Chapter Text
They’d all left.
Tony shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was by that. Everyone always left, after all. Even Pepper, even Rhodey. It shouldn’t matter, because a Stark knew how to stand alone – his father had always been very clear on that point. He’d spent his whole life learning how to be alone in style, and he was pretty damn good at it. So he shouldn’t be so surprised, and he definitely shouldn’t be hurt. He wasn’t all that close to them anyway. Not anyone but Bruce, and his science bro had really left. And yeah, he’d wanted it to be different this time. Tony’d wanted things with the Avengers to be different… but the universe had never been too concerned with what he wanted.
They’d left...because everyone did. After SHIELD fell they might have moved in, but he’d been silly to think it would be anything more than temporary. They’d always been planning on leaving him alone again. Alone and drifting through his partially ruined tower, thinking too much and missing JARVIS so fiercely it was a physical ache in his chest. His AI would have had cleaning crews here almost immediately, no matter what Tony’s opinion was on the issue. J would have snarked and sassed and made the place less empty; with J he’d never really been alone.
But everyone always left, and even his brilliant, beautiful boy was no exception.
Pepper was still skirting around him, feeling out their new boundaries – going back to being friends was way harder than crossing the line to lovers had been. So while she’d made sure the lower levels were cleaned up and safe for SI employees, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do the same for the floors Tony’d claimed as his own. Well, for the Avengers, but only on a temporary basis. No, she’d worried – visibly, eyes watering and smile trembling – and asked him to take care of it. Probably because she didn’t want him living (existing) in the shards of what could have been. But she hadn’t challenged him on the easy lie of agreement he’d given her, and she hadn’t asked him about it since.
Tony wasn’t sure what hurt worse – the loss of their romantic life together or the way starting it in the first place had broken their friendship. She tiptoed around him in a way she’d never done, and it was like a punch to the stomach every time. He didn’t miss sleeping with her – okay that was a lie. He didn’t miss it as much as he’d thought he would. What he really missed was her no-nonsense attitude, the way she wouldn’t let him get away with everything. He missed how she would laugh at his more harmless antics because she thought he was funny and charming, and the way her lips used to twitch up into a reluctant smile when she had to pretend she didn’t find him as amusing as she did. Tony missed the way she would run her fingers through his hair, the way she took care of him and let him take care of her. He just missed the way she’d been a constant presence in his life – not as much as he missed JARVIS, but it was the same type of pain.
God, he missed JARVIS.
Rhodey knew he and Pepper had broken up shortly before the mess that had been Ultron. At their joint request, he’d kept it to himself. They hadn’t been quite ready to go public with the information – still weren’t, not with the way SI stock had gone into freefall after the attack on the tower and what had happened in Sokovia. The company needed some time to stabilize before another bomb got dropped. So they weren’t together anymore, but there were only four people who actually knew about it. The pissing contest with Thor over whose girlfriend was ‘better’ had killed him inside a little, and he’d maybe been just a smidge upset at the way Rhodey had abandoned him to it. Did he get why? Yeah. Didn’t mean he couldn’t hold a grudge over it. Their friendship was full of little things like that – just meant Rhodey owed him a drink or two the next time they went out to paint the town red. If they ever did again, because Rhodey was an Avenger now, and the Avengers had left.
Not that he blamed his best friend for going with them, not at all. Rhodey deserved a spot on that team. Hell, he deserved it more than anyone else Tony’d ever known. His platypus was going to be an awesome Avenger, and Rogers was damn lucky to have a man like Colonel James Rhodes at his back. And honestly, Tony was less hurt by his best friend leaving than anyone else, because Rhodey had been leaving him since his first deployment. The thing about Rhodey was that he always, always came back. He sometimes felt like the only permanent fixture in Tony’s life, even when they couldn’t be together. That was something that wouldn’t change, not until one of them finally ran out of lucky breaks and kicked the bucket.
So Rhodey was gone, and Pepper was gone, and the Avengers were gone too. All of that he could have handled just fine, ruined home and all, if only JARVIS… but J wasn’t just gone, he was dead and Tony couldn’t bring him back. Ultron, the bastard, had been remarkably, cruelly efficient when it came to destroying his predecessor. Every backup server he’d had J stored on, each and every line of code damaged or destroyed or corrupted. The only version of the AI that had escaped was the one that had created The Vision. Tony could reconstruct some of the original code, but J’d been a learning AI. What he could bring back wouldn’t be the same. It would be a mockery of JARVIS and who he’d been, even more than the android who’d stolen his voice.
