Captain Steve Rogers had been a simple man.
He'd been in love with a beautiful dame, and he'd given everything he had to protect his country; his home; and the people he loved.
Steve Rogers wasn't so simple anymore. Nothing was.
Steve Rogers was Captain America, a hero of the decades, and he was in love with Tony Stark.
It wasn't simple, and it was in no way easy.
Tony was larger than life-especially for someone raised through the Depression-but he was fragile.
Tony was delicate in a way that Steve didn't fully comprehend. To Steve, Tony was everything the man strutted himself to the world as. But to Tony, he was still a failure, and always would be.
It didn't matter how many experiments went right, how many lives Tony saved, or how many ways Steve tried to convince him that the argument they'd had at first-the words that Tony would probably always carry with him now, no matter the fact that Steve had laid his heart out for Tony to take or destroy as he would-was idiotic and rash and completely untrue.
Steve didn't know how to make it better, and Tony probably wouldn't let him even if he did. It was part of what drove him, the pain. Tony needed to be a failure in the eyes of those he looked up to; those he...those he loved. He needed their disappointment, and he needed their neglect. It was all he'd ever really known, after all. If he was disappointing; if he was something to be shunted aside and ignored, then he had something to fight against-he had something to push him and make him manic and angry and willing to nearly die doing some stupid, reckless experiment.
It had rocked Tony to the foundations when Steve had tackled him to the ground and used his own body as a shield on their third mission as the team. He hadn't been hurt for longer than a couple hours before he was fully healed, but Tony had been sick and despondent and angry for days that Steve had done that: Steve's less breakable body able to take the punishment and willing to do it when Tony was without his armour, caught in the crossfire between SHIELD and some idiot with a penchant for bombs. No amount of shrapnel to Steve's back was going to make him back down from protecting his...from protecting Tony.
The argument had started then. The argument that would eventually lead to Steve using the words "I love you, you idiot" as a weapon to take Tony's whole world down around his ears even as it built up a new one on more solid foundations. It was the kind of argument that would last for decades, if it ever ended at all. Pepper hadn't been able to pick that fight, but Steve...Steve wouldn't stop fighting for Tony if it would save Steve's life to do it.
Steve had been broken and torn at and shredded before. He'd been lost and alone and frozen, even after the thaw. And he knew that it was down to Tony that he burned like he did now. That he had passion now like he'd never known before. Life like he'd never known before. Tony breathed life to him; air to a flame, and there were days when Steve thought for sure it would consume them both.
Steve wasn't a simple man anymore.
He'd fought, he'd fucked, he'd laughed until he cried, and sometimes he'd woken up crying.
Sometimes he'd woken up crying, and there was nothing but the cold dark on his fevered skin. And he couldn't stop the shivers. It was bone-deep, the way he was trembling, and he was helpless and trapped in the dark again, and there was weight pressing in on him from all sides.
One time he'd woken up crying, and Tony had broken into his room, Clint pocketing the lockpick kit Tony had built for him and disappearing back to his level of Stark Tower with a silent wish for them to be okay for once in their goddamn lives.
The light shining from Tony's chest had called him back, and the unsuspecting arms he'd fallen into and wept in the protection of brought Steve the closest to 'okay' he'd been since he'd leapt from a moving car into a moving plane with a kiss from Peggy still on his lips. Maybe it'd been even longer; maybe it'd been since Bucky died.
But Tony was comforting him, warm and strong as he'd made himself calm down, trembling bone-deep still.
Tony hadn't slept, and Steve was shaking so hard that Tony made him lay down to fall back to sleep, so it only happened that Tony sat with him...and then laid down with him...and then Steve woke up to a mess of black hair on his chest and his arms around Tony's compact body. Steve didn't press it, and Tony just shrugged it off and moved on.
