that could earn him his freedom. It didn’t. Steve waited patiently for Tony to calm down, holding him in place effortlessly while he made sure Tony didn’t hurt himself by accident as a result of how hard he was twisting and writhing.

“It’s okay baby, daddy’s here,” Steve soothed, taking advantage of Tony’s break to catch his breath to caress his belly.

“Not a baby,” Tony hissed. He resumed his attempts to escape, and a sob left his throat – clearly involuntarily – when he saw that he was not going anywhere unless Steve allowed it.

“Yes, you are.”

“No!” Tony yelled, chocking back a sob as he threw a punch to Steve which he easily dodged.

“Tony, sweetheart, we’ve been through this already,” Steve said, voice tender, “It’s not good for you to refrain yourself from being Little for as long as you do.” Tony glared at him, but soon the expression wore off due to the amount of tears that were filling up his eyes. A little bit roughly, Tony wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and didn’t look happy when more tears started to well up.

“Not want to,” Tony admitted pitifully, though he didn’t complain when Steve shifted a little and re-settled him, looking for a more comfortable position.

“Yes, you do. You don’t want to want it, but you do. And it’s okay,” Steve reassured, “you can be as little as you want, I’ve told you thousands of times I don’t mind looking after you. I want to look after you,” he assured, cradling his face tenderly and lifting his chin a little so he could look at him in the eyes. Tony let another sob out, and soon Steve found himself with a crying baby cradled in his arms.