Tony wouldn’t do that to J, not for anything and especially not just to make himself feel better. Not even if he missed the AI like a lost limb.
That meant the tower was silent as well as being destroyed. He hadn’t been able to force himself to install FRIDAY yet. She was in the suits, because he needed an AI to help him pilot the things effectively. But the thought of removing what remained of J in his home and replacing it with FRIDAY made him want to throw up, so he just… didn’t. He didn’t install FRIDAY and he didn’t call anyone to clean up the mess Ultron and the Avengers had made of the tower. He didn’t clean much of it up himself either, just shifted it around so he wouldn’t hurt himself too much on the wreckage. He didn’t go down to the workshop at all, and he did wallow in the guilt of leaving his bots down there alone.
Thank every god ever invented by man that Ultron hadn’t killed his bots.
Tony didn’t bother with a lot of things these days – almost everything, actually. There wasn’t any reason to. Not when Pepper was too unsure to order him to do his work and J was too dead to force him to take care of himself. The Avengers were gone, living at the compound, so he didn’t need to repair the rooms he’d given them. He didn’t have any visitors, which meant he didn’t have to give a damn what the rest of the tower looked like. He didn’t eat much, slept as little as he could get away with, and only really spoke to Pep and Rhodey. He spent most of his time just… drifting from room to room, floor to floor.
After Afghanistan and New York, he’d had a driving, manic need to create. Panic and desperation had pushed him to bring ideas to life, to build things that would protect himself, those he loved, and the whole damn world. He hadn’t been able to work hard or fast enough, and he’d been ridiculously productive during both periods as a result.
After Strucker’s base and his first encounter with Wanda that he tried his hardest not to think about because it still tended to send him spiraling into a panic, he’d been driven to create Ultron.
Now, when he picked up his tablet or a pen and paper… nothing. There was nothing to create, nothing to build, nothing that would make this better. He had plenty of thoughts, ones that raced constantly and tormented him and wouldn’t stop, but he couldn’t focus them into anything productive. For the first time that he could remember, Tony was stuck. He didn’t know how to forge a path forward, how to turn this mess into something that could make him stronger. There was no Pepper to call him on his listlessness (depression), no Rhodey to help him forget, and no JARVIS to coax him into breaking the pattern. There were no Avengers either, because they were at the compound and he wasn’t one of them anymore anyway. He’d always wanted to give them a home, and now he had – it was petty and awful of him to feel bitter that that home wasn’t in the tower with him.
He refused (tried not to) feel too hurt that they’d left, because he should have known they would.
It did sort of rip his heart to shreds that none of them had asked him to stay.
Sure there was talk of missing him and an invitation to drop by whenever he wanted, but not one of them had asked if he was sure. None of them had pointed out that the compound could be home for him too. Tony’d sort of… well. He’d hoped Rogers would ask him to reconsider. But he hadn’t.
No one had.
No one but Rhodey and Pepper had called to check on him.
Tony had never felt so alone in his life.
He didn’t wish on stars anymore, because looking up at the night sky was almost as panic inducing as thinking about Wanda. Still, he did find himself making wishes. Well, one wish anyway. The same one, over and over. It would just be nice not to be so alone.
Was that really too much to ask for?
~.~.~
“Oh come on… piece of shit bird… come on, come on… no! What the fuck?! I aimed that perfectly! The coding for this game is so un-fucking fair… serve ‘em right if I hacked… god dammit! Fucking level with these fucking pigs… stupidest fucking game…”
Giving a snort of disgust, Tony threw his phone down, not at all worried about breaking it. Every Avenger (or former Avenger) had one that could withstand super soldier strength. No way he was going to even dent the thing outside the suit. It hit the floor hard, and for a second Tony found himself tempted to give it a kick just for good measure. He managed to refrain, but did give a loud groan of irritation as he collapsed back against the couch.
Well, the half that wasn’t burned to a crisp. It was the comfiest piece of furniture left on the old common floor, so by default it was where he ended up. The thing probably wouldn’t last much longer – even the “good” half sagged a little more every day – and then he’d probably have to resort to sitting on the floor. Maybe that would be enough to motivate him to call a cleaning crew.
Probably not, but well. A guy could hope. Might push him into sweeping more at least. The occasional bit of glass or metal in his feet was one thing; a sliver of either stuck in his ass was a whole other story.
