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Tony had been on him lately for being reckless. Steve personally didn’t think he was being that bad—he was just doing what he could do. The team had plenty of heavy hitters on it right now, way heavier than him—Thor, She-Hulk, Tony himself—and Steve wasn’t team lead anyway, so he wasn’t needed back to coordinate things, and being point just made sense. Tony called it “throwing himself into danger,” but honestly, he was one to talk. Steve could check things out and their hardest hitters didn’t get tied up with anything minor, that way. After everything, Steve thought it was the least he could do. And he could take a lot of hits before they laid him out. Sure, he wasn’t the toughest on the team, not by a long shot, but he could stand up to a lot. That was something he could do.
So yeah, he knew Tony had been fretting himself over Steve being reckless. That was why it was so ironic that when it actually happened it was total chance—Steve hadn’t expected anything like that, hadn’t even been thinking about it. Maybe he should have been, but he honestly didn’t think the A.I.M. cell they were chasing had had time to set up any kind of explosives in the area—they’d chased them out of the area where they’d set up their base, hadn’t they? That was miles away. So when would they have done it, and why would they have done it over here?—so when he chased their attempt at a new super soldier into the abandoned building, he’d been more worried about the floor giving way under their combined weight or putting his foot through rotted floorboards than an explosion.
He hadn’t been thinking about suicide bombing, because why would A.I.M. want to waste the results of their experiment? He hadn’t been considering that they’d considered it a failed experiment until the exact moment when he heard the telling click and thought, Oh, hell, Tony will never let me hear the end of this if that’s what I think it is. He brought his shield up and ran for the other man, hoping he could stop him, do something—and then the wave of heat and force of an explosion hit him like a wave in the ocean, sucking him under the water with it. Steve thought, hell, I hope I survive this, because if I don’t Tony’s really gonna be upset with me—
And then as far as he knew, he was struggling to open his eyes, which was unreasonably difficult, because his eyelids felt incredibly heavy and seemed to want to flinch closed, and his lips felt very dry and cracked and he wasn’t sure if he was bleeding anywhere but he was pretty sure he was because his leg felt all wet and he was panting, gasping for air but he couldn’t get a deep breath, and his ears were ringing. Oh, he thought, but didn’t seem to be able to follow it up with anything, not when he was still panting for breath and couldn’t seem to get any air. In those first few moments, he didn’t have the first clue what had happened to him, and part of him wondered if he was waking up into an asthma attack. It was so hard to get a breath, and for a moment he was back in his narrow bed in the tenement where he’d lived, cold wind whistling through the walls as he shook with cold sweat and tried to get a good breath, straining his chest so hard there was nothing but pain in his seized-up lungs.
Except that his head hurt, and his mouth tasted like dust, and there was wetness trickling down the side of his head. Steve realized it wasn’t an asthma attack, but his brain wasn’t tracking, and he wasn’t sure what it was, or what had happened, how he’d ended up like this. Nothing seemed to be making all that much sense. He tried to sit up, but his body didn’t seem to want to respond, to move, and he had a feeling he’d just sort of twitched. It still hurt, pain rocketing through him, all over, head to toe, left him gasping. He realized his eyes were open, and there were blurry buildings obscuring a blue sky. Oh, he thought again. Looks like a nice day.
Somehow that triggered the thought that there was something he needed to be doing, a sense of urgency, and Steve tried to lift his head again, instinctively pushing down against the heavy weight covering him, tried to roll to one side. The pain shot through him again, bright and overwhelming and everywhere, all through him, like there wasn’t a single part of the whole universe not infused with pain. He might have groaned. He blinked, and the world swam in front of him. He didn’t remember having closed his eyes, but he must have, because then the sky came back from wherever it had gone.
He was blinking up into Tony’s concerned face a moment later. And it was strange, because it was like he hadn’t even remembered Tony existed until he saw him—hair falling into his eyes, sweaty and sticking to his forehead, so he must have taken his helmet off, his face flushed and his eyes frantic—but then when he did it was as if something had fallen back into place, and his life was complete again, and a wave of warm, bright happiness swelled in Steve’s chest, even bigger and brighter than the pain. He realized he was grinning, probably dopily, up at him.
