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Steve could never forget it.
No matter how hard he tried.
Crimson skies above them, as dark as the bloodsoaked ground beneath them. The furious cacophony of screams and explosions, a grim aria heralding death. The cold seeping into the marrow of his bones, hidden behind the heat of exertion; the breath of the Grim Reaper himself.
Sometimes he thought he could hear it among the chaos, the swishing of his scythe.
The quietude of finality.
The stillness that followed was forever burned into his mind; Tony on his knees, his whisper carrying across the field in echoes.
Blood and mud squelching disgustingly beneath his boots, tripping over torn-off limbs and lifeless bodies after the snap, screaming himself raw as he called-
“Tony!”
~
It was always that same nightmare over and over again since the battle.
And, as usual, it was Friday's voice that greeted him when he finally woke with his husband's name stuck in his throat, sharp and stabbing like shattered glass; he could almost taste it, too, wine-sweet and blood-bitter on his tongue.
The Avengers compound had been rebuilt and expanded to accommodate the newest members of the team.
It was something of a miracle, the fact that Tony's underground workshop survived. They built up from the foundations of his legacy.
Friday greeted him cheerfully as ever and proceeded to tell him his schedule for the day; empty, as it had been in the months that followed the war.
The team was graciously understanding, letting him take the time off he needed. Everyone lost people they cared about, and now they were reunited.
Everyone but Steve Rogers.
His wounds were still too fresh, too raw; he could feel his heart bleeding, painting his ribs crimson each day he woke up in an empty bed that felt too much like a desolate battlefield, in the silence that felt too much like the fallout of the snap.
He hadn't even registered getting dressed and leaving their - well, his, now - bedroom to go to the kitchen.
The compound was his for the day.
“Peter is scheduled to return later today.”
“Thank you, Friday,” Steve said as he turned the coffee machine on. He let the quiet hum of it fill the silence, let it drown out his thoughts as he forced his mind to blissful emptiness. Somewhere in the distance a car passed by.
To very little avail, but let it be known he tried.
His train of not-thought was cut off by the harsh ringing of the doorbell.
“It's a delivery for you, Captain,” Friday said.
With his coffee temporarily abandoned Steve made his way through the winding, bright hallways all the way to the entrance.
These walls and corridors were brand new, still smelling faintly of fresh paint and potential, yet they followed the original compound’s schematic to a T. Steve could see fleeting ghosts of memories flickering in his peripherals, afterimages of what felt like a lifetime spent at Tony's side.
He thought then that perhaps it would be easier to simply return to running missions. Lingering threats still remained, and the Universe was still full of evil; maybe the memories of that battle would be easier to bear than the grief-soaked softness.
The door opened before him to reveal no one in sight, not even a van shrinking in the distance. Just a package with the FedEx logo in bright letters.
Steve picked it up with a sigh and walked back to the kitchen.
He tossed the package onto the table as he walked by, deciding it best to look at it once he was caffeinated and a bit more ready to take on the day.
Unfortunately, the coffee needed to be heated up. It’d gone cold.
Once it was ready he took the steaming red and gold mug and sat down at one of the barstools by the kitchen area, directly across the room so he could look out through the large windows, out at the everlasting serenity of the meadows surrounding the base. Far beyond it he could see the city skyline, so docile and tiny from perspective.
The drink, he found, wasn't that great - he'd almost forgotten what bad coffee tastes like. Tony always ensured they had nothing but the best on the compound; he'd probably have to look through Tony's computer to find out what was the brand he bought.
But it was too difficult to go down to his workshop this early. Not that Steve hadn't tried.
With a sigh he hopped down and dutifully put his cup in the dishwasher.
It was also then that Friday decided to speak up.
“You might want to take a look at this one, captain.”
Steve smiled. It was almost as though she knew he hated to be bothered before his morning coffee.
Though that had never been an issue before he met Tony. It seemed the man rubbed off on him like that.
His vision blurred a little around the edges, the ground threatening to sway beneath his feet.
Just another piece of Tony for Steve to carry with him. Another silent eulogy written in habits he'll never shake, for the person he'll never stop missing.
The package itself was unassuming, at least until he saw the name of the sender.
