Work Text:
Howard Stark was an ableist asshole. Most people were unaware of this fact, the man donated to autism awareness, and funded research for cochlear implants. Most people were also unaware of the fact that when Tony Stark was six years old he was sent to a variety of specialist. He was diagnosed with ADHD, Sensory processing disorder, Asperger’s, which would now be called autism spectrum disorder, and more. No matter how Doctors looked at it Tony Stark was not Neurotypical, even if Howard wanted him to be, however, Tony didn’t care about any of that, those meetings just wasted time he could have spent working on more complicated circuits or building better engines.
Howard’s ableism however had led the man to hide what he viewed as a disability both from the world, and from the son who had it. Tony was shipped off to a private school at the age of seven, because Howard thought forced socialization would somehow fix him. Instead Tony focused on his studies, and moved up grade levels in leaps and bounds, by the time he was nine he was surrounded by kids in their preteens. He wasn’t expected to operate the way they did, so it was okay that he didn’t. It wasn’t until he entered college at 15 that people’s expectation for his behavior began to grate on him.
Tony however was adaptable, and intelligent, while bright lights might be overwhelming as the son of a rich kid he was expected to hang out in clubs, so he adopted a policy of always wearing dark glasses, made by himself to filter lights more efficiently, and if he quietly started selling them online to people with similar problems, well Howard didn’t need to know.
It was because of these online sales that he began to understand himself. There were other people like him that would hyper focus on something, a project, or a book, and not stop thinking about it for days. Other people who occasionally couldn’t stand the feeling of their shirt seams against their skin. Other people who couldn’t stand eating the squishy grapes, and the soggy strawberries. People who sometimes couldn’t process speech well. There were other people who got overwhelmed, and twisted the skin on their hands until it was raw and uncomfortable.
He quietly began producing rings you could spin without hurting yourself and sold them online for cheap. He donated all the money to different organizations that helped people like him be heard. Yet, he kept trying to fit in, trying to be typical. He lived in the business world, had lived there since the moment he made his first circuit and there was a company employing hundreds of thousands of people resting on his shoulders. He had long ago been taught not to show his weakness.
He developed devices to help himself, lights with adjustable intensities, fidget tools, and sunglasses. He also developed a persona that allowed him to get away with his more obvious quirks. Nobody questioned the genius not paying attention to them when he was playing on his phone. He eventually developed JARVIS who would give him text adaptations of conversation on his phone so he wouldn’t have to ask people to repeat themselves.
Tony didn’t view it as a disability, which is why he had never truly hidden it in his home. He wasn’t ashamed of himself, just aware of the current political climate, and how him coming out as having sensory processing disorder, which is what he thought he most likely had, would affect the individuals who worked for him.
He didn’t manage to keep it completely secret though, he hadn’t felt the need to. Obie, Obadiah, had known for most of Tony’s life. Rhodey though, was the first person he ever told.
“Truth or Dare?” Tony’s voice slurred slightly when he spoke, eyes trying to see shapes on the ceiling in the dark room as he fiddled with his ring.
“Tony you’re drunk, go to sleep.” Rhodey replied, voice fond and amused in the dark. Tony smiled to himself.
“But honeybear, I wanna play truth or dare, c’mon just pick one.” Tony whines, forcing his eyes back open when they decide to slide shut of their own volition. Rhodey groans into his pillow.
“Fine, whatever truth, I’m not getting up Tones.” Rhodey grumbles, pulling his blanket up to his chin. Tony beams into the darkness.
“Um, okay truth, why do you put up with me?” Tony asks, and Rhodey nearly falls out of bed in shock. Tony must be drunker than he thought if he’s actually letting his insecurities show like that.
“Because I love you Tones.” Rhodey replies, because even drunk Tony needs to hear it. “I don’t put up with you, I enjoy having you in my life. You’re just wild sometimes that’s all.” Rhodey settles back into his pillow now that he’s cleared that up. Tony coos at him appreciatively.
“Now you have to ask me.” Tony informs Rhodey. Rhodey finds himself wary. He doesn’t want to take advantage of how open Tony is being and risk losing their friendship.
“Truth or Dare?” Rhodey asks cautiously. Tony considers the likelihood that a dare would require he stand up. He finds that it’s pretty likely, and he’s not sure his legs work.
“Truth.” Tony slurs, his eyes drift shut as he tugs the blanket up over his head.
“Okay, I’ve always wondered, are you aware that wearing sunglasses indoor makes you look like a douche? And if you are aware is that why you wear them?” Rhodey asks, Tony never leaves the dorms without his sunglasses and Rhodey is curious. Tony blinks his eyes open.
