Chapter Text
Gentle strength opened the door slowly, Thor having already become accustomed to accidentally skewing flimsy midgaurdian architecture – nothing in the tower of course: that required a little more brute force.
Slipping his head and shoulder through the ‘not so small’ gap, the god noted that the patient was finally alone. The room, and several others the same, had been a hive of activity for the past week or so, but for now, no medical staff fussed over the man in the bed, nor the machines attached to him.
The lack of witnesses allowed Thor to do what he hadn’t yet, and he entered the room, setting Mjölnir by the door with a soft ‘thud’. Crossing in two long strides, he sat, the white plastic chair creaking ominously beneath his weight as he settled into it, the thin frame barely supporting his musclebound form.
Taking in his sleeping friend, Thor felt the guilt he’d been denying wash over him anew, and quietly he spoke, “I know not what you have – are – suffering through, my friend – all of you. I know only what I have gleaned from Clint and Bruce as they gain their heath. And that knowledge…humbles me.”
A huge hand, large enough to completely engulf the one it reached to grip, squeezed with belying gentleness as Thor continued, “I am sorry I was not stronger, that I did not persevere. I have no excuse, only a reason, insufficient as it is. I was raised a prince, and as such, am not accustomed to denying myself anything. Not even sleep. I fear that my indulgence was my undoing and I left you all to suffer through my loss.”
The unusually pale skin contrasted strikingly with his own golden tan, and Thor sighed as he added, “You must not grieve, for I am not lost at all…yet I fear, if you, the good captain and Lady Widow do not waken soon- it will be you who are lost– and that it will be my turn to grieve- for truth”
He waited a beat, hoping that his words might spur a reaction, his voice, presence, but none was forthcoming. Getting to his feet, Thor continued, “Rest, Iron brother – as soon as he is able, Clint and I shall return to the scene of our incarceration and work to identify and apprehend this villainous foe.”
At the door, he turned, concluding solemnly, “Mark my words well, for I will not fail you again.”
Mjölnir was lifted, the weight a familiar soothing balm against his battered soul – he was still worthy. Thor slipped out the door and away, the only tell of his visit- one slightly warped plastic chair.
******
The lights were off in the small room when Clint ducked through the door, and they stayed that way, the archer preferring the dark, rather than having to see his friend in the stark reality of what was happening.
Crossing the room, navigating easily by associated memory of other similar rooms, Clint hesitated for barely an instant before sliding onto the foot of the bed, crossing his legs and perching.
He’d say he was guarding if anyone asked.
“So – Bruce told me what happened after I - …” looking away, Clint cleared his throat and tried again, “Look – I’m sorry. I know, trained assassin. Field conditioning…I know. I should have been able to hold out longer. Stupid ‘wink” technique. Catch 20 seconds here, a minute there! Every second counts. You know I can sleep anywhere, any time – and think! I was so proud when I mastered the method. Not many can, you know. Fat lot of good it did when I was completely cut off.”
Shifting in his cross-legged perch on the bottom of the bed, Clint sighed as he came to the point, “I’m just- sorry, I guess…that you guys were left holding the basket…after Thor, well – I don’t even want to imagine what you’re going through.”
Picking at non-existent threads from the blanket spread over the bed, Clint continued, “Uh, Thor and I went back to the facility where we were kept… and, you’ll never believe th- actually, you probably will…the bastard was still there! What is it with supervillians and the need to stay and gloat? – It’s kind of demoralising, although, pretty convenient. So. We’ve got the guy – And he’s calling himself…wait for it… ”
Clint fell silent, leaning forward, an expectant expression on his face as he imagined Tony’s ‘gimme’ look and finally he capitulated, answering gleefully, “Dr Satantastic! Yes, seriously!”
The archer laughed at the terrible name for a little longer, catering for the absence of Tony’s disbelieving guffaws, before he continued, “So – Tasha just stirred this morning, she’s still pretty sluggish – but as soon as she feels a bit better I’m sure she’ll want to have a ‘talk’ to this Doom wannabe. Talking. Probably with knives. Actually, she won’t need knives, her tongue is plenty sharp… and then, if your lazy ass isn’t already up and about, we’ll find a way to fix this.”
Silence descended again, but it lacked the distinct mocking air of earlier, this time serious, as Clint added, “Be quiet. Cos I’m only going to say this once, and you need to listen. Thanks. Thanks for trying to keep me awake. For watching out for me in that room. For looking after Tasha when I…Thanks for after Loki, for the tower, and …everything. I don’t have much family. And I really don’t like losing what I have. So, you need to wake up. Wake up Tony – before you can’t.”
