Chapter Text
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The mark comes when he’s eighteen.
An electric blue triangle with silver streaks around it, bright and gleaming, looking like something out of a Star Trek film. It sits on his chest - right over his heart. Bucky, of course, gives him grief about that.
“Our Stevie, always the romantic,” he croons, only grinning at the punch in the shoulder it gets him.
His Ma works herself into a tizzy once he shows her. Over his loud protests, she gets someone to cover her shift and rushes to throw him a marking party. The tiny apartment barely fits them all, him, Peg, Buck, and their assorted families crammed together, bumping knees and elbows. They bring him a bright blue cake. It’s lopsided and obviously some clearance item cast-off, but surrounded by his grinning friends and family, the cheap store icing is the best he’s ever tasted.
After, Bucky and his Ma won’t even let him clean up. They insist it’s bad luck for the markee to help with his mark day party. Steve thinks it’s a whole lot of bullshit, but he plays along anyway. He knows they’re all relieved.
No one had said anything, but it’s a damn miracle he got one this late. Every year that passed since his fourteenth birthday, the worry lines on his Ma’s face became a bit more pronounced and Bucky’s soulmate jokes came less and less frequently.
Ducking into the bathroom, he stands in front of the mirror and traces the mark with shaky fingers. He can hear the clank of pots and pans in the kitchen, the muffled sound of his Ma and Bucky chatting. It feels surreal.
He honestly thought it wouldn’t happen.
Growing up riddled with health issues had taught Steve that normal rules didn't apply to him. While Bucky had spent summer days skinny dipping and nights out dancing, Steve had spent them in bed, wracked with fever and only able to sketch adventures he would never get to go on.
It’s a miracle of modern medicine that he’s even alive. He’s grateful enough that he made it to adulthood. Having a soulmate would have been too good to be true.
But here he is. Under the fluorescent bathroom light, he stares at the universe’s undeniable proof that he, Steve Rogers, has a soulmate. The weight of it makes him stand a little straighter, chin held a little higher.
Somewhere, someone is waiting for him. He won’t let them down.
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It’s a Tuesday night, almost three years later, when his world turns upside down.
He’s in the kitchen, swearing at their microwave and trying to make popcorn for movie night. Trying is the key word here, because even though the hunk of metal in their shitty off-campus apartment rattles and clanks like a steam engine, there hasn’t been a single popped kernel.
“Stevie!” Bucky calls from the living room.
He jabs at the popcorn button again. “Just a minute!”
The thing lights up and starts turning. It makes a big show of pretending to be a functional kitchen appliance. Steve knows better.
“Hurry up and get in here, man!” Sam’s yelling at him, almost inaudible over the groan of the microwave. With a curse, Steve adds another five minutes on the time and stomps to the living room.
“What is so damn important?” he snaps, “I swear if it’s another Fast and Furious movie announcement, I’ll - “
He stops dead in the doorway. He can’t look away from the screen.
There’s his soulmark.
Right there, on the grainy screen of the TV Sam and Bucky picked up dumpster diving in Queens, is his soulmark. It’s sitting on the chest of Tony Stark - as in CEO of Stark Industries and multiple-PhD-holding, Tony Stark.
He’s vaguely aware of someone guiding him by his elbow from the doorway to the couch. It might be Natasha. His eyes stay glued to the screen as he sinks into familiar brown leather.
The paparazzi managed to snap a picture of Stark, shirtless and stumbling out of a booze-filled party, the mark on full display. Now, on the show of some talk host, Tony is giving an interview. For what’s objectively the traumatic reveal of deeply personal information, the man seems unconcerned. He’s all nonchalant bantering and devil-may-care smirks. The suit he’s wearing looks like it cost more than Steve’s whole building, let alone their apartment.
Steve, on the other hand, got his shirt for free from Porky’s Barbeque. His left sock has a hole on the big toe. He thinks he might be having a panic attack.
“Steve - Steve buddy - “ Bucky comes to kneel in front of him. He’s making a lot of eye contact, but everything seems fuzzy and distant.
Tony Stark is his soulmate. Tony Stark. He tries to make the words make sense, but it just doesn’t fit. The universe has chosen Steve Rogers, sickly art student from Brooklyn, as the perfect match for Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.
It’s downright hysterical.