He realized a moment later that Tony’s mouth was moving, but he wasn’t hearing anything at all. His ears were still ringing. Tony’s face was tight and he looked upset, mouth twisted even as he bit out words, and Steve had the idea he was probably yelling at him, but he couldn’t hear much at all through the ringing in his ears.
He tried to say something—something about how Tony could chew him out for being stupid for not seeing it coming, but not for being reckless, because he hadn’t been reckless at all, and he could show Tony reckless if Tony wanted, but he couldn’t hear the words coming out of his own mouth and that left him not sure if he had actually said them or not.
Tony’s face darkened, and he saw, as if in slow motion, his mouth form the words Don’t move, very clearly.
“I won’t,” Steve assured him. He blinked, because his eyes were watering in the bright sun, and squinted up at him. He still couldn’t hear his own words. His lips felt very dry, when he ran his tongue over the bottom one. It was cracked, bleeding. “I’ll be good.” He still wasn’t sure if he’d said that, either, but Tony’s face did something strange at that, so he figured he must have.
You’re always good. He could see Tony’s lips forming the words, but they didn’t really make any sense. Steve dragged in his breath, blinked again, and felt a swoop of vertigo as things started to come back together again. He’d been thrown free of the building in an explosion. He’d landed on his back in the street, which was why he’d been staring up at the sky. His shield and his shield arm were lying on his chest. The ringing in his ears slowly started to subside, but with that came a wave of nausea and the absolute conviction that if he so much as tilted his head he’d puke up his entire guts, the feeling crawling over him like a horde of Hank’s damn ants. He swallowed, gulped, uncomfortably. God, his head hurt.
Tony’s hand—the gauntlet—was on him a moment later. Holding him still? But then both of Tony’s hands were on him, without the gauntlets this time, firmly feeling down his sides, pressing on his gut. Steve thought, with a dizzy, heady kind of flush, that Tony’s thumbs were pressing in right above his groin, even though he shouldn’t have been thinking that way at all when he knew Tony was looking for internal bleeding or obviously broken bones. And it was—it was inappropriate, about a teammate, in the first place. “I scanned you with the armor’s sensors,” Tony said, and Steve caught wisps of sound that time. “No spinal injuries that I can see. I’m sure it’s not news to you that you hit your head, huh, big fella?”
“Got a hard head,” Steve managed, and oh, God, was that his voice, all raspy and broken and hoarse like that, little more than a whisper? He sounded like hell. No wonder Tony was overreacting like he was. Like he always did, Steve admitted to himself. “I’m, ‘m gonna be fine, Iron Man. Right back to the fight.”
“Uh, no,” Tony said. “I mean, I, uh, God, I sure hope you’re gonna be fine, buddy, but you’re not going right back to the fight. You broke your arm, hotshot.”
Oh. Was that why that side hurt so much? Steve shifted his eyes over to look, trying not to move his head too much, but the slight movement still made him want to hurl. And yeah, well, his arm was definitely twisted under him at an unnatural angle. Clearly Tony hadn’t had to use his genius brain to diagnose that one.
“Hey, look at that,” he managed to say.
Tony rolled his eyes at him, but there was a trembling smile on his lips that looked as if it might have been tears in another second on anyone else. “Yeah, trying not to, babe,” he said. His hands were on Steve’s face a moment later, straightening his head, and even with everything else, the touch of the firm, hard, callused fingers and strong palms sent a tingling burst of sensation through Steve, made his skin heat. The nickname did, too. Every time Tony called himself something like that, Steve found his belly knotting up with stupid pleasure, found himself blushing. He knew Tony didn’t mean anything by it, but it still—it made him happy. That Tony called him silly nicknames, even now. It let him know that their friendship was doing all right—when they’d been on the outs, every time they’d been on the outs, Tony hadn’t called him anything like that. Tony checked Steve’s eyes, a gentle thumb against each of his eyelids, then sighed.
“So, doc, am I going to live?” Steve joked. Tony glared at him.
“Hilarious,” he said. He had something in his hand now, a cloth of some sort, and was pressing it against Steve’s head. It hurt, and he flinched away, yelped despite himself. He wouldn’t have done it if he could have helped it, but it wasn’t all bad, because then Tony’s other hand was stroking his jaw, petting his face, gentle, soothing touches, like he needed them. And that was nice. “The fight’s practically over anyway,” he said. “Thor and Shulkie are just mopping up now. With Carol’s help. Looks like they’re having plenty of fun.”