Which isn't to say it wasn't awkward; which really isn't to say that Tony didn't end up being basically kidnapped by Captain America when the next nightmare came. Tony was a breathing dreamcatcher, and Steve needed to sleep, even if it was only for a little while, on a daily basis. It made for a happy Pepper when Tony whined to her a week later about sleep schedules being thrown off by Japanese business calls at all hours, which made for Steve's head laying in Tony's lap while the billionaire took care of business, yawning the whole way through. That started Steve touching the small of Tony's back gently when they passed each other in the kitchen, or Tony plunking his chin down on Steve's shoulder to read whatever it was the supersoldier was reading over his shoulder. Steve started reading more; showing up in his lab with a book in hand, reading to Tony as the billionaire worked. Tony had JARVIS bring up a holographic chess set to get Steve's tactically brilliant mind working, and they actually beat each other equally badly, and , for the first time in his life, Tony wasn't even remotely competitive.
Steve had known he was in trouble when Tony had agreed to watching a modern-classic movie marathon with him, and Steve had been more interested in watching Tony nodding off, curled up in his chair, than he was in the gunfighting and explosions. After two hours of some poor guy named John McClane being beaten to worse of a bloody pulp than Steve would ever think anyone could possibly deserve, Steve had a sketchbook page of the most intricate, dark eyes he'd ever drawn. Tony's eyes, when he was concentrating on a problem that was tricky enough to take a moment. It was Steve's favourite of expressions on Tony Stark; mostly because it came every time Tony tried to figure him out, and that had been many, many times.
Steve wasn't a simple man anymore. He'd learned how to cook, how to dance, and how to make Tony Stark pay attention to him fully with just a few words and a sly glance.
He'd fallen in love with Tony for the familiarity; Tony was the best parts of Howard only better, and Steve knew that he could easily be Tony's best friend...and then he was Tony's best friend, and wanted more. When he'd pulled Tony up from his desk and carried him up to bed after a mission that had had Tony spinning his wheels afterwards, trying to make sure it never happened again; Tony didn't say anything about the sleepy kiss Steve had been insane or brave enough to favour on Tony's mouth. In fact, when Tony woke him up the next morning with a coffee-flavoured make-out session, Steve had known it was the right thing to have done.
Tony didn't protest too badly when Steve had insisted that he let the arc reactor shine into the room (using Steve's body heat as blankets was the main reason Tony relented, Steve knew). It was Steve's nightlight, to the point where, when they were called apart by their respective duties, Tony made a light for Steve that looked just like his reactor, and the one time Steve had tried to do without it, he was even less well-rested than he usually was when they were apart, and Tony was wired on caffeine and sleep deprivation. Only Clint had teased them about the three-day absence they'd both taken after that, the both of them finally well-rested and well-fed again when Tony had coaxed Steve that they'd gotten enough sleep, he needed to work and Steve needed to work out, because the one time that he hadn't told Steve that last part, Steve had been thrown through a building and it had taken a little longer than usual for Steve to heal. And Tony would go down with him and do the exercise he was supposed to do, then try to get work done while watching Steve finish his workout (which translated to Tony sitting there drooling while Steve tried to pass his blush off as exertion-produced flush).
Tony was by no means a simple man, though Steve kind of thought that while Tony made his life more complex, he might make Tony's life a little simpler.
Sure, Tony rallied against him sometimes. Tony would pick fights or would try to disappear. He'd avoid Steve until Steve would have been carting them to bed, and then he'd crack, and Steve would smile at him, just to see Tony smile back. He wasn't used to being happy; Steve had learned, and Steve had a way of simply existing near him, and it made him happier than most of his previous relationships combined, so Tony, because while he wasn't used to be happy he also carried in his arc-powered heart, would fight happiness he knew knew would only be temporary. Had to only be temporary. Steve was still working on this one, and planned to do so for the rest of their lives if he had to, because Tony was never not worth fighting for; and maybe Rhodey might have mentioned that to him at some point.
