Chapter Text
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Steve finally got the courage to follow the long corridor down to the left and knock gently on the last door, where he was told Tony was.
They'd been using the Wakandan facilities for nearly two weeks after it all happened, few people actually prepared for what they might find when they got home. The remaining Wakandan monarchy generously offered their help, giving places to stay, food, and medical help for whoever needed it. Okoye was the first to give it, her face stony and her eyes puffy.
"Our home is yours too, now. Use whatever you need. I'm truly sorry."
No one really expected to see Tony Stark again. Especially not arriving in a spaceship a week in, with a purple woman who looked less than happy to help him limp into the city, but did anyway.
She disappeared as quick as she'd came.
The creature Rocket didn't seem sad or happy to see her leave again. After she delivered him news that 'the rest of them' were gone, he stayed, sat in the room allocated for him just watching a wall and once in a while punching a chair. Steve had heard it a few times walking past.
Aside from seeing Rocket, the purple woman left quickly in the ship she'd came in. She didn't give the impression that she really cared that much about the raccoon.
But they all felt gratitude towards her that she'd helped bring Tony back.
He had stayed in the room Okoye had offered him, and not moved for six days. Food was left by different people outside the door everyday- shifts had unspokenly been created. When Bruce was around, he'd pick his lunch up from the canteen and place it in front of his door with a quiet knock. When Natasha wasn't kicking the shit out of punching bags, she got his dinner and made him a drink. Thor hung around too. He was one of the few who actively worried about the man. Not many people did. But Thor and Tony got along well, once. So he made him food.
Rhodey was there the most. He did the most, and on occasion tried to talk to his best friend. It rarely worked, but he was the only one Tony would speak to. He'd always eat the most of Rhodey's plates.
He also, Steve noticed, he never ate from Steve's.
Maybe it was just guilt that made him go there once in a while to put him down a plate of biscuits and some water.
They would still be there the next morning.
He didn't know why he didn't expect anything else, honestly.
He gave up on that. It was clear he didn't seem to be doing anything for his mental health.
Until one day, the day before they were due to leave for New York, Steve sat outside of his room.
Because he couldn't stop the guilt just eating him up inside.
It had been more than two years, but it didn't stop him from feeling fucking terrible.
"Tony?" He mumbled against the door.
The cold tickled his bare feet. Everyone was probably asleep. It was 7 o'clock, but no one made the habit of staying up late.
It was probably a stupid idea. Steve stood up slowly, and rested his hand on the door handle. There wasn't a lock on the doors, but out of respect, no one had tried to go into Tony's room except Rhodey. Everyone just took his word for it that the man was still alive.
'Tony Stark' kind of felt like a dream. Steve had no idea what he'd see if he went in there. But he felt like he needed to.
He pressed down on the handle, and the door gave a small creak as he pushed it open a fraction.
It was dismally dark inside, the blinds drawn tight so not even the evening light could seep in. He dared to take a step into the silent room, hanging onto the door in case he had to leave quickly. It was like everyone elses room, white walls, soft double bed, a wardrobe, a table and chairs. Except this room must have looked the least lived in than all of them. He caught sight of Tony on the bed.
He lay down on his back, his eyes wide open, watching the ceiling. It was nearly the same man that Steve remembered. The same dark, chocolate eyes and the same touselled, dark, unkempt hair. His body looked even smaller than usual somehow, his hand rested lightly on his stomach and the other to his side. He looked thinner. His lips were chapped and hung open slightly, his expression was empty.
But it was Tony.
He reacted as soon as he flicked his eyes to the side and saw that the intruder wasn't Rhodey. He snorted. There was a glimmer of surprise in his eyes for a fraction of a second, before he shuffled his body sideways to lie away from him.
"Hey."
It came out croaky and unsure, but Steve couldn't think of anything else to say.
He didn't get a reply for a good minute before Tony mumbled quietly.
"You never give it up, do you?"
He dared to take another careful step in, closing the door behind him.
"Apparently not."
Steve didn't trust himself to say anything else. He just stood, aware of how scruffy he probably looked out of his suit, in baggy pajamas and his overgrown beard. He had plans at one point to shave it. He'd gotten used to it now. Maybe it was a fresh start.
He felt stupid. Maybe he shouldn't have come at all- though Tony didn't seem to actively be kicking him out. Maybe they could talk.
"If you're here to talk you can forget it."
Ah. Nevermind.
Steve just folded his arms, watching Tony's chest rise and fall.
After a while, he asked in a soft voice,
"What am I allowed to do?"
He waited, hoping that the long stretch of quiet was just Tony thinking. But in the end, he didn't reply at all.
Silence fell back over them, and Steve bit his lip. He supposed, when he really thought about it, he didn't want to talk about it either. Somehow he knew that bringing up Siberia wasn't going to end well.
"We don't need to talk about it."
He didn't really know why he said it. In reality, they very much needed to talk about it- silence was only going to make it worse.
Maybe they didn't need to talk about it now.
Tony finally replied.
"Just stay then."
It was soft, and his voice broke as he said it.
Steve felt safer staying, though.
