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“Status update?” Steve mumbled, staring up at the ceiling as the dust settled and he made himself comfortable on the rocky floor.
It had been a weird kind of mission, that was for sure, but he had never expected to end up trapped in a small—very small, so small they were practically pressed up right next to each other—cave with his best friend and teammate Iron Man. They’d fought valiantly, the pair of them, but had ended up in a tight spot and were encased in a mountain with no way out. If Iron Man blasted them out, it was more likely that would cause an avalanche of rocks to fall and crush on them. And Steve’s shield was useless against rocks.
There was nothing to do other than to wait for rescue, trapped in the small cave.
Well, Steve supposed. At least it was with Iron Man.
“Uh—injured,” Iron Man coughed—it was a tinny cough, of course, because it came through the suit—and Steve’s head snapped over to Iron Man. It had been dusty, before, so he hadn’t been able to see his teammate, but now his gaze settled over the suit which encased his best friend in.
He was able to see the shiny metal, all as it should be, except for the tear in the lower plate that covered his stomach. Blood was pouring out of it, from a very vital place. Steve’s own stomach twisted. There wasn't enough space that he could rush over without whacking his head, but he twisted around so he could take a closer look.
He’d seen his fair share of injuries out in the battlefield, and he knew when something was a bad wound. Steve stuttered, “What—what happened, is it—”
“Stomach. I—uh, got impaled.” Iron Man breathed heavily. “It’s—fuck.”
Steve couldn’t see his face—didn’t know what he looked like, even—but he knew that his expression beneath the mask was going to be in agony. He was just a man, too, no superhealing ability. Mr Stark had confirmed that once.
He’s not like the other Avengers, Cap. He’s just a guy in a suit, who occasionally tries to save the world. Remember that. He can’t…do everything you can all do.
If Steve had been impaled with whatever Iron Man had been impaled with, there wouldn’t have been a question. It would take him maybe several days to heal, less so if it was treated correctly. Iron Man…
No. Iron Man was going to be fine. Just fine. Completely fine and totally okay. He was Steve’s best goddamn friend in this whole world, and he was going to be fine. The Avengers were going to find them any minute now, and get him the help he needed. He wasn’t going to—
Steve couldn’t even think it. Couldn’t think of a world without him.
“Shellhead, it’s going to be—” He blinked, paused. Tapped his identicard, trying to connect to the team comms again. “I’ll just tell them to hurry up, that’s all. You’re going to be just fine. Just fine.”
He didn’t know how much the other Avengers had seen, didn’t know whether they’d seen the pair of them crash land into a cave. They had to know, right. They had to. They must know. Steve pressed on his comms, but it wasn’t connected. He kept trying, but to no avail, so he clenched his fist together and tried not to cry out.
He wasn’t going to lose Iron Man. Not like this.
“Cap,” Iron Man said breathily. “Winghead. It’s—”
Steve shook his head. Iron Man wasn’t dying. He just wasn’t. He couldn’t be. “No, you’re going to be fine, they’re going to find us, they will.”
There was a brief pause, where Iron Man reached a hand out—that must have hurt, but he made no sound—and pressed it to his shoulder.
“Steve,” he said softly.
Steve went silent, stared at him. He didn’t know what to say, what to do. How was he supposed to react, when the man he loved—secretly loved, always in secret, never to be admitted out loud—was dying next to him, and he couldn’t do a single thing to stop it?
“It’s okay,” Iron Man mumbled, and then repeated it.
I love you, Steve wanted to admit, suddenly. I love you, and I don’t want you to go. Please.
They sat in silence for another minute, neither of them quite sure what to say, but then Iron Man spoke.
"Well," Iron Man laughed—but it wasn’t not a happy laugh. It was sharp, sad. "As I have limited time left, you want to know something no-one else knows?"
"A secret," Steve muttered back, his brain clouded with thoughts. Shellhead, his Shellhead, here, dying in front of him.
