Chapter Text
Maladjusted Geniuses and Mistaken Heroes
Actually being discharged is anticlimactic. There’s never been anything wrong. Well… all right, even to Steve that sounds spurious. They were trapped in a world of Loki’s creation, and the nightmares linger. But ultimately, practically, it was just a dream. Steve watched Tony suffocate to death in front of him, he felt Clint’s little wooden hands cut into his throat, the blood run, hotter than anything he’d felt in hours, down his frigid flesh…but there’s never been a mark on either of them.
None of SHIELD’s tests have shown anything. Even the gnawing hunger that had plagued him despite the ability to replicate oven warm, burned loaves had had no physical ramifications.
It’s weird and disorienting, but at the same time he’s so very glad. With no physical reminders, there’s nothing smacking Clint in the face with the fact that he unwilling hurt people he cares for under Loki’s control again.
At least Clint seems to be dealing with it better this time around. Whatever Agent Coulson had said to him, he’s at least talking to his assigned psychologist now. It makes guilt thrum, hot and thick in Steve’s stomach, to realise how badly he had failed Clint as well as Tony, by not taking advantage of the support that had been available to him after the first time.
Steve takes a deep breath and pushes that unproductive thought aside, focussing instead on the bright clean relief, as he pulls on the pants Bruce had been kind enough to bring for him. He thinks about getting out, about going home. Tony gives him a startled and slightly – he hesitates even to think it about Tony Stark – shy smile when he shares that sentiment.
“Home, Cap?”
The guilt, like a scar that didn’t heal right, will probably always be there. But it isn’t a white hot flare that almost brings him to his knees now, either. He offers Tony a lopsided smile of his own. “Yeah. Home.” He doesn’t say anything else. He doesn’t need to.
Tony glances down and away, turning over his tablet in his hands for a second, quiet in a way he rarely is.
“You guys coming or you want me to tell the medical staff you’ve moved in permanently?” Clint hollers from the hallway.
Tony sniffs affectedly. “Oh, as if. I own garages better than this dump.”
“Wouldn’t let Director Fury hear you say that, Stark.” Agent Coulson says, appearing silently next to Clint, Natasha hovering behind him like a red-headed shadow. “He’s very proud of this place.”
Tony’s smirk only widened. “Fury likes me. We’re buddies. I’m replacing his security.”
Tony probably thinks he sounds sarcastic and nonchalant, but Steve can clearly hear the notes of pleasure and pride that Fury’s capitulation have obviously brought him. He meets Clint’s eyes for just a split second, and then they both look away.
Tony hasn’t noticed the moment. Instead, he’s pushing past the SHIELD agents and striding purposefully out of medical, greeting Bruce enthusiastically and immediately starting to talk about something which contains the words ‘particles’ and ‘geometric’ and ‘fusion’ and ‘polymer’ too many times to hold his interest. Instead, Steve turns a slight but genuine smile on the others, still waiting for him. “Shall we?”
Together they follow Tony, who breaks off his rambling science monologue when he sees their transport. “Happy brought the limo? Awww, he must love me, he hates the limo.”
“Get in the car, Stark.” Bruce prods him in the small of the back, laughing. “I want to go home too.”
Tony falls in first, Bruce clambering in after him and their two dark heads immediately going together to continue their discussion, Tony’s hands excitedly sketching in the air. Thor follows, bouncing a couple of times and making the whole car shake before declaring a fondness for “This car of unusual size,” and reclining regally.
Natasha laughs and ducks under Coulson’s arm, still holding the open door, to sit next to him, pulling Clint in after her. “It’s like going to prom,” Clint says, failing utterly to hide his awe under the snappy words. “Stark, take us somewhere classy.”
“Sure,” Tony says easily and leans forward to tap on the glass, “Happy? Take us to a sit-down Burger King. Barton wants to go somewhere classy.”
“Hey, I’m an international super spy. I don’t just eat drive through. I know classy,” Clint protests, but Steve doesn’t hear the rest.