“I know what people think, but I need them, keeps the too much out.” Tony slurs, and Rhodey would have ignored the ramblings, as Tony just being drunk, if Tony hadn’t chosen to continue. “There’s so much sight and sound and texture, so much texture Rhodey.” Rhodey blinks at that, the way Tony whispers it like it’s a confession.
“I don’t know what that means Tones.” Rhodey informs him, opting for honesty in the face of his confusion. Tony laughs quietly rolling into his pillow.
“You neurotypicals never do. SPD, they call it.” Tony tells him, and Rhodey blinks. Tony isn’t neurotypical? Tony has whatever SPD is? He’s going to have to research it. He wonders absently what this changes, and realizes it doesn’t change anything. Tony is till the same person he was ten minutes ago, a drunk teenager that probably needs someone in his life to make sure he doesn’t die from drunken experimenting.
“Truth.” Rhodey offers after a minute of silence, deciding that Tony should get another question after baring his soul to Rhodey like that. Instead he’s greeted by snoring.
…
Tony sits bolt upright three hours later, eyes wide open as he grasps at his blanket.
“Did I tell you the thing?” Tony asks in a loud whisper. Rhodey doesn’t respond and he scrambles out of bed to shake his friend. “Rhodey wake up.” He hissed, and Rhodey blinks tiredly at him. “Rhodey, honeybear, did I tell you the thing?” Tony asks. Rhodey groans.
“Yes, now go back to bed dumbass.” He mumbles fondly, turning to snuggle into his pillow. Tony frowns at him and then pushes him towards the window.
“Scoot, you’re gonna share now.” Tony asks, trying to calm his racing heatbeat. Rhodey pulls the blanket up and moves to make room. Tony slides into the bed and curls around his best friend, head pillowed on Rhodey’s shoulder. “Best friend dude.” Tony mumbles before drifting back to sleep.
…
Now that he’s thinking about it he realizes Rhodey is the only person he told, Fury already knew, and Pepper figured it out on her own. Happy had access to his medical file, when Tony nearly died the second time, as his medical proxy.
Considering he only ever told one person, and he was drunk when it happened you can excuse him for forgetting to tell the Avengers when they moved in. He didn’t hide it at all, while they were still actively moving in he mentioned it half a dozen times.
…1…
Clint was dragging a behemoth of a couch into Tony’s elevator when Tony went to help him start moving in. It was a garish puke green, and seemed to be made of some mixture of felt and hellfire. Tony could feel his skin crawling from across the room just looking at it.
“That is not coming in my tower.” Tony states, glaring at the couch as the elevator dings at Clint to signify the doors want to close.
“What? What’s wrong with Betsy? She’s a good couch.” Clint defends glaring at Tony, as he shoves at the couch.
“Betsy, is puke green and the texture of hell and I will not have it in my home.” Tony declares, unwilling to move it himself at the risk of that horrific fabric touching his skin. “I already bought you a couch anyways, and it’s actually comfortable and not made of Satan’s ass hair.” Clint looks absolutely bewildered at this venomous response, but seems to shrug it off.
“Fine, I’ll donate her.” Clint mumbles.
“I will donate a dozen couches if you light that one on fire instead of giving it to some poor unsuspecting person.” Tony declares, still eyeing the spawn of satan couch. Clint beams at him.
“Deal.”
…2…
Moving all of Clint’s things into his rooms is exhausting, and the man owns very little considering he’s lived mostly in SHIELD housing for over a decade. After being thoroughly exhausted moving Clint in, and burning his Satan couch, they decide to hang out on Tony’s floor for dinner since Clint’s fridge isn’t stocked.
“Got any strawberries, or yogurt?” Clint asks, rifling through the dedicated cheese drawer in Tony’s fridge.
“No on both counts, Pepper is allergic to strawberries, and I don’t eat often enough to stock anything that goes bad that fast. Also, yogurt is the same texture as the slime monsters we fought last week why on earth would anyone want that in their body it’s nasty. The texture is even gross in smoothies.” Tony complains, arms waving about to illustrate his point. Clint blinks at him, then shakes his head.
“I’m buying you yogurt it’s good for you.” Clint declares searching for something else worth eating while Tony pulls a box of blueberries from seemingly nowhere. He groans dramatically leaning back against the smooth surface of the kitchen counter.
“Why must you torture me?” He laments, grabbing onto Clint’s shirt and shooting his best puppy dog eyes at his friend. “First the Satan couch, now this.” Clint raises an eyebrow at him.