He can’t help the laughter that comes. A rough, border-line manic thing that bursts from his chest. Bucky’s looking at him like he’s gone nuts, but that only makes it worse. Giggles wrack his whole body, stealing his breath away.
Later, when he can finally breathe again, he’ll deal with the weight of what this means. He’ll face the crippling insecurity of knowing he can never be good enough. Even when Steve’s soulmate was just a nameless, average Joe, he’d struggled with the idea that anyone would want to be tied to him permanently. But now, knowing his soulmate is Stark, he never really stood a chance did he?
The universe has one fucked-up sense of humor, he thinks, and laughs some more.
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This time it's a Wednesday when the universe sends him another curve ball.
They’re at the MoMA for a field trip. Steve finally has his twenty-one rugrats secured back on the school bus along with Ms. Sheppard’s class. They managed to get through the whole trip with only Jeremy’s pudding cup and Michelle’s shorts as casualties, which he considers a rousing success.
But just before the bus departs, Cindy’s tugging on his pants, bottom lip trembling, and a hint of wobble in her voice when she says, “Mr. Rogers? I think I forgot something...”
So here he is, scouring the MoMA for her Hello Kitty lunch box - the special one with the purple bows that Cindy’s grandmother got her only last week for her birthday. And there was no way Steve could say no to those puppy dog eyes.
He’s checking under some benches when a posse of about ten Rembrandt look-a-likes, all wearing 17th century get-up, feather caps included, swarm into the room.
“It is I, Baron Baroque, who has come to take what is rightfully mine! Stand back while we collect the art pieces, and you may get to leave with your lives!”
The group of them are armed with what look like muskets from the Civil War and look around menacingly. Or about as menacing as a bunch of pale aristocrats can be. Steve curses his luck - of course this is the day some art nerd decides to take role playing up a notch.
“Hey genius!” Steve yells.
The guy startles and turns to look at him, as if he’s surprised to see someone with enough nerve to talk back. Must not be a native New Yorker then.
“You dare insult the Baron,” the Baron spits, drawing himself up in what is probably supposed to be an intimidating posture.
Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes.
“This is the Rococo section, Baroque is two halls back.”
The Baron actually pauses and takes a look around. “...what’s the difference?”
Steve can’t hold back the eye roll this time. He hopes the rest of the villains in New York are this incompetent. He also hopes someone has taken the opportunity to call the police while the leader is distracted.
“Look,” he says, gesturing around the room. The other patrons are staring at him like he’s crazy. “Not a single religious reference, it’s all secular topics.”
“This may be so,” the Baron drawls, gesturing with his hand like some long-winded academic. “But I’m interested in aesthetic consistency. I find myself partial to chiaroscuro, so having both Baroque and Rococo paintings in my collection would suit my needs nicely.”
His minions seem to take that as a cue to brandish their weapons and start advancing on them. One woman lets out a shriek. Steve crosses his fingers that an authority is on their way.
“Just look at the paintings though!” he calls out, relieved when the Baron pauses to listen. “There’s some chiaroscuro, sure, but none of the tenebrism that Carravagio and the like used in their works to create the drama that’s foundational to the Baroque genre!”
The Baron tilts his head back and forth, considering the point.
“While that might be true, I’m still drawn to the level of detail and emphasis on elegance found - oof“
He doesn’t get to finish his thought: the ceiling of the room smashes open, debris flying around the exhibit. A red and gold figure lands on the floor of the museum with a loud clunk.
“Sorry to crash the party.“ Iron Man stands up, shaking the rubble from his shoulders and bringing his gauntlets up to fire. “It seemed like it could use a little more action.”
The Baron lets out a hoarse cry as he and his minions attack. The muskets are most definitely not from the 17th century, beams of light flashing from their muzzles. But in less than a minute, Iron Man already has two of them down.
Steve decides to deal with the fact that this is his first time seeing his soulmate in person later. Preferably when armed men are not involved. Shaking himself, he turns and runs towards the exit. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.
There’s the lunchbox.
It’s off to the side, only a couple hundred yards away, sitting innocently under a Fragonard. A voice that sounds a hell of a lot like Bucky tells him to quit being a knucklehead and keep running, but his feet are already moving in the other direction. Dodging around a sculpture, ducking under a stray light beam, he scoops up the lunchbox -
- and a blow to the back of the head sends him to his knees. Acting on instinct, he drops and rolls to the side.
