Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/390261.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      The_Avengers
  Relationship:
      Steve_Rogers/Tony_Stark, Bruce_Banner/Clint_Barton
  Character:
      Steve_Rogers, Tony_Stark, Clint_Barton, Logan_(X-Men), Pepper_Potts,
      Obadiah_Stane, Jarvis
  Additional Tags:
      All_the_warnings_are_only_slight., the_non/con_is_implied
  Series:
      Part 9 of An_Idiot's_Guide_to_a_Higher_Education
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-04-23 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 3921
****** Saturday's Ghosts ******
by batty4u
***** The Subject *****
Tony, after an hour of telling Clint to fuck off with as much affection he
could muster for his best friend who had gotten laid when he hadn’t, and
another thirty minutes of panicking over what to wear, was waiting outside when
Steve pulled up outside the apartment on his triumph bike. It was gorgeous, as
far as bikes went, and Tony was sad he hadn’t noticed before. Well kept, shiny,
looking almost new, it was a fine specimen of a bike and Tony’s urge to tinker
was brewing.
“I would just like to reiterate,” he said as Steve tossed him a helmet, “that I
am not stripping for your goddamn art project.”
Steve laughed and Tony had to take a deep breath to keep himself from flushing.
God he was losing his touch with this. “No worries. Like I said, it’s just a
portrait practice, for a painting I have to do later.”
“So I’m your subject?”
“Maybe.” Steve’s smile was infectious. Tony pulled the helmet on and hooked it
under his chin. “Depends on whether you sit still.”
“Don’t count on it.”
Steve scooted forward so Tony could slip onto the bike behind him. “Hold on,
ok?” Tony grumbled. “That means arms around my chest.” More grumbling.
Steve reached around and took Tony’s hands, pulling his arms around and holding
them to the front of his chest, Tony’s face pressed into his shoulder. “Hold
tight.”
Even through the leather jacket, Steve’s body was warm and Tony found himself
almost melting into it. It was pathetic, the whole damn thing, Tony would never
be able to live it down if-
He looked up. Clint was making faces at him from the window.
Fuck.
“Friend of yours?” Steve asked following his gaze.
Clint waved at Steve.
“Ex-friend.” Clint made a kissy face. “Who’s getting his dick removed when I
get home.”
“Aw too bad.” Steve said returning the wave. “He’s cute.”
He kicked the bike into gear and they drove off, Tony flipping Clint off as
they went. He could practically hear the bastard’s laughter.
Pressed up against Steve, arms tightly around his broad chest, Tony was more
comfortable than he probably should have been. He felt safe, despite hurtling
across campus and turning sharp corners at hazardous speeds. He closed his eyes
and breathed in the scent of leather and autumn air. He could get used to this.
The art seminar was held in the old boat house on the eastern edge of campus.
Back in the fifties the school had been the proud home of the best rowing team
in the state, but now, not so much. So the art department had laid claim to it
and it was now used for painting instead of boats. It was an old stone
building, no bigger than the average barn, with a large glass door that lead
out to the water, bathing the large studio room with crisp autumn light.
When they arrived several other students had already settled into their work,
chatting quietly amongst themselves. Steve nudged Tony inside and motioned to
their little corner by the windows.
“Who’s the brat?” a rough voice asked.
Tony bristled and turned, ready for a fight but Steve laughed. “Morning sir.”
“It is three in the afternoon, Rogers. Get a watch.” Then man was short and
stocky with thick dark hair and sideburns and a mean look in his eye. Frankly,
if anyone in the room were to go on a mass murdering spree, Tony would have put
his money on him. “Professor Logan. You got a name?” He asked, pulling the
cigar he had wedge between his lips away and smiling, or maybe it was a
grimace. He offered his hand to Tony who took it with severe caution.
“Tony, uh, sir.”
“Pretty nice shiner you got there,” Logan said, tapping at it with a calloused
finger. “Hope the other guy looks worse.”
Steve hadn’t said anything, but the black and blue lump under Tony’s left eye
had in fact bloomed rather nicely, as far as bruises were concerned. He tried
not to wince as Logan grabbed his chin and turned his head to get a better
look.
“Damn, kid. Who’s ass did you grab for that one?” He asked.