There was a time when Steve had been infected with the psychosis-inducing toxin a villain had thrown at him. Steve couldn't remember much, but he knew that red and gold and fire had suddenly been very, very angry, and Steve had all but curled into a ball at the sight of it. Tony would take a hold of his arm or stop him from leaving the room for months afterwards, his lips ghosting over Steve's in teases that were honestly more intimate than actual kisses, and Tony would whisper to him all the things that negated every insecurity, every self-hatred and every doubt Steve had apparently spilled his guts of that night. Tony fought for him without thinking about it; maybe even without realizing that's what he was doing. Steve, in the fever and the hallucinations, had decided that Tony Stark's arms were the one place he was actually safe; and sane Steve Rogers had to agree to that assessment, laying his head next to the reactor after all was done, and falling asleep with his legs tangled with Tony's because he was in the man's warm grip, and in the cool light of the mechanical heart that wouldn't give up on him. It wasn't until long after that that Steve realized there was a weight missing on his back, and that Tony was the culprit there, as surely as he was the reason Steve was considering a side-career in art again.
The first few times Tony had loaded his room full of art supplies, Steve had been stupefied at the sheer enormity of effort Tony had put into the array that was now Steve's.
It had surprised him; it had left him feeling strange and on just the edge of blushing, always just a little startled, because the time and effort Tony took to giving him a home wasn't something that someone who'd said such horrible things deserved. Especially when Tony wouldn't accept an apology, and wouldn't let him negate every word he'd said. Natasha had stared at him for a long time when he asked her to help him mend the fence and hadn't moved when he'd stuttered over an apology for bugging her; Clint and Thor would have helped him, but they knew nothing about the real Tony Stark, and couldn't make Tony listen anymore than Steve could; and Bruce and Pepper formed a protective tag-team for months, keeping him away from the more-fragile-than-he'd-thought billionaire because he wasn't fit for the man's company, not after that first battle. In the end, it was JARVIS and one Col. James Rhodes that had been his proverbial port in the storm.
Mostly, Rhodey had told him in no uncertain terms that it didn't matter what Tony thought of the relationship he had with Rhodey, Rhodey would find a way to blow Steve up if Steve ever dared to do anything like that again. Coulson, who Tony had gone to the trouble of bringing back to life, dammit, had stood up to Rhodey after that, and then Rhodey had simply stared him down; unbudging and unflinching and with a fire that was very much like the protective streak in Tony Stark himself. A man like that was a best friend to kill for, and Coulson seemed to agree on that analysis.
But now, sprinting over the wreckage of the city with War Machine covering him high overhead, Steve could only think about every time Tony had ever made him cry. It wasn't an accusatory thought, wasn't even really meant to be there, but there was an ultimatum in Steve's mind that rang clear: find that beacon of light in the rubble, or lose the most infuriatingly lovable man Steve had ever met.
Natasha's voice came over the comm, her measured breaths filling Steve with a kind of dread that he had never wanted to experience again after that first time he'd seen Iron Man falling from the sky, and she was summoning him to her with a kind tone to her voice, but all Steve could hear now was buzzing.
War Machine swooped down, and Steve didn't even have to reach up and take hold of the armour to know that for as much as he loved flying with Tony, flying with Rhodey would be hell-if only because they were headed to Steve's death sentence, and Tony wouldn't be around to talk him out of it. Steve touched down next to Natasha where she bent over a pile of rubble, turning her head to him and cutting her eyes to the wreckage that seemed to be tented around something. Steve wanted to be sick immediately, and seeming to sense this, Rhodey moved him, Clint sliding into view as Thor, Bruce and he touched down on Natasha's other side.
It was from a distance and drowned by that infernal buzzing, but Steve was ordered to put his head between his knees, Clint's hand on the back of his neck with enough pressure to make the order surface through the din. Steve stumbled, his legs giving out as he tried to see past Natasha's slim form; past Thor examining the debris. Their voices just made the buzzing in his ears worse, and Steve nearly whimpered, because there was no light cutting through the rubble. Bruce moved to crouch near his legs, his dark brown eyes the wrong shade of brown; his hands unscarred, unstained from hours of working on things that made Steve dizzy to think about. He seemed to be talking to Steve, but Steve couldn't hear him at this point. Clint was crouched on the other side, resting his hand on Steve's knee while he talked, but Steve knew he wasn't talking to him. Clint was maybe one of the few that would understand right now; Clint had almost lost Coulson, it'd been Tony to get Coulson back, and those marks don't really leave, even when it turned out that the rumours of his death were greatly exaggerated.
