Work Text:
I Give My Hand to You
“The Avengers have admirable battle skills,” Rhodey said reluctantly, rubbing his forehead as he bent over the lists he’d compiled over the last few days. “And if I’m being honest, those skills might be more valuable than any money the Stones could offer or the weapons that Hammer would make. I’m not sure what Bane wants, but I don’t trust her saying she’d marry you for nothing.” Tony’s heart leapt into his throat. If Rhodey was trying to sell him on the advantages of picking a suitor, things must be dire.
Marriage proposals had immediately dried up after Hydra had attacked his kingdom and word had made it back to other royals that he’d been mortally wounded. When he’d managed to survive, everyone had been surprised, including his doctors. But no one had wanted to step up and care for him in marriage, let alone lead a kingdom at war. Rhodey and Pepper had taken over in his stead while he’d healed, and between them and his generals, they’d forced Hydra to retreat, but they couldn’t hold the throne forever. (Tony had asked, but his council had said only if they were married, and Pepper’s face had twitched into something dismayed, so he’d focused on recovering instead.)
They couldn’t afford to be picky, but they also couldn’t afford to be careless in choosing. A couple kingdoms had shown reluctant interest, and Tony had been resigned to an unhappy marriage where he’d be paraded around for the wedding and then firmly hidden away. The Avengers throwing their hat into the ring had been genuinely surprising. They were a nomadic group, spending most of their time on the move, and when they settled for the winter, they were known to lend their battle prowess as a form of payment for a place to set up their tents and barter for food. They’d only strayed onto Stark lands twice that Tony remembered, and the woman who had come to barter for their passage had been so tall and imposing that Tony had already been inclined to agree with anything she said before she even asked.
Tony tipped his head toward the window, watching the dark clouds swirling in the sky. He could see some of the Avengers circling high and then diving toward the ground, wings covered in leather sheets to protect them from projectiles as they trained for battle. His own wings tried to spread reflexively in response, and the feeling of the nub on his right slicing bluntly through the air made his eyes burn with tears. He closed his eyes and breathed in slowly to get his emotions under control, settling his tattered wings against his back again, then turned to face Rhodey at his desk. “You really think that the Avengers are our best option?”
Rhodey sighed, rubbing his hands over his face. “I don’t want to make a decision for you. But.” He turned, laying his arm over the back of his chair so he could make eye contact with him. “I’ll be honest, Tony. I think Stone and Hammer would both suck your kingdom dry and do nothing for your people, no matter what they say. I think Bane would do the same, but there’s something about her I trust even less than them. The Avengers, at least, have been honest about what they want and what they’re willing to give.”
“Mmh,” Tony hummed, his arm crossing over his stomach as if it might quell the sick feeling growing inside him. He took a step closer to the desk and looked over the lists Rhodey and Pepper had compiled for him over the last week. He was inclined to agree, he realized, eyes tracking quickly over pros and cons. The Avengers had offered their forces to protect the Stark Kingdom, and it was partially fueled by a hatred of Hydra, so they’d promised he’d never have to worry about another attack from them. In return, they only asked for a safe place to winter and supplies for their troops. Tony didn’t even have to worry about arming them with weapons and armor; apparently, they intended to take care of that themselves.
He flushed with shame when he noticed the notation Rhodey had added at the bottom. Won’t be hidden away. It wasn’t certain that he’d be forced into seclusion if he married into another kingdom, but the scarring on his face was so extensive that both Bane and Stone had said they didn’t want marriage portraits, and Hammer hadn’t said anything either way. On the other hand, many of the Avengers had scars, and no one seemed to care. They might think he was ugly, but they wouldn’t think he was something to be hidden away. Scars were a sign of living through battle, he remembered one of them saying solemnly. He reached out, fumbling with the pen in his left hand, and added, I can stay here. His other suitors were insisting he move to their kingdoms, but the Avengers had promised they would use his castle as a home base of sorts; he could stay there as the reining monarch, and his spouse and their people would continue to roam, searching for Hydra along the boarders, until winter came and they settled back in the safety of the capital.
Rhodey looked down at what he’d written, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a smile that didn’t really hold joy at all. “I guess the choice was kinda made for us, huh?”
Tony looked down at stump where his arm had been and sucked in a sharp breath, nodding. His voice cracked as he answered, “Tell the council.”
.-.
If it had been before the attack, the wedding would have been ostentatious. It would have been in the great ballroom, velvet draped from the ceiling, chandeliers shined bright and dripping with prisms to send tiny rainbows cascading over the room. Tony would have been decked out in his best clothes, gems glittering between feathers. The room would have been packed with friends and family and officials. It would have been loud, raucous, perhaps even overwhelming, if it wasn’t for the joy tempering it.