“Someone grabbed his,” Steve said. Tony glared at him. “In a manner of
speaking.”
“You rough him up?” Logan asked as Steve went about getting his supplies and
setting up the easel. “I hope you did.”
“Why do you give a shit?”
Logan grinned, a menacing grin. “Because I don’t like it when my kids are
roughed up.”
“I’m not your kid.”
“Nah you’re Rogers’. But since you’re his and he’s one of mine that means in
some way shape or form you are also mine and I don’t like it when you brats
come in beaten and bruised.” He tapped at the bruise again. “You give him one
to match?”
“What makes you think it’s a him?”
“Cause a chick would have aimed a lot lower, kid.”
“Good point.”
“Did you?” Logan’s eyes scanned Tony’s face, a surprising seriousness in his
features. It made him intimidating, despite him being Tony’s height, but Tony
wasn’t really scared anymore. He didn’t flinch when Logan touched his face
again.
“No.”
“Did Rogers?”
“He wasn’t there. A friend of mine scared him off though.”
“You didn’t land a punch?”
“No.”
“Damn.”
“Not everyone can knock someone out in one punch, professor.” Steve set the
easel in place. “When you’re ready Tony.”
Logan put a hand on his shoulder as he turned away. “See me before you leave,
kay?”
“Sure.”
Now came the hard part. He had to sit still while Steve drew, something Tony
had never been good at, ever. He fiddled with his jeans and tried to solve
basic math problems in his head as Steve worked. The only chatter between them
was when Steve asked him to shift or reminded him to hold still. And that meant
Tony had to be alone with his thoughts the rest of the time, and they had two
more hours to go. It only took a few minutes for his thoughts to turn sour.
Why were people giving a shit all of a sudden? Why did Steve care? Why did this
Professor care when they’d only just met? Why had Jarvis showed up two days
early? God he hated it. No, he didn’t hate it, he just wasn’t used to it. He’d
been left to his own devices for years and he more or less liked it that way.
Pepper and Rhodey had always sort of been there, never really getting involved
but still managing to keep him alive. Clint had been a wondrous accident and
the closest thing Tony had ever had to a boyfriend. It was more of a best
friends with the occasional benefit of lonely fondling and blowjobs. And Clint
was the only one who knew why they hadn’t gone past that. God the fact he was
still so worried about it pissed him off and terrified him. He hadn’t seen
Obidiah in two years, he had avoided home and holiday parties and anything
related to Stark Industries like the goddamn plague and he could still smell
the cigars and the whiskey, feel the leathery hand on his neck and-
“Tony?”
The dark office, Obidiah looming over him, holding him down, spiteful angry
words, death threats should he tell. Knuckles connecting with his face, the
ugly black stone on his ring visibly imprinted in the newly forming bruise.
“Hey, Tony.”
He still had pictures, the goddamn pictures Jarvis had taken to use as proof
for when he told his parents. Tony had begged him not to and Jarvis, being the
man he was, obliged, but Tony still had the goddamn photos.
“Tony!”
He jumped as Steve’s hands cupped his face. He lashed out, arms flailing as he
tried to bat Steve away. Instead of grabbing for his wrists the way Tony had
expected, he backed away to give Tony space. His chest hurts, hands shaking. He
could taste the sharp bitter sting of blood from his lip that he had gnawed
open.
“Tony what do you need?” Steve asked gently, trying to calm him down without
touching him. Tony babbled, shaking his head. If he just waited a bit longer
the attack would subside.
He yelped when a bottle of ice water was dumped over his head. The shock sent
his mind reeling, waking him from the attack.
Logan stood over him, bottle in hand. “Best try breathing, kid.”
“Fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t need to do that,” Steve said, glaring up at him but Logan just
shrugged.
“Well it was either that or we cart him to the infirmary and I’m not going
anywhere near that goddamn place. Besides, he’s fine.” Logan patted Tony’s head
lightly and Tony took a long shuddering breath. “See? No lasting damage.”
“That shit was cold.” Tony choked out and Logan laughed.
“Why don’t you two pack up? There’s only half an hour left anyway and you
clearly need some rest.” He signed something, a small blue slip of paper and
handed it to Steve.
“I’m fine.”
“And I’m Santa Claus.”
“You sure, Prof?” Steve asked.