Tony Stark.
His first instinct was rage, blindingly bright and scalding. His fingers creased the cardboard where he gripped them too hard, knuckles turning white.
But then again, that is something Tony would do. Send out a package for him to find in case of his untimely demise.
“Friday?”
“I assure you it's safe, Captain,” she said. “I have a theory as to what this is. But I think it'd be best if you opened it regardless.”
Steve nodded, smoothing out the box as much as his calloused hands allowed. It was weird, to care so much for something so insignificant, but- It was from Tony.
…God.
He was no stranger to grief, to the way it tainted his soul until nothing but a barren wasteland remained. But this was beyond anything he'd ever felt; like an endless void closing in around him, a black hole expanding where his heart had been ripped out bleeding from his chest and eating him alive from the inside out.
A part pf him died with Tony on that battlefield.
In the end, he opened the package with a bit more care than one would typically reserve for such a thing.
Inside was nothing but a USB drive - Steve had been married to a tech genius, he could recognize one by now thank you very much - and a note, written in the messy scrawl he'd recognize anywhere.
Friday will walk you through it.
XX Tony
He smiled. It felt a little out of place, as though he was out of practice, and he could feel his lower lip wobbling a little at the sight.
But it was his first genuine smile in months.
“It would seem my theory is correct,” Friday's voice reached him. It sounded a bit resigned, for some reason. Or perhaps simply bittersweetly nostalgic. “I know it's difficult for you, but I need to ask you to go down to Tony's lab and plug the drive into any USB port you see. I will take it from there.”
Speechless and shaking Steve just nodded, discarding the empty box, which hit the tabletop with a soft thump as he walked to the elevators.
“Guess I'd have had to do it sooner or later,” Steve mumbled, more to himself than to Friday. He breathed a sigh of relief when she didn't respond.
The elevator dinged softly and Steve walked in, pressing the button for the lowest level.
Whenever Tony was working late and Steve had to go down to drag him to bed, Tony would sleepily joke that he'd set the elevator music in the compound to AC/DC. Steve always chuckled as they stood together, arms around each other's waists, smiling at his lover.
Now, he was thankful for the silence.
The doors opened with the quiet hiss and Steve braved the few steps to Tony’s lab on legs that felt like jello, punching in the access code with trembling hands.
The lab lit up, coming to life with a symphony of mechanical whirrs and groans, and the only things missing were Black Sabbath blasting on full volume and Tony hunched over his desk, pondering a new project, looking up to smile at him.
He pointedly ignored the stab of phantom pain through his heart and walked through the lab in search of a USB port.
The place was illuminated by the gentle, cool blue glow that perfectly fit the ambience. It was as messy as Tony had left it, half-finished projects lying around on each worktop, holoscreens lighting up in the middle of the room and showing numbers and equations and blueprints Steve simply couldn't fathom.
God, how he missed him.
In the end, he found a port near one of the work benches in the far corner of the room. There was a mug there - red and blue, Steve’s own - where some old coffee had begun to mold.
“Think there's a way we can salvage the mug, Friday?” He asked.
“I believe so, but it will need several turns in the dishwasher,” the assistant replied.
Steve plugged the drive in and grabbed the mug on his way out, midly disgusted and endlessly fond.
He rode the elevator back up and let his mind’s noise fill the silence.
~
The night had been gloomy then.
The normally blazing stars were hidden behind unforgiving storm clouds as rain ravaged the world around them, thunder rumbling in the distance and lighting splitting the skies.
Thor must be really angry, Tony would say. Or he'd make another dumb joke in a similar vein.
He was sitting on the couch, a warm and fluffy blanket thrown loosely around his shoulders as he watched the mayhem outside the window.
Something was going down in the TV show he'd put on earlier. He abandoned it not even halfway into the first episode, unable to focus, and simply let it fade out into meaningless background noise.
“Do you know when he'll be back, Friday?”
“It shouldn't be long now,” her disembodied, ever-present voice replied immediately. “You have been asking me that every fifteen minutes. You can relax, Captain.”
Somehow, Steve thought she sounded amused.
