Okay- okay, this is kind of really, really Angst- like moderately so. And well, I couldn't help myself.
Warnings: Mentions of Suicide, drinking, and mild cursing.
It's rated T because while I am sure younger kids actually curse way more than how much I wrote, it's inappropriate for them to read about suicide without sufficient warning.
Disclaimer: If I owned this particular franchise I think there would be a hell of a lot more angst in it. And death, so yeah, don't own the Avengers movie or otherwise. I wish.
So, tell me what you think when this is over- good god I enjoyed writing this too much- Review? I don't even care if it's you telling me how much it sucks, I want to know. I crave it!
P.S. I had some help with editing and creative thinking (Not much mind you, She wanted me to say that) By an author named Ten Bones.
Thanks in advanced-
It was a mellow evening full of glowing lights- stars- and a foggy mind- cold weather. When had he ever given himself the idea that sitting outside in the cold, kind of-sort of not really- Drunk staring at the sky and begging it to give him what he wanted would actually produce anything he wasn't sure. (He didn't even know what it was he wanted but he wanted, and it hurt and he'd never admit that (Not out loud anyways because he already admitted it seeing as he accepted something was missing))
The cold burned his fingers and his bare skin, but it served as a lovely reminder of where he was found. Then it rounded on him that pretending to be kind of- sort of not really- drunk was stupid because Steve- fucking Captain America- Rogers couldn't get drunk. His super soldier body reminded him of that every day, awkwardly and sometimes despondently.
He wanted his old life back, he wanted this weather to be accompanied by the sounds of old car horns and heels clicking on concrete and something- something nostalgic. At least, now it was nostalgic.
If he could kill himself he would- but he didn't think he'd even die he wasn't sure at all really because he never actually tried. (Thinking about killing yourself is different and the fact that he never tried is testament to how absolutely terrifying the idea to Steve really was.) But, watching the blood dry and the wounds heal quickly on his arms (Another sad and angry reminder that he healed quicker than the average man, he still got tired, he had his limits after all) just made the thought all the more implausible.
'An absolutely ridiculous idea stationed in the back of that numb brain of yours- and oh was it cold' He thought rolling the tumbler in his hand idly sitting on top of this old building in Brooklyn. It was the building he decided he'd live in, because well, it was older and reminded him a little of how much time he lost. (It flew by actually, with no interest to what Steve –Fucking Captain America- wanted)
And, Maybe he needed this if there was a chance- possibly (He hated thinking fate had anything to do with this) that he was meant to be here, it was meant to happen.
If that didn't comfort him at all, it was okay.
Steve Rogers was a man all his own, and Captain America was a piece of the past thrust into this future where he didn't belong. There were comics, movies- hell baseball sized collectors cards- dedicated to him. If that bothered him at all he never said so and maybe it did. (It did, it really did, because it cemented in his head that he really, really didn't belong here.)
They should have left him in the ice.
If the crash didn't cause him to go into a catatonic state of stasis he would have been awake while he froze to death. If he was awake there was a chance he would have been able to somehow maybe get back to the states. Get back to Peggy- whom he found out was alive but living in London.
Alive, and old and he didn't have the heart to go there and ruin her perfect life. He didn't have the heart to rip her world from under her frail feet and thrust her into the past; a past she probably forgot and left.
(That was depressing, it was, and maybe she was a part of the reason he was laying on the roof in the cold staring at colder stars (He could hardly see them the lights in the city were so bright but he knew they were there (This was all a part of the plan, all a part of the sad despondency he constantly found himself in.))) Or, maybe it wasn't.
He threw the tumbler away from him and heard it crack, and the throw was weak the glass made that rumbling bump as it rolled on its side sloshing liquid all over the roof in more liquid. It rained maybe an hour ago and the sky had cleared enough to give him peeks of that endless expanse called space.
Steve knew what he wanted- he wanted time back.
"I would give anything to hold your hand, did you know that? I kept that picture because it gave me a reason to come back" Steve said softly to the cold air and the busy city still wide awake below him. Peggy couldn't hear him so he knew the talking was only for himself- was that selfish? (Sure felt selfish) Brooklyn changed, and the people changed everything was so different now. If he entertained the thought of moving into the more countryside of New York it was quickly thrown out the window because he liked the noise of the city.