This time when the silence descended, it lasted.
******
“I don’t remember what actually happened – but I know you tried to save me. And that, Tony, is more than most people have ever done, and much more than I would have asked. ”
Wanting to close the gap between them, Bruce started to shuffle the chair forward, stilling when it shuddered dangerously on bowed legs.
Thunder gods.
Shaking his head in exasperation, Bruce stood and moved the few steps to the edge of the bed, turning sideways to half sit, half lean on the mattress besides Tony’s hip as he continued, “Natasha – She’s awake and doing okay. I would have preferred she waited another day, but she insisted she was well enough to deal with our most recent villain – she didn’t have to tire herself out, in any case.”
Bruce’s fidgeting hand bumped against Tony’s half blanket covered wrist, and his fingers finally stilled, settling over the reassuringly throbbing pulse point, as he continued, “She barely said two words, just sat there caressing that knife of hers…Saruman - I mean, Satantastic or whatever – Sorry, Clint’s been in my ear all afternoon - His real name is Simon Gaswell, he was a chemist working at one of the lead bio-warfare research companies…”
Bruce trailed off, a little uncertain as to whether he really needed to include the next bit of information, whether it was really necessary…and decided that Tony would find out anyway. And Tony really wouldn’t be impressed that his friends were trying to protect him by lying.
It was a longshot that Tony could even hear him, but Bruce still felt compelled to keep him in the loop.
“…well, the company crashed when SI became less about the weapons and more about clean energy. He lost his job, his wife, his house and, well, I guess, and this is a shock….but, he blamed you. ”
Even as he said it, Bruce was shaking his head. It didn’t make much sense to him, attacking Tony Stark –let alone the ‘Avengers’ collectively – in retaliation for something that happened years ago, that had been more the governments fault (Economic crisis) than Stark Industries.
Supervillians.
He also knew that it would make at least a modicum more sense, to Tony.
His genius really didn’t spread to every field.
Bruce’s grip loosened from Tony’s wrist and slid down to settled loosely over the lax hand as he went on, “Long story short, Gaswell discovered, tweaked and manufactured a psychological nerve gas, added an unverified telepathic communication agent, blended it into a lovely cocktail….and then, apparently, picked us as the perfect lab rats.”
Bruce shifted to sit on the edge of the bed more fully, the leg beneath him having started to go numb. “It was the coat attendant at the charity gala. He was paid to slip the canister into Thor’s massive sheepskin thing – which, by the way, Thor apparently took personally, because yesterday he ‘purified the honour’ – by lightning strike. He’s hiding from Agent Coulson at the moment – Coulson having been the one to explain to Fury exactly why there’s half a million dollars’ damage in his cafeteria…and large scorch marks on the ceiling.
Bruce grinned, knowing Tony would enjoy hearing all about someone else being in trouble for scorch marks in the cafeteria when (when.) he woke, “Anyway. The canister went off in the limo – which is totalled, by the way…and this Gaswell lunatic, who was following us…somehow, and it still baffles me – managed to cart the six of us right off the highway…”
Leaning in closer, Bruce explained quietly, “That room, Tony…It wa-”
Bruce cut himself off, his eyes widening as he leapt to his feet, both hands moving to clutch the one beneath his own, sure that he’d just felt it twitch.
“-Tony? Are you…? He fell silent, hope lingering, but more sure that he’d imagined i-
The hand beneath his twitched again, accompanied by a deep shuddering breath, and Bruce broke into a relieved smile as he said, “Oh, thank god – Tony, just take it easy. Nice an- Tony!”
The smile dripped off Bruce’s face as Tony suddenly spasmed, shuddering tremors gripping his frame, his back arching horribly away from the bed as what little colour remained in his face leached away, leaving a sickly grey pallor.
“Tony! What’s- Can you h-” Bruce asked frantically as he grabbed for Tony’s shoulders, to held him down, afraid that the weakened man would still manage to throw himself bodily from the bed.
Whether coincidence or some other cause, the instant Bruce’s hands touched him, Tony collapsed back to the bed – but it wasn’t exactly an improvement.
Tony remained asleep, his body taught, as if every muscle was drawn up tightly against the next, his skin almost vibrating with the tension, as tiny spasms rocked his frame. Brown that shouldn’t have been visible, but for the near transparency of paper thin eyelids, black eyelashes indistinguishable against deep bruise-like circles, the tips fanned out in stark relief against chalky skin.