Ignoring his phone, Tony turned his attention to the single shot glass sitting on the glass coffee table in front of him. It was full of a tempting amber liquid, the bottle of which was on the floor. He’d have put that on the table too, but the glass surface was full of spider-web cracks. While it held under the weight of one glass, it would shatter completely if he added a nearly-full bottle of scotch. God, he wanted that drink… but one wouldn’t be nearly enough.
He was pretty sure that if he started drinking, he wouldn’t stop until he was dead. Not with his thoughts and the way he was feeling. Not with no one there to remind him why it was a bad idea.
Every night though, his self-destructive tendencies reared their head. As the sun set, he’d pour himself a shot of something and stared at it through most of the night. He stared and toyed with the glass, sometimes smelled the drink inside. Tony would spend hours (off and on) playing with the idea of taking that first sip. When dawn came, he’d dump the shot down the sink and put the bottle back. It was a game, a test of strength – one of these nights, it would be a game he’d lose.
For now though, Tony pushed himself to his feet and began to wander. He headed for what was left of the bar first, weaving his way around small piles of broken glass. Once he reached it, he lifted his right hand and pressed the tips of his fingers against the metal edging. As he walked the length of the counter, he trailed his fingers down that twisted metal, barely flinching when he felt a rough patch nick his finger. When he reached the end, he turned and headed for the large window – that, at least, had been replaced.
Mostly because he hadn’t been able to rest at all when there was nothing standing between him and the vast, terrifying void of space. The men who’d come to fix it had offered to do something about the rest of the place. He’d offered them double if they promised not to mention the idea again.
So he had a window, and most nights he tried to walk up to it. The view had been one of his favorite things about the tower when he’d been building it. Now, on a good night, he could get within five feet and if he focused on just the buildings, he wouldn’t have a panic attack.
It wasn’t a good night… so he veered to the left when he was still almost ten feet away. The elevator was the next stop in his silent trek; on the way he tried to decide if he wanted to visit a different floor. Sometimes he would ghost his way through the floors that had been given to the Avengers. Sometimes he would go to the penthouse and try to sleep. Every once in awhile, he’d go down to the workshop’s level, but on those nights he never left the elevator. He’d think about it, but then his heart would start to beat too fast and his breath would come too quickly, and he’d know that his bots were in there and needed him but J wasn’t there and he never would be again because he was dead and it was all Tony’s fault and part of fixing the workshop would be removing what was left of JARVIS and then it would be like he’d never been here and –
Tonight wasn’t a night where he wanted to have a panic attack in the elevator, so he decided it would be best to avoid the space all together. Instead, once he got to it, he sighed and put his back to the wall. He slowly sank down until he was sitting with his legs stretched out in front of him. When he tipped his head back, Tony let it thud pretty hard against the wall – it didn’t make him feel any better, but it didn’t make him feel any worse either, so he did it a few more times.
Once the move had started a dull throb in the back of his head, he relented. As he let out a soft sigh, he saw a bit of light coming from near the half-ruined couch – maybe somebody was calling him? Whatever, he’d check it in a bit. When he found the energy to stand up again, he’d get right on checking that out. He just couldn’t get up again right away, that was all. He just needed a couple minutes.
Tony ignored the pulsing light that had to be coming from his phone in favor of closing his eyes. Everything just took so much energy these days. It was probably a good thing nobody had asked him to keep being an Avenger. He couldn’t imagine having enough energy to scramble for a suit at a moment’s notice and then go into battle. He could probably manage it if he had to, but it was for the best that he didn’t have to test that theory.
It was a night for big crime or tourism, apparently, because a helicopter was passing the tower. That’s what Tony assumed the light he could see even with his eyes closed . It happened from time to time, so he didn’t think anything of it… not at first, anyway. Not until the light kept getting brighter and brighter, pulsing in a steady rhythm that he could almost hear. No wait, he could hear it, soft at first but growing louder as the light got brighter. Yeah, that was weird. Tony didn’t know if he had the energy to deal with weird. Since the weird was in his tower though, he supposed he’d have to dredge some up.
Another heartfelt sigh left his lips, and then he finally cracked one eye open. Sure enough, there was a green-tinged light pulsing near the couch, a noise like a too-loud heartbeat whooshing in time with it. He should be worried, Tony knew that in a distant way. Yeah, he should probably be a lot more concerned than he was… or at least he should be more interested. Curious even. He should probably be investigating or maybe calling the suit just in case.
Instead it took everything he had just to get to his feet.