The first thing Steve heard again was a rumble that felt like it belonged to Thor's storms or the Hulk's rage. But Bruce was still by his legs, and Thor was crouched in front of the rubble as if waiting for something. Then Steve noticed the rubble was moving. It got to a certain point, and Thor dove in, sweeping something out from under the weight of it, and launching himself and whomever it was in his arms back from the groaning shriek of concrete and metal. Steve scrabbled as the mass of broken building stood, and the beacon was blinding him, Tony's faceplate half-shredded as he flipped it up, his skin mottled in bruising beneath, but he was there; alive, and Tony was looking directly at Steve with something that Steve hated to see but couldn't place in his eyes. Thor shifted, and the person in his arms groaned, a flash of metal taking Steve's attention from the man in the suit of armour, if only to make damn sure whoever Tony had curled beneath him and taken a building to the back for wasn't about to start shooting.
It was worse than a gunshot, though, to see the too-long dark hair around familiar, if pale features. The metal-an arm-was hanging limply off Thor's hold to the debris below, and Steve felt like he should be screaming, then wasn't sure that he wasn't.
Tony moved like he'd felt the full weight of the building, kneeling in front of Steve, but not reaching for him, and that thing in his eyes? Steve realized it was vulnerability. Tony looked from the face of Steve's best friend to that of the man himself, and even though the suit may not have been able to take it, Tony decided flying home now would be better for him than staying to see the inevitable happen. He'd managed to get as far as straightening up before Steve had launched to his feet, practically tackling Tony as the damaged suit gave out under him, pieces falling without him meaning them to, disengaged because they could no longer operate. There was a litany of words falling out of Steve's mouth, and even though there was a lot of "god", it wasn't god he was thanking; it was Tony. Tony, for saving himself and saving Steve in the process, let alone the man lying, sprawled and simultaneously barely and instantly recognizable, in a circle of superheroes. Steve pressed his hand over the light shining from Tony's chest, and pressed his face into the man's shoulder, even as he helped the armour automatically disengage rather than trap Tony in a metal coffin. He hadn't agreed with Tony's protocol on that until now; for as much as he knew that Tony was just as deadly outside the suit as in, he had believed if the chips were far enough down that the suit had taken that much damage, Steve wanted it to stay in place and give Tony whatever protection it could manage. Now, he could push the suit off of Tony's shoulders, careful because he knew there had to be bruising even with the protection the tin can afforded him; and he was thankful Tony had that protocol, because he didn't think he'd manage to make it out the other side if he'd gone through the last few hours, only to have Tony hand him his once-dead best friend and end up having to be torn out of the suit. He was fairly sure that he couldn't take that kind of stress at this point.
A guantleted hand ran through his hair as the pieces of suit disengaged, reaching his arms finally, and then Steve could feel Tony's work-worn hand in his hair, the other sliding around the back of his neck. Tony's face pressed into Steve's neck, breathing him in as everything but the boots, which Tony would be able to slip out of the next time he moved, fell to the ruins. He sighed something that sounded like Steve's name, only his voice, soft and loving and cocky and teasing always now, sounded like he was this close to losing it, too.
Thor allowed War Machine to scoop James Buchanan Barnes off his hands, standing and regarding Steve and Tony while Natasha looked Bucky over with all the cold efficiency of an ER doctor. Rhodey's faceplate had flipped up around the time Tony had started talking to them, telling them that he needed someone to pull Bucky out from under him if he was to move the weight of the building without causing him more injury, and the look in Rhodey's eyes as he regarded Steve clinging to his best friend was softer than he would have ever admitted to. Natasha cleared her throat, and nodded to Tony that the man was alright, even though Steve wouldn't release him even a little.