And worse than all combined – his low, anguished keening that saturated the room with unmistakable misery.
The door slammed open, and the room was engulfed with medical personnel; shocked and worried exclamations flying as they converged on their patient.
Bruce fled.
******
Bruce hadn’t, couldn’t go very far.
Not if Tony was- well.
Whatever the reason, he had to stay in case Tony needed him, He’d stopped outside the door, a few feet down the corridor, and was semi-patiently waiting, trying to ‘not hear’ the low buzz of ‘seizure?, low bp, God! Stark….” from within the room.
Just thinking about what Natasha, Steve and Tony had/were going through, was enough to make Bruce physically ill…and very, very angry. So he tried not to.
He’d lost Thor- remembered the desperation to not believe, to fix it. He very briefly remembered the heart stopping ache of losing Clint – and the all-consuming rage that had overwhelmed him.
Waking up to Thor’s inside voice, booming by his side, had been one of the most absolutely gratifying experiences of his entire life.
Admittedly, for an instant he’d had thoughts along the lines of afterlife… but Nick Fury appearing in his line of vision had quickly dissuaded him of that notion.
And to be immediately told that Clint was also awake – the world had seemed to tilt back onto its correct axis, and the empty, dead feeling inside had finally disappeared.
And to know that Tony and Steve were still experiencing that feeling… were losing almost all they had, all they loved….
Bruce couldn’t wait until they woke, until they saw…
Bruce considered Natasha one of the most emotionally disguised people he’d ever met. And yet, when she’d woken the day before yesterday, and he’d seen the way her eyes had widened just a fraction, and the pure, undiluted relief thathad seeped in….well, he wanted that for Steve and Tony as well.
For Steve - who had already lost everything once.
And for Tony – Who had never truly had anything to loose.
Mostly though, he just wanted to be able to get the image of Tony’s guilt stricken face from his mind. That final memory from before he’d woken – the guilt, shame and self-loathing easily recognisable in wide brown eyes.
******
Naturally, he didn’t hear Clint before the man suddenly dropped from the vent above, landing sure footed before Bruce.
The archer heard the buzz from the room beyond, took in Bruce’s calm position outside and his eyes lit with relieved happiness, as he said, “Tony’s awake- ?”
The light died before he finished as Bruce shook his head and answered, “No- Something happened, I don’t know –”
Clint paled slightly, his hand coming up to rub at tired eyes as he said quietly, “I do. Steve’s awake.”
Bruce blanched, almost physically flinching, torn between unparalleled delight that Steve was going to be okay and overwhelming dismay.
Because Tony was now alone.
******
Steve had been awake almost a full day, it had taken 30 minutes to explain the situation. Steve had spent the last 23 hours demanding to see Tony.
For the medical staff who were used to dealing with the genial and considerate Steve Rogers during post-mission checks and various other occasions, this demanding, difficult and downright intimidating Steve Rogers was quite a jolt to the system.
Thankfully, physically keeping him in bed hadn’t been overly difficult. He’d been white as a sheet, shaking with fatigue and suffering the Armageddon of migraines for most of the first few hours, the pleasant after effects of the gas, 7 days of drug induced coma and a complete lack of true rest over that time.
It hadn’t stopped his determined attempts though, but his double vision, freight train breathing, colt like shakiness and family of variously talented, overly concerned superheroes had.
For the most part.
Steve had finally managed to get out the door under his own (rather shaky) steam 10 minutes ago, and nothing would keep him in bed any longer.
His S.H.I.E.L.D appointed doctor, and the team had capitulated, (worried they’d look up to see Captain America sized feet disappearing out the window) on the proviso he allow them to push him in a wheelchair.
Steve had immediately agreed, just wanting see Tony.
******
The procession through the corridors of S.H.I.E.L.D’s medical facility would be talked about for many years coming.
Captain America, all 6’2, from blond head to sock covered toes, snuggly wrapped in a soft fluffy purple quilt, with only his blue eyes and a shock of blond fringe peeking out, ensconced in an inadequately sized wheel chair.
Pushed along by the softer side of the Hulk, Bruce Banner – who every few moments was forced to slap away the hands of one mischievous minded archer, lest Steve suddenly be travelling much faster than the perfectly brisk pace Bruce had already set.
For his part, when not trying to abscond with the captain, Clint was mostly well behaved, walking along backwards, hands gesturing as he chatted to Steve, adamantly focusing on the good (Steve awake), rather than the bad (Tony not awake).
Thor completed the spectacle, by simply bringing up the rear, striding along with stately royal bearing, in full Asguardian Thunder god apparel.
