Chapter Text
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He’s going to make it. He’s going to make it.
He’s going to make it.
That’s what Tony repeats in his mind over and over again, even if these words are lies but they are lies he wants to hear.
“He’s going to make it,” a quiet voice beside him says. Bruce is chewing on his lips grimly. “He’s going to make it,” he says again, and this time he looks at Tony.
None of them know it for sure, because they’re all slumped in that tiny hallway outside SHIELD medical, and the curtains are drawn shut as heavy blood transfusions and stitching takes place inside.
It’s just that Steve has always been Captain America—he is the pillar, the one keeping them all up and he’s supposed to be invincible.
Except when he’s not.
“Tony. Tony!” Bruce taps at his chest, features pulled to a tight frown. “Is that supposed to flicker?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Hey.”
“I said it doesn’t fucking matter!”
Bruce looks over to Clint and Natasha squished side by side on the floor.
“Don’t be a dick, Stark,” Clint states, fatigue written in his posture. “We don’t have time for your bullshit. Cap’s in there and we don’t even fucking know if he’s gonna make it—“
“Of course he’s fucking gonna make it!” Tony snarls, eyes bright.
Clint doesn’t even bat an eyelid. “—and we don’t need another dying body on us—“
“HE’S NOT DEAD!” Tony forgets that he’s taken off the gauntlets long ago and smashes his fist on the floor. Immediately he winces, but that is interrupted by more violent coughing. Fuck, is it supposed to be that cold in here?
“Clint,” Natasha pauses, pressing on Clint’s shoulder so that he shifts enough to let her stand up.
The red head squats in front of Tony and yanks his chin up, peering closely. The intense look in her eyes immediately shuts whatever snappy retort he wanted to say.
“He lied about being fine. Get Pepper. He’s losing heat rapidly.”
Bruce immediately turns on his heels and starts running down the hallway, and Clint shuffles next to Tony and wraps an arm around his shoulder.
Tony has the grace to sniff and say, “You need some deo.”
“I don’t smell like flowers after taking down fucking sentient bots.”
Yeah that’s Steve, Tony wants to say, but as he chokes on a laugh, he blacks out.
--------------------------------------------
The next time Tony opens his eyes, all he sees his darkness.
“JARVIS, lights,” he croaks, trying to push himself up, but he slips, and he tries again. “JAR!”
There is no response, and for a second Tony panics. He fumbles around frantically, ignoring a low burn in his right shoulder and his hand automatically goes to an IV inserted into his wrist, yanking it out.
Immediately the door slams open and lights flood the room. Bruce stops in mid-step the same time Tony stops shuffling around.
Bruce sighs wearily and pokes his head back out the doorframe. “We’re fine.”
“What am I doing here?” Tony demands. “Where was I—Steve.” He pauses. “Steve. Fuck—“
“Tony, calm down,” Bruce goes forward to usher him back to the bed when he attempts to leave. “Steve is fine.”
“He—“ but there’s something about the way Bruce is avoiding his eyes that makes his gut drop. “He’s not. You’re lying. Why are you lying?”
“Tony,” there it is again, and Tony can’t take it anymore.
“I need to see him,” he mutters, trying to shove Bruce away.
“TONY!”
This time, the shout rattles the entire room, and the edges of Bruce’s eyes are green. Tony stops still in shock, breaths rising and falling slowly. Bruce visibly struggles to control himself, counting slowly under his breath until he reaches thirty.
“Sit.”
Tony doesn’t need to be told twice.
“Look, I’m sorry, but it’s been a long day and the other guy would really like some asleep,” Bruce states, pressing his lips together. “It would’ve helped if you’d told us that your arc reactor was running on reserve battery that would’ve lasted 20 minutes more.”
Tony looks down at his arc reactor—humming quietly now. “Pepper?”
“Yes. They’ve gone back to the tower first.”
“Ah.”
“Also,” Bruce starts when Tony falls into silence. “Steve is out of ICU. He made it.”
But there’s just something about the way—
“He’s in a coma.”
A thick wad in his throat refuses to swallow. “I see,” Tony murmurs quietly, and then bursts out. “How the fuck can that be possible? He’s got the fucking super soldier serum—that fucking thing is supposed to heal him, including all neurogenic functions—“
“It probably just takes time,” Bruce says, and really, they don’t actually know. “He’s not allowed visitors—“
“Fuck that—“
“We’re going home,” he says firmly.
“I—“
“Home.”
Tony grits his teeth and curls his palms into tight balls. “Fine. Whatever.”
He only manages a step of indignant strut when he stumbles, and Bruce supports him by the waist.
“The other time—“ Bruce says abruptly, eyes straight ahead as they limp out of the room. “He felt the same way you do now.”
Tony doesn’t reply.
--------------------------------------------
Pepper is there when he wakes up the first morning. She doesn’t say anything, but she sits on the side of his bed and touches his shoulder. He sees her eyes stained red and he hates himself—he knows he’ll always be doing this to her and it isn’t fair—she deserves better and maybe it was right that they went their separate ways.
“Sorry,” he says, even though it doesn’t cut it.