He just hated the cold, and the more he sat in it white shirt wet from the concrete buildings roof from lying in puddles, the more he forced himself to face why he hated it, the more numb he felt. Maybe that was what he needed the numbness. (Which was stupid, because, you know, he actually was afraid of the cold- he was sure he had a memory of waking up in the cold feeling like he was dying frozen to the hard metal ground but no- he wasn't sure and the cold still bothered him because it reminded him of that?) Steve wasn't sure what he remembered from it- he remembers feeling cold and feeling like he was dying.
What he was sure of; too sure of, really, was that when he woke up and ran into the streets and looked around and saw the buildings the lights everything that he wished he did die. It would have been better if Fury said 'No, son, you're dead this is heaven and you're free to roam. Welcome!' Because that would have been so much better (Which was a lie, actually) it would have been so much better if he woke up and it was still actually nineteen forty two.
He had no idea how long he actually lay in the puddles that were drying on a roof that was far too cold to be considered okay to lie down on. He was about ready to get up when a soft rumbling reached his ears. Clouds drifted by (And when had it gotten cloudy again?) and they were illuminated poorly by the city lights as a soft flash behind fluffy clouds greeted his eyes.
"Thor?" Steve said feeling stupid when lighting cracked across the sky once, twice before it rumbled and it grew quiet. Not Thor- because Thor was much more extravagant then this. Steve felt the first of the fat and cold drops hit him and before he could properly get up it was pouring rain.
And he didn't even want to sleep or dry off because the cold was numbing (He wanted to feel nothing and the rain did a pretty good job of that) so he sat for a few minutes listening to the numbing rain drown out his thoughts.
It did a poor job of that (Poor like the pouring rain- was that a pun? Too bad Tony Stark wasn't around to laugh) which just burned his blood, thinking about him. So he left that thought, swiftly getting to his feet and instead of going inside to his small apartment, and showering and drying off and laying in the dark he did what any respectable (Insane) and intelligent (dim) Gentleman would and jumped off the roof.
No fears, he landed on the fire escape and climbed down it, pants soaked white shirt- soaked and when his shoes hit the dirty and wet concrete side walk next to the building in the alley he just ran. Ran because he didn't have anywhere to go and wanted to pretend he did. He was running from the future and the noise. The cars and people blurred in the rain and his breath reached his ears. His blood was running rapid and his heart was pounding hot in his head. He could feel the cool flush of burning drops on his skin, his face. Running water tried to blind him which was good- because he was running from this change.
There was no chase, no one to help or see so he just ran crossing streets haphazardly. He might be admitted for psyche evaluation (It was a possibility he didn't ignore) because his behavior is very much so not the idol of America. In fact his behavior is possibly really, really reckless because he could get hit by a car in the middle of the night. Or, if he ever stopped running mugged and shot. He might be a super solider, but he wasn't indestructible like his shield, or had a metal suit like Ironman and he sure as heck wasn't a God. He was just Steve Rogers right now (Not Captain fucking America) because right now he was vulnerable.
Right now he wouldn't admit (He would, just not proudly) that he was crying in frustration because damn it he couldn't run fast enough. (Run from the inevitable, which was time and nothing was reversing and nothing changes back to how it was- it moves forward and that is all) And this frustrated him more then he would ever admit it.
He would try, he promised himself he would try but he was done trying. (Or maybe he never intended to actually keep that self made promise- one he shouldn't have even thought up because it was a lie) Steve's feet finally slowed and he staggered into a quick paced walk, hands on his soaked hips hair plastered to his forehead way to numb and cold to care that his heart felt like it was going to leap out of his chest. He watched the sidewalk, dark and wet under the street lamps that struggled against a seasonal rain to keep the place lit up. He watched his life going further and further away as he tried to think of a good excuse.
Would he even really kill himself? Was there even an excuse for it? (Of course there wasn't a good excuse for it, why would there be? (What would his mother think of him if she saw him like this? Knew what he wanted to do? (With that in mind, what about Bucky? Who died because of him? Or Peggy? Or- god, the team?))) He huffed tiredly trying to keep himself going as he looked up and around, he had no idea how far he actually ran.