The pulsing was starting to get faster and the whooshing louder – something was going to happen. Tony hoped it wouldn’t be a major explosion of any kind – when a skyscraper went down, people died and things were pretty bad. If Stark Tower in particular, with the arc reactor and all the other potentially explosive shit in it, came down? The result would be catastrophic. So an explosion could spell real disaster here, and he had plenty of enemies who’d be more than happy to try and make his tower go boom. While he wasn’t too concerned with his own death, he’d hate to be the reason why a large group of people, innocent people, died. Again.
With the pulsing now so fast that the entire floor was bathed in a constant green light, he found himself needing to shade his eyes. Even then, he couldn’t look directly at the source, and the noise of the thing was starting to hurt his ears. He wished whatever was coming would just happen already, because the suspense was exhausting him.
It was almost like it heard his thoughts, because all at once the light went bright enough to temporarily blind him and a high, thin whining noise filled the air. Eyes watering and a string of curses leaving his mouth, Tony turned away, blinking rapidly. His hands lifted, covering his ears in a vain attempt to protect them. The whine got higher, and then there was an almost audible shift in air pressure that made his ears pop… and then nothing. The light was gone, leaving only spots in his vision and a silence that was almost deafening in its wake. At least there hadn’t been an explosion, he reasoned as he opened and shut his mouth, shifting his jaw to try and get his ears back to normal. Of course, he still had no idea what the fuck had just happened, but he was going to wait until he could see and hear clearly again before he investigated.
That was the plan anyway, until a low moan reached his ears. It hadn’t been him and there wasn’t anyone else in the upper levels that he knew of, so that… that wasn’t good. Either he’d gone completely insane or the light had been some kind of teleportation device, and God he didn’t have the energy for this. But whoever – whatever? – was in his tower was groaning again. It sounded like pain, and he felt the same tug in his heart that had led to the creation of the Mark II and that had pushed him to join the Avengers. As much as he hated caring sometimes, he still did. So he had to go see what was wrong and help if he could.
Caring sucked.
Still blinking away a few bright spots, Tony started to pick his way across the room. Cutting up his own feet would in no way improve the situation, so he was a lot more careful than he’d been in… days? Weeks? It was all starting to bleed together. Didn’t matter – what mattered was the moaning and muttering he could hear coming from near that half-ruined couch. He couldn’t see who had invaded his tower, not yet – he had the idle thought again that he should probably call in the suit. Rogers would kick his ass for going in alone, unarmed and unarmored, he knew that.
But Rogers wasn’t there.
It was when he rounded the charred side of the couch that Tony finally saw what the light had delivered – or rather who. Tony was pretty sure the person curled up into a ball on his floor was a man, but who the hell knew for sure. There was a shock of mussed dirty-blond hair on the guy’s head, and he was… small, at least from what Tony could see. Slender, delicate even, with long, thin fingers pressed to the side of his face hiding his features. Artist’s hands, Tony decided absently. The guy had the hands of an artist, and… and that looked like blood on the one he could see. Shit.
“Uh… hi. Hello. Don’t… I’m gonna try to help you, okay? Looks like you’re bleeding so… right. Don’t hit me, if you can help it maybe.” As he spoke, Tony approached the man slowly, trying to sound as calm as he could, scanning him for signs of any additional damage. His clothes were… weird. Old fashioned. Were those suspenders? Shaking the thought out of his head, he crept a little closer, then eased down to his knees near the guy’s head. The man had gone still and quiet, muscles tensed – probably in preparation to hit him, which he didn’t like but he could live with it.
“Okay. So… my name’s Tony, and uh… you might be hurt? I mean, looks like, because blood, so… you maybe wanna move your hand? I promise I’ll be gentle.” A little teasing like that never hurt, right? Right. Well, maybe he was wrong about that, because those elegant, blood-smeared fingers split to reveal one brilliant blue eye and a skeptically arched brow. “Yeah, yeah. Okay. So this is weird. Really fucking weird with the light and all, and I know you don’t know me, but I’m not going to hurt you. I’m a superhero – or I was, kinda retired now, but that’s… that’s not important. The important bit is that it’s against the superhero code to hurt innocent people, and okay you might not be innocent I don’t know, but I’m gonna just assume you are until you prove me wrong because that’s, you know, a founding principle of this country. God bless America, right? So yeah. Superhero code says I can’t hurt you, not that I would anyway, and I feel like I’m talking a lot. Too much? Probably too much. Um. Let’s get you sitting up so I can take a look. Please? With a cherry on top? Unless you don’t like cherries, in which case sprinkles? Everyone like sprinkles. Wow. Okay. Shutting up now.”
