Chapter Text
Anthony Edward Stark wasn’t unfamiliar with secrets. Everyone in his life had kept them at some point, some for good reason and others far worse than anything he’d ever imagined. He had them himself. Most were the types of “secrets” that everyone knew because they got leaked to a reporter. Or, at least, Tony allowed them to leak. If he didn’t want someone to know something, he had both the power and money to ensure it stayed that way. And there was one secret he would take to his grave if he had any say on the matter. One he buried as deep as possible and guarded like a dragon did its hoard.
In a world where classifications were integrated into the very crux of society, and how everyone and everything treated someone was dependent on them, Tony needed to control the narrative of what he was. Classifications aren’t just quirks about people or arbitrary ways that everyone is organized, much like most other labels humans have come up with. Classifications are the core facets that make up a person. It influences nearly everything. The way they perceive the world, what jobs they typically hold, the ways they interact with others, and more. A person can be one of five main classifications: Dominant, Submissive, Caregiver, Little, and Switch. The first four are relatively straightforward, as one might expect.
Dominants are individuals who display, well, dominant tendencies. They often are deeply integrated with the BDSM community and tend to take on jobs that put them in positions of power. Government employees, CEO’s, police force, military personnel, etc. They crave control over every aspect of their life, and often the people closest to them. Many are fiercely protective and often possessive of anyone they perceive as under their control or protection. They’re more likely to make friends with other dominants, and occasionally Caregivers, as doing so with a Sub often ends up falling into a dynamic of sorts. Most, though not all, are likely to avoid Littles, especially younger ones, as their behaviors and tendencies tend to be too harsh for them.
Submissives are the opposites of Dominants. Displaying submissive tendencies, they too are often deeply involved with the BDSM community and tend to take on jobs that put them in subservient positions. Secretaries, butlers, and so on. Anything that best fits their personalities. Most unclaimed Subs tend to move and live in larger packs. Never seen alone in public, and opting to room with other Subs. They make the best of friends amongst themselves and, in some cases, with Caregivers. However, it isn’t unheard of for them to befriend older Littles. Obviously, this isn’t a rule of any sort, just what tends to occur.
Caregivers act as guardians to Littles, and occasionally Subs, caring for them and their needs. They often partner with other Caregivers and develop large families where they share the care of multiple Littles amongst themselves. They are frequently the mediators amongst mixed classification groups; however, they are undying protectors of those they perceive as vulnerable. And they often display paternal behaviors towards anyone they care about. Caregivers tend to take on jobs that involve working with children and Littles. Teaching, babysitting, pediatric medicine, and other related fields. They are often the only classification that can easily get along with all four other classifications, as they mesh well with nearly any personality.
Much like Submissives are the opposites of Dominants, Littles are the opposites of Caregivers. They are individuals who regress mentally to a younger age than they are physically. This age range can vary from infancy to teenage years, depending on the individual. Most Littles, even in modern times, don’t hold jobs as many view them as not being able to handle them and, as such, are raised to believe the same. However, those who decide to do so anyway tend to take up minimum wage work such as fast food or retail. They get along best with other Littles and often need to have a Caregiver, as the side effects of not having someone to aid them are often incredibly detrimental.
The fifth classification isn’t quite as simplistic, though honestly, none of them are simple. Switches are individuals who display tendencies of more than one type of classification. In modern days, researchers have found that Switches are the most common classification, despite previous beliefs that insisted otherwise. The most common switch types are ones that flip between Caregiver and Little or Dominant and Submissive. However, there have been documented cases of all the other possible combinations and even cases of people displaying three or even all four classifications. Switches tend to fill in whatever jobs and roles are available, or sometimes ones that match the classification they display the strongest.
It is worth noting that most people exhibit physical characteristics that align well with their classifications. Dominants and Caregivers tend to be larger and stronger than average, while Submissives and Littles are often smaller than average. Littles frequently tend to be the physically weakest of any classification. It is, of course, evident that not everyone fits into these stereotypes, but most individuals fit within these characteristics. As for relationships, people tend to bond with their classifications “counterparts”. Dominants with Submissives, Caregivers with Littles, and Switches filling themselves in where they best fit. Polyamorous relationships are prevalent, especially amongst Switches. However, in modern day, other pairings are becoming more common.
From a young age, Tony showed the classic signs of being a Little, though his guardian, Obadiah Stane, followed in Howard Stark’s footsteps and refused to acknowledge it. He consistently reminded Tony of how every Stark man had been a Dominant, and so he needed to be one as well. Because “Stark’s are made of iron, Anthony. Not glass.”