They couldn't have honestly expected him to cope with this, just take it in stride like he seemed to. Maybe it was his fault for leading them to believe that while he was stunned (Couldn't get around his looks of awe or confusion) he had gotten used to the reality of it. Because he wasn't used to the reality of this- he had been here, for almost nine months, and it was still unusual. Steve still didn't like leaving his apartment, he still didn't really like being in large crowds of modern people who stared at him with irritation or confusion. People who looked and acted nothing like how he was used to (Which really, he was used to some drastically different stuff) and people who seemed to never slow down just like New York City itself.
It was then (Again, for maybe the hundredth time) that he realized as he walked in the rain that wasn't slowing down in its pouring, that he couldn't kill himself. (He was afraid, with good reason; Steve thought he died once he didn't actually think he could face that again if he failed.) He had no outward suggestions that he was really scared of this place, of what he was supposed to do or what not to do. He didn't look like he was distressed (Maybe in the gym as he made punching bag after punching bag bend to his fist and fly across the room in a heap of heavily packed sand) or that maybe he was really just tired and couldn't sleep (He slept for seventy years, he's not exactly tired often).
His eyes searched through water as he reached up to wipe water from his eyes to look out into the buildings for a sign telling him where the hell he was. Maybe twenty- thirty minutes passed where he had been running, which wasn't long at all, and he managed to make his way a pretty far distance if the tall buildings surrounding him meant anything. They were familiar in the way that war was familiar to him. (He had flashback sometimes; sometimes it even scared him to hear a car horn in the distance) Steve stopped walking as he came across a poorly lit wall littered with paper that was just out of reach of the rain because of an awning. It was notes and candles and dying flowers and things collected from the Chitauri attack- how long ago was that now? Maybe, maybe three months? This area was still under construction while most of the damage was cleared from the streets some of the windows were still boarded. Despite all the damage though Stark Tower was standing tall, lit up in the night like a self-centered beckon of hope (It was big and ugly before, now it was big, ugly, and bright.)
Steve looked down at his arms in the poor yellow lighting of a fixed street light and noticed there was no blood on his arms, nothing but skin. The rain washed it away and with the blood it seemed to have washed the cuts away too. He bit his lip, chewing off a little skin which pulled painfully between his teeth. If he had a watch he'd check the time but he didn't all he knew was that it was late, maybe early morning. (It could be two- three- maybe four in the morning. It was still really dark and he couldn't actually tell)
Steve approached the tall building slowly; he'd only ever actually been inside of Stark Towers twice. Once when they apprehended Loki finally, after a too long battle that reminded him nothing of the past (which was really good the last thing he needed was guilt) The second time a few weeks later it was so Tony could see how all the members of their super secret boy band (Steve still hated those nicknames) were doing. While Bruce didn't actually show up apparently he wrote a letter.
Natasha and Clint didn't show up together- while Clint seemed alright with checking in, and Steve did because it was the right thing to do (why not accept an invitation?) And Thor happened to be visiting to make sure the city didn't need help in cleaning up the mess. That was nice, Steve always thought, and still did as he entered a security code he was surprised he remembered and stepped into the large first floor lobby of the building. It was cold inside, because Steve was soaking wet (And no longer numb) his eyes itched from crying while he ran and he still felt a little winded.
He was still tired and still sort of- kind of really not at all- Drunk. (He could pretend which; he was bad at pretending so it didn't matter) Steve staggered towards an elevator in the poorly lit building and tired to remember what floor he was supposed to go to. (He had good memory but right now he was kind of lost, and he didn't even know why he was even here.)
Though he glanced at an electric clock that told him the time was exactly (Give or take some seconds) Two fifty three in the morning. Steve rounded up and didn't think about how awful it might look for a soaking wet, tired, red faced out of breath Captain America to the overly opinionated jack ass known as Tony Stark. (If he was actually thinking like a normal person he would have cared (If he could bring himself too, which he couldn't by the way))
As his heart started to beat faster because of nerves (Yes Steve was apprehensive, now that the stupid elevator actually started to rise and he didn't want to risk getting out through the emergency shaft for fear of setting off some kind of alarms) Steve regretted the idea. Tony Stark was the last person on earth that could offer some kind of answer for him. All in all, this was stupid and a bad idea and gosh Steve could feel his muscles tensing up like a spring as it rose and he watched the numbers change.