As if on cue, as if summoned by Steve’s hopelessly romantic pining, the front doors opened.
He was up and running to grab Tony in his arms in seconds; the man staggered as Steve crashed into him, but returned the hug just as fiercely.
His jacket was still dripping, rain soaking through Steve’s pyjamas, his hair damp and smelling of the earth when he nuzzled into it like a lovesick fool.
But, hey. Steve had been called that (by Tony, no less) too many times to count, and it always rang in his ears as a compliment.
Then they pulled away, and Tony leaned up to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips.
“Miss me, Captain Rogers?”
~
The elevator stopped, once again with a quiet ding, and Steve stepped out. He went to the kitchen to wash out the worst of the mold from the mug and placed it in the dishwasher before thoroughly washing his hands and wiping them with a kitchen towel.
With that done, and with nothing left to do but wait for Friday to explain what the hell was going on, he made his way to their bedroom through the same old-new corridors haunted by memories.
As he stepped in he realized he forgot to make the bed.
That was out of character for him, even in his… difficult situation.
It was a mind-numbing, simple task he did mechanically, just as he did in the army. Tony always teased him for being so uptight when there were no drill sergeants around to yell at him for it.
Old habits die hard, Steve would simply say with a shrug.
He plopped down on the bed, and resigned himself to staring at their wedding photo.
He didn't want to remember that day too often, lest he wear it out like a well-loved polaroid and its loses its sharpness and finer details to the light.
But Tony had looked so beautiful then, so young and carefree.
That picture was taken as they kissed right after exchanging rings, golden sunlight glistening in tear tracks on their cheeks and smiles so wide it was almost painful.
Another smile pulled at his lips, this time wistful.
“It’s been a pleasure to work with you, Captain. Please, relay my warmest regards to the rest of the team when they get back,” Friday’s voice pulled him back to reality, still tinted by that weird bittersweet nostalgia he heard before. “Perhaps we'll talk again someday.”
“Friday?” He asked, alarm bells ringing in his head as he sat up on the bed. “What's going on?”
“Miss me, Captain Rogers?”
Tony.
It was his voice, the snarky yet loving tone he used whenever he talked to Steve. It lacked the undertone of static that Friday had; it sounded as if Tony was talking to Steve from the other end of the room, not from the afterlife.
Steve didn't realize he was crying until he choked on a sob, tears blurring his vision. He snaked his arms around his middle in a mockery of a hug almost subconsciously.
“I miss you,” he managed somehow. “So much.”
“I miss you too,” Tony said. His voice was like balm on his, like starlight stitching his shattered heart back together. “But hey, I'd never leave you alone. Not if there was something I could do about it. And I'm a genius, so believe you me when I say I had plenty of ideas.”
Steve barked out a chuckle through his sobs.
“Dare I ask?”
“It's best you don't,” Tony joked. “For your own sanity.”
This, for some reason, had Steve laughing so hard he felt insane. He felt back on the bed, clutching his stomach, fresh tears streaming down his cheeks for an entirely different reason this time.
Tony was back. In a way so uniquely him it almost hurt.
“You know, I don't remember you ever laughing so hard at my jokes when I was alive,” he said, performatively petulant. “Guess I should've died earlier.”
Steve's laughter died down.
“Shit, too soon?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, still smiling despite himself. Despite the reminder Tony was no longer physically with him. “Way too soon.”
“Thanks for taking care of that mug, by the way,” Tony said right away, not at all subtle with his change of topic. “I wouldn't want to turn your lives into an Alien movie.”
Steve chuckled again, unable to help it.
God, Tony was back.
Steve spent the rest of the day enjoying Tony’s presence, listening to his jokes and attempting to crack his own much to his husband's eternal chagrin, talking about nothing and everything.
When dusk finally painted the skies black and the stars began glimmering in the infinite void of the Universe Steve retired to their quarters unable to fight his exhaustion any longer, hoping for better dreams.
“I’m glad you’re here, Tony.”
“Yeah,” he said, and Steve could practically hear the smile in his voice. “I’m glad I’m here too.”
Slumber dragged him down into the arms of Morpheus, and for the first time since the battle, Steve didn’t have nightmares.