DO YOU THINK I NEED SOCKS?

the adrenaline spike from ezekiel’s revelation is wearing off. it makes tony realise just how much everything HURTS. makes him remember that he’s a prisoner here, trapped at the whims of this twisted stane. ( it scares him more than he would ever admit. )

but there’s nothing he can do to get himself out of this situation. certainly not while the kid is sitting right here, and probably not even then. he’s stuck. 

he wants to roll his eyes. using a different method hardly negated the fact that this kid was following his father’s path. too focused on revenge, on beating tony to live his own life. after all, if he succeeds in killing them then his life’s work will be done before he’s even twenty-five. what’s he gonna do after that? 

tony blinks at him. smirks, just because he’s sure now that that will infuriate the kid. “except my dad’s not dead. what do i need to get over? the fact that he’s an asshole? you need to get a little perspective, kid. a shit dad isn’t an excuse for anything much.” he shakes his head. howard might have been a shit father. tony is certain, looking at zeke, that obie was WORSE. ( at least his father isn’t a psychopath. ) “you wanna have a competition over daddy issues? that’s not a good look.”

tony wants out of here. he wants time to think, to process this. he wants to be able to do something, not sit here uselessly as BAIT. behind his back, his fists clench again in frustration. this was easier when he didn’t know who zeke was. second-guessing his every word is making his headache worse.

“i won’t lie, the revenge schtick is getting kinda boring.”

tony is distracting him. the name reveal has only lasted for a few minutes and -- well. that kind of sucks. but. whatever. zeke tries to brush it off, continuing to text julie as if nothing is amiss. it’s easier with the phone in his hand to avoid looking at tony. he steals once glance, long enough to see tony smirk, and he takes the opportunity to snap another photo of him. it’s his return attempt at annoyance.

“seriously? you spent like, what, until you were forty trying to live up to him. what was it you said about the jericho missile? that’s how dad did it? in every other interview you can’t help but bring him up. christ, you even relaunched the stark expo. c’mon, t. don’t act like my daddy issues are worse than yours.”

another brief pause. zeke turns awkwardly in the chair to snap a selfie. he holds up his fingers in a peace sign. after he takes the photo, he returns back to his former position and continues the conversation.

“--yeah. poor vanko. too bad he never answered any of my calls, or he and i’d have made a great scorned sons team. killian was a dumbass, though. that’s probably one thing we can agree on. i mean, pretending to be the mandarin? what a crock of shit.”

he types away, now talking to himself more than tony.

tony would have felt sorry for this boy if he’d met him back then. a fourteen year old kid, grieving and angry. for what must have been a twisted, manipulated childhood. this kid deserved, better, probably. it’s hard now, chained up and broken, to feel any kind of sympathy for him at all. pity, maybe. 

“i didn’t MURDER your father,” tony says, voice cold and sure and certain. there’s regret in his heart, for what happened, what the father figure he never really had, but why should he show that to ezekiel? “letting him die in self-defence isn’t murder.” he doesn’t point out that obie had tried to murder him, multiple times. each time getting closer to succeeding. 

( his chest aches. a phantom pain that broken ribs have nothing to do with. )

he doesn’t say that he’d tried to save him, either.

he’s right of course. tony hadn’t seen the problems in his company until they had hit him, literally. but those problems would never have been there in the first place if not for obadiah. obie was the one who had dragged SI down the bloody path his father had started it on. tony will willingly bear the guilt for many things, his own negligence included —- but he will not shoulder blame for obadiah stane. 

“are you gonna lecture me about my mistakes when you are literally standing here, carrying on your father’s psychopathic legacy. what are you doing with your life? trying to avenge your father as though that’s gonna make him proud? he’s dead kid. move on.” 

tony regrets that obadiah wasn’t worth saving. that he was never the father figure he pretended to be. he doesn’t regret his death. 

naturally tony would think that what he did was right. that letting SHIELD sweep the conflict under the rug was the only way things could go. ezekiel rolls his eyes, knowing that it’s one thing he won’t be able to get tony to budge on. he’ll go to the grave thinking that he was on the correct side of that fight. letting him die. right. and so zeke turns, wandering back to the chair where he originally sat and plopping back down.

it’s true that there’s part of him that wants and hopes that his father would be proud. but he knows he’s already done so much that obadiah would have struck him for--- and his father’s downfall was losing his cool. zeke won’t do the same.

