Chapter Text
He feels like he’s dying. Which -- you know -- not the best way to wake up from a nightmare. He can feel his heart beating out a weak pulse far faster than it should be, feel the arc reactor over it. And he knows how this goes, there’s sweat and shaking; feeling like you can’t catch your breath. And even though he knows this, knows he’s not gonna die, it won’t last more than an hour he can’t help but -
can’t breathe can't breathe I can't fucking breathe fuck fuck fuck
He feels clammy, and his hands are shaking so much he can’t get out of his sheets. He can hear his breathing getting more and more ragged; and it just fucking figures he couldn’t have slept through the worst part of this had to go through it and deal with the aftershocks. He’s burning up and too cold, and feels like he’s got a fever in his entire body. He’ll never get over how it feels, no matter how many times it happens nothing will ever prepare him for it.
And to make matters worse, that's when Steve walks in.
He can’t catch his breath enough to say anything; stuck there gasping and helpless and exposed.
“Tony? Tony!” He hardly registers the hands that are frantically placed on his shoulders, everything is blurred and isn’t that a shame because he’d love to be able to see Steve’s baby blue’s right now. Steve’s hands are firm on his shoulders, one coming to smooth his hair back as Tony gathers himself as much as he can, eyes adjusting to the dark of the room and making out Steve’s form over him with concern etched into the lines of his face.
It’s times like this Tony remembers how old Steve is, fuck, how old he is. How long he’s been doing this whole life thing, and maybe it would have been better if he died of alcohol poisoning when he was a teenager. But that thought is promptly taken out of his mind when Steve’s voice breaks through his haze, “Tony? Are you alright, can you hear me?”
“Yeah...yeah, I can, yeah.” Tony is proud of the way his voice only wobbles a little bit. It was a little bit. Maybe it cracked a bit at first but he’ll blame sleep on that and not the way Steve’s eyes looked so genuinely concerned for Tony as he settled a hand on the side of his neck (his pulse, he’s feeling his pulse, fuck).
Steve breathes out a sigh of relief, not removing his hand though, feeling as Tony’s pulse comes down. “Does this happen often?” No judgement in his voice, nothing but concern and something like understanding.
“As of recently, yes, but it’s totally fine you know you can just, go anytime now I think I’m good. Thanks, uh, for, whatever it is that you were doing, it was totally working. Good man, Steve.” Tony’s doing his damndest of not looking at Steve in the eyes because who the hell knows what’s coming out of his mouth at this point.
But Steve still had his (warm, large, surprisingly soft) hand pressed firmly into the junction where Tony’s neck meets his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart and was he having another panic attack? Fuck, he was hot all over, his breathing picking up at the intimacy of this and that wasn’t a word Tony had in his vocabulary. Steve wasn’t saying anything, he was still just leaning over Tony, searching his face with his eyes, eyes concerned and something like sadness in them as well.
“I was around this a lot, you know, back during the war. Usually we didn’t talk about it, the men were all used to waking up in a cold sweat by then. I never thought that was any fair. Who knows how long that kept them up, if they lived the rest of their lives jumping up at loud bangs, all for what?” Tony stared up at Steve curiously, who was now sat on the edge of the bed, the thumb of his hand unconsciously rubbing circles into Tony’s collarbone. “Sometimes I’ll wake up and all I can taste is the water in my mouth. Feel the ice seeping into my lungs. Whatever wakes you up at night, Tony, you’re not alone in this. Don’t shake me off because of your pride, there’s nothing wrong with asking for help every once in a while.”
For once in his life, Tony didn’t know what the hell to say. To any of that, really. Steve was just gazing at him with that sad look in his eyes again, and Tony really didn’t like that look on Steve. Tony brought his hand up to cover the one Steve still has on his neck, breathing out slowly through his nose.
“We’re just two messed up peas in a ‘shitty past’ pod, eh, Cap?” That brought a corner of Steve’s mouth up, and Tony smiled back fondly, squeezing Steve’s hand before releasing it. And now it was awkward. Or, Tony thought it was awkward, you know, Captain America sitting on the side of your bed after he just saw you at the end of a panic attack awkward.
“Well, uh-” the words died in his throat as he felt Steve’s finger tracing the edges of the arc reactor through his pajama shirt.
“I like this. It’s keeping you alive, right?”
“Keeps the shrapnel from entering my heart, yep. Got it in one.” Tony’s voice did not waver. “You, uh, gonna go back to yours now? I think I’m good to go back to sleep now.” And by sleep Tony means begin at least five new projects.
“Thought you might appreciate the company.” Tony was almost going to say ‘Well, you thought wrong,” but that would be a complete lie. He would be a lying liar who lies about how much he wants Cap to stay here for the rest of the night and put his stupidly warm hands back over Tony’s pulse with his stupidly concerned blue eyes and - yeah, this was definitely a problem.
And thats when Cap (no, Steve) climbs into the bed with Tony. Captain America climbs into bed with him and wraps around him? What. His brain short circuits at Steve’s warmth lining up alongside his, arm securing around Tony’s middle (and he’s the little spoon; to add insult to injury, but. It is -- nice).
He can tell that this is (one of the few) things that Steve is better at than him; growing up like Tony did, didn’t exactly lend a lot of time to cuddling. He’s sure though, that if he had known how good it felt, he would’ve pushed a little harder for it (for any kind of human contact really). He sinks into Steve, the warmth, and physical contact a balm on his shaky nerves; like he was pulled apart and open for all the world to see and Steve’s covering him up. They’re in a world of just the two of them, where it doesn’t matter that Steve grew up before the polio vaccine, and the banana plague; it doesn’t matter that Tony’s got a magnet in his chest keeping him alive. All that matters is Steve tugging him closer, nuzzling into his neck, and that Tony’s stopped shaking.
And he wants to lose himself in it, lose his responsibilities and worries; just be him and Steve.
Tony Stark is many things, but a stupid isn’t one of those things; he knows what he’s feeling right now, and it isn’t just platonic love. But that’s ok, because that’s not what matters right now; it doesn’t matter that he’s halfway to head over heels for Steve, all that matters is this. Steve’s arm around his waist, his breath on his neck; his warmth surrounding Tony. And he’s never been more content.