Agent Coulson pushes him into the car and follows, closing the door behind him. He leans over and states, in a quiet, level voice that still efficiently cuts off the burgeoning Stark vs. Barton snark fest: “No. We are all going back to the tower where food has already been ordered and we are going to do something nice and normal and quiet. Board game night.”
Steve blinks, but doesn’t object. He’s been a soldier too long to argue against that note of command unless he has more of an issue than- wait? What?
Tony has no such inhibitions. “Pffft. No. That’s lame. I’m going to drink about seven pints of coffee and then get down to my workshop. It’s been weeks-”
“Four days,” Natasha interjects and is roundly ignored.
“And I miss my robots.”
“No,” Agent Coulson says sternly. “You will be participating with the rest of us, and this is the first time all of you have been in the tower whilst all, simultaneously, being Avengers. We are going to celebrate.”
“With board games?!”
“Yes, Stark. With board games.”
“But-”
“You’ve just been released from medical. Let’s not start this by me threatening you with my taser.”
Tony’s bottom lip jut mutinously. “That sounds dirty.”
“We’re playing Monopoly,” Bruce says, smiling serenely.
Tony makes a disgusted noise and thwacks his head against the window. “I hate Monopoly. If I start playing with real money, can I have all the little hotels to start?”
“No.”
“But-”
“It has to be Monopoly,” Bruce says, calmly overriding Tony’s increasingly shrill protests. “Steve will wipe the floor with all of us at Risk. Natasha will know who the murderer is in Clue before we even open the box. The Other Guy hates Mousetrap – don’t even ask, he just does. If you think I’m playing cards against you or Clint, you drastically underestimate my intelligence. Pepper and Coulson would own us all at Scrabble, and Thor doesn’t know how to play anything anyway. So, Monopoly.”
Tony’s sulky look deepens. “But-”
“Tony. No. We are playing Monopoly.”
Tony glares at him, before turning thoughtful. “Waaaaait. This is too… You planned this. This wasn’t a surprise announcement for you.”
“Coulson let me choose the game if I helped convince you.”
“That,” Tony splutters for a second, “that’s so unfair. I want to choose the game.”
“Which game?” Agent Coulson asks calmly.
Tony considers. “D&D.”
“What’s-” Steve starts, confusion furrowing his brow.
Clint talks unapologetically over him, leaning forward to see Tony so fast that Natasha gets an elbow in the ribs. “No. Absolutely not. The fact that you even suggested it tells me that you know how to break the game.”
“The fact that you even said that tells me you can too, Barton.”
Clint scoffs and puts an arm ostentatiously around Natasha, pulling her close. “I have a girlfriend. A super-hot, super flexible, ballerina girlfriend. I don’t have to get my jollies playing D&D.”
“I have- okay had a- I am shocked, Barton. Shocked and appalled that you would contribute to such stereotypes.”
“So you’ve asked Pepper to play then?”
“I- That’s completely different.”
“How?”
“It’s a genius thing, don’t worry your pretty little head about it.” Tony looks around the car and sighs. “I’m playing Monopoly, aren’t I?”
Bruce pats his arm sympathetically.
It’s Steve, unrepentantly grinning, who says, “Yeah.”
Tony huffs again, but there’s amusement obvious in his eyes as they slide off Steve and behind him, locking onto Agent Coulson. “Can we play on my Star Wars Monopoly board, Agent?”
Agent Coulson gives the absolutely-not-a-smile he gives when things are going his way. “I suppose so,” he says magnanimously.
“Excellent. I want to be Han Solo!”
A scuffle immediately breaks out between Clint and Natasha as she – loudly – insists that she refuses to be stuck playing Princess Leia.
Thor sticks a finger into Bruce’s armpit to make him giggle as the other scientist catches Tony in a headlock for insisting he be something called a wookie. Agent Coulson turns a pleased, if slightly baffled, expression on Steve. “Is it always like this?”
Steve feels his own smile broaden. “God, I hope so,” he says, as the car stops outside the tower.