There’s a cry of pain above him. He turns to see the minion collapse on the floor, taken out by a repulsor blast. Serves you right, Steve thinks viciously. He forces himself to his feet and tries to ignore the ringing in his ears.
Iron Man’s down to just the Baron himself, engaged in a battle that looks more like an elaborate light show. Just out of Iron Man’s view, one of the minions starts rising from the floor, raising a musket that’s aimed straight at his back.
“Watch out!” Steve yells. Without thinking, he hurls the lunchbox through the air and watches in amazement as it hits its mark. The metal container slams into the guy’s head, sending him back down to the ground. The Baron, distracted by Steve, gets blasted by a well-aimed repulsor beam.
Head throbbing, heart pounding, lungs heaving, Steve stumbles to the nearest bench. Reaching into his jacket, he fumbles his inhaler to his mouth. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath in.
Ten...nine...eight - breathe - seven...six...five - breathe - There’s a rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk he can hear that he times the beats to. After a couple of moments, he opens his eyes.
Iron Man stands before him.
The arc reactor captures his attention immediately. It’s just as beautiful as he imagined it would be, glowing warm and strong from the center of the armor. The blue is a slightly different shade than his soulmark, but there’s no mistaking the shape of it. He’s been staring at the arc reactor for years, before Tony even had the real thing in his chest. Despite the events of the day, his fingers itch for a sketchbook. Pictures don’t do it justice.
“I believe this is yours,” comes the lightly modulated voice of Tony Stark. He holds out an armored hand with - right, the Hello Kitty lunchbox in it.
Steve feels his cheeks flush and hopes it’s not too obvious.
“Thanks,” he says, taking it back. It’s a miracle the thing didn’t get destroyed in the fight.
Iron Man’s helmet tilts to the side. “No, I think I really have to thank you - are you some kitten themed superhero I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting yet?”
There’s an amused lilt to his voice. Steve wonders if it’s possible to spontaneously combust from embarrassment.
“No, just a citizen caught in the cross hairs.”
“In that case - “ Iron Man takes a step forward. Steve lets out a squawk as a hand goes under his knees and another behind his back. He scrambles to steady himself in the bridal carry.
“ - I’m contractually obligated to save you in a very courteous manner.”
Steve glares up at him. “Courteousness involves asking consent first. Put me down.”
“A non-courteous save then.” Iron Man shrugs. “I can be flexible.”
The only warning Steve gets is the whine of the repulsors before Iron Man takes off. Wind whips the air from his lungs. The exhilarating drop in his stomach as they burst from the top of the building is better than any roller coaster. Flying is wonderful, he decides.
It only takes a minute or two before Iron Man’s lowering him down onto the front steps of the MoMA. Steve can’t keep the grin off his face. His hair probably looks like a rats nest, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Police part around them as they stream into the building.
“That was quite the ride,” Steve says.
Iron Man gives a little bow, and he can easily imagine Tony winking underneath the face plate. “I live to please.”
There’s some commotion behind them. Steve turns just in time for a tiny blonde head to slam into his legs.
“Mr. Rogers I’m sorry!” Cindy cries, rubbing tears and snot onto his pants. “I’m so sorry!”
He strokes her hair, making soothing noises at her. “Cindy, it’s alright - I’m alright. Iron Man saved me.”
She pauses in her crying, sniffling as she turns to Iron Man with big, brown, teary eyes. “Thank you Mr. Iron Man.”
“No problem, kiddo.”
Steve notices reporters eyeing them from behind the police barrier. The last thing he wants is to make a scene that ends up in the newspaper. Bucky would tan his hide.
“Cindy, can you take me to where Ms. Sheppard and the rest of the class are?”
Latching onto his hand, Cindy nods. He turns to say one last thank you, but to his surprise, Iron Man makes every motion to follow along. They push through the crowd to where Ms. Sheppard is trying to corral both their classes.
The frantic cries of “Mr. Rogers!”, “Mr. Rogers!” get louder as they approach. About thirty six-year-olds are scrambling over one another to ask if he’s ok, what happened, and whether or not Iron Man will take them for a ride.
“Woah, woah, woah guys quiet down!” He calls out and most of them settle. “I’m alright - Iron Man saved me.”
That sets off more cries and frantic movement. The kids crowd around to get a better look at the suit, some of the bold ones reaching out to touch.
“Don’t get too close - “ Steve starts, but gets waved off by Iron Man.