'Oh my- its three in the morning Steve what on earth were you thinking? You could have come in the morning, maybe seven? But three? There is no way Tony is even awake at this hour! Not to mention that he was probably being rude by not asking to come by.' Though part of Steve knew that Tony was the epitome of rude so it might not bother him all that much- or was he really the epitome of rude? Was that just something Steve made up on judgment alone? (Come on, he might have fought with Ironman but he didn't actually know Tony Stark at all. (He tried to make this less judgmental sounding in his head before he panicked on a good reason to come here at all (and man was he screwed)))
The elevator doors made a noise and then the thing stopped all together causing him to just stand stupidly when the doors slid open. Water was steadily making a dripping noise on the floor of the elevator and he shivered because yeah, it was still kind of cold inside the building.
Steve didn't make any advancement to move but the doors remained open spilling light into the mostly dark lobby looking area of Tony Stark's pent house. "Uh you going to come in or what? Standing there getting the floor all wet- Jesus Cap, show some manners." Tony's voice broke through his self-depreciating mantra and Steve jumped hands on his biceps to hold himself as he stood there dumbly.
Sheepishly Steve stepped forward and the doors snapped closed behind him making him jump "How did you know I was here?" Steve asked quietly his voice not working as strongly as he wanted.
"JARVIS told me of course" Tony said emerging from the darkness of the living space with a towel in one hand and something amber colored on rocks on the other.
"Oh" Steve stared at the towel Tony offered and took it carefully with both hands having no qualms with wrapping himself in it to soak up the water in his shirt. (He must look like a wet dog (Tony was going to have field day with this, Steve was so sure))
"You look pretty wet there Cap, taking a stroll in the rain?" Tony spoke his voice flat and almost business like as he moved around the darkness Steve himself standing in the same stop in front of the elevator doors. He was right too; he was going to regret ever coming here. Tony turned a light on and Steve had to blink away the stars and black spots he saw when the brightness assaulted his eyes. Tony was giving him this critical and apprising expression as he approached again standing in front of Steve who stood in front of the elevator doors.
"At three in the morning no less, if you were a woman I'd say you were here for some company but since you're not I have to ask: What the hell are you doing here?" Steve knew Tony wasn't going to care- what possessed him to even enter the building anyways? He should have just walked home.
Steve must have had a pretty interesting look on his face because Tony's voice was quiet and just held a small tad of concern (At least Steve thought that's what it was, he's been wrong before).
"Hey, you know what? Never mind why you're here. How about we get you dried off and dressed? Though, really, I don't think I have anything that will properly fit you- maybe some sweats, I don't know." Tony waved a hand in Steve's face which effectively snapped him back to his current situation.
Steve just stared as Tony continued to ramble and he felt his heart sink and that stupid, stupid (really fucking stupid) feeling of guilt tugging at him.
"I'm sorry, really." Steve said instead of answering any of the questions Tony actually asked him. Tony stopped and turned to look at Steve with this bizarre expression before frowning "What the hell for?" Steve wanted to punch him and opted to frown instead because he didn't have the heart to punch someone who was very clearly just trying to help. (Even if by help, he talked constantly, nonstop really, and bitched and made wise-ass remarks.)
"For coming here, I'm sure Ms. Potts is sleeping and I'm sure you were too- even if you don't look like you were, so- sorry" Steve rushed out feeling his apprehension coming back full force. He tugged on the towel around his shoulders and let his eyes hit the floor which was detailed with shadows in some places and just grey stone in the light.
Yeah, maybe Steve should have just jumped clear off that building and lay on the concrete in a broken mess- at least he wouldn't be in this situation because it was awkward. (He wouldn't have, he knew better, if he went back he'd do the same damn thing as he did earlier.)
"No it's alright." Tony said lowly approaching again, "She's away on business and hey- are you okay?" Tony was fiddling when Steve looked back up at him when he asked. Tony looked unsure of himself for the first time since well- Steve has ever seen really. Steve felt himself frown and felt his eyes draw back to the floor.
Shifting in his soaked shoes he shrugged one shoulder and pulled the towel a little with both hands. "Yes- No- I'll be fine, sorry." Steve mumbled looking back up ready to completely dismiss that admission. "Do you have a bathroom?" Steve asked before Tony could launch a full assault of questions because this was Captain-fucking-America, and something was wrong with him. (God for-fucking-bid that happened)
Tony opened his mouth then closed it and nodded, "Yeah, here I'll show you let me get you some clothes to change in. Sorry I don't have briefs for you, you'll have to go nude under there, buddy" Tony commented and Steve would have blushed if he wasn't so frustrated again. "Thanks" Steve mumbled following after him, his shoes squeaking on the floor despite how hard he tried to lift his feet and prevent the noise.
