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You think nobody noticed.
I mean, why would they, right? It’s not like you’re going out there every morning, complaining about lack of sleep. At its worst, you joke about insomnia and get scolded for it, jokingly.
“Tony!” cap calls from the kitchen table, “this is your bad influence!”
You laugh just like everyone, and the conversation moves on while you’re thinking about the lifelike terror that you wake from every other night that’s rendering you this tired.
Weak.
This weak, to be precise.
So naturally, you’re proud of yourself for putting on a strong face, glad that the struggle goes unnoticed.
That is until the nights are starting to stretch and the days are starting to shorten and until you wake up not only in terror and scared, but disoriented, confused, delirious.
If only you could get some little sleep. You still have time - by the clocks, it’s only two hours past midnight, you can still fall asleep successfully and just keep sleeping.
If only…
You wake up sweating in horror not half an hour later, giving up and heading for the shower, shaking.
-
Tony finds you in the living room, sitting on the armrest of the sofa, looking outside at the city behind the large window, an empty cup resting in your hand.
“You don’t need to try and prove Cap right, you know.” He says, opening the fridge, glancing at you. You don’t answer, just smile, throwing a peace sign in his direction.
He, however, seems to require a verbalization.
And that’s the problem.
“What is it, kid?” He asks, strolling over with his soda and string cheese.
“Just thinking, is all,” you shake your head, looking outside again with a sigh and hoping he’ll catch on and leave you alone.
“Care to share what about?” Tony tries, resting his back casually against the window just next to where you’re looking.
He could just fall through, you think, instantly disgusted at your own thought.
“Clearly not, okay” Tony talks to himself now and you shift a little, smirking in an attempt to lighten the mood and make it seem like you did not just think back to your nightmares.
Tony seems oblivious, luckily.
“So I’m going to guess then,” he says, pretending to think.
Then, as you dare to look at him with another amused fake smile, he locks eyes with you and you know - you know you’re screwed.
“Who dies?” He asks and you raise your eyebrows, a barking chuckle escaping your throat.
Screwed. Fuck. Completely screwed.
He points at you, in circles, holding the soda close to his chest.
“You smell too good,” he explains, which makes you stand up, pretending to be insulted, “no I mean you ehm, you just had a shower, which means you woke up sweating, which means you probably had a nightmare because I know for a fact that you’re keeping your room cold on purpose.”
“Tony,” you try to sound resolute, but the words aren’t coming, “just don’t.”
“Oh wow, I mean, that is a great reasoning,” he throws hands.
“Why are you angry?” You try to match his voice, “screw cap, it’s not your…”
“I know it’s not my fault,” he bounces off the glass.
“I meant responsibility…” (”or that,”) “… so scatter, I’m not in the mood to be schooled, by you especially.”
“Since I obviously can not give valid advice as a heavy sleeper myself,” he mocks.
You’re about to turn around when you stop, thinking about how does that makes sense.
“You can come to me, you know?” He says, “to any of us for that matter, but since Cap singled me out, who am I to question it?” He added, mocking him.
You scuff at him annoyed, the damage done.
“Listen,” he says, walking around you to head back to his room, “when you’re done thinking all highly of yourself, knock. On my doors, not me down. Hopefully.”
You rub your forehead, the feeling of defeat starting to settle in.
Not only did you let yourself slip and indirectly confirm his suspicion, but you also managed to make a fool of yourself.
-
The offer gets stuck in your mind for the following days and you’re catching yourself thinking about the possibility more and more.
As the nightmares and sleepless nights continue, even though you are putting more effort into your training to tire yourself down, you catch yourself thinking about it every time you wake up - until the thought isn’t enough.
Desperation, you think, is the new low.
Who dies?
He asked as if he knew.
Who dies?
What if he did?
What if this is just a fragment of your imagination?
What if when you do go knock on his door you find his room empty and cold because he’s not there.
What if the nightmares are memories and your sleep deprivation made you hallucinate?
But I’m not that creative, you think to yourself.