“that’s not what i’m doing, idiot.” zeke says as he begins to text again. julie is responding quickly now. he sits sideways in the chair, legs over one arm.

“my father was stupid. he thought too small. he was too focused on your company and getting you out of the way, on the sidelines. that’s not how you beat someone.” he pauses, glances up at tony.

tony didn’t want a confirmation. he wanted this kid to laugh at him, to tell him he’d come to the wrong conclusion, make him feel like a fool. but ezekiel stane he says, looking him straight in the eye, and tony feels his stomach sink.

obie had a kid. an heir, a cynical part of tony’s brain says. what kind of childhood could this boy have had, raised in secrecy in this horrific house. raised by a man as twisted as obadiah stane? 

but it answers one of the questions that has bugged tony over the years, just how long had obie been planning his coup? how long had he been a snake in the grass? the HYDRA files had revealed some but if obie had been hiding his son from tony—– it’s another depth, another horrifying dimension to an already devastating betrayal.

but he killed this boy’s father and he still doesn’t regret it and what does that say about him?

but that’s what has led to this, isn’t it? tony killed his father. ezekiel wants revenge. ( vanko had been his father’s fault, killian a drunken mistake. this? this was all on tony. ) the same old story. 

“how old were you?” tony asks quietly. the look in his eyes is not exactly pity, or regret. it’s something sharper than that. “when he died. how old were you?” he wants more information. he wants to buy himself time. he finally understands exactly how much danger he is in. tony underestimated a stane once and he will never do so again. 

for the first time, tony seems to strike a nerve. it’s not the questions themselves, but the wording. the lackadaisical attitude snaps away and zeke stands straighter, his jaw tightening as his fingers clench the phone. he could easily break it in half--not that tony has any idea of that. it buzzes in his hand as julie responds to him, but zeke keeps his hard gaze on tony, the anger flashing quick and hot.

“when he died? you mean when you MURDERED him!” zeke spits out the accusation. “when you murdered him and had SHIELD cover it up! a plane crash, really? who’s idea was that?” he lets out a breath, incredulous. “----i mean, i get it. i bet you thought it was poetic justice, right? the starks die in a car accident and then stane---” 

he sucks in air, realizing that he’s snapped. there’s only a brief pause as he tries to compose himself again.

“i was thirteen, fourteen.” the personal details never mattered to obadiah. they were pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit into the bigger picture. but dad liked to remind him constantly: tony was able to complete this equation three years before you. by the time tony was five, he was fixing cars, what are you doing? by the time tony was fourteen, he was headed to M.I.T. you have to be better you have to do better why aren’t you better

okay then, dead dad, definitely severe daddy issues, the hypocrite. tony makes a mental note of that, though he doubts the information is going to be useful——

what.

for the first time in this conversation tony feels at a loss. he’s missing something. he can’t help himself, staring around the room in confusion. it’s clearly been stripped of anything useful, the walls bare, the furniture looks like it was picked up at target. try as he might, he can’t discern anything from it. does the room feel familiar? clearly it’s meant to, but he doesn’t see WHY. 

if my dad was alive. 

the words ring in his head. 

tony’s eyes wander the room again, lingering on the shape of the door, the boarded up window. zeke’s voice overlaps in his mind, words tumbling through and falling into place. 

“you’re—-” he lifts his head to stare at zeke, eyes wide with looming horror. there’s no way. there’s no—- tony would have known. he had to—- obie couldn’t have kept this from him, there’s no way tony wouldn’t have noticed. 

( the same way you didn’t notice him playing you for a fool? the same way you never saw that he was a murderer? )

he nearly overbalances as he sits up straight, the thoughts in his mind loud enough to drown out the physical pain. “who the FUCK are you?” it’s a demand now, anger burning in his voice, a note of pure dread underlying everything. tony was pale before but he’s practically a ghost now, white knuckled and tense in his restraints.

the question doesn’t really need an answer. he’s already worked it out. it’s voiced in desperation to be proved wrong. this kid can’t be obie’s son. he CAN’T. 

