#i just. guess i decided to have a running theme of tony being his yk

[dykeninthdoctor]

“tony getting deaged and rhodey being the only one he trusts/surprised rhodey is still in his life” for @official-impravidus. happy birthday, lexie my love!

“What the fuck happened to him?”

Jim knows his voice is shaking, but it’s better than yelling, better than seeing the teenager in front of him shrink away and curl in on himself, a habit that took years for Jim to coax out of him with gentle words and even gentler touches. Rogers raises his hands in a show of peace–I’m on your side–but it does nothing to quell the anger building in Jim’s throat.

“We don’t know what happened, Rhodey–“

Jim’s fists clench at his sides at the nickname from Rogers’s mouth as Tony–little Tony, tiny Tony, the Tony that used to be his–looks up in shock.

“Rhodey?” he asks breathlessly, hopefully. “You–you’re Rhodey?“

Jim nods, not trusting his voice.

And then his arms are full of a trembling teenager, a trembling teenager that was once his, and his shirt is slowly growing damp from the silent tears Tony cries against his chest.

It’s easier than breathing to hold Tony closer.

He starts carding a hand through Tony’s soft hair, the usual gel that Jim’s become accustomed to absent, and rubs his back with the other hand, humming just soft enough for Tony to pick up the melody and tap it out on his shoulder with light brushes of his fingers.

Rogers stares at them.

Jim doesn’t care, because Tony’s not shaking anymore.

-

He takes Tony to the lab first, because the lab is where his Tony feels safe.

But this Tony looks around with an unreadable expression–almost unreadable, except to Jim.

It’s disbelief. And fear.

“I did this? Not–not Howard?”

It breaks Jim’s heart.

“Yeah, Tones. It was you.”

“Oh,” Tony whispers. “Wicked.”

-

Jim tells him about the future, and Tony listens with wide eyes.

Jim tells him about Tony’s place in the future, and Tony understands with wider ones.

-

It’s not hard to tell Tony about his parents’ death.

It’s the hardest thing in the world to tell Tony about Edwin Jarvis’s.

Tony tries to make JARVIS again, for the first time in his lifetime, and Jim has to stop him, for the fifth time in his lifetime.

Jim holds him while he cries.

-

Tony doesn’t ask about Rogers until two days in, after two days of not leaving Jim’s side, after two days spent in the lab with the bots, his creations, his children.

They’re on the couch in the common living room, watching Star Wars Episode VII, because after Tony had heard there were more than just the original trilogy, he’d begged for a marathon and Jim’s never been able to resist his puppy eyes. Tony’s head is pillowed on his chest, Jim’s nose is resting against the crown of his head, and their arms are around each other. Tony’s watching the movie. Jim’s watching him.

Rogers walks into the room right as Finn and Poe reunite on screen.

Tony tenses. Jim holds him tighter.

“Oh–I didn’t realize you were in here–“ Rogers says. Jim taps a calming pattern against Tony’s back.

“It’s all good, man.”

There’s a beat, a moment of silence as sharp as glass where Rogers’s eyes stay on Tony, and Tony’s eyes don’t leave the screen.

Jim clears his throat and shatters it. Rogers blinks, nods, looks at Tony one more time, and leaves the room.

There’s an explosion on screen.

“How did he find him?” Tony asks, barely a whisper.  

Jim frowns into Tony’s hair. “How did who find him?”

“Howard.”

“No,” Jim says sharply, before he can stop himself. “It wasn’t Howard.”

“Oh.”

“He’s gone, Tones. Rogers wasn’t his find. And Rogers–he’s–“ Jim sighs. “He’s okay.”  

Tony relaxes against his chest.

“Okay, platypus.”

-

The overwhelming feeling of relief, and then guilt, creeps its way into Jim’s heart when Tony still refuses to leave his side, even with his newfound trust in Rogers, and to an extent, the rest of the team.

It takes them a week to figure out how to reverse it, a week for the flowers of relief and weeds of guilt to continue to grow, along with the coiling, painful root of longing, longing for his Tony.  

Tony’s always been perceptive, so when he picks up on it, Jim isn’t surprised.

“You miss him. Me. The other me. Your me.”

“Every you is mine,” Jim says immediately, and means it.

Tony will always be his, and he will always be Tony’s. It’s the way the universe works.

Tony just rolls his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. But you still miss him. I mean…it’s weird to be in love with a seventeen-year-old when you’re like…fifty.”

Jim drops the casserole dish and spills Momma Robbie’s famous peach cobbler across the kitchen tiles, staining white with yellows and oranges.

“Shit,” he says, because Tony flinched, even if he tried to hide it. “C’mere, Tones.”

“Did I guess wrong?” Tony asks weakly, tucked into Jim’s chest, head under his chin.

They fit together like pieces of a puzzle; or, two puzzles with matching pieces.

“No. No, you really didn’t. You picked up on something my Tony’s been missing for years, though.”

“He doesn’t know you love him?”

“No, he doesn’t know I’m in love with him.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to believe it,” Tony whispers softly.

Jim doesn’t know what to say in response.

-

It takes them a week to figure out how to reverse it.

When they do, Tony, Jim’s Tony, stands in front of them, gray at his temples and in his goatee, a lifetime clouding his eyes, but still drowning in Jim’s old MIT hoodie.

“Tones?” he asks weakly.

“Hey, platypus. I think you’ve got something to tell me.”

“I hate you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was the opposite,” Tony says, a smirk that looks more like a smile on his face.

And then he’s in Jim’s arms.

His Tony is in his arms.

Jim smiles.

It’s easier than living to kiss Tony breathless.