That golden brow had gone higher and higher, and Tony was pretty sure there was judgement in that beautiful eye. He was suddenly, keenly aware of what he must look like. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually slept or trimmed his beard, so his face had to be an absolute disaster – one probably complete with bags under his eyes and sallow skin. His hair was sticking up every which way and had to have more oil in it than the state of Texas because he hadn’t showered in a while either. His tank top was ragged, probably with embarrassing pit stains, and his sweat pants had definitely seen better days. Jesus, he probably looked like a very untrustworthy homeless person. The mess around them couldn’t inspire much confidence either.
“Sorry about, uh…” Tony made a vague gesture at himself, then the room. “All this. I wasn’t really expecting anyone to drop in. Swear I’m not a dangerous vagabond. Scout’s honor. I mean, I wasn’t a scout, but it’s just what people say. Superhero’s honor?”
“Thought you was done yammerin’.” There was an oddly familiar drawl in the man’s voice, one he was sure he should recognize. “Lucky it ain’t more’n a scratch or I mighta bled out waitin’ for ya ta stop.”
“Okay funny man. If you can talk you can sit.” Tony offered the man a hand; after a few seconds of deliberation, it was accepted and he started to tug the man up. More quiet groans escaped, and Tony noted with some concern that his other arm stayed wrapped tightly around his ribs. A bit of blood he could handle, but broken ribs? That would require a professional. Biting back a sigh of irritation, he dragged his gaze away from the man’s chest to look at his face – he needed to get a better idea of the head injury before he started worrying about others.
As soon as he got a good look, however, all the breath left his lungs at once. Tony knew the face in front of him – there was no way to mistake it. Hadn’t Howard shown him all the pictures often enough? And hadn’t he spent enough time studying it now? Even after the serum, Captain America’s face was easily recognizable as belonging to the beautiful, fey-like man that had gone into that steel coffin and come out as the world’s first superhero.
“Steve?” he whispered, several scenarios running through his head. None of them were good. Rogers had somehow reverted, and he couldn’t imagine coming through that green light had helped, and Rogers was hurt which was unacceptable. Had it been Hydra? The bastards were still popping up everywhere, and they had something of a vendetta. Maybe Wanda or the Vision had lost control of their powers? Magic was fucking awful and unpredictable like that, and he definitely didn’t trust the witch as far as he could throw her without the suit. Someone or something else magical maybe? An Infinity Stone?
“Do I know ya?” Shit, Rogers had lost his memory too. Think Tony, think!
“Maybe? This is so fucking weird. Is your name… uh, you’ve got blood, you know, dripping down the side of your face. Maybe we should deal with that first?”
“Whadda ya think my name is?”
“Steven Rogers. With a ‘Grant’ in the middle.” Tony sort of hated that he knew that, especially when he had no clue what Pep’s middle name was.
“No ‘Grant’. Rest was right.”
“Uh… no? Your name is Steven Grant Rogers.” Howard had drilled a whole fucking lot of Steve Rogers trivia into his head before he was old enough to start resisting. He’d never imagined it might actually be useful. “Born on the fourth of July in 1918 to Sarah and Joseph Rogers. Went to art school for a while, desperate to join the war effort and in possession of a best friend named Bucky Barnes. Am I ringing any bells here?” Tony was pretty sure the answer was ‘no’, because Steve (not Rogers, he couldn’t imagine calling him Rogers when he was like this) had started frowning at the beginning of his recitation. That frown had grown deeper and deeper, and then confusion had started to creep in.
“Who the hell is Bucky?” Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Something was really wrong here. Rogers talked about Bucky all the time when he was feeling nostalgic and not cripplingly depressed about it. Howard had mentioned him a lot too. So for Steve not to know Bucky?
“This keeps getting weirder. Okay. Maybe whatever hit you that’s got you bleeding shook your brain up enough to make you forget. Can I please take care of that now? I don’t really like you bleeding.”
“Sure Tony.” Steve sounded bemused more than anything, and that was weird too, because Rogers was usually both tightly wound and pretty damned dramatic. For him to be reacting so… calmly was severely out of character. It had to be the head wound. Had to be.
Because if it wasn’t, Tony had no idea what he’d do.
“You got a handkerchief on you? Otherwise I’ve gotta go digging for a paper towel or something.” As he spoke, he reached out and cupped Steve’s chin, carefully tipping the man’s head so he could get a look at the cut on his right temple. It was a nasty one with jagged edges, though it didn’t seem too deep. If he could get the bleeding to stop it would be alright. Probably. “Don’t think you’ll need stitches… was that a yes or a no on the handkerchief?”
