AN YES THIS STILL EXISTS I'VE JUST BEEN IN DENIAL AND NOT WANTING TO LET ANY OF IT GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

Seriously, I love love love this AU and I want it to exist for eons to come and I'm mad that I don't have any other decent story or even scene ideas to keep this going. All of this has been a gross self-indulgence, but I'm not even sorry because I love this grumpy, battle hardened fam.

(seriously if any of y'all just wanna talk about this universe (or the many little references to the rest of the mcu and how things play out there)...please. please come talk to me.)

Thank you everyone for your support, and please enjoy the last chapter of you wouldn't know (but i've been in the dark).

+ i.

Wesley liked working for Tony. It was perhaps one of the few things he was really, truly proud of. But it had become painfully obvious that Iron Man didn't need a fixer any more. He needed SHIELD and the Avengers. His crises no longer involved him publicly embarrassing himself, but rather publicly saving the world. In the last couple of years, all the major problems in Tony's life had Wesley barely on the edges. He hadn't been able to keep Tony from being kidnapped by the Ten Rings, hadn't been able to save Tony from blood poisoning, couldn't stop aliens or mutant terrorist attacks or a government conspiracy. He had sat on the side, gritting his teeth and hating the fact that he had been useless.

Sure, he had helped smooth a few things. Sure, he had been a shoulder to lean on when things got bad. Other than that…Wesley was just another person collecting an unearned paycheck. Wesley no longer belonged in Tony Stark's world. He dealt with people, not gods and legends.

Tony looked surprised when Wesley handed him his resignation. The shock in his face made Wesley want to laugh. Or yell. Tony could be so oblivious sometimes.

"Wes…what is this?" he asked, staring at the paper.

Wesley sighed through his nose. "My resignation. It's come to my attention that I am no longer a proper fit for your needs."

"But you can't just quit. I mean, you're part of the team." Tony set the resignation down on his desk, like it would stop mattering if he couldn't see it.

"In the last week, the only thing I've needed to do was draft a statement to the Defense Department about why you refuse to make droids of the Iron Man suit."

"Which is important! Who's going to keep Uncle Sam from hounding me into bad decisions?" Tony asked.

"You managed before."

"With half of Stark Industries' legal team. But you've replaced them all. Don't make me have to memorize ten new names."

Wesley forced out a smile and stepped back. "I think I'm a little over-qualified for a job that has me doing one errand a week."

Tony fell still, eyebrows furrowed as he watched Wesley. His jaw worked like he was chewing on his cheek. When he spoke, his voice hitched. "Is this…this something I've done?"

Wesley shook his head. "No, sir. It's not your fault."

"Then why—" He let out a tight breath. "James, I thought you were happy."

Wesley looked away. Happy had always been a relative term. So long as things were working properly, so long as he did his job, he was satisfied. That was all he had ever needed.

"This is worse than when Happy left," Tony said. He tried to make himself smile, but he was less successful than Wesley. "You know, at least he was still here. But you…you're going for bigger fish, right?"

"I don't think I'll ever find bigger," Wesley said. "I think downsizing might actually be better."

Tony watched him a long moment, the uncertain hurt in his eyes so apparent that it made Wesley's chest hurt. Then it was gone with a nod and a shrug.

"Alright. If that's—y'know, if that's what you want, then fine. Greener pastures, right? Go save some oil tycoon from a lawsuit. Go talk to…" Tony hesitated, blinking. "I actually have no idea who you'd talk to about quitting. You were always the guy I directed people to."

Wesley forced out a smile. "Allison in HR, sir."

"Allison, right, right. The one with the pugs."

"Yes. I'll talk to her on my way out."

Tony nodded, eyes on his desk. He picked at the corner as he spoke. "You…have a job lined up already? Or are you sticking your toes in to see what bites?"

"I'm sure I can rustle something up."

"Yeah, sure. Sure. We're good, right?" Tony asked, glancing up at him. "You're not gonna cross the street to keep from passing me on the sidewalk or anything, right?"

"Of course not, sir. I'll still come to whatever gala I'm invited to."

"Good. 'Cause Pep won't let me be mean to people when I'm with her, and Rhodey hates black tie parties, so you'd really be saving me from having to be nice all night."

"I'm sure you'll make it through," Wesley said, backing out of the room as he spoke. He tried not think about how it felt suspiciously like running away. He also tried not to think about how he had never slunk out of a conversation with Tony before.

It was kind of funny, leaving Stark Tower. None of the big, life changing events had managed to push Wesley away. If anything, it made him want to cling to it harder. But the little things, the days and then weeks going by of nothing…that was what made him go.