“Yeah, go on home. You,” He tapped Tony on the head, “come with me a sec.”
Tony got to his feet and followed, legs still uneasy. Logan stepped out to the
back dock that over looked the lake.
“You ever take self defense classes?” He asked when Tony joined him.
“Not really. Some martial arts as a kid. Why?”
“I teach a mixed martial arts class twice a week, Tuesdays and Thursdays. I’ve
got all kinds of kids, beginners and wannabes trying to go pro. It might be
good for you, taking some classes, learning how to pummel someone. Learning
self-discipline, how to manage your attacks.”
“I don’t have-”
“Bullshit, don’t start.”
“Why do you give a shit?”
Logan gave him a once over. “Rogers likes you. He’s a good kid who’s been
handed far too much shit for one person. He deserves something good and you’re
probably that something good. I look out for my kids. You’re sort of becoming
one of them.”
“I’ve only just met you I might not even come back.”
“You will.” Logan smiled, voice full of certainty. “I saw the way he looked at
you, the way an artist looks at something they find truly beautiful. Something
comes over them, a trance and nothing else exists except for their subject.
That is when you know the artist truly loves what they are working on, when
they lose themselves completely in it, ignoring the outside world. Rogers cares
for you, why is beyond me, but he does. Enough to make you his subject and when
an artist chooses a subject, after years of being handed assignments or
commissions, the first subject they choose is always special.”
He patted Tony’s shoulder. “You’re his first subject, Kid. So I get the feeling
we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
Tony wasn’t sure how to feel, his post-attack brain was still trying to process
what Logan had told him.
Steve… Steve loved him? In a weird artistic way, he actually loved him?”
“So, I want you to come by on Tuesday. We meet at the old boxing center on
Fifth and Jameson at 6 o’clock. Be there.” Logan ruffled his hair and strode
back inside, leaving Tony to stare dumbfounded at the water.
Steve loved him?
Him?
Nah, there was no way.
Could he?
***** Monsters under the Bed *****
Chapter Summary
     Steve had just set down his keys when his cell phone rang from his
     jacket pocket. Probably Jan or Rhodey, or the coach making sure he
     was ready for the next practice. He glanced at the screen.
     It was Tony.
     “Tony are you ok?”
     All Steve heard was choked sobs and whines of pain.
     He grabbed his keys and tore out of the apartment without a second
     thought.
Chapter Notes
     Heads up guys, there's a heavy dose of abuse mentioned in this
     chapter, both physical and sexual.
     Just tread carefully if that bothers you.
They had dinner at the diner on the corner, burgers and fries on Steve who was
surprisingly quiet through the whole ordeal. Tony picked at his food, thanked
him more than he usually would have, trying to get Logan’s stupid words out of
his head. There was no way. No, it was all a sick joke between artists or
something.
“Tony?”
“Yeah?”
“Who’s Obie?”
The air in the room grew heavy, Tony’s chest seizing up. Well he figured this
was coming. The nightmares and an attack and Steve apparently cared so why was
he surprised?
Because no one ever asked.
“What do you mean?”
Steve sighed and leaned in closer. “Who is Obie? You kept saying his name
during your nightmares, and when you said them you sounded scared. You said his
name at the seminar too, just as your attack started. Who is he?”
Tony took a deep breath. “Why?”
“What do you-”
“Why do you want to know?” Tony asked. His voice had gotten that sharp edge to
it. He tried to keep calm. Obie was just such a shitty topic.
“Because I care about you.”
Tony stared at him. “Really?”
“Yes. I thought that was somewhat obvious.” Steve sighed. “Or did my phone call
inviting you to a private art seminar or the fact I stayed next to you until
three am last night not make that fairly clear?”
“You… You stayed?”
“Until Jarvis said I should go home. I would have stayed longer, been there
when you woke up, but that butler of yours is very persistent.” Steve ran a
hand through his short blond hair. “I care about you Tony. You’re a nice
person, despite your snark.”
“You’ve only known me for three days.”
“And in those three days I’ve apparently seen sides of you no one else has. I
think that’s enough of a foundation for at least a friendship.” He reached out
and gave Tony’s hand a squeeze. “You can trust me, Tony.”
And how Tony wanted to.
“Who is he?”
