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Tony’s not really sure how he feels about this whole situation, honestly.
“I am so sorry, my friend,” Thor says for what seems like the hundredth time. “I did not know this spell would hit you, nor would have such dire consequences!”
“How do we even know if the stupid spell’s gonna work on Iron Man anyway?” Clint says because he’s a gigantic ass sometimes, no matter how much Tony likes the guy. Emphasis on the gigantic too; Goliath is looking even larger because of Enchantress’s ridiculous hex to balloon his muscles. In Amora’s defense, it had worked a treat because Clint hadn’t been able to do much fighting against her or her lovestruck goons outside of lumbering attempts to step on them, but it did mean that Clint wasn’t in a great mood while he waited for it to wear off.
“You know, I am a man under this armor you know,” Tony says, trying not to let his worry bleed through his armor’s voice modulators.
“And maybe it just hit the armor.”
“I’m perfectly able to tell that my body is turning to stone, Goliath.”
“Okay,” Steve says, one hand on his hip and the other holding his shield loosely at his side, “what did she say the spell would do again?”
“Turn Iron Man into stone within the hour if he did not have true love’s kiss,” Thor says.
Jan’s still tiny, fluttering around Tony’s helmet in a flurry of nervous anxiety. “You wouldn’t happen to have someone special at home, would you, some wife or girlfriend?”
Yes, actually, but he’s not at all aware that he’s the object of my affections so I doubt he counts, Tony thinks to himself, fighting the urge to glance at Steve. That would be horrifying, giving away both his crush on his teammate and...well, his crush on his teammate. Who is a man. Who also just came from 1945 only a short time ago to boot.
“I sure don’t,” Tony tells her quietly.
“There has to be something we can do,” T’Challa says.
Tony tunes them out, trying to ignore the growing feeling of cold, prickly numbness spreading throughout his body. It’s eerily similar to the anxiety that comes with his heart attacks except there’s no pain at all, and he’s not sure if that’s a blessing or not. He’s always been fairly certain he would die in an Iron Man-related firefight or from a heart attack, and generally in a lot of pain either way, but dying from being magically turned to stone because no one loves him?
It’s definitely not a pleasant thought.
The view’s pleasant though, and not only because of Captain America framed in gold sunlight as it crests over the skyscrapers on the east of Battery Park and over the waterfront to the bay. It’s just nice, despite the park being emptied of civilians for safety reasons, because he’s surrounded by green trees and little art sculptures and seagulls screeching for food, surrounded by his closest friends and battle comrades.
It’s a good last hour, really. It helps blunt the blow of dying, and it also helps blunt the blow of knowing that his secret identity is about to be blown, since the whole world’s going to connect the dots when Tony Stark goes missing at the same time Iron Man turns to stone.
“I don’t accept this!” Steve exclaims. “We can’t just give up on Iron Man! You must know a sorcerer who can reverse it, Thor, or there must be some other way to break this spell!”
“There is a way, Winghead,” Tony says tiredly, “but I don’t think we’re going to find any takers for the job, not that I can blame them. Not exactly easy to love someone that does this job and always wears a metal suit of armor.”
Hank awkwardly pats Tony on the shoulder even though Tony’s in the armor and can’t feel it, though he supposes it’s the thought that counts. “We’ll figure it out, Iron Man,” he says, which is nice. Mostly because Hank’s smart and, especially with T’Challa and Thor in the mix, they have the brains and resources to figure it out. Maybe they’ll be able to revert Tony back to human sooner rather than later.
“No, absolutely not,” Steve says. “I refuse to accept this!”
Tony smiles behind his faceplate, then reaches up and unclasps the latches for the helmet. It’s already been over forty minutes since the spell hit, almost ten since the battle ended, and he wants to feel the dawn on his face for the last twenty or so minutes before his body finally turns to stone. Goodness, he’s already so tired and heavy, his limbs stiff like they’re slowly drying in concrete, which he guesses is kind of what’s happening except it’s on the inside via magic instead of on the outside by science.
He really does hate magic.
Tony doesn’t know if it’s the magic, the rapidly increasing lethargy, or the relief of not feeling any pain in his last hour, but it’s nice. He’s not happy about any of this, he’s afraid and he’s angry and if he had the energy, he’d burst into tears because it looks like Steve is losing his mind and it’s breaking Tony’s heart, but still. It’s so much nicer than how Tony thought he’d die.
Tony pulls off the faceplate and sucks in a deep breath of fresh air, eyes closing against the sudden brightness that is no longer filtered through specialized bulletproof glass.