She kisses him on the side of his temple and leans his head on her shoulder, and he tries hard not to cry. It feels like he had woken from a bad dream, except he was waking into a bad dream—and again, he wonders,
Why couldn’t he do anything right? Why, why,
Why?
--------------------------------------------
Three days later, and Tony still hasn’t gone to SHIELD to visit Steve.
“Where is he?” Clint mutters, gripping his fork with more force than necessary.
“JARVIS?” Bruce enquires with a tired sigh.
“In the workshop, Dr Banner. Lock down code 41585 initiated.”
Natasha swears under her breath once she swallows a mouth full of pasta. They’ve taken turns at the hospital over the past few days, watching Steve’s body be transferred to several rooms but he hasn’t woken up. The soldier is off life support and is breathing on his own, rest of the body apparently in good healing progress, but it just seems that he doesn’t want to wake up. There’s nothing any of them can do except to talk to the unmoving figure when they sit in their two hours rota, and they all know it’s not them that will wake the blonde up.
It’s Tony, and the engineer is nowhere accessible.
“Uh-huh,” Clint states, not impressed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“The only person who can override that is Steve,” Bruce answers, sighing again. “Which is not very helpful.”
“Maybe we should try the vents.”
“Stark sealed them off ever since the last time I went in,” Natasha says, eyebrows furrowed.
There’s silence for a moment, then the two assassins look at Bruce.
“No,” Bruce says. “No.”
“Unless you’ve got a bomb to blow an entrance, we need you to smash that entrance,” Clint eyes him.
“The entrance won’t be the only thing I smash.”
“Stark can pay it off. Come on.”
“Let’s think of other options first, shall we?”
--------------------------------------------
It was inevitable, really.
He doesn’t want to think about it. And so he doesn’t.
He was always a heavy drinker, half because of Howard’s influence, half because of his own shitty excuses for escapism. The first bottle drowns out the sharp ringing in his ears. The second bottle fuzzes his focus and softens his stance. The third bottle sees him seated on the floor against the couch at the corner of his workshop, head thrown back. The fourth makes him forget.
The next time he groans awake, he shuts his eyes again because of the pounding headache. JARVIS tries to slip in a word but he mutes him before his AI can say much.
He sees blood.
It’s not his.
And he reaches for another bottle.
--------------------------------------------
A foot kicks him sharply at his side and Tony yelps awake, glass bottles clanking when he knocks them over by accident.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
The voice is familiar, but he can’t really place it.
“Fucking hell, what the fuck are you doing?”
Tony cracks open an eye and sees a fuzzy image of blue and blonde, and he coughs out. “S-steve?”
“Close, but no cigar,” Johnny snorts, squatting down.
The human torch is in his skin tight outfit, smoke emanating from it. He’s actually still radiating heat because Tony feels the sear when the younger grabs his chin to look at him properly.
“Are you still buzzed? God, you stink like shit.”
Which is a bit hypocritical, because Johnny has smelt of booze and hangovers just as many times in his life.
Tony tries to swat the other away, voice hoarse. “Get the fuck out, Storm.”
“Not until I kick your fucking ass.”
Tony slaps a hand over his forehead and groans pathetically, because loud noises are just such a bitch. He blearily glances around him because he vaguely remembers why he’s alone, but why is he not now?—and then he sees the human shaped hole in his wall.
“Did—did you just fucking burn a hole through my fucking wall?”
Johnny smirks, not at all sorry. “Yep,” he shrugs. “Seriously though, what the fuck do you think you’re doing, Stark?”
“You asked that three fucking times already—what does it look like I’m doing?”
“Wasting your goddamn pathetic life?”
“Shut the fuck up and get the fuck out of here,” Tony snorts. “Why are you even here? Shouldn’t you be with Captain America and his spangled pants, fanboy?“
Johnny clucks his tongue patronizingly. “Classy, Stark. So classy,” he shakes his head. “Why aren’t you with him, then? Isn’t he your best friend, hmm?” he hums, but his voice gets tighter and louder. “Isn’t he the one you’re irrevocably so fucking in love with that you can’t get your fucking ass out there to visit him while he’s in a fucking goddamn coma?”
A flame ignites from the tips on Johnny’s fingers that are (thankfully) palm flat on the floor. Tony stares eyes wide at how the younger breathes harshly to calm down, and that lasts for approximately thirty seconds.
“Why don’t you do it,” Tony swallows. “Since you care so much?”
Something in Johnny’s eyes flares up because the human torch grabs him by the neck and chokes him painfully.
“You fucking—fucking asshole,” Johnny growls. “How the fuck did Cap fall in love with you? You piece of—“ he mutters wildly under his breath, then fixates an intense glare. “Do you think Cap wants you to do this? Huh?” he starts lowly. “What do you think Cap’s gonna say when he wakes up and sees you in some deep alcoholic shit?”
“God, don’t—don’t pull that shit on me!” Tony coughs, shoving the other away as hard as he can. He’s so tired and sick of this—“You think I don’t fucking know? I damn well know—but you, don’t you fucking dare bring him into this! You don’t understand shit! You want to know why, huh? You want to know why?” he hisses. “I see blood—his blood—on my hands and I—I can’t watch him die in my arms—and I, I fucking can’t take it anymore!”