“Uh… yeah. I think I… ah… yeah. Lemme check my pocket.” Was that a blush on Steve’s cheeks? This was all so fucking weird. As Steve rooted through one of his pockets, Tony grabbed the bottle of scotch – it would do in a pinch to clean it out, though it’d sting like hell. “Here – found it.” The fabric Steve shoved at him was a stark white, and the embroidered ‘Sa’ he could see peeking out from under his thumb made Tony feel kind of guilty for what he was going to do. Maybe if he got it to a cleaner quick enough, they could save it.
“This is gonna hurt,” he warned as he let go of Steve to take the handkerchief. He didn’t miss the grimace Steve gave, or the way the man thrust his chin out stubbornly.
“Ain’t the first time I been hurt, Tony, and it prolly won’t be the last neither. Let’s just get it over with.” Tony couldn’t help the way he rolled his eyes or the smile tugging at his lips. It took a lot of effort to pull his gaze away from Steve’s face, but once he managed it he soaked one corner of the handkerchief with scotch.
“Nice to see you didn’t lose that ‘fight me’ attitude along with the memory of your middle name and your best friend.”
“I’m tellin’ ya –” Steve cut himself off with a pained grunt when Tony pressed the handkerchief against that awful looking cut. He didn’t jerk away at all though, which was sort of impressive. After a few deep breaths, during which Tony concentrated on cleaning out the wound, he started to talk again. “Middle name’s Brian and my best buddy is Arnie – Arnold. Don’t know any Bucky. Stupid name anyhow. Holy shit, what’re ya usin’ there Tony?”
“Scotch. Whiskey was last night. Tomorrow it would have been tequila maybe. I’m almost done, hold on just a couple of seconds. Then we’ll address what’s wrong with your ribs and your memory. Also why you aren’t freaking out - you should be freaking and yet here you are calm and cool as a fucking cucumber. Why aren’t you freaking out?”
“Ribs’re fine. Just sore’s all. Memory’s fine too. I think yours is just messed up. Happens sometimes, and I got hit pretty hard.”
“… what? There is nothing wrong with my memory Steve. Why the hell would a hit to your head fuck up my memory? And why are you so calm? You got pulled here by some weird light, you don’t recognize me, and yet you don’t even seem to care about either of those things.”
“This ain’t even close to the weirdest thing I dreamed after passin’ out, ya know? I mean, usually I don’t hurt s’much durin’ ‘em, but I figure that since I got ya ta take care-a me it’s fine.” There was that hint of a blush again and… wait.
“You… think you’re dreaming?”
“Gotta be.” Steve sounded and looked so damned earnest that it made Tony ache. How was he supposed to burst that bubble? “Took-a pretty good hit to the head Tony. When that happens sometimes I black out for a while, ya know? An’ I always have strange dreams when it happens. So this one’s pretty normal to be honest. Be better if I wasn’t still achin’ so much.”
“Oh. Wow. Okay. Dreaming. Sure. Right.” Tony’s mind went into overdrive as he tried to figure out how to get out of this mess. Because on the one hand, he was pretty fucking sure he wasn’t just a figment of anybody’s dreaming mind – and definitely not one created by Rogers. Any Rogers. Not even this tiny, adorable version of him. On the other hand, Steve was being so calm and trusting, and him not freaking out meant that Tony had a chance to check all his wounds. Plus, tiny Steve in Howard’s stories had had asthma in addition to his laundry list of other illnesses. If he started to panic it might lead to an attack, and he was fresh out of inhalers.
He’d have to get some, he thought absently. Inhalers and a real doctor to make sure Steve was okay and had what he needed. Once that was done, he’d call the Avengers and find out why they hadn’t told him Rogers wasn’t… himself.
“I. Uh. Guess I’m glad you, uh. Dreamed me up. So I could take care of you. Speaking of…” Tony pulled the handkerchief – now stained red with blood – away so he could get a look at the cut. Humoring the guy was definitely his best bet for the moment. With most of the blood out of the way, he could see the cut didn’t need stitches, but it did need a bandage. Which meant he had to get Steve to another floor – one that wasn’t destroyed and still had things in it besides broken furniture and a few half-empty bottles of alcohol.
“I’m glad too Tony. How’s it lookin’? ‘M I gonna make it?”
“You’re gonna be fine,” he answered, trying and failing to imitate that Brooklyn drawl. It made Steve grin at him though, so it was probably worth it. “How bad are your ribs though?”
