Work Text:
Steve crouched down, held up by his hands and knees, and emptied the contents of his stomach.
When was the last time he’d thrown up? Had he done so since the serum? He couldn’t remember.
Didn’t really matter did it?
Not really.
Dimly he heard shouting all around him, but it was muffled, like he was under water.
He wished he was under water; encased in ice, never found, never released.
One voice stood out from the rest. He knew that voice. He loved that voice. Sure, there was a history of anger and betrayal mixed in there with the happiness, camaraderie and safety, but he loved it all the same. At one point that voice had sounded like home.
And besides, it's not like he had a right to judge anyone for anything anymore, not ever. Not while he remembered what he could have been like had he been indoctrinated into that ruthless culture from childhood. He had control of his body now, this was true, but did he want it was the thing. Should anyone have it, knowing what his body and mind were capable of?
Steve heaved again, throwing up only bile. It hurt his throat coming out and tasted disgusting. It wasn’t so disgusting, though, as remembering what the cruel bastard wearing his face had done to Jack.
Jack Flag, his friend and ally. Oh god. Oh god. Ohgodohgodohgod.
He felt himself start to shake violently.
The voice beside him got louder, crouched now next to him. An arm came up to rest across his shoulder blades in solidarity, warm and comforting.
‘Get away,’ he wanted to tell Tony. ‘He could come back at any moment, take over this body, and take that arm of yours off. Don’t you have any self-preservation? Run!’
But to warn Tony meant he had to talk, and he didn’t remember how to do that. To push Tony away meant he’d have to look up, and he didn’t want to do that, either. Looking up meant everything was real, yet maybe if he stayed still and kept looking at this one point on the ground for all eternity, reality beyond that one focal point would cease to exist.
“It wasn’t you, Steve. It wasn’t you,” Tony said, persistent with it. Urgent with it. “We’ve all been there. Even you’ve been there. Remember your altercation with the Purple Man? This is just like that, Steve. Just like it. None of it was real . It’s all fake, what happened this past year was a lie on top of an already existing lie. It wasn’t you!”
‘How do you know? ’ Steve wanted to ask. Had he ever had the chance to figure out the man he was? If Hitler was meant to win...
Steve felt himself dry heave and Tony’s arm tightened around him.
If Hydra had been meant to win, his mind supplied again, and the Allies forced the cube to create a world where they didn’t win, neither the Steve-that-had-been-Hydra, nor the one before it - the one who had loved Tony, had fought alongside Jack, had battled the Skull and Thanos - neither of those Steves were real .
So then who the fuck was he? Who was Tony? Who was Sam or Bucky or Jim or Namor? Who were any of them?
If history shaped and molded a person, what was a person without it? Two histories had been created for him, for all of them, one he’d lived in for years, the other only the past year. He certainly preferred the former over the latter, yet he had no actual ownership over either…
‘I loved you in one of those realities,’ he thought to Tony, ‘even as we fought, I loved you. Was it real? Where you meant to find me in the ice, or did the cube arrange it that way? Were we meant to be friends? Lovers? If there had been no interference by anybody, would we have ever met at all? How can you say it’s not me when neither of us know who the real me is or if you’re the real you?
He sobbed silently, distraught with the thought of it.
“He’s in shock,” another voice said. Sam. Jesus, the things he’d done to Sam this past year. Sam, his brother in all but blood… ohgodohgodohgod .
“I can see that!” Tony snapped, holding Steve impossibly tighter. “And I can’t say I blame him! You would be, too, if something messed around with your head and remade you into something you hate. Not one of you here would handle this any better.”
“No one blames, you, Steve,” a third voice said. Carol. He also owed her an apology or five hundred. They used to drink kale smoothies together, he and Carol. Did the real Carol drink them? How much of Carol was Carol and how much of Carol was cosmic cube Carol? Would she still be Carol, his smoothie partner Carol , in a different world?
“Give him to me.” Another voice. Bucky. Bucky who’d had his memories taken from him, time and again. Bucky who would understand how dastardly Steve felt. Except that Bucky wasn’t real, either. Was he alive because the cube willed it? Would Bucky, a WW2 soldier like Steve, have survived a war where their enemies had won? And assuming he and Bucky were destined to go down on that flight, before the Allies changed the universe, would anyone have bothered to turn him into the Winter Soldier under those circumstances or would they have killed him outright?
