tiny times [ avengers age regression ]

anxiety attacks

Tong sighed, reluctantly standing up with the intentions of picking at the food Steve brought him.

This was about to be a huge waste of time.

Or at least, that's what Tony thought.

****

Tony felt irritable and annoyed as he, Thor, Steve, Bruce, Clint, and Natasha stood in a stupid, bland and stuffy waiting room, doing nothing but standing and waiting for his results.

So far, Steve, Bruce, Clint, and Nat received theirs; Steve and Natasha as caregivers and Bruce and Nat as switches. Nothing new. Tony and Thor were simply impatient, knowing what their classifications were already and not wanting to waste their time. Thor couldn't physically be anything but a neutral, he wasn't even from Earth.

Finally, a, in Tony's opinion, pretty nasty looking lady walked out holding two papers. She handed one to Thor and then the other to Tony. "Mr.... uh, Thor, Mr. Stark."

Tony took the paper, opening it carefully. He scanned his eyes over the useless fine print and signatures until his eyes landed on what he was looking for. He did a double take.

Name: Anthony Edward Stark.
D.O.B: May 29, 1970.
Classification: Little.

Tony shook his head, stepping towards the lady who handed him the paper. "Um, this isn't right. There's no way, someone made a mistake."

The woman looked at his paper and shook her head. "There was no mistake. I know it may be a lot to handle, and we do offer therapy for-"

Tony stopped listening. Instead, he turned and shoved through Clint and Natasha, out of the building, and into the large vehicle that escorted them to the facility. He sat down in the back and shut the door, pulling his knees to his chest. Not a position to help his 'there must be a mistake' case, but he didn't really care. His friends all piled in behind him and Rhodey took over driving once they were situated. Tony didn't know why Rhodey wasn't forced to get reclassified, but he let it go as he stared blankly at the paper in front of him. He truly couldn't believe it. How did this happen?

Steve ended up in the seat beside Tony, and he carefully gestured towards the paper. Tony nodded without catching eye contact, and Steve slipped it from his grasp. Steve scanned over the words carefully, his face softening for his friend. He understood everything the man was feeling; Tony had been a neutral all his life, or at least, he thought he was. To be told now, so far into everything, that he was a little, Steve couldn't imagine. His caregiver side wanted so bad to show itself, but he didn't want Tony to lash out, and he pushed it down.

Everyone was silent for the rest of the ride home and the tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Tony disappeared into the lab as soon as they arrived back at the tower, leaving the others to sigh and silently worry for his own sake.

Tony was planning on just moving. Just keep going, just keep moving, just tinker around and pretend like nothing ever happened and he won't have to deal with it, right? That's what sleep deprived Tony Stark reasoned.

So the billionaire settled in, grabbing blueprints and screws and screwdrivers, taking a seat at the counter. He still had so much work to be done.

****

Apparently, seventy two hours without sleep or proper food can only be fought off for so long. Tony snored, face down on top of the blueprints and screws and screwdrivers. Drool pooled from his mouth, and his one arm lay spread out across everything while the other hung off the counter. He was halfway off the small stool, and one good jolt would send him to the floor.