Tony slumps back down, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Shit. Shit. Shit.”
What if Steve leaves him here, all alone?
He’s here for you.
But what if he isn’t?
Johnny yanks his hands hot with wetness away. “At least fucking try you fucking asshole! You think you’re the only one in this universe? You think just because you think you’ve lost Cap you’re entitled to all this emotional shit excuse for your drinking? Listen up Stark, and you better listen good.
“You want to know what he wanted to tell you with his last breath? I can tell you. It’s so fucking obvious, Stark,” he scoffs. “You’re an idiot and an asshole and you don’t deserve him—that’s right—you don’t—but Cap, he—“ the human torch draws in a tight breath.”He’s in love with you.”
The cotton in Tony’s mouth sours further with every second of the challenging glare Johnny burns with him.
“Cap is in love with you for god knows how many months or fucking years and you’re fucking blind to not see it. And you know what? It makes him miserable. You make him miserable. How do you think he felt when you nearly died the other time? You want to know why Cap hangs out with me?” Johnny smirks bitterly. “It’s because whenever he’s with you, you make him feel like ripping his heart out! He doesn’t want to be in love with you, Stark! But he is and you fucking kill him with the way you act around him all the goddamn time!”
“But I—“
“What’s all this bullshit about him hating you?” the younger rolls on, ignoring him. “You and I both know damn well he can’t. He hates this—all this drinking and shit but he can never hate you. So what do you think all this makes him? Miserable. You, Tony fucking Stark, have been and always will be hurting him in every single fucking way and you fucking—you fucking dare act like this?”
Johnny barks a laugh, incredulous. He shoves Tony hard on the chest, and twists on his heel.
“God you make me sick! How the fuck did Cap ever fall in love with someone like you?” he sneers, stalking away. “Grow up, Stark!”
Tony watches the steps disappear, numb.
--------------------------------------------
When Steve opens his eyes, he’s sitting on that bench in the park he goes to when he wants to sketch or people watch. He can’t remember why he’s here—how did he end up at the park, wasn’t he just—just…what was he doing?
“Steve.”
He looks to his left. It takes a while before he registers what he’s actually seeing.
“P-peggy?”
She looks…she looks as beautiful as ever. Dark curls framing her face with red stained lips curved into a smile. How long has it been since he’d seen her? She was exactly as he remembered, when he closes his eyes and thinks of how he’s lost everything—she’s always there, murmuring, you won’t be alone.
“You’re late.”
He wants to chuckle, but it comes out as a half sob. “My god, Peggy,” he murmurs, and reaches out to touch her.
He doesn’t quite make it, because his hand doesn’t move anymore than a centimetre away from her cheek. She smiles, and curls her own fingers over his—and he doesn’t feel anything.
“Peggy,” it seems like all he can do is to stare dumbly at her, tears sliding down his cheeks.
It’s involuntary. He doesn’t want to cry but he does, and he doesn’t know why he does—is it because of happiness, of longing, of sadness, of loss, or all?
“This is a dream,” he finalises, because he tries to take her hand but there’s nothing.
Nothing.
“You could say that,” she smiles. “I’ve been watching you, for a while now. Howard’s son, who would’ve known?”
Steve nearly chokes, and his cheeks flush on their own. “I-I—“
Peggy only smiles wider, a fond look she reserves for him. “You need to take a chance, Steve.”
“It’s—it’s not that easy,” Steve tries to argue, but he knows it’s a lost cause because of the one raised eyebrow from her. “And I….” he swallows, meeting her stare straight—he’s never got the chance to say this but now is all he has, real or not—“I love you.”
“I know you do,” Peggy replies, slipping her hand out of his to cup his cheek. “And so do I. But you have someone waiting for you. You need to go.”
“Go where? I finally got to see you again—“
“For once, Captain, you’re too early,” she says.
“But I—I don’t want to lose you,” he whispers. “Again.”
“You were late for me,” Peggy states. “Don’t be late for him.”
Steve presses his lips tightly together. He wants to stay. He’s finally seen her after all this time—one year and counting, going to two, since he’s woken up from the ice—but in reality, seventy plus years. Yet though, he doesn’t feel like its quite right, because there’s something—someone, waiting for him elsewhere. He has a home to belong now, a home to return to.
“When will I see you again?” he asks.
“Not too soon, I hope,” she says. “Close your eyes, Steve.”
He does so obediently, after he’s made sure to memorise every angle of her skin. Then, he feels it—the warm press of her lips against the side of his mouth.
“I’m sorry about the dance,” he murmurs, carefully raising his hands to place upon her shoulders.
It makes him tremble, the heat and weight of her form. He takes a deep breath, soaking in the familiar scent of lavender mixed with heavy fabric.
“There’s always next time,” she says. “Eight hundred, Captain. I’ll be waiting.”