The Stark family butler, J.A.R.V.I.S., tried his absolute best to undo the damage that Obadiah caused the young Stark heir, but he was unsuccessful. By the time Tony reached fifteen and took his test, his view on classifications was firmly skewed, and not in a good way. The young genius hated himself when the results came back. Anthony Edward Stark was a Little? No. It wasn’t allowed. It couldn’t be allowed. And Obadiah Stane made sure of it. Money was power, and it was an excellent way to bribe people into silence. No one breathed a word when the young Stark’s guardian submitted the forged documents. Tony is mislabeled as a Dominant, and he spends the next five years resisting his headspace.
James Rhodes was the only person that Tony ever told. It was an accident, really, but one that the genius never regretted. It happened one late night after Tony had one too many drinks and ended up having an accident right in front of his roommate. The Dominant, who had been suspecting something for a while, had instantly stepped up. The bond that developed between the two from that moment was unshakable.
Having someone know his secret was nice if Tony was honest with himself. Especially James. James, who never judged him. James, who loved him as he was. James, who was his biggest supporter. However, even his best friend was incapable of convincing the stubborn Stark that regression was okay. That his classification wasn’t a mistake or a fluke that needed to be hidden. He gave up, eventually, but Tony could always sense his best friend’s quiet disapproval.
J.A.R.V.I.S. had died just a few short months after Tony’s classification. Two years after that, J.A.R.V.I.S. was born, the A.I. was an attempt on the genius’s behalf to cope with the heart-wrenching loss. The two became inseparable. The A.I. saw the Little through the rest of his college years and into the inheritance of his company. They were never parted for long until Tony found himself in Afghanistan at the age of twenty.
Stuck in that cave, thousands of miles away from his life and home, Tony nearly broke entirely. He tried desperately to cling to his sanity and precarious hold over his headspace, but alas, it wasn’t possible to entirely hide things, especially from his perceptive co-prisoner.
Yinsen didn’t take long to uncover the truth about Tony’s classification. He brought it up one day, as he sat, watching the Little pick at his food in silence. His perceptive gaze always made Tony nervous, and now it was making his skin crawl with anxiety. He knew that Yinsen knew something. But he never expected the words that left the man’s mouth as he leaned closer.
“So, you’re a Little.”
Tony choked on the water that he’d just sipped, gasping for air as the man patted him on the back firmly, almost nonchalantly. He looked over at Yinsen in shock, his brain racing as he tried to decipher how his secret had been revealed. He tried so hard. He worked desperately to conceal his tendencies. To hide his precarious hold over his headspace. “How do you- ”
“I’m a doctor, Stark. It’s my job to classify people in my village. And on top of that, you’re not hiding it very well right now anyway.” Tony lurches, looking up towards the cameras he knew were hidden, recording them, and Yinsen lets out a small huff, shaking his head. “Don’t worry, they’re not knowledgeable enough to identify it. You’re showing small signs, signs that someone like me, an experienced Caregiver, would pick up. And I promise that none of those men are Caregivers or experienced. It’s only natural, considering the level of stress you’re under.”
Tony relaxes slightly, shakily leaning back in his chair with a long exhale. He draws his knees up to his chest, pressing his face into them as he attempts to calm down. For a while, silence reigns. Neither of them spoke, one waiting for the other to process their words. He was a little more groggy and fuzzy-headed than he usually was due to everything that was going on, and everything was a little more complicated to process. Finally, he peers over at the man. “Yeah, I’m a Little. So what?”
There was a beat of silence, and then Yinsen spoke again, confusion evident in his voice. “I thought your classification came back as Dominant?”
“It did…what about it?”
There is another moment of silence, and the other man sighs quietly before answering. “I suppose I’m wondering why you have a fake classification.”
“You know how society views Littles, especially in places like the one where you live. It’s not much better where I’m from. They would never allow me to run my company or manage my wealth if they knew my true classification.”
“I…suppose you’re correct. Where I’m from, Littles don’t have an adult headspace. You must spend an extraordinary amount of time in one for this secret of yours to remain as such for so long. Americans get classified at fifteen, yes? And you’re twenty. That’s five years you’ve been hiding this. Not to mention all the signs that would’ve shown up throughout childhood.” Yinsen quips, surveying Tony closely, a frown gracing his features. The genius shifts underneath his gaze, looking a bit nervous now. Typically, he wouldn’t be so bothered, but that was a Caregiver look through and through, and Tony was far too close to headspace to ignore it entirely.
“I haven’t dropped,” He finally mumbles, hiding his face, and there is a moment of confused silence before he sighs loudly, begrudgingly elaborating. “Ever. I haven’t dropped…ever.” The expression on the man’s face morphs from one of confusion to one bordering on horror.