“I know you’re rich, dude, but the eccentricity is a bit strong right now.” Clint teases, pulling out some ham and cheese after deciding he wants a sandwich. Tony cringes at that, thinking of all the people who can’t play off their differences as rich people eccentricities.
…3…
Moving Bruce in was simultaneously both easier and harder than moving Clint in. Bruce didn’t have a lot of worldly possessions, but he had been at shield long enough to start a few experiments, and those required a lot of care when moving them into the tower. Tony had hooked his light filtering sunglasses in his back pocket to help Bruce carefully move his experiments into his new lab.
“Those chemicals are extremely flammable Clint, be careful with them.” Bruce calls, as Clint hefts a metal box holding a group of test tubes. Of course, the archer decides to fumble the box as a joke and accidently slams it against the elevator door. Based on the flames erupting from it Tony’s going to guess he broke the test tubes. Clint leaps away as the fire starts out.
“Clint!” Bruce groans moving away from the fire before he triggers the big guy. Tony slides on his sunglasses and goes for the fire extinguisher, hoping to stop the flames before the fire alarm goes off. He’s hefting the extinguisher when the alarm starts, and Tony groans.
“Hello migraine.” He mumbles as the alarm blares; the glasses keep the light from truly bothering him but the noise grates on him as he pulls the pin and aims the fire extinguisher. The foam sprays out with a hiss as the alarm blares, the repetitive noise stabbing into his ears.
“Sorry, sorry! I didn’t mean to.” Clint defends himself, shouting over the alarm. The noise pf his voice only adds to the irritation building in the back of Tony’s skull.
“JARVIS, the fire is out kill the alarm and cancel the firetruck, thank you.” Tony says, the alarm immediately stops, and some of the tension leaks out of his shoulders. Bruce hesitantly walks closer cautious in the face of fire.
“Are you okay Clint?” Bruce asks, the archer nods, showing his unharmed hands to the scientist. “Good that was incredibly stupid. I can’t believe you did that.” Bruce scolds, and Tony pinches at the bridge of his nose.
“Hey, Stark, you okay?” Clint asks, and Bruce turns worried eyes on him. Tony waves at him dismissively.
“Loud noises, flashing lights.” Tony gestures toward the fire alarm. “It’s just a headache I’ll be fine.” Tony waves it off, going to pick up something else. Bruce stills his hand.
“Go drink some water and take a nap Tony, we’ve got this.” Bruce scolds, shoving Tony into the elevator and hitting the button for the penthouse.
“What no I’m fine.” Tony informs the inside of the elevator door as Bruce disappears from view. “JARVIS, take care of the lights upstairs?” Tony requests, JARVIS doesn’t reply knowing better than to aggravate Tony’s migraine. Instead he set to work closing the blinds and changing the light intensity to 30%.
…4…
Steve moved in about a week after Bruce did which means, Tony was at three for five when it comes to collecting his team mates only four weeks after Clint moved in. Although, Natasha had randomly appeared at breakfast so she might have moved in already, leaving Thor as the only one missing.
Tony was once again taking a break from his busy schedule to help Steve move in only to find out Steve’s things were horrible.
“What is this?” Tony asks, scowl evident as he held up a flannel blanket that felt like death was caressing his skin. “Why do you own this?” He looked at Steve for an explanation for this monstrosity, idly wondering why all of his teammates owned such horrendous things.
“It’s warm Tony.” Steve defends, hefting a stack of four boxes and moving them into the elevator with ease. Tony blinks at him.
“So is hell that doesn’t mean I want to go there. I’ll buy you a better blanket.” He informs the man dropping the flannel one onto the ground and grabbing a box of shirts. “Where did you get this much clothing anyways?” Tony asks bringing the box into the elevator.
“SHIELD found a bunch of forties clothes to make it seem like the room I woke up in was real, I just kept them.” Steve shrugs. Tony blinks at him, and then the box of clothes.
“Why? You don’t even wear them, they aren’t even comfortable.” Tony drops the box next to the evil blanket of evil and grabs another one. “See these clothes are good, modern comfortable. You’re keeping these.” He declares carrying them into the elevator.
“Tony, you can’t just get rid of my stuff.” Steve scolds, Tony huffs at that setting the box in the corner of the elevator.
“But your stuff sucks Steve. Don’t worry I’ll get you new things.” Tony pats his shoulder reassuringly before hitting the elevator button. The door slides shut between them as Steve takes the first load of stuff up to his floor.
…5…
Thor had appeared on the roof of the tower doing some minor damage when he did so earlier that day. Tony had shown Thor his rooms and the god had disappeared into them a few hours ago, and Tony had been busy repairing his roof and chosen to leave well enough alone. Clearly this was a mistake because there were now four bath bombs in his sink.