"I guess that’s not technically true," Iron Man babbled, and even though his voice was automated through the vocal filter, Steve could hear the nervousness in it. “Maybe a couple of people know. Or have guessed. Not you, though, I don’t think.”
Steve said nothing, just glanced at him and let him ramble.
"Anyways. That’s…irrelevant. So," Iron Man paused, and when he next spoke his voice was rougher than he’d ever heard it. "Winghead. Wanna know who I am?"
Steve hadn’t expected that. “You—what?"
Because surely he couldn’t mean what Steve thought he was saying. Surely.
"Under the suit,” Iron Man rapped the gauntlet on his metal head. “The real me. After all this time, you can finally see who I am.”
That—knowing Iron Man’s identity—was the one thing Steve had always wanted, but had never been able to have. Seeing his face, knowing him as more than just the metal suit. Getting to know him, the real him. It would have violated the Avengers charter, though, so he’d restrained himself from even asking.
Besides, it had made it easier to keep his feelings swallowed down. Iron Man was off limits.
Steve frowned, “But you always said knowing your identity would—”
"Compromise safety blah blah," Iron Man interrupted, waving his hand in a vague gesture. “I was just scared you’d kick me off the team once you knew.”
Kick him off the team? Steve let out a breath of indignation. "We would never—”
But Iron Man was quick to respond, his retort sounding like ice, all traces of warmth gone. “Don’t say that before you haven’t seen, Cap.”
And that was when it hit him. He was going to see Iron Man’s face. He was going to be able to see what he looked like underneath the suit, see what the man he loved looked like. Steve had never allowed himself to truly imagine it before, had kept it off limits. In the times he’d fantasised…well, he’d ended up imagining traits of someone else he knew, applying them to Iron Man’s build, as if that wasn’t wholly ridiculous.
“Are you sure?” Steve mumbled. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
“I’m dying,” Iron Man told him. “And, honestly?”
And he was pulling off his gauntlets, and Steve was able to glance at his hands for a split second as they snaked their way up to the catches under the helmet, ready to pull it off—he had nice hands, Steve thought.
Iron Man spoke his next sentence in a low, soft tone. “I should have done it a very long time ago, Cap.”
Then he yanked off the helmet, and then it was no longer his teammate, his partner in stopping crime, no longer his best friend, the man he was in love with, but it was the genius benefactor who kept them all housed in the mansion, the man who ran Stark Industries half of the time and spent the other half of his life fixing up Avengers gear.
Steve’s heart skipped a beat, maybe several, as Tony Stark clanked down the helmet onto the floor of the cave and glanced at him. His hair was rumpled, parts of it sticking up in little tufts, and there was blood streaking its way down his forehead from some kind of cut. Tony’s eyes were searching for something, watching Steve’s reaction. Steve had no idea what his face was doing, and he couldn’t even attempt to control it, because Iron Man was Tony and Tony was Iron Man and his whole world had just collapsed.
Because if Iron Man had been ‘off limits’ in terms of how out of his league he was, then Tony Stark was pretty much out of the galaxy.
“Oh," Steve mumbled, blinking. His mouth was open, taking it in. Tony. Tony. Tony. His brain was just that one word, repeating it over and over again. It had a chokehold on him. He couldn’t think about anything else.
"Oh," He repeated, and it was a breath of a word really.
He’d always known he found Tony Stark attractive. Hell—he was the most attractive man Steve had ever seen in his life, and it had been that way ever since he’d first caught eyes on his curls and his brown eyes. But Steve had found himself falling in love with Iron Man, and having anything more than base feelings for Tony Stark had seemed wrong, so he’d pushed it away. Whenever the man had smiled at him, and it had sent a tingling feeling through his bones. When Tony had complimented him on his suit when they went to a gala, and he’d ignored the blush it gave him for the next ten minutes. Besides, it had been ridiculous. Tony Stark wasn’t the kind of crush that was attainable.