“That’s not happening. At all,” Tony said, resting his forehead on Steve’s shoulder.
“I only wanted you to be happy. Red Skull said you’d be happy,” a young, shrill voice interjected. Kobik. A rush of hatred, strong and burning, swept through Steve like a raging fire only to be immediately chased away with guilt. Who hated a child who had been manipulated? Who did that? A monster, that’s who. Someone like the Hydra version of him had been.
Steve recoiled. Jerking with it. But Tony steadfastly refused to be dislodged. This, above everything, gave Steve hope.
…Steve didn’t want to be a monster. He’d rather die. Did that count for something?
Steve felt Tony tense beside him, heard Tony’s heart beat faster. Tony was thinking. Tony was coming up with a plan. Ohgodohgodohgod.
“You can still make him happy,” Tony said.
“Oh, this I’ve got to hear,” Sam replied, exasperated.
“I fail to see how this can be fixed,” Carol agreed.
She had a point. Their fake world was in ruins. What damage the Chitauri... oh god, another thing Hydra-him had done. Growing Chitauri? Jesus, did he have anything left to throw up? He really needed to throw up... hadn't done, the fight between the Hydra regime and the superheroes had accomplished. An apocalypse couldn't have done a better job of making the world unlivable.
Tony ignored all of them, addressing only Steve.
“I heard the Hydra version of you in my coma, Steve. I know how you feel. About me. I feel the same. We’ve done some pretty terrible things to each other in the name of the greater good; things we’ve never been able to fully come back from. But beneath it all there has always been love. I'd give my life for yours in a heartbeat, wouldn't even hesitate. And I'll love you until my dying breath,” Tony trembled around Steve as he paused for a moment, mid-speech, and he took a deep breath, then another, as if he were bolstering himself up for something, then finally...
“So, that said, do you trust me to fix this? It's going to take a leap of faith.”
Steve did trust Tony. Of course he did. Tony was the most resourceful guy Steve knew. The futurist, now and always.
If anyone could fix this, it would be Tony.
...Steve needed it to be Tony. Needed him to make everything real .
Steve still couldn’t talk though, so he simply nodded instead. Eyes forever trained to his spot on the ground.
“Good,” Tony replied, and Steve felt him turn towards Kobik though Tony kept his hand on Steve’s shoulder as he did as if he were afraid to let go. Steve appreciated the sentiment, even if he couldn’t voice it. Solidarity. The two of them were at their best when they were solid.
“Undo everything you’ve done, only go back a bit further. Reset reality to the point before the Axis powers gained the upper hand,” Tony requested. “And then no more interference. Not this time. Let it all play out as it will.”
“I can do that – I can do that!” Kobik announced, seemingly eager to please.
But Tony wasn’t done. He turned to address the small crowd gathered around them. The scent of fire and metal hit Steve’s nose. Jim. And the lighter smell of the sea, of salt and seaweed and fresh, crisp air betrayed Namor’s presence. His Invaders. His team. That was still true, wasn’t it? If the cube had set the first false reality just after the war, then then surely the Invaders had been real as they existed during the war. It was something real he could cling to.
“And you four,” Tony added, “I know you won’t remember any of this, or me, but do whatever you can to make sure the Allies win. You have to.”
“Oh, we will definitely do that,” Bucky replied, sounding actually eager for it.
“Indeed,” Namor added. “I have a hard time believing the Axis were ever in the position to win anything. You need brains to win, something Nazis lack. I’m sure their upper hand was accomplished through sorcery.”
“Count on it,” Toro agreed.
“We’ve got your back on this, Steve, buddy,” Jim said, the first of the Invaders to address Steve specifically. It made Steve’s heart twinge. Jim always was the heart of the group.
“Good,” Tony replied, turning back to Steve, his voice gentling.
“And what I need you to do, the once and future Captain of my heart, is go kick some Nazi butt. Then find that damn block of ice, crawl into it, and wait for me.”
That Tony said all of this without any irony had Steve shaking a little less, made him a little more grounded, not quite ready to smile, if he ever would be, but wanting to. It was the only thing he’d felt other than guilt and revulsion for hours, so he’d take it as progress.