Steve felt his face fall.
“I hardly did anything,” he muttered, mostly under his breath, but Tony must have caught it, because he gave him one hell of a look.
“No? Finding the A.I.M. base in the first place? Taking out what, a third of their ground troops? Figuring out what the experiment they were running even was?”
Steve could still feel the shock of horror when he realized they were trying to recreate the serum. Again. Make more of him. He’d wondered if they’d been making them for HYDRA, he’d wondered, he’d—he swallowed, hard. “Some scrapping at the start,” he muttered. “It’s hardly—”
“Jesus, he does all the work and then complains about how he didn’t take them all out down to the last guy,” Tony said, but the look on his face seemed incredibly fond to Steve, and his voice was affectionate, too. “Captain Heroism here’s out to give me a complex. Oh, I just scanned the facility and shot down some exterior defenses, I’m useless.”
“You’re not useless, Tony,” Steve said, firmly. Sternly. The way his jaw set made his head throb.
“Neither are you, big guy,” Tony said. “Okay, up you get. This is going to hurt like hell, stud; I’m sorry.” At first Steve thought he meant he should stand up, and he was willing to give it a shot, even though he had his doubts that he could do it, but then Tony was pulling his gauntlets back on and lifting him, just like that, one gauntleted hand coming up to cradle Steve’s head against the shoulder of the armor, and Steve felt stupid that he thought Tony would have wanted him to stand like this, about a half-second before it hit him that it was all hurting exactly as badly as Tony had warned him.
Steve went—somewhere else for a while, somewhere where he was hanging on with his fingernails and gritted teeth through the pain, just trying to stick it out. He could feel himself panting, the little gasps and whimpers that he put all his energy into holding back behind his teeth, the way he was sweating, but he wasn’t aware of much else. At some point he thought he might have heard Tony speaking into his comm—something about getting Steve off the field and back to real medical care, he was pretty sure, and he wanted to apologize to someone for having to leave them, and taking Tony with him in the process. He was sure the others could have still used Iron Man with them. But he was sure that if he opened his mouth he’d hurl, and he didn’t want to do that all over Tony’s armor, and everything hurt so damn much that he stayed quiet. He wished he was at least standing for Tony to hold him up, though. That’d have a little bit more dignity than the good old princess carry Tony had him in. Then something jostled his arm, and Steve was aware of clenching his jaw, swallowing a—loud—sort of noise, and that was all there was for a while.
When Steve woke up, he was aware of the incessant sound of beeping and the hum of electronics, the scent of disinfectant in his nostrils, the scratchy bleached feel and smell of hospital linens. It struck him first that he was in a hospital of some sort, and second that it was a twenty-first century hospital, third that he was cold, and clad in an embarrassing hospital gown, fourth that he could curl his bare toes in against the flat mattress and scratchy sheets without any pain, and fourth that he could hear familiar breathing and a heartbeat he knew better than his own in the room with him. Tony. A familiar pleasant tightness curled in his belly, a familiar warmth spread through him, a familiar ache twinged in his chest. Tony had stayed with him.
Then it struck him that his head really, really hurt. His arm—didn’t, but it felt strange, like he couldn’t have moved it if he tried, and he didn’t want to try, but his head was a sharp, heavy, throbbing mass of pain. He took a sharp breath in through his nose at the pain—bit the inside of his cheek against making a sound. It made opening his eyes a lot less attractive a proposition, but he wanted to see if Tony was really there. He felt like he would feel better if he could just—see Tony sitting there, rest his eyes on him. That’d be better than any painkiller, he was pretty sure. It might even make his head hurt less. He wasn’t sure how that would work, but he felt like it would.