He didn't try to look on the bright side. He didn't focus on how happy he was to finally leave New York. He didn't think about how he was able to return to something simple, like corporate espionage or illegitimate heirs. He didn't think about much, really.

He returned to Seattle. He visited his mother and told her that he had left Tony, and reassured her that he had plenty to live on until he found another job (several million, in fact. Tony was a generous employer and Wesley had quite the eye for the stock market). He watched the news in the morning, ignoring the updates on the remaining fallout of HYDRA, the alleged devil taking up residence in Manhattan, and people developing new, strange powers all across North America. He was interviewed by corporate titans and spoiled rich kids, hating the slimy arrogance they displayed at the thought of getting away with anything.

He signed on with the middle son of a billionaire that had too much money and too much time and too few morals. It took all of one month of employment for Wesley to quietly tip off the FBI when asked to cover up said middle son's exploits with sex trafficking. The day before the arrest, Wesley also had to endure having a convenient blow out with The Girlfriend in order to cover his tracks. Being fired left a smudge on his incandescent record, but Wesley infinitely preferred that to actually keeping that piece of shit from prison. Wesley didn't even mind that he had to lay a false trail indicating him working for some strange reclusive mogul in Taiwan (one just powerful, enigmatic, and dangerous enough to protect him from prying eyes) to prevent Middle Son from begging Wesley's help in the trial.

It was something to do, at least.

Wesley tried not to feel bored in the meantime. This was what he wanted, after all. He despised being useless, and even if he was playing nanny, it was better than not being needed. Better than not holding his breath every time something went wrong that he could not fix. Better than quietly wondering if (when) Tony would put himself and his loved ones on the line and the best Wesley could do was be handle paperwork. Better than seeing this strange, new world pass him by.

Happy called him, once. It was a business question, something about the nuances of Stark legal. Wesley sighed and leaned against his marble kitchen counter, watching the rain fall as he answered. Happy thanked him, made a joke that actually made Wesley smile, then hesitated.

"It's not the same without you, y'know. We haven't worked together for a couple of years, yeah, but it's not the same. He notices the difference, though."

Wesley kept staring out the window. Good, he wanted to say, Tony had better.

But that was childish, and Wesley hadn't left to prove how important he was. He left because he wasn't.

Pepper called as well. The first conversation was agonizingly awkward, enough so that Wesley actually took the liberty of screening her the next time she called until he was prepared for the ordeal of calling her back. It wasn't as bad as last time, but he couldn't stop the bittersweet nostalgia of her light-hearted complaints over Tony's antics.

"He still hasn't made drones," she said at one point, a smile in her voice. "He wanted me to tell you that."

Wesley pressed his lips together, thinking that honestly should have been something Tony said to him.

Wesley continued to distract himself as the weeks then months drizzled by. He clicked his tongue over increasingly strange reports; someone binding criminals with and swinging around Manhattan on…webs?, some paramilitary group taking on the new powered people (Wesley so disliked calling them 'mutants'), a tank veritably exploding out of the Pym Technologies Headquarters. Wesley raised an eyebrow at the last one, made a note to brief Tony on what that sort of damage might do to one of Stark Industries' main competitors, then turned away from the tv.

He didn't finish watching the program. He didn't tell Tony. He didn't climb into his expensive car and drive to an expensive job. He went to the shooting gallery and wasted a mountain of ammunition on targets.

Useless was so much worse than not having a use at all. It had to be.

Wesley was actually surprised when he received an invitation to some charity ball in New York. More than that, it even had a tiny note on the inside written in Pepper's bubbly print.

We'd love to have you, it said. He scowled, first hating the idea of having to go to New York, then having to face Tony. But Tony (or possibly just Pepper) had asked, and Wesley had said he would go if invited.

He sighed and bought a ticket to New York.

The party, as expected, was glossy and infinitely tedious. He made small talk and charmed people and said that he was dabbling more in the private sector these days, and no, no, he and Tony had parted on the best of terms. He complimented and charmed people one moment, dodged and eased out of drunken flirting the next. Nothing had ever changed.

He caught sight of Tony across the room. Wesley sipped his scotch, thinking that he still hadn't gotten used to the lack of light coming from Tony's chest. Wesley turned back to the bar. It wasn't his job to watch Tony anymore.

That was probably why Tony was able to sneak up on him.

"You see that I managed to get the Star Spangled Dinosaur in a tuxedo tonight?" he asked, slipping in beside Wesley without even a hello. He waved at the bartender for a drink, and Wesley opened his mouth to delicately point out that functioning alcoholics were only charming in crime noirs, then closed his mouth. That was not his job anymore.