******
Natasha sat by Tony’s side, where she’d been since early that morning. It had taken the combined effort of all the avengers to keep Steve in bed while he recovered sufficiently – but they’d not left Tony alone, each swapping out as they could.
Tony was the same as he had been since the evening before, since Steve had-
Usually olive skin appeared waxen and chalk-white, his eyes sunken and with darker circles than Natasha had ever seen on him, and considering Tony’s penchant for sleepless nights… He hadn’t relaxed in hours, his body tense and visibly distressing to see, hands fisted at his waist, not unclenching for anyone.
His complete and utter misery was palpable, like a thick layer of despair and anguish that clung to his body in a cloying fog of pure heartbreak.
Natasha didn’t consider herself a very ‘touchy-feely’ type person, but the only thing, the only thing she wanted to do right now was soothe the agony from Tony’s mind.
Alone in the room, the medical staff having left, dumbfounded and disturbed, knowing no-one was there to see, Natasha carded her fingers through the damp hair at Tony’s forehead, brushing away from his face.
She didn’t think he even knew she was there.
******
Bruce wheeled Steve into the room, Clint falling silent and Natasha stepping back from the bed as Bruce pushed him in as close as possible.
Steve was silent as he took in the blanketed form of his lover – simply staring.
One by one, the others slipped out the door - a hand to Steve’s shoulder, a squeeze to the forearm gifted as silent support…and then Steve and Tony were alone.
“God -” – words failed him and Steve felt his throat tighten, his eyes burning a throbbing rhythm in time with his heart.
Rolling impossibly forward, Steve levered himself half out of the chair, a shaking hand reaching up to tentatively brush through tangled hair, stopping to rest along the side of Tony’s face. Cupping ear, cheek and jaw against his palm, Steve’s thumb ghosted across too pale skin beneath one closed eye.
Settling his weight against the side of the mattress, Steve rested his head on Tony’s taught stomach, eyes glued to his only true reassurance - the hint of glowing blue dimly visible from beneath the thin blanket.
******
Steve woke when he felt the blanket from earlier being tugged up around his shoulders, and forcing his eyes open, unable to believe that he’d slept – he immediately sought Tony.
Nothing. No change.
With a sigh, he turned to see his comforter – Clint.
The archer slumped back into his position, where he’d been sitting at Steve’s feet, leaning tiredly against the wheel of the chair.
Bruce was in a white chair on the other side of the bed – both Bruce and the chair looked like they’d seen better days.
Natasha had obviously dragged a chair in from another room, she was seated at the base of Tony’s bed, legs ticked up, her petite frame half submerged in the chair.
Steve could make out Thor’s feet on the opposite side of the bed, by Bruce – the god stretched out on the cheaply carpeted floor.
Steve nudged Clint with his leg, until the archer was leaning against Steve rather than the uncomfortable chair wheel, as Thor spoke, “Man of Iron will wake.”
Confident, sure, determined – not willing accept any alternative.
Unaccountable as it was, the others took reassurance from his words, eyes brightening a little and faces clearing of doubt slightly.
Bruce replied, “He will – This is Tony Stark we’re talking about…He flew out of a kidnapping wearing his own weapons…”
“No question - He’s Ironman….He flew a nuke into space, then had Shawarma.” Clint added, like that would make sense to anyone.
Steve echoed them, “He’s Tony…He can’t not.”
Silence reigned for a moment, each caught in their own thoughts, until Bruce said, “We were hoping that you’d wake together…but we thought you’d be last, Steve.”
“Super serum capabilities…” Natasha needlessly added, looking sadly over Tony’s still form.
The captain looked up, no surprise shadowing his eyes as he nodded, saying softly, “So did I.”
Clint couldn’t help grinning, despite the subject matter as he interjected, “Then again, we should have known. No one does stubborn quite like Tony.”
Steve bit his lip as he sighed, obvious worry clouding his features as he murmured, “That’s what I’m worried about. What if he doesn’t give in? You’ve all seen how he gets – how he won’t admit defeat come hell or high water…and- he thinks-”
“We’re dead.” Natasha said flatly.
Steve nodded, continuing, “Exactly. What if that pushes him over the edge – he’ll fight to stay awake. What if he doesn’t give in?”
Clint interrupted, aiming for reassuring, “Not even Tony can stay awake forever – you’ve had to put him to bed plenty of times, Cap…”
“And if it’s still too late? The doctors are sayin-” Steve tried again.