He wondered if he, the man who stuck a shield in his chest and left him in Siberia, would come as a comfort to Tony. He didn't think so. But maybe it would comfort him to have Steve doing something that wasn't that. God knows he'd probably relived it hundreds of times in his dreams.
He was nervous. Tony seemed irritated and maybe hurt by Steve's presence, but at the same time, comfortable with him being there.
He stood, just watching Tony's back for another five minutes, neither of them moving and the room filled with the slow sounds of them breathing.
Then he made what could simultaneously be the best or worst decision ever, and made towards the bed.
Careful not to startle him, Steve slowly lowered himself onto the mattress, one move at a time. The bed creaked, but Tony didn't move. He laid down, moving his body closer to Tony's until he curled and his leg touched the back of the smaller man's calf.
Clearly he didn't expect Steve to get as close as he did. Tony jumped at the contact- but didn't move from his position.
"You really think I'm the spooning type, Rogers?" He half spat, half laughed, half growled. Steve noticed how he'd tensed, the bitterness in his voice, but also how he hadn't moved and he was stiller than he'd ever seen him.
"You're not really giving any other options," Steve pointed out. They were barely touching, and Steve didn't really want to until he got the green light. Or at least, Tony's version of a green light.
He gathered that the man needed it. Some contact.? Someone by him.? Maybe it was just all in his head. But it felt right.
It clearly felt right to Stark too under all that thick skin, because after a few minutes, he started to un-tense, and after giving a weak attempt at a dominant growl he pushed his back quickly into Steve's chest. It was a harsh movement that nearly winded Steve, but it was a result. His beard, at closer look, was uneven and ragged, and Steve could see the stubble growing where it didn't usually from the back of his head just past his ear. He noticed things he never had from laying a few centimetres from the back of his head. He saw the gray that tickled the tips of his hair at the back and the way he shuddered sometimes when he exhaled too deeply.
It was nice. Steve knew Tony was too stubborn to admit that, or even turn around. Especially to admit that he missed Steve.
If he even did. Steve knew that he missed Tony.
The contact spread warmth through Steve's chest. He found it funny how small Tony looked curled into him. Tony wasn't even a really small man- probably shorter than average, but he was stocky and gave the impression of being much bigger. But compared to the super solider, it was kind of laughable. Steve almost chuckled against his neck.
He could feel how defensive Tony was being by just lying next to him. His back was still tense and he could see all his muscles through his shirt. He wished he could help him just...
He nibbled on his lip again, making sure his face was far enough away so that his beard didn't touch Tony's neck. He couldn't help but want to ask questions, he couldn't help but be curious-
"Did you see anyone... Go? What happened up-"
"Don't."
Tony's voice snapped back harsh and low, taking Steve by suprise. At the same time, his arm grabbed back to grip Steve's arm tightly. He pulled it forward with a force, and Steve didn't bother resisting. He just let Tony pull it around himself like a blanket. The force pulled Steve closer into Tony, and before he knew it, forehead was pressed into his neck and his hips pressed into the curve of his back. Tony's grip didn't loosen, even when Steve's arm was wrapped around his waist tightly. He maintained a tight grip on his wrist. Steve really didn't mind. He just focused on being still. Being what Tony needed.
The squeezing got harder. It hurt, but it was bearable. Steve offered comfort in return by twisting his hand up. He rubbed his thumb in circles along the knuckles that clenched his wrist tightly. The grip loosened. Just a little.
They must have laid there for about twenty minutes.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled quietly. And he fucking meant it.
"I know."
They stayed there, just resting into each others warmth. Steve didn't know if it was a sign of forgiveness. He didn't even know if it was a sign of trust. He felt bad. Maybe it was just a sign of desperation, and really, he shouldn't be there at all. His stomach clench.
His worry was quickly eased as Tony's breath slowed considerably. He sighed, the grip around Steve's wrist suddenly falling away. Warm fingertips traced the inside of Steve's arm, down to his palm, down to the tips of his own fingers. Steve had to stop himself from making a move to take his hand.
An hour must have passed when Tony's gravelly voice rumbled through Steve's chest like a fire.
"If you tell anyone, anyone at all that I was a little spoon I'll fucking strangle you."
The blonde chuckled.
"Okay," he replied simply, bringing the hand that was draped over Tony's waist to rest on the shorter man's stomach.
He felt pleased at the content sigh Tony let out without meaning to.
It wasn't exactly how he pictured his first meet with Tony after the accords. But he was glad it happened. He was glad he could help him. He was glad Tony could trust him somehow to sleep by him, even though the last memories were ones where Steve had tried to kill him. He was glad he was still.. Tony.
Yet there was a chunk of him missing that Steve couldn't place. Everyone lost people to Thanos. His heart ached when he thought of Bucky and Sam. But Tony lost something really, really important. Something different had happened to him up there.
In the end, Steve decided it wasn't his place to know. It hurt his heart to leave, but he had to. When Tony's breath had completely evened out and Steve knew he was asleep, he moved away gently so he wouldn't knock him awake, laid a blanket across his body and slipped out of the bed.
Maybe they could talk in New York. Maybe it would be better then. Maybe he could talk to someone he trusted, someone who wasn't him. He hoped he could.
He looked at the unfamiliarly peaceful face of Tony one last time, before he left the room.