When he opens his eyes again, it’s too bright to see anything. Faintly he hears a steady rhythm in the background, and his vision clears to register that he’s on a hospital bed. A tuft of hair lies on the edge of his bed, near his fingers. He doesn’t really think about it, but he smiles and reaches to run his fingers through the head of hair. The owner groans and swats his hand away, settling back into sleep for about ten seconds before he yelps and falls off the chair.
Steve can’t help it but he chuckles, even if his body feels kind of detached from his consciousness but he manages to make little coughing sounds.
“How many fingers am I holding up?” Tony demands frantically, hands gripping the front of Steve’s shirt.
Steve tries to answer but his voice is too hoarse.
“You’re shaking your head—what’s that supposed to mean? No—nope—zero? Oh god, you don’t know who I am and who you are—okay, fuck, um—“
“No fingers,” Steve manages to squeeze out. “Water,” he adds.
“Oh fuck, you’re blind—oh, oh,” Tony looks at where his hands are. “Water. Um. Yeah, okay, water—hold on,” and he fumbles horribly with the jug. “Here.”
Steve drinks about three sips.
Tony grips the bedsheets uselessly, shuffling restlessly. “So, do you know who you are?”
“Yes.”
“And you remember me?”
“Yes,” Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“Prove it.”
“Tony Stark. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Steve intones.
“Anyone could’ve guessed that,” Tony snorts. “Please. Even a skrull could’ve told me that.”
“I’m not a skrull,” Steve says just to be sure.
Tony doesn’t say anything for a long time, only to look at him quietly. The engineer is in a loose fitting black shirt and pants, all creased from the duration of time he’s been sitting by the bedside. Steve takes the time to take in his surroundings—one of the SHIELD medical rooms, time 2 46 p.m.—
“How long was I out?”
“Over a week,” Tony answers, and Steve nearly balks. That long?
“So, what happened to Victor von Doom?”
“Not dead,” Tony growls, face darkening immediately. “The blast from my arc reactor rendered him immobile for a while. The Thing and Hulk kept him immobile for the rest. The motherfucker is in SHIELD custody now,” he mutters. “Just give me an excuse to murder that tech stealing piece of shit—“
“I’m glad it’s over,” Steve says before the monologue runs longer. “You alright?”
Tony nearly laughs. “Why are you asking me that? Shouldn’t it be the other way round?”
“You look…” Steve shrugs. “You look tired.”
“I am,” Tony admits.
After Storm burned a hole through his wall, the rest of the Avengers had easy access to his lab so there was no point hiding anymore—if he didn’t drag himself up, someone else would’ve manhandled him to the hospital. When he’s sober and showered, he makes way into Steve’s room even if no one is supposed to visit during the night, much less 4 a.m in the morning.
When he first sees Steve unmoving on the bed, he closes the door immediately, and it takes a few minutes before he lets himself in. It’s just, surreal. The one person he never thought he’d lose was right there on the edge.
The first hour he watches Steve. The next hour he talks. He talks to Steve and to himself and tells both of themselves stupid useless things, like how created Dummy on the day of his parents’ deaths, how he passed out typing JARVIS’ protocol, why he creates his bots—because no one else is there for him, and there isn’t anyone if Steve doesn’t wake up, god—
Steve doesn’t wake up.
He talks some more, of all the bad ideas he’s had, falling in love with Steve, finding an escape with other people, living with that consequence, still loving Steve; how he can’t seem to do anything right about it.
Steve doesn’t wake up.
He talks.
It takes four more days before he feels the nudge on his head when he’s dozing off, face pressed unto the edge of the bed.
“I hate hospitals,” Tony continues, grimacing. “They smell like some kind of weird drug that doesn’t get me high and I hate the bloody hard chair and how boring the stupid walls are—I mean, you have no idea how many times you can see that black mark on the wall and not think it’s some weird alien message from another dimension—“
“I do, actually,” Steve smiles lightly, and Tony stops in midword, face tightening down.
The engineer grabs Steve’s hand and grips it tight—tight enough to tremble, because if this is what Steve went through when he was the one knocked out cold on the bed hooked up to machines then he had acted like the absolute worst that he ever could. He wants to say sorry, he wants to say a lot of things, but right now, Steve is smiling at him, and it kills everything on the tip of his tongue.
Right now, it feels like everything will be okay.
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It occurs to Tony some time later that he should’ve thrown a party, just because.
“You’re planning to throw a party for six people. Are you high or are you fucking high?” Clint demands. “That’s like, a gathering. Not a party.”
“It’s a party if there’s food and booze,” Tony counters. “Screw you, Barton, I’m cutting the guest list to five.”
“Why can’t we just do movie night like normal?” Bruce asks.
“You know what’s normal? Boring. Normal is boring,” Tony sniffs. “We have an excuse to party, does anyone else not see it? Captain stars and stripes abnormally fast recovery, so much that he’s already unbenched and yet I still have to take precautions with my fucking rib—this is so not fucking fair!” he growls, pointing at Steve accusingly.
The supersoldier merely eats his dinner.
“And pray tell, what do you plan to do in your extremely exclusive six people party, Stark?” Clint raises an eyebrow.