“Don’t feel like they’re broken.”
“You… know what it feels like to have a broken rib?”
“Well yeah. Had ‘em a couple times. Once was the coughin’ – bad winter. Ma near ‘bout killed herself with the worryin’. Second time was those damned Tully brothers. I told ‘em to stop bothering dames when they ain’t interested, but they wouldn’t stop. So I had ta do somethin’ Tony. I just had ta.” Again with that earnest nature, wide blue eyes and all. Tony found himself nodding in agreement without really meaning to, just to keep from turning that expression into a frown. “Well I did, only they were bigger. Arnie kept ‘em from hurtin’ me too bad, but he wasn’t in time ta save the rib.”
“Jesus Steve.” The idea of him going against two other guys all on his own had Tony’s stomach tying itself in knots. And yeah, Rogers got hurt all the time, but… it was different when Tony pictured this smaller, much more breakable version getting beat up in some dirty alley. Different and awful in a way that had him cupping Steve’s chin in his hand. He just needed to check that cut out again, that was all. Definitely nothing more than that, or at least that was what he told himself. He even leaned in to do just that, ignoring the way Steve blushed and flinched away from him just a little. “Maybe you should lay off picking fights for a while, huh? Your body would thank you for it. Okay, your ribs aren’t broken according to you, but do you think you could stand?”
“’Course. It’s a dream Tony. Might hurt more’n usual, but it still ain’t real. Standin’ll be easy, just you see.” There was that stubborn set in Steve’s jaw – the one that meant Steve Rogers was going to do what Steve Rogers wanted to do, anyone else’s opinion be damned. So despite his deep misgivings, Tony sat back on his heels and ran a hand through his hair. It would be fine, he hoped. If Steve could stand, great; if not, he’d just have to be there to catch him.
Steve seemed almost surprised at the lack of protest on Tony’s part, but then he squared his shoulders in a show of bravado. Tony’s apprehension only grew when the two deep breaths Steve took were accompanied by tiny ticks in his jaw that spoke of pain. He was very tempted to tell the man to stop, but he knew that look on Steve’s face. God, did he know that look.
So he just watched like a hawk as Steve pushed himself up onto his knees – he was trembling the whole time. There he had to pause, and Tony had to bite down on one knuckle to stop himself from ordering the man back down. Steve was looking even paler than usual as he began to unsteadily rise a little further. Progress was slow – agonizingly slow, enough that Tony wanted to help him just so it would be over – but eventually it happened. Steve was on his feet, swaying like he was at sea and looking so damn proud of himself. It was sweet, in a terrifying kind of way.
“See? Standin’s easy. Got it in one.”
“Yeah,” Tony agreed, feeling fonder of Steve than he had in months. “You sure did.” Hopping to his own feet was the work of seconds. He felt a little guilty about it when he saw Steve scowling at him. Maybe he should have made more of a production out of it, but that would have been patronizing and he hated being patronized and he was pretty sure Steve would feel the same. “Now we have to keep you on your feet. Lean against me, okay? We need to get you to the elevator, then into a bed to sleep it off. Uh… or wake up once you lay down or, uh, however your uh, dreams work. I don’t know if I like being just a dream Steve.”
“Sorry Tony. I don’t make the rules, ya know? And ya want me ta…”
“Lean on me. So you don’t fall over. You gotta find your sea legs.” Now the smaller man was looking up at him, expression full of doubt – Tony probably shouldn’t enjoy being taller as much as he did. Especially not with blood starting to drip down Steve’s face again. “Come on! I won’t let you fall, Steve.” The wink he threw the man’s way made Steve go cherry red, which would have been funnier if he hadn’t also lurched and almost fallen over.
Tony was there immediately, slipping his arm around Steve’s waist to keep him from landing flat on his ass. From the sharp, hissing breath Steve took in, the move hurt him a lot more than he’d readily admit to. Small Steve was more adorable than Rogers, but he was also just as stubborn and just as exhausting to deal with. Seemingly resigned to his fate, Steve slung his own arm around Tony’s shoulders and braced himself against Tony’s side. It was something he’d clearly done before, and he hobbled across the floor to the elevator like an old pro.
The ride to Steve’s… Rogers’… Steve’s floor was quiet and felt longer than usual. It could have been the way Steve was still tucked up against him, panting shallow, pained breaths against his neck. Maybe it was the growing urgency to get something on that damned cut. It could even have been the knowledge that in the morning he was going to have to deal with this – there was no ignoring it and hoping it would go away. Tony was going to have to pretend to be able to function long enough to get Steve back to being Rogers.