The faceplate falls from his stiff fingers but that’s okay, he doesn’t really need it anymore. He thinks he hears a gasp and a name but that doesn’t matter either because the sun is warm against his cold skin, the breeze like a caress, the sound of gulls and traffic distant. He can smell the miasma of New York, an indescribable scent that is impossible to describe except half disgusting and half brilliant, a mess of food and gasoline and stagnant water and urine and metal and garbage and warm rock and cigarette smoke.
He loves this city as much as he loves Iron Man, as much as he loves the Avengers, almost as much as he loves Steve, and he’s surrounded by all the above. What a gift.
“Hey Tony, can you look at me for a second?”
Tony forces his heavy eyelids open a crack, his entire body held upright by the suit alone, and can barely make out Steve. He’s impossible to miss, all bright and beautiful in his colorful uniform, and the only thing Tony misses is seeing him without the cowl, all that carefully styled blond hair slicked within an inch of its life but so very lovely in the sun, especially with the contrast of his azure eyes.
No one on the planet is more handsome than Steve Rogers, that’s for sure.
“I’m going to try something okay? I have to try something. Is that okay?” Steve asks, sounding like he’s at the end of a very long tunnel.
Tony’s unable to keep his eyes open anymore but he manages to say in a mumble of words, “Always...anything for you, Steve.” It’s probably too revealing but Tony’s beyond caring at this point—if he wasn’t out of energy, Tony would throw in the towel completely and just tell Steve that he loved him so completely that it sometimes left Tony incapable of even catching his breath from the overwhelming force of it.
And then Tony feels blistering warmth rushing back through his body, starting from his lips and cheeks and radiating outwards until he can feel it all the way to the tips of his toes.
It takes a shameful amount of time for Tony’s sluggish brain to reboot enough to register that there are hands cupping his jaw because he’s being kissed, nothing outrageously scandalous but nothing chaste either, and by that point he’s already kissing back.
He doesn’t have to open his eyes to know who it is. He can tell by the size and roughness of the hands, slightly damp from being in leather gloves during a long battle in humid Manhattan. He can tell by the scent of leather and metal and sweat that is as familiar to Tony as his own. He can tell by the very feel of him, even though Tony’s never kissed Steve before in his entire life, because his body has been attuned to Steve’s since the day they’d pulled him out of the water.
He can tell because every cell in his body is coming back to life faster than his mutilated heart can beat, and the spell had said only true love’s kiss could grant that reprieve.
Tony’s eyes fly open and he’s faced with Steve on his knees in front of him, eyes damp behind the cowl and a wobbly smile on his face. The rest of the Avengers stand around them in an impenetrable circle, facing outwards and blocking any possible nosy reporters or cameramen that may have been loitering about, protecting the two of them with sheer bulk and intimidation.
“It worked!” Steve cries with audible joy, beaming so brightly that he’s competing with the sun’s glow behind him.
To his left, Thor lets out a booming cheer, his hammer crackling with energy, and the rest of the Avengers follow suit, even Vision and the more stoic T’Challa. Steve starts laughing and Tony, his bodily functions rapidly flooding back, begins huffing out something that might be a laugh too, if a laugh’s put through a metal shredder. It’s okay though, because the Avengers are all turning towards them, the more exuberant ones throwing their arms around them in a hug and the less exuberant ones hovering in their usual supportive way like always.
“True love’s kiss huh?” Jan teases, grinning at him.
“Oh my God,” Tony says because he’s just kissed Captain America on the green in Battery Park at sunrise!
“Hey now,” Steve says right back, narrowing his eyes playfully at Jan behind the cowl, “don’t you tease my best man, Wasp.”
“Oh my God.”
“Okay, I need leave before I lose my appetite!” Clint says, though he promptly pinches up Tony’s mask in his massive fingers and hands it over with a cheerful grin. “You can mack on each other after pancakes at home, okay? Put your face back on Iron Man, good grief.”
“Oh my God,” Tony says for a third time because he just outed himself in two completely different ways in the span of five minutes.
“I like both your faces, especially since they belong to the same man,” Steve says, earning a chorus of immediate groans.
And Tony decides he does not care a lick if this is the result. He beams, puts back on his mask, and grabs Steve round the middle, shooting the rest of the Avengers a cheerful salute before blasting the two of them into the sky towards the mansion, leaving Clint complaining loudly below.
Steve and Tony have got a lot to talk about before pancakes, after all.