But Tony hadn’t stopped flinching at loud noises since he’d woken from his coma, and his damaged eye reacted badly to bright lights. He wasn’t exactly amenable to crowds these days, either. He didn’t even want to look at his dress clothes, which he’d last worn before his injury; they were made for a man twenty pounds heavier and with a functioning right arm and wing. An ostentatious wedding was no longer in the cards, and part of him was relieved that he wouldn’t have to show off his scarred face and neck to the masses at large. Fortunately, the Avengers didn’t seem to mind, and it made him wonder what their weddings looked like. They’d assembled quietly in the dining room near the table laden with food, the only sign there was a celebration of any kind about to happen, and waited for Tony and his retinue to arrive.
It was more like a business deal than a marriage ceremony. Tony wasn’t even certain who he was supposed to be marrying until he made his way toward the officiant standing in front of the largest arched window and one of the Avengers peeled away from their group. He swallowed thickly, fighting the urge to turn and look. The last thing he wanted to do was psych himself out and stumble. This was important. He was twining his life with another person’s, would be looking to them when making decisions, would have to depend on them to protect his country from invading forces. He wasn’t going to embarrass himself or his people by getting flustered. He stopped in front of the officiant, took a deep breath, then turned to finally face his future spouse.
A faint, startled ‘oh’ escaped his mouth as he tipped his head back, eyes widening as he took in his new partner. He was tall, broad, muscles visible through his clothes. His jaw was sharp, lips pink, nose straight. Tony almost swallowed his tongue as he finally met his eyes, blue like when the ocean met the horizon, and it felt like they were piercing right through him. He fought the urge to shuffle in place, instead straightening his shoulders, tipping his chin up stubbornly. He knew what the other man was seeing: the skin on the right side of his face rippling and puckering with scars from his hairline down to disappear under his collar; his right eye filmed over, the muscles around it straining to help him see what little he could out of it; the stump of his right arm and wing blunt and brutally unignorable. He had a split second to feel shame. He used to be good-looking. He used to be strong. And he would have made the same decision to throw himself into battle to protect his people over and over again, but he still wished that things could have been different.
But he wouldn’t be marrying into the Avengers if things had been different, he reminded himself with a sigh.
“Please take the other’s hand,” the officiant began, voice kind, and Tony immediately thrust his left hand out before he could do something embarrassing, like push his stump forward.
Tony knew the vows by heart. He’d been practicing since he’d realized a marriage was imminent, afraid the damaged muscles in his jaw would give out and he’d slur his words. Everything needed to be perfect. He couldn’t show any more weakness than was visible. He needed them to think they’d made a good choice. The only thing he hadn’t known was that his new husband’s name was Steven, but luckily his tongue hadn’t tripped on the ‘S’ or ‘V’ at all. He was grateful that there would be no kiss at the end, because they had no previous relationship. He didn’t want the other man to have to lean in and see his scarring even closer, although standing with their hands clasped as the officiant went to get signatures from all the witnesses was its own kind of hell. All he could think about was the callouses he could feel, the steady strength in the hand grasping his own. He wondered if the other man minded his own smooth skin; his callouses had softened while he’d been unconscious, unable to work in his forge or grip a weapon, and he fumbled so much with his left hand that he hadn’t been able to work any up since.
Steven tipped his head as he looked at him, and Tony hoped he wasn’t too disappointed. He wasn’t sure how the Avengers had decided who was going to be their sacrificial lamb. Finally, though, he took a tiny step forward, murmuring, “Snow’s on the wind.”
Tony had seen the clouds coming in, but he hadn’t expected snow so early. “Is there?”
“We know when winter is coming,” Steven assured him. Of course they did, though. That was when they finally settled. He lifted his free hand, letting it hang beside Tony’s face before very carefully pressing in.
Tony hissed, unable to help a little flinch as Steve’s warm skin pressed against his rippling scars. “Oh!”
Steven frowned, pulling his hand away enough that it wasn’t touching him, but still hovered nearby. “Does it hurt?”
“’s tender,” Tony admitted, but he found himself leaning into Steven’s hand anyway. It had been so long since someone besides a doctor had been brave enough to touch his face. “But I was just surprised.”
Steven’s thumb grazed the edge of his lip. “I’ll remember that.” He said it with such certainty that Tony felt heat rising to his cheeks. “We’ll have the entire winter together.”
Tony swallowed thickly. “Yes.”
Something changed in Steven’s expression, jaw clenching, brows furrowing together. “After winter, we will make Hydra pay dearly for what they’ve done to you.” His wings unfolded from his back, and Tony’s eyes darted to them reflexively. They rose up over Steven’s head, mantling in a threat display, feathers fluffing out, the whites and grays rippling together in waves that made his wings seem even bigger. He took a step closer, eyes dark as he corrected, “I will make Hydra pay dearly for what they’ve done to you.”