He forced his eyes open against the pain, feeling like he was squinting into the sun. His eyes were watering, and they felt like they didn’t want to open. Sure enough, opening them made his head throb even worse, a hot wet heavy feeling of tears build up in his eyes, and he couldn’t see anything but a blur anyway. A light, sort of white blur, which supported the idea that he was in a hospital, anyway. He could feel needles connected to lines in his hand, anyway, the tape sticking them down to his skin. He blinked, blinked again, dragged in a deep, heavy breath that was at least easier than it had been, in his blurred memories of whatever had happened before this. He remembered struggling to breathe, wondering if he was having an asthma attack. His breath rasped a little in his chest and his throat, which felt a little sore, but it was coming easier now, less heavy. Steve figured that was good.
His eyes cleared, eventually, though Steve kept them barely open, lashes down low, so he could keep them from watering as much as possible, even though his cheeks already felt wet just beneath his lashes, under his eyes. He didn’t see Tony, though, and then he realized he was probably on his other side. He swallowed a sigh and somehow found the energy to turn his head on the pillow, to the other side of the room. It took more effort than he felt like it should, and Steve felt like he was straining to make his shoulders, the muscles in his neck, obey him, which made the pain in his head sharpen and throb hotly in his temples, beneath his skull, before his head finally lolled to the side.
But then he could see Tony, and that made it worth it. He usually tried to keep his feelings to himself, to keep from making them obvious, tried not to show them, because he was sure Tony didn’t feel the same, but he couldn’t help his breath from catching in his throat just at the sight of Tony sitting there in some battered old chair he’d pulled up beside Steve’s hospital bed. He had his head resting on one hand, elbow propped on the wobbly arm of the chair as he tapped at a tablet he had resting there, too, his fingers pushed into his hair, mussing it so it curled around them, tousled wildly and falling over his forehead like he’d been running his hands through it a lot. Tony was, he noticed with some surprise, wearing a Captain America t-shirt and an old, torn pair of jeans. He was as handsome as always—Steve always loved seeing him like this, less than put together, casual. It always made him feel like he got to see the real Tony, behind the flash and glamour. Steve felt something inside him go warm, something that had been knotted tightly relax, and he let out a sigh as he let himself relax into the bed. If Tony was there, he could relax. Tony wouldn’t be lounging there like that if they’d been captured or anything else had gone terribly wrong.
Tony’s head snapped up immediately, so he must have heard Steve sigh, then he started violently enough to knock his tablet to the floor.
“Oh, jeez, sorry,” Steve said, and his voice sounded very hoarse and rough, low and whispery. It seemed like an awful effort to make much sound at all. He started to sit up on instinct, as if there was any possible way to pick it up for Tony—it was just a reflex. The reflexive movement made him realize that his arm had been firmly immobilized—no wonder it felt like he couldn’t move it all.
“What?” Tony said, on his feet now. He shoved his hand back through his hair again. “Why? Oh.” He seemed to notice he’d dropped his tablet. “Whatever. Steve! You’re awake!” He blinked, seemed to register what he’d said, and shoved his hands in his pockets, rocked back on his heels, and gave a little laugh. “Well, that’s pretty obvious, I guess. You knew that, anyway. But—you just stay there—how are you feeling, huh, big guy?”
Steve found his lips tugging into a smile, even dry as they were and as much as his head hurt, and lifted the hand with all the tubes taped into it, waggling it equivocally back and forth. “Been better,” he managed. “Been worse.” His face felt tight and hot, probably from whatever parts of the explosion had managed to reach him. “Feel like maybe I hit my head,” he managed.
Tony huffed out a laugh. “Yeah,” he said, giving Steve a look that seemed fond, affectionate. He stepped forward, sat down on the side of Steve’s bed, and hesitated just a moment, then took his hand, pulled it back down to rest on his chest. “You stay still now, all right?” he said.
“How bad is it?” Steve asked. He wanted to reach up, touch his face, make sure he wasn’t burned too badly, but Tony was holding his hand now and he didn’t want to waste that. Tony’s thumb was rubbing warm circles on his hand underneath the tape. “Did I—there was an explosion?”
“You bet there was,” Tony said in a low voice. “Don’t worry, babe, still as pretty as ever.” He reached up with his other hand, gently squeezed Steve’s chin and jaw in his hand, gently enough it barely hurt, and let it drop. “Just looks like a sunburn. I’ve seen you get worse on the beach. You’re a lucky bastard as always. Hair didn’t even get singed.”