Steve found himself looking at his arm again where there was no evidence he tried to cut himself (He didn't see the appeal before, and when he did it, it stung and still really didn't but somehow it helped abate his thoughts which now, were all coming back that he was warm and dry) Before leaving the bathroom in search of Tony. To his surprise (Not really) Tony was waiting for him arms crossed, ankles crossed leaning against the bar counter. More dim lights were on and he looked tired, Steve noticed and felt another pang of guilt.
It was awkward again, standing with Tony just staring at each other "Thanks for the clothes, and sorry again about all this" Tony scoffed and waved a hand at Steve dismissing his admission of regret. It was quite a long time after that and Steve finally sat down sinking into a chair close by because he didn't know what else to do at this point.
Rain pattered softly against windows and it was a noise if anything and inside the rain was soothing and depressing. Steve placed his head in both of his hands ignoring Tony as he leaned forward setting his elbows on his knees and rocked himself slightly. Pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes to blind himself temporarily noise no necessary, no words just sitting in a chair that was soft his bare and cold feet resting on carpet rocking himself.
'Because he was still just that scrawny wimpy kid, and it was like yesterday that he was given this body and like yesterday when Bucky fell out of the train and off a cliff and just like yesterday when he said goodbye and then- blackness.'
Yeah because the past still lived on inside his head and he was still hurt and kind of really frustrated that he couldn't go back again. This place was too much and he took a long shaking breath trying to ease an ache he never wanted to face but always did. Every night when he had nothing to do and didn't want to punch a bag to death- Every night he lay awake and stare at the ceiling and wonder what it could have been like if he lived on- in the forties- with Peggy and the Army and what he could have achieved.
It was as hopeless a thought as it always was.
The couch next to him sank as he took another shaking breath and exhaled a struggling sob. "Okay please, no more crying I can't do crying" Tony's voice was quiet and Steve almost forgot he was standing in the room with him still. Tony's strong arm pulled Steve's head to his shoulder and the other pat Steve's own shoulder awkwardly.
And Steve just allowed it flopping onto Tony's shoulder his hands still in his face, cramping, his eyes burning at the pressure he was putting on them. "Hey it's totally okay to feel grief sometimes." Tony hesitated to speak more when Steve tensed up against his shoulder, the position they sat in really awkward and kind of painful.
Mentally berating himself Steve pushed himself out of Tony's grip passing a fleeting look of shame at the other man as he rubbed his tired and throbbing eyes because no matter how hard he pushed on them, they would cry. (Just like no matter how much people curse at the sky it still rained)
"You-um- Want to talk about it?" Tony broached the subject in that awkward way he talked when he was uncomfortable, which Steve figured wasn't too often. And Steve couldn't actually be sure he was uncomfortable- he could just be trying to be polite. "You don't have to, it's just you know, everyone has been there and people tell me listening to people talk is always good; or at least talking about it helps. I'm still not sure, the theory stands." Tony rushed out in one breath it seemed and Steve wanted to laugh.
"Just thinking, Tony, Sorry again about all this." Steve mumbled softly and Tony stared at him like he was stupid (This wasn't uncommon) and shook his head a little too much. "No you aren't getting out of this one so easily. What's on your mind Captain?" Tony asked leaning back a little his hands resting on both his knees.
Steve wanted to punch him again, though this time because he called him Captain, he wasn't always Captain fucking America. "I have a name Mr. Stark and it's Steve." He ground out not meaning to sound so mean. Tony flinched a little and stared at him oddly scooting away from Steve which kind of made this more awkward.
"Fine, Steve, sorry." Tony held up both hands in mock surrender and crossed his arms leaning into the back of the couch- staring at him in waiting. "So, Steve-"And he regretted correcting Tony because Tony sounded so scathing, "- What's bothering you? Come on you can tell me." Tony pushed more and Steve made fists out of his hands and leaned forward a little watching his hands relax again as he let the tension flood away from them.