Tony felt a nervous squeak try to escape his throat and swallowed it back down. His own wings swung out to display back at him before he could stop them, and as he watched Steven’s eyes dart toward them, he squeezed his own shut; he didn’t want to see the disgust on his face when Steven realized exactly what he’d married, the evidence of his failure as a leader on full display not only for Steven, but everyone in the room.
They’d been winning, was the thing. Tony and his army had driven Hydra back. Morale was high, his army fierce, and the high of a battle almost won had pushed them to fight harder. Hydra had been retreating. Tony had let his guard down, expecting them to simply leave with their tails between their legs, but Hydra had had one last trick up their sleeve, apparently for just such an occasion. There had been a scream, someone had pointed up, and Tony had spun around to see some sort of projectile flying toward them, glowing orange with heat. He knew it had been aimed at him. He was the king, and Hydra probably thought his kingdom would fall without his leadership; all they had to do was wait for his death to be announced before they pounced again. So Tony had done the only thing he was able, throwing his wings out and flapping wildly to clear the area around him of others who could become casualties. He’d always been proud of his wide wingspan, but he’d never actually appreciated it until that moment, turning to face the projectile and raising his hand in a desperate attempt to stop it with a charge from his gauntlet—
The next thing he knew was waking up and wishing he hadn’t, screaming and screaming and screaming as Rhodey and his doctors held him down to try and flush his wounds, the smell of burnt hair and feathers clogging his nose and mouth until someone mercifully shoved a chloroform-soaked rag over his face and held it there until everything had gone dark again. When he’d healed enough to know the damage done to him, he’d found most of his right arm and wing carved away. His left wing was mottled with burns from the projectile bursting apart before it hit him, and the feathers would never regrow there. The only mercy was that he’d been the only one to get hit, just like he’d hoped, the only wounds on his soldiers from minor shrapnel.
Tony heard Steven suck in a sharp breath in front of him over the pounding in his ears, and he reluctantly peeled his eyes open. He looked… angry. His hand had tightened around Tony’s in a grip that just bordered on painful, and his wings twisted as if to flap and then mantled again, as if he couldn’t control the urge to frighten even the memory of an enemy. Tony’s wings shuddered under the effort of holding them up, and he found himself pulling them back in before his entire body started trembling, not wanting the Avengers to see just how weak he still was. He reminded himself that he hadn’t fully recovered, that he’d had to rush into marriage because Pepper had pushed Hydra back, but not forever. One day he’d be able to mantle the remains of his wings without tiring. But today was not that day, and he would not embarrass himself at his wedding.
Steven let go of his hand, and Tony made a wounded noise, because the officiant hadn’t come back and congratulated them yet, but then Steven was cupping the other side of his face, his grip gentle but steady as he carefully forced Tony to look up at him. Tony blinked back the heat building in his eyes, hand coming up to grip at Steven’s wrist. Steven’s expression had gone shockingly tender, considering his wings were still mantled up in a threat display. He didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t how marriage ceremonies were supposed to go.
“Anthony Stark,” Steven said, thumbs rubbing back and forth over his cheekbones. Somehow, despite how gentle he was making his voice, it seemed to carry and fill the whole room. “You are one of us now. We will avenge you.”
There was a beat as Tony stared up at him, speechless, but then a screech echoed out from across the room where the rest of the witnessing Avengers were, and his eyes darted over just in time to watch as everyone in the group threw their wings up too, mantling in an array of colors that made his head swim. Every few seconds was punctuated by a screech of pure fury, or the air would clap as a pair of wings flapped before returning to the giant threat display. He suddenly realized why the Avengers were universally respected and feared. If he’d been on the battlefield across from them and seen that, he might have simply abandoned all hope in the face of their determination.
He noticed movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head, heart leaping into his throat when he realized it was Rhodey’s dark wings mantling on the other side of the room. Pepper’s followed immediately after, greens and yellows flashing, then Happy’s, Bruce’s, Peter and May’s. His wings twitched, itching to rise again, but he could only get his stump up, his left wing feeling impossibly heavy as his muscles strained. His entire right side throbbed, reminding him he’d only been on his feet for a couple months, not even close to healing fully.
“I’ve got you,” Steven promised, finally dropping his hand from his face so he could reach back, carefully grasp the joint in his wing and push it up high, holding the weight up for him. “I’ve got you.”
It sounded more sincere than any of their vows had, and Tony couldn’t help but lean in and hide his burning face against Steven’s chest.