Chapter Text
In the end it was fucking Stark who witnessed and dealt with the PTSD Steve pretended wasn’t there. During an Avengers meet and greet in the lobby of that damned tower, Steve stood there in full costume holding his shield snug against his body his grin tight at the edges. He felt like a puppet all over again. They were finally finished and it was just him and Stark left with a few stragglers as they made there way to the exit. He was tired.
The boy wasn’t yet a man. His hair straggly, his eyes bright. Nice shirt pants too long. His smile almost scared. ... meeting his hero was no doubt frightening. He reached his arm out for a hand shake and suddenly it wasn't some child he'd never met at a stressful meet and greet to garner more goodwill for Fury’s pet project.
Instead it was Bucky reaching and reaching, always reaching and never close enough. Bucky falling, Bucky trying to smile for him, Bucky knowing he was going to die, and Captain fucking America useless to save him.
Steve didn’t know he’d shuddered, didn’t know his eyes had gone blank while his face paled dramatically and he’d frozen with his hand half raised, but suddenly Stark was at his arm and saying something to the kid about saving the world and Pepper and Steve was moving.
He didn’t even know if he was walking of being dragged as far as he was aware Tony could have picked him up and flown him to Staten Island because his mind was reeling and then it wasn't.
There was a glass in his hand. Amber liquid in generous amounts inside
"I can’t get drunk." The sound of his voice startled him it seemed to pull him further away from that damned bridge.
"Yea it’s a pity. Drink it any way. It’s the good stuff."
He downed it. It really was good. Looking around he realized he was in Tony’s workshop, or at least he assumed it based on the messy state of the work space. There was the robot Dummy. He'd heard that the claw thing had saved Tony. He figured the other robot must be You. He only remembered vaguely it because its name reminded him of “Who’s on First.”
"Want another?" Tony asked filling his own glass and avoiding eye contact.
Steve shook his head. "I should.." he gestured the door with his chin.
"It took me weeks to bathe after I was tortured in Afghanistan."
Oh. Apparently they were talking about this.
"Fucking ironic drowning me in the middle of a desert," Tony poured a third drink but just stared at it, it seemed that he should be moving it between his hands, fiddling observing it intently, but he didn’t. Tony Stark didn’t do still, so it was unnerving to say the least. He wasn't even looking at the drink, more looking past it.
"Flashbacks still come sometimes. For stupid shit. I drank my coffee too fast last week woke up under the work bench yelling at Dummy, thought he was, someone else. Jarvis will show you if you need that solidarity shit. I, well I’ve seen that look and you don’t have to tell me jack but if you need to freak out, you can come here. Hell you’ve got your own floor. But you still get to drink, and call me an ass and be Steve because whatever you saw when you checked out just now, it doesn’t change that you're you, that stand-up guy who’s a bit of a dick. And I’m all feelings-ed out now because I don’t share but you don’t seem to have anyone who’s not treating you like a dandylion in a tornado "
Steve figured he should talk back, but he didn’t really have any words left. So he just nodded. And let it sink in.
"A whole floor?" he finally managed because the silence was awkward.
Tony lit up
Suddenly Steve was getting the whole tour. It was obscene how much space there was. He felt guilty that in his mind he’d already moved in the moment he saw the plush couch.
Then he’d agreed to something and Jarvis did ... well not magic, but it seemed like it and he was being very efficiently moved in with all 6 of his possessions by a very intimidated looking junior SHEILD agent.
Tony was giddy.