--------------------------------------------
It ends up being movie night.
“Midnight in Paris.”
“No.”
“Only You.”
“No.”
“Chances Are.”
“No.”
“Bright Star.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake—can you not choose a chick flick for once in your life, Barton?” Tony groans, rubbing his eyes as he saunters into the film room.
Clint turns just enough to flip him the finger. “It’s culture, not that you would know.”
Bruce continues flicking through the list of movies, and Natasha cuts every of Clint’s suggestion with a “No.”. Tony flops down at the bottom of the couch where Natasha and surprisingly, Steve is on, but the supersoldier’s legs are sprawled out.
“Steve, move over,” he nudges the knees.
“Fuck yes, mission accomplished,” says not-Steve, and the figure high fives Clint while the other two roll their eyes.
Tony does a double take and squints—“Okay, what is he doing here?” he might have said it a little too harshly, but hey, it’s his fucking house.
“You said six people,” Clint shrugs.
“I meant Pepper, not him.”
Johnny wiggles his victory sign at him. “I think I will go as Cap for Halloween. Cap should totally be me. Total mind fuck, right?”
Tony glares just as Johnny grins smugly at him. Natasha leans over and whispers something in Johnny’s ear, and Tony really doesn’t like the way Johnny’s smug grin gets wider. “Oh yeah, baby. Yeah.”
“Two girls and a guy.”
“Clint,” Bruce shakes his head. “I don’t think Steve would enjoy that.”
“Why not? Gratuitous sex scene.”
“Exactly.”
“Who wants the sweet popcorn?” Steve’s voice rings out when he enters, carrying a few bowls of the said food.
“Hey gorgeous,” Johnny greets, snatching one of the bowls. “It’s been forever since I’ve seen you—absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
“And familiarity breeds contempt. I just saw you a few minutes ago,” Steve replies dryly. “Tony, do you want some?”
“Huh? Oh, yeah, pass it over,” Tony answers distractedly, because shit, since when were Steve and Johnny on such familiar terms?
Steve is barely fazed at Johnny’s comment like he’s used to it. Tony supposes that the whole hanging out stunt biking thing has gotten them pretty close, and yes, Johnny did come over pretty often (like, everyday) to bother Steve when he was on bed confinement, and also racked up the number texts on Steve’s phone—not that he’s been tracking, just saying, because JARVIS does it—but huh, Steve only uses sass on people he’s comfortable with.
“Sit with me Cap,” Johnny whines, gesturing at him. “I promise not to feel up your super hot bod. Any fault is Nat’s—OW!”
“You’re not entitled to call me that, junior,” Natasha eyes him.
“But Merida calls you that—“
“You didn’t suffer Budapest, Sparky,” Clint calls out. “I have dibs. Back off.”
Steve ignores their banter and sits himself next to Tony, in front of Natasha. The redhead immediately ruffles his hair on habit and starts to tread through with her fingers.
“The Perfect Score.”
“It’s not going to happen, Clint,” Bruce says, continuing to press the remote.
“Fuck all of you,” Clint mutters.
“Is this how you decide on a movie?” Johnny asks after more suggestions and refusals, incredulous. “Because you guys are fucking inefficient.”
“Says the one who wasn’t even invited,” Tony sniffs. “Why don’t you give a suggestion, sucker?”
“Scott pilgrim vs the world,” Johnny says in a heartbeat.
Tony is about to diss the choice just because, but then Clint nods and Natasha shrugs and even Bruce starts scrolling to find it. Not that he actually likes the movie too—but principles!
“Is it good?” Steve asks as Johnny slips down the couch to sit next to the supersoldier.
“Not a movie I’d take you for our date, but, you might enjoy it,” the human torch shrugs.
Tony glares at Johnny behind Steve when the movie starts, and Johnny smirks back. The younger presses up to Steve’s arm and leans on his shoulder—all deliberately, because the bastard is grinning like kingdom come. Tony would growl if Steve doesn’t have super hearing.
Half way through the movie Johnny leans up and whispers something into Steve’s ear, and Steve darts a quick look at Tony who catches the eye movement. Curiously, the bigger blonde shuffles awkwardly and gives a look to Johnny which Tony can’t see from his angle. The human torch chuckles and leans even more onto Steve.
Tony tries very hard to concentrate on the movie—and not accidently on purpose throw his entire bowl of popcorn at the human torch.
--------------------------------------------
“We don’t really hang out anymore,” Steve tells him two weeks later, when he places a plate of fried noodles on the lab workbench.
“Yeah?” Tony mumbles absently still focusing on the piece of metal he’s soldering.
“Tony.”
“Hold on—I’ve got this—“
“Tony.”
“Wha—hey,” he protests when the blowtorch is taken away from him.
Steve is using the disproving eyes on him as he hands the blowtorch to Dummy who grasps it and rolls away beeping. The fucking traitor.
“Dinner time,” the blonde continues. “You missed lunch today, so no excuses.”
“I had a hot packet.”
“That was yesterday.”