"I want to die. I should have died, I want to kill myself" He said it in a rush of a breath, and quiet and it was insufferable how weak Steve actually sounded and he didn't care. (No taking words back now, he was always honest with himself so he'd be honest with Tony) The silence that followed was what made Steve feel worse. With these new feelings and the sudden, seriously real anxiety in his chest he stood turning with bare feet and walking straight for the elevator. He was shaking he was so scared (Of what? Being committed? (Maybe, but that didn't mean he didn't mean it and he couldn't deny that.))
"Steve, wait!" Tony called out to him and he actually stopped finger hovering over the down button on the wall. "Wait, just hold on a minute will you?" Tony must have jumped over the couch because he was suddenly right there grabbing Steve by the elbow and pulling him back towards the room. Of course, Steve didn't make it easy and stood firm in his spot after stumbling three steps. It was so tense and quiet Steve figured he could cut the air with a spoon at this point.
"Okay, Jesus" Tony let go of Steve's elbow and Steve took it back with no grace letting his arm just fall to his side his eyes staring holes into the floor, face burning with regret. "Just- fuck- wait a second before you go running away." With a chance glance up at Tony he saw the man rub his face a few times with both hands, a look of confused hurt on his face.
"Look, I don't know why you want- well that" Tony waved a hand nondescriptly before continuing on "But, just don't okay?" Tony sighed through his nose and crossed his arms tightly. Steve watched him with silent regard, ready to argue if that's what this was going to turn into. It still rained outside, it was still really too early in the morning and Steve was just too damn tired for a real argument. (He didn't know if he really would argue with Tony, though)
"We-I- Like you too much to let you go and off yourself because of, well whatever crap's bothering you." Tony stuttered a little "Well, I mean, it's not crap, its- look Steve ending your life is never the answer. And hey, I may not be a good listener I talk way too much for that but I mean I'll be here for you." Tony offered up because Steve looked like he was about to make like a fox and run for the hills. "We all have our low points- I mean hey! I do, and it sucks and yeah I drink to damn much but that's my way of coping and, look my problems aren't the point." Tony waved his hands, suddenly free from when his arms were previously crossed.
"Why don't you stay the night here- or morning- sleep a little bit, and we'll talk bright and early." Tony paused and Steve shifted on his feet and crossed his arms defensively. "That's okay Tony, you don't have to pity me I'm sorry again for this." Steve managed turning around and reaching a hand out to push the button only to be pulled back again.
"No wait!" Tony almost yelled looking panicked, "No, um, please." Tony asked looking pensive and unsure of himself holding onto Steve's arm like a child, "I want to know why you feel that way, I do. I just- I'm no good at this stuff and-"
"Tony, let go of my arm please." Steve muttered and Tony did so looking sheepish "I would really like you to stay. Can't leave a friend out in the cold feeling lower then dirt could I?" Tony offered up wringing his hands as he paced a little away from Steve and watched him with careful eyes.
Steve wasn't sure why he came here at all, and that was still true but the way Tony acted- calling him a friend when they really didn't know each other- made him reconsider running back into the rain. He was dreadfully tired and with a resigned sigh he nodded. "Sure, yeah, I guess I'll stay." Steve's voice was weak and soft and Tony nodded fast reaching a hand out to grab his elbow again- this time the other- pulling him back to the couches.
"Tell me, tell me everything." Tony said as they sat, "Wait" And he got up to get a drink of amber liquid bringing it back with him to sit down.
And so Steve told him- he told him how he felt, what he thought and regretted. Told Tony about Peggy and Howard and Bucky (The mention of Tony's dad made the man scowl but Steve chose to ignore that) He told him about the war and his bad dreams and most of all how desperately he wanted to go back in time. He was hung up on wanting to reverse things, with wanting to be dead because everything wouldn't be as real and hurt as bad.
"Have you ever tried?" Tony questioned with a strange sensitivity and uneasiness that made Steve want to lie (But if he started to lie now, he wouldn't stop) "No" Steve said and shook his head "But that…" He felt guilt again and looked at his arms running fingers over cold skin that was scar-less, and free of any marks. Tony followed his fingers as they traced marks that weren't there at all and frowned deeply, "Steve you shouldn't do that." Tony whispered to him his hand stopping Steve's from making patterns that were healed and no longer there to see. "There are things that just don't help, and Self harm is one of them- neither is self medicating. It might feel alright but it hurts others to see it." Tony mumbled holding Steve's hand before Steve ripped it back.