“I can’t imagine my life without you in it,” Tony continued and Steve melted, wanting to cry. “I can’t imagine that we won’t find each other again. Go win this thing, and then come back to me, here in the future. Please .”
The desperate hope in Tony’s voice sliced through the remainder of Steve’s guilt in a way nothing else had managed. It gave him strength when he hadn’t previously thought he had any left to give. He looked up then involuntarily, unable to stop himself from doing so any more than he’d be unwilling to breathe, and met Tony’s gaze.
Tony was smiling sadly at him, tears in his bright blue eyes. Steve felt his heart squeeze at the sight of it. Tony should never look so sad. Not ever. He would protect Tony from any and all heartbreak if he could. There was really no reason for them both to be lost and of the two, he’d much rather keep that burden on himself.
“I will,” Steve said, in a strangled voice, hoarse from disuse. He knew he shouldn’t make promises he wouldn’t remember to keep, but if there was any justice in the world, any light, he’d find Tony again.
...And he then added, “I do love you, you know.” Because fake or not, he still had a lifetime of regret, and some things should always be said. He had been a fool to think otherwise.
“I know,” Tony replied, smile growing brighter. “I love you, too.”
Tony leaned towards Steve, eyes closing, giving Steve just enough time to anticipate the feeling of soft smooth lips against his, gently colliding before pressing more firmly, growing more persistent, mouth opening over Steve’s, tongue licking his lips, wanting inside, while his hand reached around Steve’s head to bury in his hair. Steve moaned, basking for a moment in Tony’s scent and his taste, committing it to memory, then he gave as much as he got, pressing into Tony all urgency and tongue and deep-seated want...
When he opened his eyes again, it was to the sight of a European coastline and the smell of gunfire, and he couldn’t seem to remember why his lips tingled as if they’d been kissed.
The future was one big ball of crazy.
Steve was still partially convinced he’d been caught in a tornado somehow during the war and was still kind of expecting a yellow brick road and some Munchkins to appear out of nowhere.
Only the future didn’t have yellow brick road. It had freeway overpasses, which, yeah, okay, was a neat improvement, but be that as it may, the future was nuts. This was unequivocal.
For example, Steve had been woken from an apparent ice nap (…was that even a thing? Erskine sure as hell neglected to put that one in the brochure) to a circus strong man, Tinkerbell, a really, really big fella named Hank - as all big fellas ought to be named - and a talking robot all staring down at him. At that was the normal part.
He came to find out the circus strong man was a norse god. A. Norse. God. Not even Lewis Carroll could make this shit up, and that guy had obviously been a little too friendly with the bottle. Or friendly with something anyway.
But Steve was good. He was fine. He could handle Norse gods, sure. Thor was a nice enough fella. Maybe they’d even be friends. After all, if Steve could make friends with Namor, Steve could make friends with anybody . Norse gods ought to be a cakewalk by comparison.
Yet some moron had thought it a good idea to move the Dodgers to California (who on earth would want to move to California? Crazy people, that’s who! New York had everything one needed. Clearly). Like hell Steve would root for the Yankees. Like hell.
The future wasn’t all bad though, Steve guessed. Women had more rights, so that was good. Steve wished his mother had had the same freedom and acceptance the women of today did, but he was sure, if there was such thing as an afterlife, that she was smiling down from wherever she was currently ruling, glad for this turn of events.
People of different races also had more rights, which was also swell. That’s the way it should have always been.
And there was Thai food and Netflix and Google and good lord Caramel Mocha Frappuccinos were the thing of dreams .
But the best thing the future had going for it by far, was Tony Stark.
“It’s really great of you to open your home to me, but are you sure you don’t mind, Mr. Stark? I don’t want to be an imposition.”
By this point, Tony had already taken Steve out to numerous restaurants and museums, had taken it upon himself to show Steve all the best the 21st century had to offer in order to help him adjust. Had even given Steve a part in the team he funded.
Steve had never been more grateful to anyone in his life . He didn’t know where he’d be without Tony. He had a home. He had a purpose .
But maybe there was a little bit of his childhood left in him, where he’d been small and sickly and a burden on his drunken father, because Steve couldn’t understand why Stark, a virtual stranger not a week or two ago, would do all of this for him.