“My… My dad’s business partner. Obadiah Stane.” Tony closed his eyes and his
grip on Steve’s hand tightened. “He… We’ve never had a good relationship. He
was supposed to be the heir to the company, if anything happened to my dad.
Then I was born. The man holds a grudge like nobody’s business, if you know
what I mean.”
Steve just nodded, eyes focused on him and him alone, hand not moving from his
slowly tightening grip.
“He… Well when I was seven or so, one night at a party and everyone got pretty
drunk and he got me alone and well…” how did he explain this part? “He roughed
me… roughed me up a bit, is all.”
“Was that the only time?”
Tony shook his head. “Nah, happened a lot more actually, more and more as I got
older and apparently could take it like a man… And he uh… Well it didn’t stop
at punches.”
Tony glanced up at Steve’s face and felt himself want to pull away. Steve’s
light blue eyes were dark and narrowed, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. He looked
ready for blood.
“How bad did it get?” He asked in a low, menacing voice that made Tony shiver.
“I… I went to the hospital one time. Was, uh… really bruised a few others, hurt
to walk and stuff.” Tony’s eyes stung. “But hey, I haven’t seen him in ages,
it’s not a big deal.” He tried to smile for Steve but it was broken and weak.
“Did your dad ever do anything?”
Tony let out a bitter laugh. “My dad thinks I’m as important as the mud on your
shoes, Steve. And my mom tends to forget she has a son.” He patted Steve’s
hand. “Can we, you know, change the topic for a bit? Please?”
Steve considered him a moment and Tony could see more question building up. But
he nodded. “What’d you think of Professor Logan?” his voice was calm and more
or less normal, but Tony didn’t miss the way he mutilated his left over fries
as they talked.
Dinner ended and Obie wasn’t brought up again. Steve drove them back to the
apartment and walked Tony up to his door, something a date hadn’t done for Tony
since freshman year of high school. Steve stood there with him, Tony’s eyes on
his shoes, Steve watching him, hands shoved in his pockets.
Hooray for awkwardness.
“Uh, thanks for dinner and stuff,” Tony said, shifting his feet. “It was cool.”
Steve nodded. “And thanks for holding still while I drew you. Are you busy next
Saturday?”
“Nah, I’m usually free.”
“Great,” Steve smiled and Tony’s stomach fluttered. “Then same thing next
weekend?”
“Why not?”
Did they hug? Did they shake hands? God forbid they kiss.
Steve, now that the silence had been broken, took no time in pulling Tony into
a tight hug, arms around him. Tony buried his face in Steve’s chest, breathing
in his scent. God no one should have been that warm or felt that good.
“If you need me, for anything, call me,” Steve whispered. “I mean it, Tony,
even if you just want to talk, or not talk, hell I’ll sit on the phone and
listen to you not talk if it meant you were ok.” He lifted Tony’s chin so he
was looking up at him. “I mean it. Call me, ok?”
“Ok.” Tony even managed a smile.
Steve leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Tony’s lips. No tongue, no force,
no intrusion, just a simple, gentle, slow kiss that left Tony’s whole body
tingling.
“Sleep well Tony.” Steve hugged him again and turned to go, tony standing there
in shock.
“Steve?”
“Hm?” he turned back to Tony.
“You’re a good kisser.”
And Tony got to see that smile one more time before Steve left and Tony
wandered into the empty apartment. Rhodey was probably out with his frat
friends, leaving Tony to watch TV, tinker or just go to bed.
He should have just done that, something other than wander into his room and
start digging through his desk drawers, tossing out folders and notebooks until
he pulled out a small manila folder from the bottom of the last drawer.
He should have taken the folder and thrown it out, just like he should have
every goddamn time he pulled it out. He should have burned it, gotten it as far
away from him as possible.
But Tony was probably some sort of masochist. He had to be, because he sat down
on his mattress and opened the folder, his own bloody and bruised face staring
up at him from vivid color photographs.
He should have burned them.
*
Steve had just set down his keys when his cell phone rang from his jacket
pocket. Probably Jan or Rhodey, or the coach making sure he was ready for the
next practice. He glanced at the screen.
It was Tony.
“Tony are you ok?”
All Steve heard was choked sobs and whines of pain.
He grabbed his keys and tore out of the apartment without a second thought.