“The ‘Doctors’ don’t know what…don’t know who – they’re talking about. He’s going to wake up. Start believing otherwise and we’ll have to…talk.” Natasha said, firmly.
Steve nodded, appropriately scolded, and turned his attention back to Tony, saying quietly, “I don’t know where he gets it – the…I don’t know, will? Strength? Resolve? Pure Stubborn pig-headedness?”
“Oh –definitely the third. And he gets it the same places he gets his sheer level of irritating and his innate ability to bullshit.” Bruce injected, grinning softly as he settled a hand on Tony’s ankle.
Natasha added, “How he can be both charming and obnoxious in equal measure at the same time, and the way his Trouble Attracting Ability is only outshone by the way ‘Reckless is his middle name’.”
“But only when it’s not-” Clint began, but was cut off by Thor, whom they’d all believed to be asleep.
“It is all shown in the way he lifts Mjölnir.”
You could have heard a pin drop.
“What!?” Clint screeched, flopping down to be able to see Thor beneath the bed.
In the very early months of their Avenger team-up, Mjölnir had been a subject of hot interest – naturally, this had eventually led to an evening of – Me! My Turn! Let me try!
Steve had been the only one to actually lift the hammer – and no one had been overly surprised. Clint swore to hell and back that he’d made it wobble, which most of the others conceded with mocking smirks. Natasha had refused to even try and Bruce had claimed that he’d already tried and failed, and wouldn’t listen when they tried to point out that only the Hulk had tried.
Tony had finally capitulated to Clint’s teasing and prompting – and had laughed at the expected outcome.
“’Tis truly so. Although Brother Tony does not know of this either.” Thor explained, sitting up as he continued, “He was afflicted with the dreaming walk at the time, and simply moved it Mjölnir from his path…”
Clint scowled as he said, “That- That cheating, lying-! But why wouldn’t he show us? Brag about it…?”
Thor shook his head as he replied, “You misunderstand, Tony did not misconstrue his inability to lift Mjölnir – he must have felt he was unworthy – and thus he was. It is surely the same with you – for I can think of none more worthy.”
Clint glowed. Both figuratively and literally – a rare blush stealing over his face as he shifted uncomfortably, stilling as Steve’s hand settled reassuringly on his shoulder, although the captain adding, “Makes perfect sense to me”, didn’t help with the pleased embarrassment.
Taking pity on the archer, Bruce said, “He wears his masks in such a way that none know they are masks…perhaps not even himself.’ gesturing towards Tony.
Steve’s gaze never left his lover’s still form as he disagreed, “Not entirely true. Not anymore…We’re starting to see through those masks…in fact, I’d say it won’t be long until some are completely transparent.”
******
Hope was getting harder to maintain. Every passing minute with no response. Each doctor that shook his head in despair.
After the third doctor had semi-subtly suggested relocating Tony to a long-term care facility, Natasha had forbidden the medical personal from entering the room, barring an emergency.
Steve hadn’t left Tony’s side for more than a minute since he himself had woken, he slept, ate, drank and lived with one hand holding Tony’s.
The other’s had also refused to leave, until the fantastic four had almost been eaten by a giant moth while covering New York.
Bruce, Clint, Thor and Natasha had returned to duty. Steve hadn’t even been asked.
It was late afternoon, the dying sun sending glorious wheals of pink and gold encrusted fire-cloud across the evening sky, visible through the window of Tony’s room. The natural beauty barely even registered with Steve, who always appreciated the raw gorgeousness of mother earth.
He’d moved, ditching the wheel chair for a soft office chair filched by Clint from what was possibly Nick Fury’s office itself – Steve didn’t care enough to find out. Most of the time that chair sat abandoned by the bed anyway –Steve somehow fitting his 6’2 body into the minimal space on the bed beside Tony.
He’d thought about taking Tony home – their bed, privacy, control. Only the slight fear that something would happen -that he wouldn’t be able to fix- kept him in the medical facility.
His throat was already ragged from talking, coaxing, begging, and demanding. He had no intention of stopping.
Not until Tony told him to shut up.
“-soon. Things are happening here that you won’t want to miss. Like what? Okay, well - Gaswell was denied bail today - I know – you would have gone for something more creative. Yeah – Clint suggested that. No – Natasha vetoed the whole plan. Because I wouldn’t have.”
The conversation didn’t make a whole lot of sense to anyone but Steve, seeing as how it was fairly one sided, but Steve wasn’t concerned with appearances.