“That is…” he trails off, and Tony lets out a much quieter and shakier sigh, turning away entirely. He hopes silently that Yinsen will catch the hint and drop the subject. There are a few moments when Tony thinks that something more might be said, but eventually, a quiet sigh precedes the man's suggestion that they continue working.
“Anthony, I think you should allow me to stay the night with you. We have many things we need to discuss, and you may need-“
“Obi, I’m fine. Just…go.” Tony barely recognizes the scratchy, lifeless-sounding voice that falls from his lips. His eyes are trained on his reflection in the mirror, face gaunt, eyes hollow, and his entire body shaking like a leaf in a storm. “I need to be alone.”
Obidiah goes to protest again, but J.A.R.V.I.S. smoothly interrupts him. “Mr. Stane, I promise I will contact you if something goes amiss. You will be the first to know.” The Dominant looks uncertain but finally gives up with a huff.
“Fine, but you can’t avoid these conversations forever, Anthony. The board has questions. And concerns. A lot has been happening since you left.”
Tony nods numbly, resisting the urge to scream at him. To break down and beg him not to go. To stay. Stay and care about him. Like a guardian should. But no words leave his mouth. He knew Obidiah would never care about him. He would only sneer and berate him.
“Starks are made of iron, Anthony. Not glass.” The words echo in his head as his guardian leaves, the front door closing with a slight slam, leaving the Little entirely alone. Tony numbly makes his way through the house, looking blankly at each room. All of it is untouched. Left exactly as it was when he’d left for Afghanistan, with maybe a small layer of dust across the surfaces. It indicates how long has passed.
Had it been days? Weeks? He wasn’t entirely sure. His mind was so scrambled, and he hadn’t exactly looked at the date. His hands shake as he pulls out his phone, flicking the screen on and looking at the date. May 23. His mouth goes dry as his brain quickly does the math. He’d left halfway through February. He’d been there for over three months. It didn’t seem possible, but he supposes that it must be.
Dropping his phone, he stumbles his way into the kitchen, jerking open the fridge. Most of the food is rotten. He filed that information away, knowing he’d have to clear it out at some point. But what he was looking for is still sitting on the lower shelf. His fingers wrap around the cool bottle of whiskey and draw it out. Above him, J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice sounds.
“Sir, I don’t think that’s a very good idea considering-“
“Quiet, J.A.R.V.I.S.” Tony grits out, opening the bottle, and without preamble or even a glass, he starts chugging it. The liquid burns as it slides down his throat, nearly making him choke, but somehow he manages to keep it down. He stumbles out of the kitchen, feet turning him in the direction of his lab. “Lock it down, J.A.R.V.I.S., I need to be alone.”
“Sir, are you sure that you don’t need me to contact someone? Colonel Rhodes, perhaps?” J.A.R.V.I.S.’s voice echoes through the lab once more, and Tony sobs, covering his ears.
Everything was spinning. Every time the Little took a step, the ground threatened to rush up to meet his face. He stumbled around, crashing into things, sobbing harder and harder each time something slammed into the floor. The alcohol had long since overtaken any sense of cognitive function, and Tony was spiraling. Fast.
“N-no, I’m fine.” He insists, determinedly making it towards the lab door. He must’ve taken a wrong step because he stumbles forward, crashing face-first into the ground. The harsh impact knocks the breath out of him, and he can feel liquid dripping down his face. He lifts his hand to rub at his nose, and when he draws it back, red stains his skin.
Tony broke. His soft cries picked up into full-blown wails, the force of his sobs shaking his body. He curls up in a ball, his distress only growing as his pants become soaked. He can faintly hear J.A.R.V.I.S. talking again, and he screams out a hysterical “MUTE” before balling up in the middle of his lab floor.
His brain flickers between memories of Afghanistan. The beatings. The waterboarding. Yinsen’s slack-jawed face as he lay, dead on the ground beneath him. He bangs his hands into his head, screaming, becoming louder, silently begging for it to stop. He lies there for what feels like hours, choking and gasping through his cries until finally, finally, he crashes into unconsciousness.
Three days later, he emerges from his lab as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just spent that entire time curled up in his soiled clothes, horrific images plaguing him in both sleep and consciousness. Crying and sobbing when he was awake, which eventually exhausted him into sleep, only to wake up from a nightmare, starting the whole process over again. He pretended he hadn’t spent those countless hours wishing someone would rescue him. That someone would show up and scoop him into their arms, soothing away his woes and fears.
He never tells anyone.
The second time he drops is the night after Obadiah attempted to kill him and Pepper. The day had been filled with interviews, meetings, and a plethora of other chaotic events that left the man exhausted and mentally fragile. He hadn’t meant to drop, truly. He’d thought he had it under control.