“Oh.” Maybe it was, judging from how his stomach rumbles at the smell of food. He sighs and pulls the goggles off his head, tossing it off on the table. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be out with Sparky?” is what he ends up saying when he takes the first bite, sounding totally not interested.
Steve raises an eyebrow in confusion. “I am?”
“Aren’t you out with him on Wednesdays, rolling in the dirt—“
“It’s Saturday,” Steve informs him, and he looks slightly concerned. “Don’t you think you should get some sleep—“
“Hold it right there,” Tony points, eyes narrowing. “I slept fourteen hours ago which means I am still entitled to be awake. JARVIS can vouch for me,” he huffs when Steve does exactly that, and JARVIS responds in kind. “Anyway, you were saying something?”
Steve shuffles a little bit, looking awkward leaning against the workbench not doing anything, but he wants to come down to the lab to talk to Tony, then well, that’s what he gets.
“We don’t hang out anymore.”
“Well,” Tony chews around his noodles. “I’m busy. You’re busy—“
“I’m not,” Steve answers immediately.
“Okay…” Tony blinks. “You want to hang out now? Technically, you’re hanging out in my lab so does this count as hanging out time or—”
“Not now—I mean, now is fine, but any other day—“ Steve corrects, then sighs. “I mean, we should go out and do something. Like…like we used to.”
Tony nods slowly. “Where’s your boy toy?”
“Quit calling him that,” the soldier frowns. “Why do you ask anyway?”
“Why else are you asking me to hang out with you?”
“Because I like your company?” The blonde is looking genuinely confused. “Because we don’t do it anymore? Because I…miss you?”
Tony chokes on his mouthful of noodles and it takes a few hacking coughs to breathe right. “Trudging on gay territory there, Cap,” he wheezes.
This time, Steve frowns, and a flash of hurt passes his eyes. “I know you don’t feel the same but you don’t have to make it into a joke.”
The room is deathly silent except for Dummy’s beeping in the background. Tony darts his eyes around because shit, did he say something wrong or what, because Steve is still staring—
“I thought you knew,” Steve says quietly.
“Know what?”
Steve sighs, folding his arms. “Johnny told me that he talked to you while I was in medical.”
The whole drinking business, right. “Are you going to chew me out? Because, in my defense, you were dying, and—“
“What—wait, what?”
Uh, so maybe it wasn’t. “Nevermind,” Tony waves his hand flippantly, then stops. “Wait. So what’s your point?”
Steve locks his jaw and he looks rather hesitant, but determined. “I just...I…I didn’t want to say it because I was scared.” Steve begins after a while, looking at his feet. “People say that I’m brave but I don’t think I am where it counts.”
“You’re plenty brave, Steve. If you aren’t, I’d fear for humanity. I mean, there wouldn’t even be anyone who is—“
“I love you,” Steve blurts over him, complexion turning a lovely shade of pink, but he keeps his stance and continues firmly when silence is all he gets. “Have been ever since…ever since you gave me a home. I don’t need anything back,” he adds on quickly, not that Tony is capable of speech at the moment. “I just wanted you to know. I thought you knew...after…” he waves some motions with his hand awkwardly. “…and you didn’t say anything so I thought you were okay with it and—“
Something seems to be stuck in Tony’s throat. He knows this. He has known it for a while now, when Johnny screamed it in his face. But he doesn’t believe it. Why? There’s just no reason why Steve would love him—all fucked up and broken bits of him. There’s just no way anyone would want him for being him. Pepper tried, but she couldn’t. Who else?
Who else?
“Why?” he ends up asking, and Steve nearly laughs.
“Why not?”
Tony shoots him the most incredulous look he’s got. “Because I’m me and you’re…you? You’re Captain fucking America. You’re like, freedom and patriotism and justice and…and liberty and apple pies and cookies and cookouts and baseball and I don’t even know what the fuck I’m saying,” he groans, and tries to start again. “I’m saying you’re good and I’m…I’m—“
“—not good enough?” Steve completes the sentence, looking intent. “Tony,” he starts, quiet and soft. “When I woke up from the ice, I hated it here. Twenty first century, didn’t have flying cars like I thought it would. Disappointment,” he half chuckles, but its forced. “Everything’s so loud…and confusing and strange and I didn’t belong. I miss everyone back at home but it’s gone and I don’t have anywhere to go but—but now, this is home. You gave me everything I needed and you’ve never asked for anything in return,” he says evenly. “I don’t think I would’ve made it without you.”
“Nonsense,” Tony retorts. “You’re adaptable. Everyone loves you and you—you belong here more than you know, more than me—“
Steve practically clamps his hand around Tony’s mouth. “I hate it when you drink from the carton and I hate it when you slink into your lab when you don’t want to talk to me and I really hate it when you can’t see your worth—you are not what you think you are, Tony,” he states firmly, those blue eyes staring straight into his own. “You are so much more.”
After about a minute Steve releases him with a muttered apology, shuffling backwards. “I fell in love with the most amazing man I’ve ever known,” he states. “He says that he’s selfish but he lets everyone say in his tower for free, he complains about making tech upgrades but he makes them ten times better because they make his team safe, he thinks he owes the world his life but he doesn’t, because he’s done more than enough,” Steve barks a laugh. “If anything, I don’t deserve him.”