His fingers traced the tiny lines at Tony’s temple, smoothing them as he continued, “For what he did – is doing – to you…I’d let him burn in hell. We were never in that room Tony – you’re not in that room – it was all in our minds. Come on genius, I know you can figure it out… ”
His other hand traced a fleeting pattern over the exposed rim of the arc reactor, not wanting to cause bad memories if Tony were in any way aware, but unable to help himself, “Please love - you need to wake up. I need you to wake up. Please, please wake up.”
Nine days. It was almost unfathomable to Steve. How does anyone stay awake nine days? Tony’s mind hadn’t shut down for well over a week and Steve was silently, completely, terrified that the doctors were correct. That even if Tony “fell asleep” – it would still be too late in reality. That this was a permanent vegetative coma, and Tony wasn’t going to wake ever again.
He’d forbidden the thought from crossing his mind – unable to bear it.
“Go to sleep and wake up Tony. I can’t lose you. Not at all – but especially not like this”, moving slightly, Steve framed Tony’s face with his hands, pressing a kiss against unresponsive lips as he said, “You’ve got nothing to prove. I’m here waiting for you. Please – just wake up.”
Lying down again, pulling Tony’s tense body closer to his side, Steve whispered, his lips pressed close to Tony’s ear. “Just sleep, Love. Close your eyes and rest…For me. ”
How many times had he uttered those exact same words?
Tony, who didn’t listen when his body screamed for rest, when his mind was pounding angrily from overuse, who refused to give in and allow himself what he needed – but would give in for Steve.
Steve, who could retrieve Tony- exhausted, mentally and physically fatigued- from whatever he was still resolutely working on, and with only a few meaningful touches and a handful of words, guide Tony to their bed.
Would he ever get to do it again?
******
He blinked suddenly, registering only dazzling white light and music so soft he could barely hear the base melody.
He was numb – a kind of peaceful numb, where nothing hurt, in any way, and never would again.
Huh.
He’d honestly been expecting a more fire and brimstone type reception.
The thought of fire had him noticing the band of heat that seemed to encircle his arm, and the gentle puff of moist warmth against his throat. Without true consideration or deliberation, his head turned slightly and his already distorted vision was blinded by a golden lit head of hair that could only belong to Steve.
And Steve’s presence meant he was apparently still alive after all, because there was no way in hell they would ever end up in the same afterlife.
He blinked again, several times, until his vision finally cleared and Steve was less blurry, but more tired and worn – yet still undeniably perfect.
Overcome by a sudden desire to card his fingers through that hair and trace a hand over the angles of that face, he made an attempt to lift his hand, which was immediately and completely aborted.
Apparently, the numbness he’d felt before was more commonly known as bone-weary fatigue. He felt like he hadn’t slept in over a week. And of course, the memory of watching one friend after another fall asleep and die, came flooding back.
Abruptly his desire to touch the inexplicably alive Steve became an absolute need – and fighting the exhaustion, Tony raised a fumbling hand and dropped it onto the back of Steve’s neck.
Solid, real, and more importantly – suddenly awake.
***
Steve didn’t do the slow, ‘double-take’ or ‘blinking, huh’ reaction that was typical in such situations, instead, his eyes simply opened and he exclaimed “Tony!” and lunged.
Tony was gratified to find himself enveloped in glorious warmth and pressure, from shoulder to thigh. A hand came up to cradle his head, as he was pulled up and away from the mattress.
He wasn’t sure how he managed it, but somehow his noodle limp arms made it around Steve’s waist and Tony held on for all he was worth.
Steve’s face was half hidden against his neck, and Tony turned into the soft hair, images of Steve lying so cold and still, dead, consuming his ability to think, to rationalise and he was suddenly speaking, “I’m sorry – I…Steve. I tri- I tried so damn hard. I promise. But I wasn’t strong eno-”
He tried to continue, needing to get it out, to make Steve understand, but the lips suddenly covering his manage to steal his voice long enough for Steve to pull back, and resting his forehead against Tony’s, he breathed, “God – Thankyou – tha- Tony. You- No. – Just, thank-god.”
Thoroughly confused, and equally terrified, Tony blurted, “Steve? – What…you-we all died. Didn’t we? Well, obviously not- I mean…Oh please tell me this isn’t a dream, a nightmare. You can’t do thi- You can’t be dead! ”
Wrapping Tony more tightly against him, as both comfort and reassurance, Steve hushed him, “No. No - Hey. Hey! Tony. I’m fine. Real. Shh- no one’s dead. We’re all alive and everyone is going to be okay.”