The faceplate of the helmet pops up, and then Tony Stark, ridiculously handsome even with sweaty helmet hair, is grinning down at the swarm. Steve swallows around the lump in his throat.
Tony crouches and beckons the kids closer. “Do you guys wanna know something really cool?”
The kids are nodding, cries of “yes!”, “please, Mr. Iron Man!”, “what is it!?”
Warm brown eyes dancing with amusement, Tony glances back up to Steve. It’s a struggle to breathe again.
“Mr. Rogers actually saved me.”
All their mouths drop open, little eyes going wide with shock. Steve huffs out a laugh at their expressions.
“No way!” “Mr. Rogers!?” “That’s so cool!”
“Yes way!” Tony insists. “He totally saved me. If he hadn’t been there, I don’t know if I would have made it. And guess what he used to take down the bad guy?”
The kids are almost breathless with anticipation.
“That Hello Kitty lunch box!”
There are gasps of shock, incredulous looks, squeals of delight. Cindy whips around to look at Steve, eyes wide.
“Mr. Rogers, did you really help Mr. Iron Man with my lunchbox?”
The rest of the kids are staring too, waiting to hear. He can’t keep the grin off his face.
“I sure did,” Steve hands it back to her, and she stares down at it, awe-struck. There’s jealous mutters from the other kids. “Your lunch box has special powers. Let’s be extra-careful not to lose it now - we wouldn’t want any bad guys to get a hold of it.”
She clutches it to herself. “Yes Mr. Rogers, thank you!”
“Now,” Tony says, and the kids shift their attention back to him. He unlocks a panel on his arm and takes out a roll of what looks like - “who here wants a holographic Iron Man sticker!”
There’s chaos as the kids climb all over each other to get one. Tony takes it in stride, assembling them into a rough line. He gives each one of them a high five or a fist bump, laughing when Isaiah has him sign a limited-edition Iron Man bracelet.
If Steve had thought it was hard enough being Tony’s soulmate when he was being beautiful and heroic on TV, it’s nothing compared to the tug of want that comes from watching him interact with kids in person. Trying to ignore his rapidly worsening crush, Steve turns to Ms. Sheppard.
“Thank you for taking care of them. I’m assuming the school knows about the situation?”
She nods. “All the parents of our students have been notified, and we’re just waiting for the police to confirm our bus is safe to drive away.”
Then, he gets a fond look as she reaches over to lightly squeeze his upper arm. “I’m glad you’re alright. We were afraid there for a bit.”
“So was I,” he says, wincing when the back of his head throbs again. Bucky was going to kill him alright.
There’s a clunk-clunk-clunk and Steve turns to find Iron Man walking their way, a pack of besotted kindergarteners trailing behind him.
“If everything’s good to go,” Tony beams at Ms. Sheppard, jerking a thumb in Steve’s direction. “I’ve gotta get Rogers the Lionhearted over to a medical station.”
Ms. Sheppard laughs, while Steve splutters over the nickname.
“I’ve got it covered. You take good care of our Mr. Rogers, alright?”
He gives her a lazy salute and winks at Steve. “You can count on me, ma’am.”
And then Tony’s scooping him up again, Steve too discombobulated to put up much of a fight. Shrieks of delight follow them as they take off into the sky.
The sting of wind makes his eyes water. But even through his clothes, the armor is warm, almost pulsing with life. He huddles closer against the chill of the setting sun. When they get far enough up, Tony slows to a hover. The view is something else: the New York cityscape under a sky bleeding with red and orange. Steve tries to commit the image to memory.
“Do you have a preference of hospital?”
Reluctantly, Steve turns away from the sky and glares up at the armored face plate. “I’m fine. You’ve got a lotta nerve scooping me up, you know that?”
Iron Man’s laugh shakes the armor under him. Steve wishes this didn’t feel quite so intimate.
“So I’ve been told before,” Tony muses. “By members of Congress no less.”
Looks like Steve’s going to have to face the music. He heaves a deep sigh and is unable to keep the hint of foreboding out of his voice when he says, “Brooklyn Methodist please.”
The receptionists are not at all surprised to see him. It’s a testament to their professionalism that the sight of Tony Stark looming in full armor doesn’t garner more than an extra blink. The same can’t be said of the other emergency room occupants. Steve thinks he sees a guy holding his own finger in a cup taking a video of them with his phone.