And he’s alive, looking at you standing at the doors. He’s alive and waiting.
“Everyone,” you say, “everyone dies.”
“Well fuck me,” he says and leans forward, throwing his phone on the coffee table in front of him.
You hesitate, then he looks up frowning and you feel like running.
“Come here kid,” he gestures, sitting a little aside on the sofa.
You do, taking the empty place, feeling the little warmth he left behind.
“I can’t say I’m surprised but, yeah, I wish I was wrong,” Tony says, sighing heavily. He’s sitting sideways now, facing you and you feel awkward.
“Should I… I don’t know, they’re not, you’re not…”
“Nobody’s gonna kick you off the team,” Tony snickers, leaning into his elbow at the back of the sofa, “They’d have no one to save the world, I mean, have you seen the rest of us?”
You try to chuckle, but it comes out weird.
“Bruce is probably the least problematic member, and he turns into a green angry guy on occasions.”
The laugh that comes out of you this time sounds way believable because you don’t need to try.
“But you’ve already done something,” you argue “I’m just a newbie, I’m just… I haven’t really saved the world.”
“Maybe not all of it, but you’ve been… you’ve been on missions already, don’t take away your credit,” Tony protests and you rub your forehead.
“You saved a few bits.”
Like that’s enough, right? You’re starting to feel pathetic.
“Listen,” Tony shoots up and you look at him quickly, “there’s the bed,” he points behind you “the remote is on the bedside table. I’m making popcorn, you’re choosing the program.”
With that, he heads outside the room, leaving you alone with directions.
It takes you a while to figure out the TV but then you quickly flick through the shows on his wish list, stopping at a sitcom you saw a few episodes of already and he seemed to watch some of it as well.
Tony returns then, a huge salad bowl in hands, at least four microwave popcorns in and you hear yourself joke about it.
“Are you expecting an army?”
He chuckles. It comes out naturally and you wonder how did that happen.
“There’s never enough,” he shrugs as he gets to bed next to you.
He presses play, the show starting, and you find yourself easy back, uncrossing your legs by the middle of an episode. It’s easy to concentrate on, distract too, but you don’t find yourself sleepy. Not in front of Tony at least.
“Another?” He asks, the twenty minutes flying by quickly. Then, as the opening sequence plays, you feel his hand on your forearm, looking at him.
Tony gestures you closer, inviting, and you scoop over a little, feeling him adjust.
“Not awkward, is it?” He asks.
You don’t answer and he slaps your hand away when reaching for the popcorn, playful, holding your shoulder when you want to lean away jokingly.
Tony’s warm. Strong, too. His arm at least is - and despite a little unsure still, his invitation feels genuine and you’re glad. The doubt quickly fades as he holds you in, you curl up your legs, pushing the bowl a little away. You can feel him rub your shoulder and laugh automatically when he does, realizing you lost the plot of the show, completely concentrated on the comfort you find yourself in.
With the next episode, you’re laying your head on his chest and by the end of it, your eyes are closed. He knows because he adjusts every time you do.
“One more?” he asks, and you just hum in agreement not bothering to open your eyes. He chuckles, playing with the material of your shirt before rubbing your arm again and lifting up a little.
That wakes you up and you look at him putting the bowl on the floor next to the bed, quickly returning for you to take your place again. As you do, you see him tap something on his phone, the lights in the room turning off, the ones above the bed dimming.
“You’re staying over, right,” he says, not really questioning and you nod, laying your head against him again.
“I’m sorry,” you say, but he shushes you, squeezing your shoulder lightly.
“You’re welcome, kid,” Tony sighs heavily, seemingly tired as well “I’m tired too.”
And as the episode plays out, you find yourself drifting, finally, the sleep sweet.
Maybe it’s because of the warmth, or that Tony is hugging you tight against him, maybe it’s because you’re so exhausted, you don’t know, but you slip under like never before and the mixing of the reality and dream that follows isn’t at all unpleasant like always, no.
He’s there, whispering something, and the sky above you plays with all sorts of colors.