Instead, Wesley raised an eyebrow at his glass. "You actually managed to get Captain Rogers here? I thought he was allergic to parties."

"Yeah, well, he's found that socialites are terrible historians, and he can literally tell them anything about World War II and they'll believe him."

Wesley cracked a smile, imagining Steve's wickedly wry sense of humor set loose on a horde of one percenters.

"I'm glad you came," Tony said after a pause. "Didn't think you'd show up."

"I do hate New York," Wesley conceded.

Now it was Tony's turn to flash a quick grin, glancing at Wesley like he could barely believe he was allowed to be part of the joke. He rolled his glass between his hands, leaving a tiny ring of water on the bar. Wesley didn't say anything to allay his nerves.

"It's been kinda quiet here. Toyed with some ideas, suits, you know, but nothing's really grabbed me," Tony continued. "What've you been doing?"

"Persecuting slavers."

Tony barked out a laugh. Wesley appreciated that Tony didn't actually dismiss it as a joke.

"Pepper looks nice," Wesley said, glancing over his shoulder. Pepper was wearing a beautiful green dress, her expression bright as she spoke to some British beef magnate. Wesley smiled when he saw it had a back, remembering the last time he, Tony, and Pepper had all been at one of these disastrous parties. Hopefully tonight would end better than Tony flying off to fight terrorists.

"Yeah, it was a Christmas present to herself," Tony said. Wesley fought not to raise another eyebrow as Tony started up a panic-induced ramble. "I mean, it had my name on it, I guess, which was probably pretty awkward after she wrapped it up, but whatever, she was the one that bought it. I was just the money bags. Usually she's self-sufficient—it's not like she doesn't have the cash, but it's the thought, right?—but the moment you get Gucci on the line—look, you wanna get out of here?"

"Excuse me?" Wesley looked at Tony, vindictively satisfied that he was now allowed to pretend to not understand exactly what Tony was asking. Or maybe he was just pleased his professionalism no longer prohibited him from being an ass.

"C'mon, Wes. I can't handle this crowd anymore, I'm literally gonna break into hives in two seconds. Let's go find an EpiPen and talk or something."

"Or something," Wesley repeated, but he set down his drink and walked with Tony.

He didn't know what Tony was going to do. He doubted he had ever known what Tony would do, but Wesley was especially aware of it now. It had only been a few months since they'd been apart, and yet Tony seemed like a different animal, now. More worried, more exhausted. More genuinely confident in what he did, not putting on a show and hiding behind beautiful women and booze.

Tony led Wesley into some side room that was probably used as overflow for the main ballroom. Wesley admired the paintings on the walls (at least two were clever reproductions, as he personally knew the originals were in vaults at the Louvre) as he waited for Tony to talk.

To his surprise, Tony was quiet. He frowned at Wesley, chewing his cheek as he fought for something to say.

"You got a haircut," he said.

Wesley looked at him. Tony was blessed with many skills, but he was shit at broaching uncomfortable subjects. Which was probably why he had hired Wesley. Wesley quickly shut that line of thought, as it begged what Tony had done since he'd been gone.

"Yes," he said curtly. "I had it tightened up in the back."

"It looks good," Tony said. "Very sharp. Sharp suits you."

Wesley sighed through his nose and cut Tony off before it became anymore awkward for either one of them. "Mr. Stark, might I ask what you wanted to talk about?"

Tony shrugged and started walking the length of the room. He ran his fingers over a shelf of books, not looking at Wesley when he spoke.

"I just…it's been weird, not having you. You used to always be there. Not literally at my side, but always just a call away. Kinda like JARVIS, y'know? Always there."

"One could argue I was still a call away, considering I went to Seattle, rather than the Bermuda Triangle," Wesley said dryly. Tony flashed another smile, though this one seemed more forced than the last. Wesley pursed his lips, deciding that maybe he was being a little too sardonic.

"I just—" Tony began again, then sighed. He faced Wesley, expression slightly crumpled. "It wasn't me, right? I know you said it wasn't me, but I keep going through it in my head and I just don't understand why you'd—I mean, I treated you okay, right? Not the best, I know that, it was kind touch and go there for a while with the palladium poisoning and trauma and charging off to fight terrorists on my own, but I fixed all that! That's not an issue anymore, but it was never enough to make you leave before but now—" Tony stared at him for a long moment, brows furrowed like Wesley was a complex problem he couldn't figure out. "Now you've gone and I don't understand why."