Tony, his muscles throbbing with sudden overuse after a long period of strain, slumped as he said, “Good. Alive is good. I- How? It wasn’t me. I did try. I really-” he cut himself off with a pained groan as his left hand clawed itself into a serious cramp.
Steve captured the spasming hand between his own, gently massaging as he spoke soothingly, able to see the shock starting to set in, “No. You did more than try. You did perfectly.You held on longer than any of us – fought the hardest. Even though it was not as it seemed and it almost killed you – I’m so proud.”
Leaning in closer to rest his throbbing head against Steve’s arm, the unmasked trust in Tony’s eyes startled Steve, as the genius simply (and very atypically) accepted everything he was told. “Oh. Okay then. So. Alive. I’m liking this turn of events. Tell me more. ”
Steve grinned, pure relief and happiness making him a little giddy as he explained,“Basically. Evil megalomaniac with a grudge, decided to see which Avenger would break last, with the added bonus of possibly killing us all.”
Tony, stopping Steve’s massage by turning and grasping the larger hand, clasping them together, nodded along as if this was all pretty run of the mill, which, as ridiculous as it sounded, it truly was.
“– He drugged us at the gala. Thors coat. The limo crashed and he pulled us from the wreckage to spirit us away to ‘lair unknown’ – yes, seriously. I’m not telling you his chosen moniker – ask Clint.” Steve ignored the way Tony’s eyes widened with anticipation, continuing his explanation.
“Any way. We were all under some sort of drug induced psycho/telepathy communication nerve stimulant type coma thing” At Tony’s eye roll, Steve added petulantly, “Ask Bruce”.
Tony nodded and Steve, his free hand gently trailing down Tony’s back, concluded, “Somehow, he planted the idea that if we slept, we’d die. In reality, we were all in comas and the longer we stayed awake in our minds, the less chance there was we’d actually wake.”
Tony simply nodded, understanding and accepting the bizarre explanation with ease – this was their lives.
Pulling Tony even closer as the memory of the last three days pushed nearer, Steve added, “You. You gave us all a hell of a fright. You’ve been ‘awake’ for over nine days, almos…actually. Ten days. The docs here at S.H.I.E.L.D”, Tony’s expression was so familiarly disgusted that Steve had to laugh, before continuing, “They said that you were gone. We didn’t believe it –couldn’t.”
Thank-god.
Tony looked a little overwhelmed at how close it had actually been – but considering he’d thought it was even closer…he managed to accept it with minimal issue, for now content with just asking, “And once you all woke up? You were-are-okay?”
Steve, noticing what Tony hadn’t asked, answered, “Yes, we’re okay now. When we first woke? Fatigue, dehydration, headaches, mild muscle dystrophy…or any combination thereof.”
Managing to catch Tony’s eyes, Steve added, “So, how do you feel?”
“Fi-” Tony’s typical answer was cut off by Steve’s inelegant snort as he interrupted.
“Fatigue and muscle strain? Well, you’re draped all over me like a wet noodle…”, as he spoke, the Captain lifted Tony’s limp hand and drew it to his lips, pressing a wet kiss to his palm before continuing.
“Headache? Like a jackhammer, symphony orchestra and freight train in central park zoo.” Cupping the back of Tony’s head, Steve soothed the tiny little crease between Tony’s eyes – always a tell.
“Dehydration? Let’s see…” and Steve pulled him into a passionate kiss – albeit dry.
Tony admitted defeat gracefully, simply murmuring “Bingo” as he pulled Steve back into the kiss.
A moment later Steve said, “I’ve already hit the call button, so someone will be up to check on you in a minute.”
Tony grimaced and his eyes brightened with a manipulative gleam that Steve recognised very well, asking, “Are you sure everyone is okay – Tasha, Clint – where is everyone?”
Cautiously Steve replied, “I’m sure, Tony. They’re fine. A little shaken, having seen each other – well. We’re all going to be okay, in fact – they’re suited up at the moment, providing back up for Reed. Onl-”
Tony flashed him a wicked smile, as he replied, “Good. Then no doctor. I’ll submit to Bruce. And Bruce only, looking me ov-”
Before he’d even finished, the door opened and Bruce walked in, Steve finishing his own sentence just a touch smugly, “Only Bruce is still here.”
Laughing at the caught look on Tony’s face as he approached them, Bruce spoke, “You’ll submit!? Wonderful. Okay, wost patient ever – show me those eyes of yours, but first…”
Tony groaned at having been out manoeuvred, but obediently, perhaps even enthusiastically, allowed Bruce to pull him into a hug, both remembering the feeling of losing the other not very long ago.