Bruce came up behind Tony, the look in his eyes sunken, far-off as he gestured to Tony, asking Steve without words to make sure that their friend was okay. Steve could see the shaking in his hand, and knew it had nothing to do with anger; this was fear, just like it was for him, and he pressed a kiss to Tony's pulse and released him slowly, keeping his hands bunched in the fabric of Tony's shirt as Bruce moved to their side, letting Tony see him to know what he was doing. Tony was almost skittish now, and Steve's grip tightened reflexively, not following Tony's gaze to the face of the man he'd thought he'd never see again; focussing it on the one that, right now, he knew he'd have trouble living without. Bruce winced in sympathy as he gently felt along Tony's sides, the flash of pain in Tony's breath making Steve want to curl up in their bed and never let Tony out again. Natasha and Bruce's voices became the soft crackle of static as they talked about the injuries they found; Steve could only listen to the still-ragged breaths Tony yanked into his system, then discarded like last year's gossip pages. Steve loved him so much that it physically hurt now, and then Bruce was finished his assessment, Bruce's hand on Steve's arm, and Steve had to focus to get the words through that Tony was okay, but needed to be seen by the medics. Steve had to let Tony be seen by the medics, because while Bruce could look him over working around the super soldier, the SHIELD medics were not nearly so accommodating.
Tony's mouth ticked, and he nodded to Bucky, and Steve felt more than heard him say "go". Steve released his death grip on the Metallica t-shirt Tony had managed to get both grease and bleach on, but he only did it to pull Tony back into his arms until the medics were actually there. Clint may have grumbled something to the effect of "pretty sure they can't get to us in this wreckage, Cap", but Natasha flicking him in the ear was usually enough of a distraction to get Clint off Steve's case. The tremble in Tony's hands didn't belong there anymore, and Steve pulled him tight into his chest, war between his instincts to carry Tony to the medics and his better judgement that Tony usually only allowed that kind of behaviour when they were either far more naked or he was unconscious and therefore unaware of it happening. Instead of letting either side win, Tony pulled gently away, leaning his forehead against Steve's for a moment like it was killing him to step away, and then stepping away. Bruce and Natasha moved in on either side of Tony, closer to being his size than the rest of them were, and as Natasha pulled his arm around her shoulders for him to lean on, Steve wished for a wild minute that he hadn't ended up too tall to fit easily under Tony's arm. Tony had never known him that size, of course; but he wished all the same, even with the sickness and the pain that had come with his old life.
Steve moved behind them, and Clint set his shoulder against Steve's like Steve was the one that needed support; walking between the man he loved and the man he'd spent most of his life with.
Tony had been wearing a t-shirt and shredded jeans in his workshop when they got the call; now, in the chilled night of New York, he was shivering without the climate control of the suit. Steve's suit was too heavy be a help, he knew, but he wanted to shirk the specially-designed scale mail and drape it around Tony to keep him warm. It was too heavy by far for it, especially with the injuries Tony carried now, but he wanted to all the same. By the time they got mostly out of the jagged remains of nearly three city blocks, Coulson was standing by with a team of medics, wrapping Tony in a sweater Steve actually recognized as his own as Tony stood aside to let the medics look over Bucky first. Steve grit his teeth as Tony was whispered to, Coulson's calculating gaze sweeping over him then turning to Clint, who seemed to silently tell him something that had Steve suddenly being the one being looked at by the medics.
Natasha was still studying Tony; her gaze sweeping up and down as her lips thinned, the care with which she wrapped Tony tighter in the sweater for a moment, using her grip on the fabric to rock up on her toes and plant a kiss on Tony's cheek as soft as Steve had ever gotten to see her. Finally, finally, with words about shock and Steve needing rest, the medics turned to Tony, and as Tony was being fussed over and brow-beaten into medical attention, Steve felt his world shift back to him; the sound of War Machine's servos in his ears, so close to being Iron Man's.
"Cap, do you know who that is to Tony Stark?" Rhodey asked quietly, indicating Bucky now laid out on a stretcher, an IV dangling from his good arm, "That is your best friend, yes...it's also the man that killed Howard and Maria Stark...and Edwin Jarvis."
