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"He's not coming in today, either, so you can stop praying to his locker" Steve hears behind his back, and turns around to see Clint Barton looking at him with a knowing smirk on his face.
"I wasn't--" Steve stutters, feeling his ears grow hot, like he was doing something far more inappropriate than just staring at Tony's locker, wondering where its owner was. Tony hasn't shown up in two days, and he didn't reply to any of Steve's texts. "Is he alright?"
"He's sick," Clint informs him. "He didn't want to stay home, of course, but then Natasha threatened him and he was too weak to even argue. So yeah, he's staying home."
"Natasha? Didn't his parents see that he was sick?" Steve doesn't even bring up the fact that Clint knows about Tony's illness, whereas Steve, Tony's supposedly best friend, had no idea. It's not Clint's fault, after all.
Clint scoffs. "Oh, yeah, only they'd have to be back from Aruba or whatever vacation they're taking."
"So Tony's alone?" Steve asks, and feels his chest constrict in a very unpleasant way.
"As he likes to be," Clint says. "I'm not going there, not after the influenza incident two years ago. He almost bit my head off for offering to make him tea. No, sick Tony Stark is best left alone."
"But that's-- no!" Steve protests, frowning. "He need somebody to take care of him."
Clint laughs. "You could try," he says, sarcastically. "Actually... you could try. If there's anyone he's not going to maul, it's gotta be you. Anyway, I gotta go. See ya, Steve," he says, and walk off to his first class.
Steve contemplates his options for a second, then walks out of the school building.
**
Steve rings Tony's doorbell for fifteen minutes before Tony emerges from the house, wrapped in a blanket, unhealthily flushed and bleary-eyed.
"What are you doing here? Don't you have school?" Tony rasps out, but Steve ignores him, pushes past him through the door and into the kitchen. He's only been in Tony's house once before, but he still remembers where everything is. He sets the things he brought on the kitchen counter: a styrofoam container of chicken soup and a box of tea.
Tony trails in after him, coughing and hacking. He does look terrible; Steve is no longer surprised that even the stubborn Tony Stark decided that he's too sick for anything. For texting Steve, too, apparently. But he had different priorities now than telling Tony off. There will be time for that later.
"Bed. Now." Steve commands.
Tony glares at him. "I was in bed, before you forced me out with your ringing and barged in here," he complains.
"Good. Get back."
When Tony disappears in the direction of his bedroom, Steve boils some water in the kettle and makes Tony a mug of tea. He puts in some lemon and honey he finds around the kitchen, and checks the soup. Still hot. Satisfied, he brings both things to Tony's room.
Tony is in bed, at least, covered up to his neck and looking at Steve like he can't quite figure out what he's even doing there. Well, tough cookies, Steve isn't going anywhere.
"Seriously, you cut school? Steve, that's just not like you."
"And not telling me that you're sick and alone is exactly like you. We're even. Eat your soup."
"I--"
"What?" Steve snaps, and Tony recoils.
"I need a spoon?" Tony says in a small voice, no doubt exaggerated to affect Steve's conscience.
Steve comes back with a spoon, and Tony starts eating obediently, not arguing any more. When he's finished, Steve takes the empty container out of his hands and puts it away.
"Do you have any meds?" He asks.
"Yeah, I called my family doctor yesterday. Or, more like Natasha forced me at gunpoint." Tony replies, reaching for the bottle of pills on his bedside table, then takes two and washes them down with the tea.
"Good. Now get some sleep."
"Are you going back to school?"
"No chance in hell, Tony. I'll be right here. Sleep."
Tony promptly shuts his eyes and burrows deeper into the covers.
Steve picks a science fiction novel from Tony's bookshelf and looks for a place to sit. Tony's room resembles a workshop more than a regular room, so of course there's no sofa or armchair, just an uncomfortable looking desk chair among computer parts and half-finished constructions that are probably meant to be robots. Without other choice, Steve sits down by Tony's bed, leaning back against the side of the mattress.
He reads for ten minutes before he can't stop himself from glancing at Tony anymore, and notices that he's being watched.
"I can't sleep when you're mad at me," Tony says before Steve can admonish him. "I'd like to at least know why."
Steve turns to face him, still sitting on the floor, so his face is level with Tony's. "You didn't tell me you were sick. Sick and alone at home, Tony, do you even know how dangerous that is? And I have to find out from Barton," Steve huffs.
"And...?" Tony prompts, looking confused.
"Tony, I know I'm not as smart as you or... whatever, and I might not be your best friend, but you are mine. I'd like to be able to take care of you, when you need it. But if you don't even care enough to reply to my texts, then..." Steve doesn't finish the sentence, just shakes his head. "You know what, I'm gonna go after all. You don't need me. Just call Natasha if you get worse."
Steve starts to get up, but Tony seizes his wrist in a tight grip.
"Yes?" Steve says, not quite looking at Tony.
"You're an idiot, Steven Rogers. Sit your ass back down or I swear I'll follow you out in just my pajamas, and you know how bad the weather is."
Steve glares at him. "So now you're blackmailing me?"
Tony rolls his eyes. "Steeeeeeve," he whines. Steve lets out a deep sigh and sits down on Tony's bed. Tony loosens his grip, but doesn't let go of Steve's wrist.
"I didn't tell you because I know you go into mama bear mode when somebody is miserable. I knew you'd try to do something like-- well, like you did, and then regret missing classes, and you'd be pissed at me. Boy, did that backfire in a spectacularly ironic way."
Steve smirks a bit at that. "First of all, not just someone." He looks up at Tony. "Not when someone is miserable, when you are," he clarifies. "And I want you to call me when you need me, any time. I mean it, Tony."
"Yessir," Tony smiles at him. "And second of all?"
Steve thinks for a moment. No, Tony is not ready for second of all yet. Steve's not even sure if he himself is. That stupid crush he has on his best friend is embarrassing enough even without anyone knowing, Steve can hold on for a little while longer.
He indulges himself a little, turning his hand in Tony's grip enough to slide their palms together. To his endless surprise, Tony squeezes his hand instantly.
"There's no second of all," Steve says before Tony can comment on that. "Just get some sleep now, okay?"
"Will you stay? You know, since you already missed a bunch of classes..." Tony says, eyes huge and innocent. Steve is not fooled for a second, but he laughs, easy and relieved. Staying mad at Tony Stark is hard work if your name is Steve Rogers.
"Fine, Tony, I'll stay," Steve says, picking up the book he's discarded earlier.
"You know, you don't have to sit on the floor. I have a perfectly fine bed with lots of space right here."
Tony is looking at him with a soft expression that Steve can't quite decipher. He's willing to attribute this to fever, when Tony tugs at his hand, and then all but manhandles Steve into lying right next to him.
"Okay?" Tony asks, cuddling up to Steve's side and pressing half his face into Steve's chest. Steve closes his eyes and takes a deep breath; he thinks he knows what Tony is really asking, and okay, maybe he is ready for second of all. Maybe they both are. But Steve thinks this conversation can wait till Tony is not delirious with fever.
Steve wraps his arms properly around Tony, runs his fingers through Tony's sweaty hair in a comforting gesture, then presses a kiss to his forehead. "Okay," he whispers back.
"Y'gonna get sick," Tony mutters sleepily, but makes no attempt at moving away.
"Worth it," Steve replies, and falls asleep shortly, lulled by Tony's regular breathing.