Just thinking about it had him feeling so tired that his very bones hurt.
There was no sign of recognition on Steve’s face when Tony half-carried him into the bedroom. Of course, what few personal items had been in the space had been removed to the compound so maybe that shouldn’t worry him as much as it did. Thankfully, all the first aid stuff was still in place – Rogers had never been one to take care of himself after a battle. Not unless Nat nagged him into it, anyway, which didn’t happen as often as Tony would have preferred.
Steve was a lot easier to deal with; he sat quietly and let Tony work. Another round of mopping up blood and a less scotch-based cleaning of the cut had Steve flinching a little, but he didn’t utter a word of complaint or try to pretend that he was absolutely fine and didn’t need any sort of medical attention. And once Tony had carefully smoothed a bandage over it, Steve sent him a brilliant smile that may have made Tony’s heart flip over in his chest just a little. He was a sucker for people who seemed happy he was around.
“Thanks Tony.”
“No problem. What are figments of your imagination for? Now I should probably take a look at your ribs. If you’re wrong about nothing being broken, you could end up with a punctured lung.”
“Tony, I’m tellin’ ya –”
“Tell me later, shirt off now.” Again he had the pleasure of watching Steve turn bright red, and this time he crossed his arms protectively over his chest as well. “Come on – it’s just to look at your ribs, okay? I’m worried, and I don’t have Ja-” A lump appeared in his throat that prevented him from finishing the way he’d intended. “… anything to scan you with. I don’t have any way of scanning to make sure.”
Steve didn’t look convinced, and after a few seconds he shook his head. There was that jutting jaw again, and Tony gave the fight up for lost before it had even started. It would have been tiring anyway, so maybe it was for the best. “I’m just a little sore, and it’s a dream anyhow. So ya can stop worryin’ Tony. Honest.”
“Fine. If you drown in your own blood, I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’.”
“Fair ‘nough,” Steve agreed with a boyish grin, slowly lowering his arms. “Thanks for lookin’ after me though. I appreciate it.”
“Yeah yeah. You should rest up, even if it’s just a dream.” Tony almost hoped it was – it’d be almost a relief if everything that had happened in the last couple of months (from Pepper all the way to Ultron) had just been invented to provide background for tiny Steve’s dream.
The very fact that he was thinking that way probably meant it wasn’t the case though.
Reality and logic sucked almost as much as caring.
“Alright. You gonna…”
“Gonna… what?”
“It’s nothin’. Ya can get outta here. I’ll be fine.”
“… do you want me to stay, Steve?”
“No! I mean. Nah. I’m fine. Ya can go and –”
“Do whatever imaginary people do in their spare time?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I’d rather stay put. If I get too far away I might poof, right? So I think I should probably stick around – at least until you fall asleep. Wake up. Whatever.”
“Ya really don’t gotta –”
“I want to. So stop talking and just lay down, okay? Oh, do you want to change into something more comfortable to sleep in first? I think a couple of your things are still here.”
“Nah. ‘M fine.” Steve scooted away so he could lay down; when Tony moved to get off the bed and grab a chair to sit on, the smaller man grabbed his arm. “If you’re gonna stay… might as well just… stay right there, don’tcha think?”
“… I can do that.” Just until Steve was asleep. Then he’d move to a chair… unless he really did poof. Either way, staying in Steve’s bed all night wasn’t an option. “Do you need more pillows or anything? It would help with the ache maybe if you weren’t lying flat.”
“Told ya, ‘m fine. Do ya always yammer on so much?”
“Far as I know.”
“Well stop, will ya? Gettin’ tired. Thanks again for everything. For lookin’ after me’n all. Hope I dream’a ya again.”
“Me too, Steve. Me too. For now though… go to sleep.”
As he sat quietly, watching Steve drift off, Tony felt faint stirrings of guilt. God, Rogers was in trouble, nothing like himself, and he was scum for enjoying the change. Not only that, but he’d failed his friend. His sort-of friend. Ex-teammate. Whatever. If he’d cleaned up the tower and installed FRIDAY, he’d know if any of Steve’s ribs were actually broken. He could have an AI monitoring the man through the night just in case. If he’d just picked himself up and pushed forward like he’d always managed to do before, he could actually help Steve.
He was so tired of being a failure. Tony was tired of letting everyone down, through both action and inaction. He was just so damned tired.
Whatever. He’d deal with it all in the morning.