( we create our own demons. )

tony sees it, and zeke watches with utter delight as his gaze jumps from one inch of the space to the next.  

this used to be dad’s office. one of many, really, but this was dad’s favorite. it gave a nice view of the property behind the mansion. there was a giant mahogany desk that sat by the window, a bear skin rug so big and with teeth so sharp that zeke used to dream that it was still alive. the couch tony sits on is a cheap knockoff compared to what dad used to own; the original royal love seat cost thousands of dollars, shipped from france. ezekiel was rarely allowed in here, but he used to marvel at the intricacies of the lavish art and the decor.

they met in this room on more than one occasion. briefly. always short. obadiah never let tony linger, but always welcomed tony into his home with warmth. zeke wonders if it ever occurred to tony how little of the house he saw -- how entire wings went unexplored.

it’s easy to hide a child in a house like this, especially one so focused on his studies and so desperate for any hint of approval. 

they really have a lot in common, don’t they? 

the reaction is all that zeke has wanted, and god, zeke wishes that dad were here to witness it. the set up isn’t at all what obadiah would’ve wanted from zeke, but this moment --- it’s nearly perfect.

tony’s brow furrows as zeke holds a crappy old phone up to snap a photo. who’s that going to, he wants to demand. howard? julie? he bites his tongue before he can ask. “last century,” he repeats back in a mutter, even as the kid starts spouting nonsense again. ( would this brat be less annoying if his head didn’t ache so much? tony doubts it. )

that press conference. he remembers it with startling clarity as zeke speaks — remembers looking at obie as he said those words, drawing comfort from the man as he bolstered himself up for his announcement.

tainted memories.

“i haven’t asked,” tony says dryly, disinterested in airing his issues with howard to this kid. “you can’t have been more than, what, five then? what do you care?” it’s a really strangely specific sentence for this kid to have memorised. has he been holding a grudge against tony his entire life? or has he just spent hours scouring the internet, watching press conferences and interviews like an obsessed stalker. he does seem like the type. 

“it’s my legacy now,” he says, an almost obnoxious statement. “i don’t care what he thinks. so why do you?”

zeke’s watched the footage from the press conference so many times now that he has every beat memorized. he used to play through it over and over again. not for tony, but for his own father -- analyzing every motion, the reactions, the words. what was he thinking then, when his plan crumbled before his eyes? things had been going so well before they found tony in the desert, before he came home to shut down the weapons division. 

the press conference was the first sign of what was to come. maybe that’s why zeke used to be so obsessed with it.

it’s a little baffling to zeke, then. “he’s alive, and you haven’t asked? jesus. if my dad was alive---”

it should hurt. the words do sting, he’ll admit. guilt rising in his stomach like waves. but it’s nothing NEW. tony has been shouldering this guilt and WORSE for years. guilt is what got him out of that cave alive. and the merchant of death moniker has become pretty popular again since the accords came out. tony’s heard far worse from people whose opinion he cares far more about. 

what’s this kid trying to do anyway? make him angry? make him CRY? 

ezekiel. the kid says it like a statement, an expectation of recognition. tony blinks, expression unchanging. “who?”

should the mention of his father mean anything to him? tony notes it but doesn’t think on it any further. daddy issues were not exactly uncommon in his line of work —- whether it was the superheroes or the villains. tony doesn’t care about this kid’s sob story. 

( he will. )

he shifts in his chains again, already growing uncomfortable, and only succeeds in making everything hurt WORSE. tony grits his teeth. “i hope you realise that if we’re waiting for howard to come get me, we’re gonna be waiting here a while.”

who, he asks.

zeke grins again. it’s a delicious secret that he wishes he could keep forever -- but he won’t. he wants to see the look when tony realizes the truth, that the legacy he tried to stomp out lives on. he tosses the security tablet to the chair he was sitting in previously and pulls out a cheap flip phone instead.  zeke holds it up to take another quick picture of tony, and then he’s texting away, not bothering to look up at tony again as he speaks.

“yeeeeeah, i doubt that.” he’s texting julie. something he’ll also keep from tony for now. “i picked this shit up at target. easy to trace. i’d hope one of the greatest minds of the last century could figure out how to get here.” zeke flicks his gaze up at tony, pauses. “oh. wait. you meant like, like he doesn’t care? c’mooooon, man. you’re seriously too old to be having these cry baby daddy issues. what’re you, like, eighty now?”

he stops texting and considers tony for a brief moment of clarity. “shit. ----- does this mean you got to ask him, huh?” zeke drops his voice a little, mimes tony, the speech recited by heart. “i never got to say goodbye to my father. there's questions i would've asked him....”