“Clinton! Look at this marvelous soap it is called a bathing explosion is it not magnificent?” Thor booms dropping a fifth bath bomb into the sink. The smell permeating the kitchen is over whelming and Tony feels it like a physical slap to the face.
“Those are meant for using in the bath buddy.” Cint informs him, mopping up the cascade of soap leaking down the front of Tony’s cabinets and draining the sink.
“You also shouldn’t use so many at once. Jesus, that smell is strong.” Tony grumbles from the door. Clint laughs, at the situation, probably, although given the situation Tony feels like the laugh is directed at his discomfort.
“I apologize Anthony, I did not mean to cause you discomfort. I will do away with these bathing explosions at once.” Thor declares, shoving the remains of the bath bombs down the drain. Clint groans, and flips the garbage disposal causing the scent to once again rear up and slap Tony in the face.
“I’m going to go now, please don’t break my things.” Tony pleads walking away to deal with his developing headache in peace. “J-man, make a note, no more bath bombs.
…6…
Natasha had indeed moved into the Tower, and was apparently living on her own floor. Clint must have told her where it was because, Tony didn’t remember doing it. Either way he decided he should welcome his new house guest, and invite her to the charity gala. Maybe it was Pepper’s idea, don’t judge him he was trying, okay? He knocked on the door to her suite.
“What Clint?” She yelled yanking the door open, she stopped short when she came face to face with Tony. “Oh, hi Stark, what can I do for you?” She asks, much calmers.
“This seems like it might be a bad time, but Pepper is having a charity gala tonight, and she wanted to know if you’d be going.” Tony blurts, internally face palming at the obvious pass off of responsibility to Pepper.
“I don’t have anything suitable to wear.” She answers after a short pause. Tony’s jaw drops, how could she not have anything suitable he saw what Natalie wore.
“What about your under-cover clothes?” He asked, baffled by the prospect that the elegant beauty that is Natasha doesn’t own a fancy dress.
“SHIELD property.” She shrugs as if it’s not a big deal, but Tony is convinced he sees longing in her eyes, or possibly annoyance, or hunger. Whatever it is, Tony is going to get this woman dozens of dresses. He hits the elevator button and it opens behind him.
“Get in loser we’re going shopping.” He teases, she stomps gracefully on his foot as she passes.
“Not a loser, болван.” She sounds fond, but Tony knows enough Russian to know when he’s been called an idiot.
“At least I’m not, дурак.” He says, throwing out the closest approximation to Birdbrain that he knows, she doesn’t laugh but her eye’s crinkle at the corners in a pleasant way. He thinks maybe that counts.
The drive to the closest boutique is relatively quiet, a knife flipping across Natasha’s knuckles as Tony focuses on his phone. The sight steal’s Tony’s focus, but he forces himself to keep texting JARVIS until they arrive.
“Sit here.” She tells him, pointing to a cushioned seat near the door. He gives it a speculative glance, but ultimately decides that the fabric doesn’t look too horrible and sits down as Natasha disappears into the racks.
“J man find me work to do.” He requests, and schematics for new Widow Bites pull up on his phone. “Thanks J.”
“Hold these.” Natasha requests, more like demands, dumping a bunch of dresses in his lap. Lace presses against his arm and he scowls moving the dresses onto the seat next to him. She disappears behind the changing room curtain to try on a few dresses.
“Why did you pick lace dresses, lace feels gross.” He whines, she exits the changing room with an elegant dress on, the collar high, and lacy, with a solid lower cut neckline behind it, the sleeves hang off her shoulders.
“It does not, and I like how it looks.” She turns to look in the mirror, admiring the short summer dress. She rarely wears dresses that aren’t sleek and cut up to the upper thigh. For missions, she’s sexy, but the lacy sundress makes he feel cute. She grabs a large hat off a nearby hat and tilt’s it to hide her face, smiling into the lower rim. She feels happy, and Tony is giving that to her. Giving her a home, and cute dresses.
“But it’s scratchy.” He whines. She turns to look at him, one eyebrow raised. “You look fantastic. I just hate lace.” He informs her.
“Kotenok.” She says fondly. “May I buy it anyways?” He nods, scowling at the obvious manipulation tactic. “Thank you Kotenok.” She ruffles hair and returns to the changing room.
“You’re welcome demon.” He mumbles under his breath.
“I heard that.” She calls from the changing room, and the blood drains out of his face. He momentarily debates leaving his credit card and running for it. “Don’t you dare leave!” She calls through the curtain and he slumps back into his seat.