“’m always lucky when you’re out there on the field, ‘s all,” Steve managed to get out, and that warm, tight feeling in his chest got warmer when Tony grinned and laughed.
“I’m your good luck charm, is that what you’re saying, big guy?” he said.
“If that’ll get you out on the field with me, sure,” Steve managed. He felt lightheaded and his head was still throbbing, but everything felt better with Tony’s hand in his, with Tony bantering with him like this, like always.
“Guess I’d better,” Tony said. “Goes both ways anyway.”
“Huh?” Steve managed. He blinked up at Tony, who just smiled again and tapped his chest, right over Steve’s shield on his shirt.
“You’re good luck for me, too, Winghead,” he said, and Steve must have gone red all over, must have blushed. He felt hot all over, anyway, even if maybe his slightly burned face hid the flush. He dropped his eyes, ducked his chin, couldn’t help it.
“Good,” he said. “I, uh, I do my best out there, I mean.”
Tony was still smiling at him; he could see it out of the corner of his eyes. He curled his hand more firmly around Steve’s and squeezed, rubbing his thumb against the heel of his palm now.
“I know you do,” Tony said. “Trust me, slugger, I know that.”
“I didn’t mean to get blown up,” Steve said. “It wasn’t my fault this time.”
“Are you saying I should give you a break on this one?” Tony asked. “Give you this one for free?” He was still smiling a little, and he’d taken Steve’s hand in both of his now.
“Yeah,” Steve breathed, both tired enough not to bother with trying to sound stronger and caught up in the feeling of Tony’s hand in his. “You should.”
“I don’t know about that,” Tony said. “Wouldn’t want you to think you could just go around getting yourself hurt without getting a talking-to from me, would we?”
“I won’t tell,” Steve said, with a little bit of a chuckle that hurt, even as faint as it was.
“That’s not exactly the point, mister,” Tony said, and there was an odd roughness in his laugh, in his voice, along with an odd gentleness. “I have to give you some kind of reason not to throw yourself headlong into danger all the time. De-incentize it somehow.”
“Like you’re not always throwing yourself into danger?” Steve mumbled. “C’mon, Shellhead, pull the other one. I know you, remember?”
Tony smiled again, and it seemed even softer and sweeter than before, somehow. “Not the point either, slugger,” he said, and his thumb was rubbing a soft path along the side of Steve’s hand.
“What is, then?” Steve managed to ask.
“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you,” Tony said softly.
“And that’s your job?” Steve asked, smiling despite himself at the thought.
“Yeah,” Tony said, and laughed again. “I nominated myself for it, you see.”
“Thank you, fella,” Steve said, and let his own voice go soft, even as it wanted to slur out into a mumbled mess. That earned him another soft smile from Tony that made him go warm all through, and that was worth anything. “Y’take real good care of me, y’know?” It seemed suddenly important that Tony hear that. “I appreciate it, ‘ve always appreciated it. So much.” His throat was dry, but at least he’d managed to get that out.
Tony’s face did something odd, his mouth going soft and trembling until he bit his bottom lip, and he patted Steve’s hand, reached up and stroked his thumb along his jaw, making Steve go warm and shivery all over again, before he dropped it and sat back up. “Thanks,” Tony said roughly, then cleared his throat and blinked quickly. “Um, I had some ice chips for you,” he said. “I bet you’d like that. Hold on just a second, tiger.”
“I—” Steve started, and then subsided, because Tony was already up, fussing around. In a second later he was sitting back on the bed by Steve’s side with a plastic cup in his hand, holding a plastic spoon full of ice chips to Steve’s lips. Steve accepted them quietly, gratefully, really, but the best part was that Tony rubbed his chin, along his jaw, with his thumb again, stroking lightly along Steve’s jaw as Steve swallowed them. He felt himself go hot and pink again, and let his eyes slide closed as he took another spoonful of ice chips to suck on. Tony petted his jaw again, and Steve sighed with pleasure. This was worth any amount of pain, to have Tony want to take care of him like this. He knew that was stupid, and at any rate, he’d never let himself get hurt just to get attention from Tony, that was—that was pathetic, but. But God, it felt so good. “Thanks,” he managed after they melted and he swallowed the water. His eyes felt so heavy when he blinked then open again.