*
Steve found the apartment door unlocked and Tony lying in a heap in his room,
body shaking, photos strewn across the mattress.
“Oh god, Tony, what happened?” he asked dropping down to help him up. Tony
wailed and curled into him, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt. “Shush,
I’m here, its ok.”
Steve grabbed for the closest picture to see what had upset him. In it, Tony
couldn’t have been more than ten, his face swollen and bruised, his left eyes
red and swollen shut, lips busted, a clear impression of a ring on his right
cheek. His eyes, the only one Steve could see, was filled with a dread, the
only kind that came with the acceptance of defeat, of loss, of weakness.
At least twenty photos, maybe more, all of Tony’s body, beaten, abused, broken
and capture in vibrant color as a solid, everlasting reminder of what he had
been through. One picture very clearly explained to Steve why Tony didn’t want
people touching his hips or thighs, the bruises there couldn’t have been better
impressions of hand prints if you had painted them on.
Notes were scribbled on some of them, the mug shot of Tony’s face commenting
that it was the first and last time Obadiah had struck him in the face. Other
notes detailed the extent of Tony’s injuries, broken bones and a concussion on
one, internal bleeding on another. Nothing, no matter how hard Steve looked,
said anything about full on rape, but the pictures said Obadiah hadn’t been far
off from it.
“Tony, why do you have these?” He asked gently, tightening his grip in him.
“Why didn’t you just get rid of them?”
“B-because… B-because I deserved it,” Tony choked. “I did. I had no purpose. He
s-said so.”
“Hey look at me,” Steve shifted Tony so he could see his face. “Look at me,
Tony. That’s bullshit. You didn’t deserve any of it. No one deserves that. And
you have a-”
“You d-don’t know, Steve. You don’t. I needed a purpose, to be good at
something. And all I was g-good at was fucking everything up.” Tony choked on a
sob and struggled to breathe. “I was useless. I am useless. And I’m ruined. He
made sure I was so fucked up no one would want me.
“Shush, that’s not true, Tony. That’s not true.”
“I’m ruined.” Tony’s grip on Steve’s shirt tightened. “No one wants damaged
fucking goods.”
“I do.”
He stopped shaking in Steve’s arms, his breath catching in his chest, eyes red
and wide. “W-what?”
“I want you Tony, no matter what’s happened. You have a purpose for me, ok?”
Steve ran his hand over Tony’s dark hair, forehead pressed against his as he
whispered. “I don’t care what Obadiah said. I think you matter. You matter to
me. And you could never be damaged goods because someone will always want you,
I will always want you.”
“n-no you won’t.” Tony shook his head. “You’ll leave, they always leave.”
“No, I’m not going anywhere. I promise, ok? I’ll stay right here. I promise.”
Steve pushed the photos off the mattress and gathered Tony up so they could lie
down, Steve kicking off his shoes as Tony huddled against his chest, still
shaking with sobs, head resting on Steve’s bicep as they rolled to their sides.
“I’m not going away, Tony. I’ll always have you, it’s alright.” Steve whispered
again and again until Tony’s breathing started to settled and most of the sobs
had subsided, leaving him to sniffle and whimper against Steve’s chest.
“Y-you don’t have to,” Tony muttered weakly.
“Yes I do.” Steve pressed a kiss to his forehead. “You need me.”
“I’ll b-be fine.”
“I know you will. I’m just going to stay and make sure that happens.” Steve
smiled and wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand. “You don’t need to be
alone.”
Tony slid up enough to kiss him, soft, slow, and gentle like the first kiss of
the night. Nothing more was to come of it, even if Steve had wanted it to. Tony
curled back into him, a soft sigh leaving his exhausted body and Steve pulled
the blankets over them. It wasn’t long before Tony, sleep deprived and
emotionally wrecked, dozed off to sleep, leaving Steve to deal with his own
problems, namely the ever growing desire to find Obadiah Stane and smash his
face in.
Maybe he could get Professor Logan’s help.
Tony’s lips on his cheek, a light kiss from a half asleep mind, made him smile
though and Steve figured they could put off the various revenge schemes until
Tony was better.
So instead of plotting the man’s demise, Steve pressed his face into Tony’s
dark mop of hair, took a deep breath, and let sleep slowly take him.
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