“I told you,” Stark smiled, blue eyes bright as the sky and shining with laughter. Belatedly Steve felt a twinge of familiarity, but that couldn’t be, could it? Either way, happiness was a good look on Stark. “Call me Tony. And Steve? You could never be an imposition, not even if you tried. You outsmarted Kang . You agreed to lead the Avengers. You’re Captain America!”
…and there was the downfall of the 21st century. This weird hang-up they had over his alter ego. Those comics books were just plain weird, and some of the positions the artists drew him in damn near physically impossible. And then there were the lunch boxes. Lunch boxes! And if the comics were weird, that terrible movie that came out in the 1990’s was moreso. That fella did not look like Steve at all. What were the producers thinking?
A part of him, a part Steve felt instantly guilty about, was… disappointed that Tony seemed so hung up on Steve’s suit and shield. But he’d get used to it. It was just a fact of life that came with this new century, apparently. Tony certainly wasn’t the only one gaga for Captain America, and Steve wouldn’t be the one to take him from him.
Tony must have noticed something on Steve’s face, though, because he was eyeing Steve with an intent to study that had Steve’s heart pounding a bit, but also felt remarkably… recognizable.
Why did that keep happening?
“I know it’s a lot to take in. Everything. You’ve been built up to legend status as you slept. That has to be… disconcerting.”
Steve snorted. Disconcerting was one word for it, sure.
“But you have to know, Steve,” Tony continued, earnestly. “And I do mean Steve, not Captain America, that I’m ecstatic to have you here. Lonely bachelor like me getting a morally upright, handsome roommate like you. Pretty sure I’m the one who benefits most in this scenario. I’ll never figure out just how I got so lucky, but I’m not about to question fate.”
Steve smiled, warmed all over. He really did like Tony Stark. Not everything in the 21st century was crazy. Some of it just made perfect sense.
“Thank you,” he said, determined not to shame his mother’s memory with impoliteness, no matter how tongue tied he might feel, just then. And then he added, “Do you believe in fate?”
…Because he was curious and because Tony didn’t seem like the type to let anything, especially not a bitter mistress like fate, dictate his life to him.
“I believe in you,” Tony answered, sincere in it.
The warmth within Steve grew.
“So you’re Iron Man, Tony?”
Tony looked at him with trepidation, clearly stressing about Steve’s reaction, and answered, “Yes.”
Steve felt his heart squeeze at Tony’s unease. They could not have that now!
“Well, that’s great! Two of the best guys I know are actually the same fella. Should have worked it out earlier. Bit embarrassed I didn’t,” Steve admitted.
There was genuine embarrassment there, Steve wasn’t lying just to make Tony feel better. He really should have worked it out. Just what kind of renowned tactician was he if he couldn’t figure out that two of his favorite people were one and the same? Especially when he worked with one and lived with the other? But, yes, owning up to a little embarrassment was worth it to see Tony smile.
Steve felt Tony kiss his naked shoulder, and closed his eyes in anticipation.
His body had already healed from their activities earlier, the serum had ensured that, but he was still wet from the lube they’d used then, and Tony’s cum. And he didn’t care if he was no longer stretched. He didn’t have the patience to wait. He wanted the burn and the pleasure, the rush of blood to his head, the euphoria, all of it. Wanted the reminder through motion, and the feel of skin against his own, and heat, that they were here, both of them, in the now. Wanted Tony’s breath against his ear and his fingers digging into Steve’s hips to hold him in place as he had him. Wanted the rocking motion that would culminate in sweet, precious release.
But Tony refused to be rushed, insisted on spreading him out, preparing him. One finger became two, then three.
Tony was the only one in this century who knew that Steve could be broken. That outward appearances and reputations notwithstanding, Steve was still capable of being fragile. Like so many other rare and fleeting moments in this new life he found himself in, that thought made him want to cry. And, as ever, he didn’t know why.
What did they call it? Déjà vu? The feeling that he’d lived this moment before? Maybe a thousand times? Maybe zero? Or maybe it felt familiar because it was right? Possibly both?
He buried his face in the sheets, breathing in the scent of detergent with his ass stuck up in the air, and wiggled closer to Tony’s ministrations. But when Tony refused to take the hint, refused to be rushed, Steve turned his head and asked…
“Were we meant for this, you and I?”
Tony paused for a moment, stilling, his breath hitching. ‘He probably has his thinky face on’, Steve assumed with a twinge of adoration as one second of silence became two. ‘Must have stumped him.’