Pulling back, allowing Steve to help more than was perhaps really necessary, Tony turned to look less obediently into the pen light Bruce was brandishing.
******
Epilogue
That evening and the next day had been filled with repeated visits from thrilled team members, agents, long time (long suffering) air force colonel’s and furiously doting CEO’s - until Tony had begged to be allowed to just tweet his status.
Bruce had checked his vitals forty-seven, forty-seven! times (at least 46.5 times too many in Tony’s opinion) before he’d been convinced to allow Tony out of bed.
Of course, the fact that Bruce had been required to pick Tony’s exhausted (yet stupidly stubborn) ass up from the floor, not once, not twice, but three times may have had something to do with the vital checks.
All three falls were during the 20 minutes Steve had finally been convinced to go shower. Tony had only tried it once with Steve in the room. The man’s tongue could strip paint from a wall with only his perfectly justified anger and reasonable disappointment – and Tony got the ‘you scared me’ eyes as well.
It had taken almost the whole day and a half before he’d managed to stand on his own two shaky legs – and by then he’d had enough. More than enough. And he declared that he was going home and any overprotective but really hot lover’s, devil possessed science bro’s, pop tart loving thunder gods, scary as shit assassin witches and …well, Clint – were welcome (he wouldn’t stop them anyway) to come with him.
And so that was how he’d ended being pretty much carried into the elevator at the (his - their) tower.
His headache had finally faded to a dull thud at the base of his skull, and his muscles still felt like jelly – but at least jelly was painless. He wasn’t dehydrated, but had still allowed Bruce to force two glasses of water onto him as they’d all eaten Pizza in the den.
They’d spoken about the past fortnight or so, but only in passing, (no doubt, once the lingering shock wore of there would be a lot more chatter, and a formal debrief) comments about the strangeness of sharing a dreamscape, and the moment of complete satisfaction when Tony suddenly face-palmed as his mind found the one detail that was wrong – that didn’t fit.
The lamp.
The lamp had burnt constantly for ten days and the level of kerosene and amount of wick had never changed.
It didn’t seem like much, and made no difference to what had already happened, but it still felt like a victory.
And if they sat closer than normal while ‘The Princess Bride’ played, or they’d touched a little more than necessary with the pizza passing? Well – they were the damn Avengers.
Everything they did was kosher.
And the reassuring glancing touches went a long way to reaffirming the fact that, hey! They didn’t die. Again.
******
Steve had given up the guise of ‘practically carrying’ in favour of ‘literally carrying’, sweeping a strangely non-protestant Tony into his arms as they’d retired to bed.
They’d changed, brushed teeth and exchanged more than a few simple goodnight kisses. Tony was curled carefully into Steve’s side, the super soldier sprawled half on his stomach, one arm draped over Tony’s stomach, his fingers intermittently blocking and revealing the soft glow of the arc reactor as they drifted closer to much needed sleep.
Tony had honestly though he was fine.
Only - Sleep.
And suddenly he was terrified.
Because there was no way this wasn’t a dream, a hallucination – he’d wake up, or refocus and be back in that room, alone. With Thor, Clint, Bruce, Natasha…Steve all dead.
Dead bodies – corpses rotting, eyes blazing with hatred and blame as they stalked towards him, hands out stretched and dripping with blood, as they accused him, tormented him “Why weren’t you stronger? Why were you so weak? Pathetic! You thought you could avenge us…you couldn’t even save us! You think we’d accept you – like you? That we’d want you! How could we possibly love-”
“-love? Tony? Hey, hey! ” His imaginings dissolved around the real Steve, who was suddenly above him, lit like some enchanting wonder by the arc reactor, eyes wide and concerned and lips pressed thin with sympathetic sorrow.
Emotions shot between their intense gaze, each asking, offering and accepting, and Steve pulled Tony closer, upset but not surprised by the slight tremble he could detect.
Going to sleep the first time had been easy for Steve – it had happened accidentally.
The idea of it though, even in hindsight, scared him half to death – and he hadn’t been left completely alone, with nothing but death for company for three days.
Yet, Tony had to sleep.
Steve had no idea what he was about to say, until he opened his mouth and said it, “It’s over. This is real and I’m here. Now. You’re going to go to sleep. I’m going to be here. And you’re going to have nightmares. And I’m going to be here….I promise.”
Tony stared up at him, eyes dark with something that would forever remain unspeakable, yet somehow understood and eventually they simply slid closed, and Tony dropped easily into sleep.
After all – When had Steve ever broken a promise to him?
******
The End.