“Head hurting?” Tony asked sympathetically. “You’ve got that glazed over, eyes half-open look.”
“Yeah,” Steve said, and smiled a little, because Tony knew him so well he could see it on him, just like that.
“Plus, you know, a nasty head wound and bruises all over your face,” Tony said, with a forced little laugh.
“’S okay, Tony,” Steve managed, because he didn’t want Tony to be upset over it. “There’s not much they can do. I’ll just burn through any painkiller they’ve got, probably.”
“I can get you on something serious until you fall back asleep, at least, if you want,” Tony said. His face was very serious, grave, as he looked down at Steve, worry in the tightness around his eyes, his mouth somehow soft.
Steve’s head really did hurt, but he didn’t want to sleep again just yet. “I don’t want to sleep,” he said. He lifted his hand, not quite knowing what he wanted to do with it until Tony had it in his again, squeezing it lightly.
“You’d rather just lie there and suffer?” Tony demanded tightly, but his thumb was rubbing gentle circles into Steve’s skin again.
“I’d rather just lie here with you,” Steve managed, trying a smile that felt crooked and lopsided on his lips just to try and soften it a little, lighten it and make it feel less serious, less real.
Tony blinked at him a moment, and his mouth moved, making shapes, but no words came. He swallowed, then smiled again, suddenly, brightly. “You’d know I’d stay with you any time, sweetheart,” he said. “I could climb in bed with you while you sleep, but that might hurt, babe. Not enough room for both me and you, big guy.” He gestured illustratively at how Steve’s large arms were already precariously near the edge of the small hospital bed.
Steve felt himself go bright red, red into his ears and down his neck. He knew Tony was just teasing, but he had to look down, bite his bottom lip, because of that damn blush, and what it gave away. Like how much he really would have liked Tony in his bed. He wished. In his dreams. He swallowed hard.
“Sorry, sorry,” Tony said. “I shouldn’t tease, babe, I know.” He was petting Steve’s hand now. Steve wondered what that meant. “But if you wanna sleep, I can be here when you wake up, too. I can bring you a tablet so you can catch up on the news and we can play cards or whatever you want to do. And I’ll bring you some ice cream, any flavor. I just don’t want you to hurt, big boy.”
Steve shifted a little on the bed. “Um,” he said. “What about the peach gelato from Castelli’s?”
“Sure thing, slugger,” Tony said, with another soft, warm smile. “Anything you want.”
“Can I get a scoop of peach and one of lemon?” Steve tried, because Tony’s smile was so soft and so—so winning and he couldn’t help it.
“Now, what did I just say, babe?” Tony asked, his smile widening.
“Anything I want?” Steve tried.
“That’s it,” Tony said.
“And you’ll stay here?” Steve asked, feeling selfish. Tony had so much to do, and he was keeping him here, tied to his bedside. “Are you sure? You don’t have work to do?”
“Nothing so pressing I can’t stick around,” Tony said, which was probably a lie, but Steve let himself believe it.
“You don’t mind?” he added quickly.
“Of course not,” Tony said, and it was so quiet and sincere that Steve had to believe it.
“Okay,” he said, practically under his breath. “Okay.”
“Okay?” Tony said. His fingers were curling around Steve’s, intertwining with them, and he reached up again, stroked his thumb along just under Steve’s chin, along the underside of his jaw. “You’ll let me get them to put you back under?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathed. “Long as you’ll be here when I wake back up.”
“With gelato,” Tony promised with a confident smile. “Now close your eyes, babe. I can see you drooping. I’ll be right back with the nurse and you’ll get some relief, I promise.”
“I know you will,” Steve mumbled, or he thought he did. He closed his eyes, and his head hurt so badly he thought he might have imagined the pressure of a soft kiss against the top of it before he heard the door swing closed.
Tony was back with a nurse a few minutes later, and he was as good as his word. Steve was dropping off, when he suddenly felt a jolt of fear, of alarm, and forced his eyes open again. “Tony?” he said, panicky despite himself.
Tony’s hand was around his again, a moment later, that familiar heartbeat filling Steve’s ears. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m right here, Winghead. I’m staying right here. You can sleep. It’s all right. I’ve gotcha.”
“Okay,” Steve breathed. “Good.”
And he was asleep a moment later.