Iron Man had been more so.
Or at least, so he’d thought.
It was—crushing, almost, to realise that they were one and the same. Because whilst he might—possibly—have had a chance with Iron Man, there was no way in the world he could ever match up to the genius billionaire who had the choice of everyone in the world.
Steve didn’t want there to be any disappointment crossing his face, because that would leave Tony with the wrong impression. He was—he was happy. He was happy, that Tony was Iron Man. That he knew who his best friend was, after all of this time. It was wonderful to know, really.
But there was still a lump in the back of his throat.
“Good oh, bad oh, Winghead?” Tony asked, worry crossing his face absently, and Steve had to physically restrain himself from gaping. Watching the nickname Winghead come out of Tony’s mouth, watching the word be formed, just made it all the more surreal.
Tony Stark was Iron Man. Tony Stark was Shellhead, Tony Stark was the one who had been calling him Winghead this entire time.
Steve just stared. Stared, and then stared some more, unable to respond to Tony. He watched the blood trail down Tony’s forehead a little, and restrained the urge to wipe it off. Stopped himself from raking his hand through those curls and taking care of the man.
He’d been fighting alongside him all this time, and had never known.
It was kind of amazing.
“I’m sorry, Cap,” Tony said, quietly, looking down. “I’m—uh—really sorry I didn’t tell you, I know that’s…shitty of me. I should have said something. I just. You liked Iron Man, wanted to be friends with him. It’s selfish,” Tony’s voice went quieter, “but I didn’t want to lose that.”
As if Steve would have stopped being friends with him if he knew the truth.
“Tony,” Steve mumbled, and he tried to make it sound normal, but he couldn’t. It was full of awe, full of wonder, full of love. He scooted toward the other man, trying to make his point as sincere as he could. “I—this doesn’t change a thing, you know. And for the record, I wanted to be friends with Tony Stark, in the beginning, you know. He just didn’t seem to want to be friends with me.”
Tony’s eyes widened. “You—really? You would have wanted to be my friend?”
Well, maybe more than just friends.
Steve nodded, swallowed deeply. “I really would have. Still do.”
They were so close. Hardly any space between their faces.
“That—means a lot. To me. Really. I care about you. Always have,” Tony told him, staring directly with those soft brown eyes, his hair unruly and breath touching Steve’s face, they were that close to each other.
Steve reached forward then, unable to stop himself from catching Tony’s lips for a kiss and carding a hand through his hair—it was irresistible, those curls, so soft, and his lips, too—and then Tony was kissing him back, until Steve leaned forward into the kiss and then Tony let out a yelp. Steve immediately realised the error of his ways and pulled back, ripping himself away from the warmth, the comfort of it and apologising.
“I’m so sorry,” Steve spluttered. “I didn’t—I just—”
It had been overwhelming. Too much. Having Tony look at him like that, saying things like I care about you. He’d just had to kiss him, and now he’d screwed up and shown the billionaire that he liked him a lot more than just a friend.
“I’m sorry,” Steve repeated miserably.
“No,” Tony shook his head, swallowed. His eyes were wide, pupils big. “It’s not…I mean, I didn’t realise you lov—liked me back. I wasn’t trying to get you to stop, it’s just…”
He glanced down at his stomach, gesturing to the wound, and Steve’s heart fell into his stomach. He’d forgotten. In all of the excitement of Iron Man showing him his real identity, Steve had turned into a stupid lovesick idiot who only cared about his feelings for the other man, and had forgotten that he was dying.
“Tony,” Steve whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Tony smiled, and there was a hint of pain there in the corners of his smile. “Don’t apologise. You just made me—just made me the happiest man alive. Would you…can you kiss me again?”
Steve choked, feeling a tear roll down his face. This wasn’t fucking fair. The man he loved apparently liked him back, and he was still dying in a cave with no way out.