The thought made him smile.
“I think,” Tony said, using the hand not currently stuck in Steve’s ass to caress Steve’s hip gently, “that we’re meant for this because we choose it, so it might as well be fate because I can’t even imagine anywhere else I’d rather be than here with you now. And I have a pretty active imagination, Steve, so if I can’t imagine it, no better place exists.”
With that Tony lined himself up and pushed in, and Steve moved his face back into the pillow so it would catch any dripping tears escaping his eyes.
Later Tony is curled up beside him, head on Steve’s chest as Steve moved circles into Tony’s hair with the tips of his fingers, feeling more at peace than he had his entire life, pre and post ice. He couldn’t help but think back on the concept of déjà vu.
It was so familiar, the way Tony moved within him. The way he moaned and gasped. The way he looked at Steve like he couldn’t believe he’d been so lucky.
So familiar. Yet not. Their relationship, this closeness, was still rather new. Yet it all felt so timeless.
“Tell me about the physics thing again, with the timeline,” he asked. He had an eidetic memory. He remembered what Tony told him, but he wanted to hear Tony’s voice, wanted it all reaffirmed.
“Quantum physics,” Tony said against his breast, and Steve felt rather than saw Tony’s smile. “The timeline is constant. Unbending. So when a choice is made that wasn’t a part of the original timeline, instead of the timeline bending to accommodate the change, the timeline repairs itself by the change breaking away and forming a new, alternate timeline.”
Steve nodded, working through it in his head. “It’s funny,” he replied after a beat, still pondering. “I feel like I’m on my third life now. That the first life was me before Erskine, and the second just after, and now there is this me, the one who is here with you, in this time. And, truth be told, there are days when I feel old enough to have lived more than three lives. I’m sure we all do. But I think I’ve been looking at it the wrong way.”
Tony raises his head to look at Steve dead on, blue eyes flashing in amusement. “Go on,” he coaxed, eyebrow raised in interest.
“I just think,” Steve said, pausing for a brief moment to bend his head down and place a quick kiss on the top of Tony’s head, “that maybe every day, every moment, is the opportunity to live a new life, make better choices. If we’re going to create a new timeline every time we make a different choice than the one we might have, then maybe it’s our responsibility to try and make sure that the new timeline is a better one with every choice that we make.”
Tony smiled, the love shining brightly in his eyes unmistakable just then. “I like that,” he responded and settled his head back on Steve’s chest. “How’d you get to be so smart?”
Steve chuckled. “Must be the company I keep,” he said, smiling.
For the first time since waking up in the 21st century Steve wanted to crawl back in the ice and stay there.
SHIELD made him a fugitive. They’d told him he had to arrest his friends for hypothetically resisting a law that hadn’t even passed yet, and when he’d refused, they shot at him.
Shot. At. Him. Contrary to popular belief, Steve was not bullet proof.
Maria Hill was a dozen cherries short of a fruitcake. This was fact . And fuck SHIELD, anyway.
And here he was a fugitive, wanted by said crazy people. Good lord, what was his life?!
His first instinct had been to hide. To go to his safe house and hibernate like a bear until it was safe to come out and the world stopped acting so batshit insane.
But if crossroads resulted in a new universe being born, and, good god, this seemed like a big, huge crossroad, then perhaps the new universe he could possibly be creating right at this moment would be better off with option B. Find Tony.
Which was what found Steve at Tony’s door, his home away from home, whenever his work with SHIELD allowed him the reprieve. Tony had made it clear long ago that Steve was always, always welcome whenever, and why did Steve need to work anyway, Tony was more than willing to support them both.
…Which probably wasn’t going to be a problem anymore considering he probably no longer had a job, now that he thought of it. Nor a SHIELD sponsored apartment.
He wondered if Tony would be glad or dismayed to have his lover back under the same roof as him now, though, considering everything. Tony liaised with the government. He had to know…
That Steve wasn't sure of the answer to that scared him more than armed SHIELD agents ever could.
But then Tony opened the door, looking so starkly relieved to see him, eyes running over Steve head to toe with unmasked urgency, as if to make certain he didn’t have a scratch on him. Steve thought, the universe they’re both in, whichever it may be, was going to be okay.
They’d figure something out.