Tony’s unconcerned about it. He seems perfectly content to stand in front of Steve, alternating between writing incomprehensible code and playing what looks like Tetris on his phone. Steve really doesn’t know what to say. A part of him wants to chalk this whole day up to a crazy dream, but he doubts his own brain could be quite this creative.
“Steven Grant Rogers!”
The snarl has Tony’s palm coming up in a defensive stance, pointing towards where a furious Bucky is storming across the intake room. Buck barely spares him a glance. Steve tries to sink deeper into his seat.
“It’s alright - “
“Alright!” he seethes, hands going to his hips. “Alright!? I get to watch on TV as you get taken hostage by some lunatic and don’t even get a courtesy call to say you’re alive?”
Steve winces.
“Hey, that’s probably my fault - “ Tony, bless his heart, starts to speak up, but Bucky’s glare stops him short.
“Come on, punk,” Bucky jerks his head towards the doors and starts striding back across the room. Tony raises an eyebrow, but Steve can only shrug helplessly. “Your metal bodyguard can come too!”
In a different situation, he thinks he would find the whole thing comedic. Bucky slams around the med room, grumbling and cursing as he runs through his health check on Steve. Tony - billionaire, hero - seems cowed by Bucky’s glare, fidgeting silently over in the corner.
“Buck - “ Steve tries but gets a scowl that shuts him up.
“What did I say, Stevie? What do I always say?” Bucky puts a couple of bandages over scrapes on Steve’s hands that he hadn’t even realized he had. “You’re too reckless. Don’t give me any of that ‘it was necessary’. I heard interviews: what were you thinking trying to egg the guy on?”
He opens his mouth, but Bucky barrels on.
“No. That’s the issue: you never think! The second you believe something is in danger, whether it’s a person or a kitten or a particularly forlorn-looking plastic bag, you’re off playing hero.” Bucky stops, an unhappy curl to his mouth. “You’re going to get yourself killed and then I’ll have Sarah Rogers to answer to in the afterlife.”
That hits Steve. He hunches in on himself, holding his elbows close.
Bucky shakes his head before stomping back to the front of the room and yanking the door open. He levels Steve with an intense look.
“Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
Then it’s just Steve and Tony left in the medical room. The steady beep, beep of the heart monitor pierces the silence. Steve feels gutted. He knows ok? He knows how delicate his health is, but he's got the worst luck this side of the Hudson with stumbling into dangerous situations.
“Well,” Tony starts. “I’ve gotta say, it’s refreshing to not be the recipient of that particular lecture.”
Steve glances over at him.
Tony gives him a rueful smile. “Pepper, Happy, Rhodes - none of them are pleased about the whole recreational superhero gig I’ve got going on. They’re always begging me to ‘leave it to the professionals’, but seems like this is a hobby I just can’t quit.”
It’s a little weird imagining anyone giving Tony a lecture.
With a sigh, Steve starts picking at the edge of the bandage on his elbow. “I’ve got a bunch of health issues: allergies, asthma, anemia - you name it. I know it isn’t safe for me, but I can’t stop myself. I can’t just sit there and watch something bad go down.”
Tony’s stare burns into him. He can almost feel the weight of the soulmark on his chest.
“Seems we’re both do-gooding junkies then.”
Steve snorts. “I guess you could say that.”
The door swings open, and Bucky comes back in. Thankfully, he looks a bit less murderous this time.
“Alright kid, I think the worst of it is a mild concussion. My shift is over in forty, and Sharon says you can wait in the staff area until we can go home.”
Steve gives him a weak smile. “Thanks Buck.”
Bucky reaches up and ruffles his hair. “No problem kid.”
“Well looks like that’s taken care of." There’s clanking as Tony moves away from the corner of the room. "It’s pretty convenient that your boyfriend’s a nurse.”
Spluttering, Steve can feel a blush burn onto his cheeks.
“Boyfriend?” Bucky snorts. “Fuck no. My blood pressure is bad enough just being the best friend of this miscreant.”
“Bucky is not my boyfriend!” Steve manages to squeak out.
“Oh?” Tony says, just this side of too-casual.
Turning away from Steve, Bucky gives the banged up Iron Man armor an assessing look. “You want medical care while you’re here, Stark?”
“I don’t know,” Tony pauses and a grin lights up his face. “Do you have any Hello Kitty band-aids?”
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