Wesley sighed again. Now it was his turn to glance away, buy himself time, figure out why this hurt so much.

"Mr. Stark…Tony, this was never because of your behavior. I told you, I am now…obsolete in this world of yours."

"I don't believe that. Are you even happy, doing…whatever?"

Wesley gave him a flat look. "You're dealing with things I cannot handle. I am meant to handle things. I've told you that time and again. I'm supposed to be the one to fix things. But now you have the Avengers, and—"

"James, don't tell me you actually think we can solve the world's problems," Tony laughed. He sounded almost injured. "I've still got countless governments up my ass because I'm 'the public figure of the team' and they hate us jumping in everywhere to fight HYDRA, I'm still barely sleeping anymore, Pep's honestly freaking out about how big this has all gotten, and last week we went to some middle of nowhere town in the Balkans and there were spray painted signs everywhere calling us fascists like we're fucking Mussolini, and I just—"

Tony dug his knuckles into his forehead, mouth twisting for the briefest moment. Wesley sucked in a breath, almost having forgotten what Tony looked like when he was beaten down. Even with an entire room between them, it felt like a kick in Wesley's chest.

Then it was gone, Tony put his hand down and the pain and frustration on his face was nothing more than mild exhaustion.

"I just want to be able to go home and know that I've got somebody in my corner making sure I don't make a mess of things. Honestly, a part of me is genuinely considering that drone thing, if only because I cannot be pulled in any more directions than I already am."

Wesley didn't let himself look away. "But I can't just be 'somebody in your corner', Tony."

"Why not?" Tony demanded, sounding petulant and desperate and hurt. "You were before, and that just fine!"

"I'm not a security blanket you keep around for when things get tough."

"That's not—why are you so determined to stay away?" he asked, voice rising a little more. He wasn't angry, just tired and upset and so, so confused. Wesley grit his teeth. He was supposed to fix problems, not make bigger ones.

"What was my purpose to you?" he asked, knowing he was yet again dodging Tony's question and knowing he didn't care. They had come perilously close to the heart of the matter, those messy emotions that Wesley fought so hard to hide away. It was petty and obvious, but he slung out the first accusation he could think of to keep Tony from seeing how close he was to breaking. "What good was I to you? Most of the time, it seemed like I was an obstacle to get around. You kept me in the dark and you didn't listen to the advice I had to give you. What was the purpose in employing me? What did I do?"

"You helped me," Tony said quietly, instantly seeing through Wesley's accusations. "You always helped me."

When he put it that way, it made Wesley feel like one selfish son of a bitch.

"I would have fought for you," Tony said. He stared at the wall, fingers twitching at his side like he needed a channel for the tense energy inside him. "If I thought you wanted to stay, I would have fought. I just never—you never gave any signs of not wanting to be there, so I didn't—"

Wesley looked up at the ceiling. He'd never expected this conversation to be quite so painful.

"Are you happy now?" Tony asked again.

Wesley's mouth twisted, fighting to keep words from escaping. But then it was out, exposing the lie Wesley had been fighting to believe for too long.

"No."

To be fair, it wasn't exactly surprising. Wesley hadn't ever lied to Tony before. There was no reason he would be able to now.

Thankfully, Tony didn't step on the moment by cracking another joke or leaping to the arrogant conclusion that Wesley would immediately come back. He inched a little closer, stunningly vulnerable in his million dollar tuxedo.

"Please come back, James. I don't know what it is you need at the moment, but I promise I'll find it. Just come back. I don't have a ton of friends right now, and I would just like to keep the ones I have."

Wesley broke into a bittersweet smile. "I didn't realize we were friends."

Tony actually laughed at that. "We've been together for nine years. I honestly don't know why else you would've stayed that long. It can't be for the money."

Wesley scoffed and stared up at the ceiling. Tony wasn't wrong about that.

"Seriously, Wesley. I need you. I have no idea how you handled everything. The world's getting smaller but the people are getting bigger and right now everything's coming down on top of me, and I…I need your help. Please."

Wesley closed his eyes, then looked at Tony. He smiled again, and it was exhausted and uncertain but this time he meant every bit of it. "Of course you do. But if I come back, I have to be—"

"My first call, I know, I know." Tony grinned at Wesley, looking relieved enough to cry. He grabbed Wesley's hand into a firm shake, clapping his shoulder with his other hand. He stared into Wesley's face for a long moment, pouring all of the gratitude he couldn't express into the look. "I have been listening the last few years. At least a little bit."

"It's more than I expected," Wesley said, falling into step with Tony as they left the room.