“Mind reader.” He replies, returning his focus to his phone, he smiles to himself, and behind the curtain, zipping up another dress, Natasha does the same.
…
It was fairly obvious, it’s not his fault he assumed they would figure it out. After all Natasha, should have already known, if Fury knew she should. She knew everything, could they really blame him for not telling them.
“Smoothie for the genius.” Clint says, placing a smoothie in Tony’s hand as he enters the kitchen. Tony blinks sleepily and nods taking a sip from it. Then promptly spitting it out on the floor.
“Are you trying to poison me?” He demands, dumping the smoothie down the sink and refilling the cup with water. Clint gives his back an absolutely baffled look, as the others glance at each other in confusion.
“Poison you? I would never!” Clint defends, affronted by the implication. He isn’t a backstabber, he doesn’t just poison his teammates why would Tony think that.
“Well you know how I feel about yogurt!” Tony growls, rinsing his mouth out with water. Clint’s jaw almost hits the floor. There’d been one cup of yogurt and he’d made enough smoothie to last a week, there’s no way Tony could have tasted it. “God it’s so slimy. You can’t just play with my SPD like that Clint it’s not cool.” Tony growls, and the others look even more confused.
“Play with your what?” Natasha asks, and if it had been any of the others Tony would have made a dick joke, because it was perfect c’mon.
“Sensory processing disorder. What? Like this is news? I made Clint throw away a couch because the texture was gross, and I never hug you when you wear lace.” He say’s pointing to each person respectively. “I can’t go in Thor’s bathroom because there are too many smells, and all the moving things in Brucie bears lab are so distracting, I never get anything done when we work in there.” Tony shrugs at the others confusion. “I thought it was fairly obvious. The speech to text feature my sunglasses have, Clint I lent them to you.” Tony says, confusion now overtaking his face.
“I thought you made them for me!” Clint defends himself, and Tony rolls his eyes.
“I made them because processing people’s words in loud and distracting environments is hard, you guys really didn’t know?” Tony asks. Clint shakes his head, and the others follow suit. “Natasha I’m ashamed, Fury knows.” She looks startled at that.
“Hey, don’t blame me for your inability to talk to people.” She huffs, crossing her arms across her chest. Steve scowls at her.
“You can’t make fun of him for not telling you about his disability. That’s rude.” Steve scolds her, she raises an eyebrow, but Tony speaks before she can.
“Actually, she can, nothing has changed since yesterday, except now all of you know why I wear sunglasses whenever I’m on the red carpet, and why I burned the Satan couch.” Tony says, holing up a hand to stop Steve’s rebuttal. “I’m still Tony Stark, a genius, and a billionaire. SPD didn’t stop me from running a very successful business. I’m still Ironman, and perfectly capable of being Ironman. Hell, I’m not the only superhero with SPD you know, although I won’t out the other one. Just like I make fun of your time in the ice, she can make fun of my SPD. Hell, I make fun of my SPD.” Tony shrugs, thinking of Spiderman’s goggles, and how he can improve them, nearly missing Steve’s response his focus returns quick enough that he can read the reply on the inside of his glasses.
Of course, you’re the same Tony. I wouldn’t kick you off the team over this. Steve said, earnest puppy dog eye’s focused on Tony. Tony nods.
“Yeah man, I can’t hear and I’m still a superhero.” Clint says, elbowing the genius in the side playfully.
“I know Hawkass that’s my point.” Tony replies, Bruce snorts a laugh, and returns his focus to the food in front of him.
“We can work in your lab from now on.” Bruce offers off hand, and Tony grins.
“You’re the best, Brucie bear!” Tony cheers, taking a seat next to his science bro, and more importantly next to his science bros pancakes. Bruce just smacks his hand with a fork, and Natasha sets down a plate in front of him.
“Steve cooked.” Clint offers, when Tony blinks at her. “I’m pretty sure he didn’t poison it.” Clint shrugs, and Tony laughs taking a bite out of the scrambled eggs. “How could you tell there was yogurt in that smoothie anyways? I barely used any.” Clint sits on the table, and Natasha points at the chair behind him.
“It’s the texture, it makes smoothies slimy and gross. It’s slimy and gross. Just gross.” Tony pulls a face and the others laugh.
“So, what are you working on lately?” Natasha asks, settling in beside him. Clint raises an eyebrow at her, but doesn’t say anything.
“Well your widow bites are great, of course they are, I made them. However, they can be made better, I’m thinking of making them more adaptable for different types of combat….”