Tony refuses to look at him, and Steve sighs.
“If you can’t believe yourself then believe me,” Steve says finally, swallowing hard. “I love you.”
Tony doesn’t move even when Steve gives him a clasp on the shoulder with a half smile and leaves, leaving him standing in the middle of the room. He can’t hear himself think—he can’t hear himself think, how scary is that? All he hears is the unsteady rapid thump of his heartbeat, the heartbeat that is curiously out drowning the hum of his arc reactor.
“JAR,” he raises his voice, and fuck, it shakes. “Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
“You are not in any state of sleep nor unconsciousness, sir.”
“Yeah, but I could’ve totally dreamt you too.”
A hologram appears in front of him, and it’s a video recording of what happened two minutes ago. Tony can see how Steve’s eyes soften when he says it—I love you.
And he’s seen that expression when Reed looks at Sue, when Clint looks at Natasha, when Bruce looks at Betty,
And when he looks at Steve.
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“Storm said that you don’t want to be in love with me.”
This is what Tony ends up blurting when the elevator door to Steve’s floor opens, even after he’s spent an hour pacing up and down his lab. He couldn’t do anything productive, not after Steve—and it was horrible how he nearly burned his fingers off because he couldn’t hold the goddamn blow torch without trembling.
Except, what he sees freezes him to the bone, because Johnny—fucking Johnny Storm is sitting next to Steve on the couch with his hand on the other’s shoulder. He swallows tight and steps backwards.
“Up. Now,” he hisses, and the elevator door cannot close any faster than it should.
Upgrade. He needs to upgrade the lift.
“Woah, no!” Johnny scrambles up, slamming his hand against the open elevator doors. “Hold it there J-man.”
“JARVIS, I swear to fucking god—I don’t care if you kill the son of a bitch—close the damn door,” Tony grinds out, wild. “Now.”
“Look here Stark—“
“If he wants to go, let him go,” Steve speaks up, and he isn’t looking at anywhere but his feet. The super soldier’s posture is slumped, tired—defeated, and he rubs his hand over his face.
Johnny clenches his fingers tight as he bodily stands at the open doors, preventing its closure. “No fucking way. You’ve given him too many chances and what for? All he,” he growls, glaring at Tony. “has done is to hurt you and make you miserable and I’ve said it before, Stark, and I’ll say it again, you don’t deserve Cap and you never will—“
“Johnny!”
The human torch scoffs, breaking off in midsentence. He turns to the engineer in the lift and corners him, taking advantage of the height difference.
“Do you how know long it took me to convince him to say it to your face because you’re the fucking densest idiot that ever existed?” he mutters angrily, grabbing Tony by the front of his shirt. “I swear, I’ll set you on fire—“
“Johnny,” Steve comes between them and breaks the grip carefully. “Let him go.”
Johnny sulks, shoving Tony a little as he releases him.
“In my defense,” Tony begins when he’s sure he’s not going to be set on fire. “I came down to talk.”
The human torch squints at him for a second before literally kicking him out of the elevator. Steve rushes to catch Tony before the other hits the ground, and they both end up tumbling ungracefully.
“And by talk I hope you mean what I think you mean, loser,” Johnny grumbles. “I’m gonna get a drink in my room, and I won’t come back. You guys got that?”
“Adios, asshole,” Tony sniffs from the ground when the elevators door close, and he makes a mental note to up the JARVIS-toaster experiment.
“You okay?” Steve asks, though his tone is more exasperated and resigned than worried.
“I have had better days,” Tony answers, picking himself up. “Though, what the fuck—what is he doing in my tower?” he demands, pursing his lips.
“Avengers tower,” Steve corrects. “He’s in a tight spot—“
“Don’t tell me he’s—wait, he said ‘my room’,” Tony blinks. “He doesn’t have a room here, unless you—oh fuck me. I agreed to house a dude with breathtakingly huge anger management issues, two assassins that can kill me in my sleep, a super soldier than eats out the entire fridge at every meal, a Norse god that breaks things for fun when he’s here—but I did not agree to let a fire hazard into my tower—do you even know how dangerous that is? I have shit tons of—you’re laughing, why are you laughing?” Tony huffs, waving his hands. “I’m serious for once and you’re—“
“Dangerous?” Steve coughs between the smile he’s trying to suppress. “Who are you and what have you done with Tony Stark?”
“Are you still hanging on that self-destructive tendency thing? Because—“
“In your defense, you were dying, yes, I got that,” Steve finishes for him. “Reed and Sue approached me, actually,” he explains. “Asked if Johnny could bunk here for a while, as part of probation to get his own place. And we have a plenty of—”
“Just because we have a couple of spare rooms doesn’t mean—“
“I asked the rest, and they said it was okay.”
“Who’s ‘the rest’, huh?” Tony folds his arms. “You mean, not me, the one who’s funding all of you, allowing you twerps to live here for free—“
“He’s paying rent,” Steve answers easily. “Also, if you hung out with me, you would’ve known.”