“Sure thing,” Steve was able to say through the tears, and reached forward. He brushed a thumb over Tony’s cheek, and was careful to avoid going anywhere near the wound in his stomach. Tony let out a breath, shakily, as Steve’s thumb caressed over his jawline, and as Steve reached in to kiss him. One of Tony’s hands snaked around Steve’s waist, holding him there as they kissed. It was gentle, and soft, and everything Steve had ever dreamed of.
He was kissing Tony. He was kissing Iron Man, who was Tony. Tony was dying.
Steve pulled back, wanting to check on the wound.
“Thanks, Winghead,” Tony mumbled, but it was slightly slurred. His hand dropped from Steve’s waist, and he muttered, “I think….I think I need to rest now.”
Steve’s head snapped up, back to Tony’s face, and caught his head in one hand as his eyes rolled back and he passed out from the pain.
“Tony.” Steve rushed to say, and patted him on the cheek. “Tony. No, no, no. Tony. Don’t do this. Tony, wake up. I can’t lose—I love yo—fuck.”
Steve continued trying, but Tony had gone properly unconscious, and there was nothing Steve could possibly do to wake him. He tried making a makeshift tourniquet with part of his uniform, but it was too late for that.
“Tony, please,” Steve whispered, half of Tony’s body draped over his lap. Steve’s own head fell, resting on Tony’s chest, doing nothing but holding him close and telling him to wake up.
And then there was the roaring of the Quinjet, and Jan was yelling that she was “Going to get them both out of there!” and Steve was yelling for a medic, calling until his voice was hoarse, yelling that they needed everyone they had on hand, that Iron Man needed serious medical attention, and he held Tony close to him until the medics arrived.
It was a close one, but Tony survived. He had to have serious surgery and a whole bunch of blood transfusions, but he pulled through, and then all of the team members knew Iron Man’s real identity, and Steve probably should have thought to pull the helmet back on, but fuck it, Tony had been dying and he’d lost all coherent thought by that point.
But he wasn’t dying anymore. He was in the Medbay, lying on a hospital bed, passed out, and Steve was next to him. It took a good amount of time for Tony to come to, and yet Steve hadn’t left his bedside, hadn’t wanted to miss it. Eventually he stirred, his eyes blinking open slowly.
“Hey,” Steve whispered, one of his hands in Tony’s hair, gently teasing the tufts of hair, not pulling, just moving his hand through them.
“Hey,” Tony mumbled, a smile spreading across his face. “That feels nice.”
Steve asked, “How are you feeling?”
That’s what the nurse had told him to ask—as if it wasn’t common sense, anyways.
“Uh, good. I’m…alive,” Tony’s eyes flashed over to him. “And—oh—you…you know the secret now.”
Steve said, “That you’re Iron Man?” at the same time as Tony mumbled, “That I’m in love with you.”
Both of them stared at each other for a second, not knowing what to say. Steve broke the silence.
“Pretty sure the whole team knows the first one now, sorry about that,” Steve winced. “Forgot to put the helmet back on during rescue, more focused on getting you out of there.”
“That’s alright,” Tony mumbled, his cheeks flushed red from his admission. “You saved my life.”
“And about that second one,” Steve smiled again, softly. “The others don’t know about that one yet, but they can, if you want them to.”
Tony’s eyes were wide again, his face still slightly red. “Are you saying…?”
“Tony,” Steve reached his hand down to cup his face. “I love you. I want to spend my days taking care of you, bringing you sandwiches when you’ve only consumed coffee for the past thirty six hours. I want to spend days just hearing about your new inventions and going to the insufferable galas with you and when aliens inevitably invade New York again, save the world with you.”
Tony’s lip wobbled, and he looked like he was about to cry for a second, before he blinked.
“I am,” Tony breathed back, “so in love with you.”
Their third kiss was had in a hospital room, and it was just as sweet as the other two, except there was one thing that made it even more perfect. Tony wasn’t dying, was completely safe and fine, and Steve got to keep him forever.