He didn’t realize that he didn’t have it until he was sinking to the ground, sobs picking up when he felt the wetness between his legs. It wouldn’t have been so bad, really, except that Pepper was standing right in front of him, shock written over her face.
Tony expected her to ridicule him. Maybe even reveal his secret to the public. What he wasn’t expecting was for her to coo gently and gather him into her arms. He never would’ve thought that Pepper had any knowledge of Littles, especially considering her Submissive classification. But she proved that wrong by expertly guiding him into his bathroom, stripping away his soiled clothes, and getting him into a bath.
Neither of them outright talked about it. They came to a silent agreement. Pepper knew and would help, but neither would ever discuss anything about it unless necessary. As far as anyone else was concerned, Pepper Potts believed that he was a Dominant.
A few months later, Happy found out by walking in on Tony watching a cartoon alone while Pepper stepped out to pick up food. The Dominant hadn’t been too surprised, always silently notating the differences between himself and Tony. And, much like Pepper, he didn’t care. His job was to protect him, and that’s what he would do. Never mind if the Dominant became hyperprotective over the Little now that he knew.
After that, things became a lot easier. With Obadiah gone, Tony started to flourish, slowly leaving behind the twisted mentalities that his guardian had instilled in him. With Pepper and Happy filling in the blanks that Rhodey couldn’t fill, things started to fall into place. It became almost laughably easy to keep his secret hidden in the years that followed.
His newfound family refused to allow him to resist dropping entirely, so whenever the urge got too strong, they’d jump into action. Pepper would clear his schedule, Happy would find a reason to stick around, and more often than not, Rhodey would take a short leave to see him. Tony quickly realized that occasionally allowing himself to drop made it much easier to function.
However, he couldn’t allow himself to do so nearly as often as he truly needed. It was hard for him to care for himself, considering he was on the younger end of the spectrum, and he never allowed anyone actually to take care of him. Supervise, sure. But only as far as being in the home with him. J.A.R.V.I.S. ran some tests and concluded that he tended to shift anywhere between eighteen months and about two and a half. Pepper set up a nursery space that was kept locked when Tony wasn’t using it. But it tended to remain mostly unused except for the times the Little truly couldn’t hold onto his adult headspace any longer.
When he wasn’t Little, he threw himself into work. He decided eventually that he wanted to get away from Malibu. It holds far too many bad memories for him. So, he announced he was moving back to New York, but not to his family’s mansion. He had sworn to himself a long time ago that he would never return there. So, he got to work building a tower smack in the middle of the city, aspiring for it to be run on entirely clean energy.
Now that he was not in the weapons business -something that would have his Father rolling in the grave- he expanded his horizons to well…everywhere. He began designing cell phones, tablets, computers, and other devices. He developed his program for human welfare, delved into clean energy, and more. His days were so busy that he found time flying by faster than he could comprehend.
Tony was finally settling into a rhythm. Sure, the urge to drop was like a niggling itch that never went away. Sure, he was sleep-deprived most of the time and lived almost solely off of coffee and spite. But he was mostly stable. And happy. And nothing was going to change that. Or so he thought.
Years ago, he would’ve trashed the folder that Nick Fury sent him documenting what was now known as the Avengers Initiative. He had heard about Captain America being unearthed from the ice and about the multiple other individuals that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been tracking down. A team of superheroes. It would make any other person laugh. It was something straight out of a comic book. But Fury was insistent that this would work. And that it was necessary.
It had been public knowledge that Tony was Iron Man for a while. And he was not only unfathomably intelligent but one of the wealthiest people in the current economy. Of course, Fury would want to recruit him. Sure, he wouldn’t be a full member, at least not yet, but he would be an adviser. Someone who helped gather information, fund, and organize projects, and if absolutely needed, would be called to the field.
So…he agreed. It wouldn’t be changing anything in his life. He’d occasionally receive a phone call discussing a new project that either required his money or intellect. He never thought that he’d be pulled into the field. That “absolutely necessary” scenario came out of left field. And it would fundamentally change the trajectory of his life.
Deranged god and alien army wasn’t something he’d ever thought he’d have to face, but in his opinion, there are worse things out there, like his self-sacrificing tendencies. No matter what others said about him, he was always the one to play the sacrificial move. To lay his life down on the line when all else failed. So when he found himself flying a missile straight through a portal into space…well, he couldn’t even be surprised at himself anymore. He just wished his family had picked up the phone.
As he slowly lost consciousness, his vision overtaken by the endless vacuum of space, he wondered how he’d gotten here. What action or decision led to this moment here? Could he have changed it? Did he even want to? He didn’t know. Still, when he woke up on the ground, the rest of the team hovering over him, he knew one thing for sure. The life he had come to know was over. If only he had known just how good it was about to get.