Tony winces. “Okay. Right. About that.” There is silence for about a minute before he realises that Steve is looking at him expectantly. “The thing is,” he breathes, and suddenly everything is so so quiet. “The thing is,” he says again, and his mind is a total blank. “Um. Shit.”
Steve blinks, expression hurt. “…I understand.”
“No!” he shouts quickly, grabbing Steve’s arm before the other can turn away. “Give me a minute. I had this. I promise, I had this whole thing I wanted to say, I just…just….”
The blonde sighs and after another minute wherein Tony just scowls at his feet, he speaks. “I don’t want to be in love with you. It’s not something that I can choose,” he says, quiet, and Tony feels like he’s been punched in the gut before he’s even tried anything. “But it’s not going to change,” Steve states, and those blue eyes are staring at him meaningfully. “Even if I don’t want to.”
Tony swallows. Because you know what? Fuck this.
He was never going to not love Steve—and that’s a fact.
What’s the point of denying it and restraining himself when it’s killing him—he sees the flicker of pain that Steve smiles with when the other looks away in defeat, almost self derogatory, and he wonders how many times he’s felt the same way, looking at Steve and wishing they were so much more.
He doesn’t see why he has to simmer in hardened jealousy for the last few months whenever he tracks the places that Johnny takes Steve around to, when he sees the human torch hover and stick to the national icon, when the younger so blatantly knows it pisses him off and does it because it pisses him off.
He wants Steve and even if he was never going to be good enough, Steve wants him, and that’s maybe all he can really give. He basically yanks the soldier down to his height and shoves his mouth against the other’s. It’s hard, wet, and most of all desperate—because it feels like this is it, this is what will make or break them.
Steve doesn’t respond but Tony doesn’t relent. He pushes harder and nudges his tongue into Steve’s mouth, until he feels Steve cautiously kissing him back, hands hovering around his waist, but too afraid to place them anywhere. Even as he nips at the blonde’s lips he can feel the ragged breath of desire that Steve unconsciously corners him with up against the wall.
When they break apart to breathe, Steve is staring at him wide eyed and pupils blown wide, lips red.
“I…I don’t want you to do this if you don’t…” even if Steve is saying this, he’s leaning forward so that he can brush his lips over Tony’s stubble, intoxicated.
“Shut up,” Tony huffs. “I’ve wanted you so much. All those months, I…—so fucking much.”
Even as he admits this, he feels his heart clenching tight. He doesn’t dare meet Steve’s eyes, instead, licking over the blonde’s collarbone, yanking his shirt further back down for greater access.
“Tony,” Steve whispers, half choked.
“But I break everything that I touch,” Tony murmurs, against his neck. “And I will break you, sooner or later, and—“
“You fix things,” the supersoldier says instead. “You fixed me.”
The blonde cradles his face in between his hands, and he almost whines. He feels Steve’s thumbs gently stroking the side of his mouth and he flickers his gaze to meet those blue eyes—and suddenly he isn’t aware of anything but Steve, of how the supersoldier grins just so softly, tilts Tony’s face right, and presses a smile against his mouth.
Steve kisses him like he’s the most precious thing on earth.
And maybe when Steve pulls back just a split second for them to breathe and murmurs love you, he feels like it too.
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This isn’t his bed and the bed smells like Steve and therefore this is Steve’s bed and dear god did they have sex and he did not remember—
Oh.
“J, where’s Steve?” he yawns, stretching out lazily and kicking the comforters off the bed.
“The Captain is in the kitchen making breakfast,” JARVIS answers dutifully. “He requested that you make an appearance should you be awake in time.”
“I was thinking of a different kind of breakfast,” Tony mutters, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
“I’m sure the Captain would oblige,” JARVIS pans, dryly.
“Don’t lie, you voyeur,” Tony smirks as he rides the lift up to the correct level, except the smirk dies very quickly when the doors open. “Okay. I’m gonna ask this again,” he frowns. “What is he doing here?”
Johnny grins, twirling a spaghetti strand around his fork. “Why can’t I be here?”
“Because it’s nine fucking am in the morning? Why the fuck are you here? Don’t you have some other place to be, you know, not in my goddamn tower?”
“I live here, genius.”
“I never consented, so get out.”
“Tony,” Steve turns from the stove, pasta in a pan. “Good morning.”
“Don’t you good morning me—“
“Somebody didn’t get laid last night?” Clint crows in mock concern, holding out his plate towards Steve. “Or is a vibrator up your ass?”
“Clint,” Steve warns.
“It’s about damn time,” Clint shrugs.
“But we didn’t even—“ Tony splutters, eyes narrowing at the human torch who smiles wider with each chew of his pasta. “You.”
“And also that very obvious hickey on your neck,” Clint adds on, and Steve turns to the stove to ignore the flush on his face. “By the way, who won the pot?”
Natasha huffs, eyes flicking up from the newspaper just for a second, but she doesn’t say anything. Bruce shakes his head with a smile, and all that’s left is Johnny grinning his ass off.
“I’m fucking king of the mountain, guys.”
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