"There isn't really anyone alive anymore to worry about it is there?" Steve said hotly, harshly, "Look Steve I never said it was going to be easy- but please don't do things like that." Tony said firmly frowning at him, "Besides…" Tony said his voice dropping low as did his brown eyes to stare at flesh that was clean and held no marks on it. "I care, might not seem like a lot, but make it count okay?"
Steve just stared at Tony for a long time before conceding to the idea that Tony (Playboy? Philanthropist? Whatever the fuck else) Stark gave two shit's about what he did to himself. Tony, who he argued with when they first met because Steve refused to admit that the military and the situation reminded him of the past and it hurt his head. Tony who he said was nothing without his suit which wasn't at all true.
"I'm sorry" Steve said eventually the hours of darkness having left them for that of the still early morning; gloomy and cloudy. "Why are you apologizing now?" Tony asked and Steve shrugged.
"I know I meant what I said on the carrier…" Tony flinched some and looked angry for a moment too long, "I know I meant it when I said it because I was angry at you for being so selfish." Steve took a long breath before easing it out slowly, "But It doesn't actually apply anymore because if that is true with you, then its more than true with me; I'm just as selfish." Steve rubbed his now fairly warmed skin and sighed resting his back into the cushion of the couch.
"Hey, it's alright I guess" Tony said "At least you're apologizing for it." And it was comfortable for the first time in hours and for the first time in the last twenty something hours Steve felt tired enough to actually take a nap, without the pain of thinking.
"Alright buddy, you look beat. I've got a spare room." Tony stood up and stretched his arms above his head, "I'll show you the way."
And Steve followed him because he didn't know where anything was. Smiling a little to himself when Tony double backed to get a glass of water pressing it into Steve's hands when he showed him the room. "Drink up, it's good for you" Tony winked at him and Steve didn't have the strength to be irritated by him anymore. "Night, Night, sleep tight Captain- I mean, Steve" Tony corrected himself quickly and Steve smiled (Maybe Tony wasn't as big of a jack ass as Steve thought he was)
"And hey" Tony said once Steve moved to the bed and sat down on it. Tony lingered in the door way watching him carefully "If you ever need to talk, just come on by again. Clearly, I've got nothing better to do at night." Tony nodded when Steve said thank you and closed the door leaving Steve in the room alone.
Sighing, Steve fell back on the bed staring up at the ceiling wondering about him-self, wondering about Tony and the past and the present. It hurt- just talking about it wasn't an absolute fix- but it hurt just a little less now that someone else knew. (Really, it did, like a pressure was lifted a little from his head and chest) He knew though that when he finally fell asleep, he would have those dreams again because he couldn't control that.
A frown creased across his brow and he pushed himself up the bed a little before turning to lie on his side and stare at the far wall. He would dream and wake up like he did at his apartment out of breath and sore from screaming and moving. (Because he didn't exactly understand why he thrashed in his sleep, he was no specialist and even if he did go see them, he feared they would drug him or something (He didn't want to become some drugged up guy, just to sleep because that wasn't comfort that was just a Band-Aid.)) Closing his eyes he took a reassuring breath (Not really reassuring) and sighed it out slowly, keeping his eyes closed and trying to relax, because the day was starting soon, maybe even already for some people.
He would be okay (Maybe because it was a so-so situation) And Tony said he was there for him (He didn't know if that was credible either) But he'd hold onto that small, small moment of possible hope because that was all he had. Maybe that was enough?
Steve turned over as his usual schedule for trying to sleep started (The tossing and turning, the uncomfortable fear lingering in his chest) and sighed again trying to force the sleep to come. It didn't work and thoughts floated back to the forefront of his mind. His fingers twitched his eyes opened and he stared at the ceiling with a very deep frown on his face, his eyes watering. He wanted to cut himself again (Which was stupid, he already was over this he thought because it never helped and now he had Tony right? To stop him from doing it? (In reality though the feeling still lived on, and the pain remained the same) And while he had nothing sharp he thought about it and closed his eyes tightly again rolling back over onto his side and bunching the blankets into his hands.
And, maybe, it wasn't.