A/N- Okay, so my first offering to the Avengers universe. Please let me know what you think!
WARNING- Major character death
Tony felt uncomfortable and uncoordinated.
The suit was thick and bulky and not his, definitely not his, he wouldn't design something so restrictive, but it was necessary and Tony hated it.
He wanted nothing more than to strip it from his body and move without thought.
He wanted to pull at his hair and rub at his face and he wanted to be able to run his fingers over the smooth surface of a tablet so he could dispel the nervous energy building up within him.
He wanted to pace.
He wanted to touch.
He wanted to do something.
But, he couldn't.
The suit wouldn't let him.
The situation wouldn't let him.
So instead he cursed behind the protective headwear and took up his customary position next to the bed and didn't worry about smiling or pretending. His whole face, beside his eyes, was hidden from view and Tony, for probably the first time in his life, didn't want to hide. He wanted the person on the bed to see his face, to know he wasn't alone, that'd he'd never be alone, not if Tony had anything to do with it.
Tony wouldn't let him be alone.
Not this time.
And for that he needed the suit.
"Hey." He said, his voice sounding flat and cold as it echoed in his ears. "It's me again. Your favourite genius. Or at least I better be, I mean, I know you and Banner get along but I'd like to think my snark triumphs over the whole kindness thing he has going on. We all know what that's a front for. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying that he doesn't care because he does, or I'm guessing so by the whole hysteria going on outside, not just with him but everyone - I didn't know Natasha was capable of emotion, did you?- but what I'm trying to say is… I'm rambling. I should probably shut up now."
Tony knew, logically, that he shouldn't touch the burnt and blistered skin of the other's hand, not only for his own safety, not that that had ever been an issue before, but because he knew how much pain the other was already in and how little the drugs were doing to relieve him of it. Tony knew that every little touch was agony to the abused skin and he didn't want to add to the suffering that had already dragged out for days. He was a bastard, the whole world knew it was true, but he wouldn't, he couldn't, take the other hand in his own so he could ground himself, comfort himself, and force his brain to start processing that this was real.
He had heard what the doctors had said, had seen the sadness in Bruce's eyes when he had confirmed everything they had said, that there was nothing more to be done, but he hadn't really absorbed it as reality. He felt numb and so goddamn tired despite the hours of sleep he'd just had and he didn't want it to be real. But the monitors around the bed told him everything he already knew. That this was it. That he really should be saying goodbye.
He didn't know if he could.
"I hope you're not too disappointed, Cap, but you're stuck with me until morning. Actually, scratch that. How is that disappointing? I'm awesome, you should feel lucky. You've heard that time is money, right? They had that phrase back in your day, didn't they? Anyway, my time equals lots of money. Do you know how much you're costing me?" Tony fought the alien burn of tears as they welled in his eyes. "I thought about asking Pepper to draw up a bill but I decided I'd cut you some slack. I'll have it sent to Fury instead. Bastard. I was thinking about charging him for the repairs to my suit, too, what do you think? Too much?"
Steve didn't answer him.
Tony hadn't expected him to.
"Yeah, that might be pushing it but, what the hell, I'm the king of too much. I'll add the damage to your suit, too. That thing's unsalvageable. But, I've been thinking about upgrading it for a while now. Even thought about getting rid of the stars and stripes but I didn't think you'd be too happy about that. Shame, I reckon you'd have looked good in pink. Very metrosexual. You've had that concept explained to you, haven't you? Very twenty-first century. You'd like it. Or maybe not. It wasn't me, by the way. Clint's the ass who dyed your laundry. He told me it was an accident and who am I to argue with him? He's an idiot. Who knows what the thought processes are of someone with that intellect? I know, I know, I'm a genius but I'm not going to lower myself to that standard. It's impossible. Even with the help of mind altering substances. Speaking of-."
"Tony."
Tony paused mid-monologue, his mouth hanging open and not daring to breathe, and listened.
He was sure he had misheard, that his ears or his mind, or both, were playing tricks on him but then he saw eyes, glazed and unfocused, cracked open and the voice, just as weak as before, repeated itself.
"Tony."
"Shit, Steve." Tony murmured, his hand hovering over Steve's and his mind scrambling for something to do or something to say.
Steve wasn't meant to be awake. The doctors had told him that they had pumped him with enough drugs to keep him out until the end, to make the whole thing as easy as possible for him, to keep the pain away. He wasn't meant to be awake.
"Hurts."
"I know." Tony said. "I know it does , do you want me to call the doctor? Yeah, I'll call the doctor. See what they can do."
"No." The words were barely there, scarcely stronger than breaths pushed through dry and cracked lips. "Stay. Please."
"I'm not going anywhere." Tony told him, "all I have to do is press a button."
"Stay."
"I'm not going to leave you, Steve, I promise."
"Don't… Don't want-." He sucked in a rattling breath. "Alone."
Tony saw Steve's hand twitching, reaching for his own, and his stomach twisted, "you know hand holding really isn't my style."
But he took Steve's hand in his own and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Steve hissed and tears streamed from the corner of his eyes but he clutched at Tony's hand as if that was the only thing keeping him alive.
Maybe it was.
Tony hardly felt the grip of Steve's hand through the thick rubber of the glove and the twisting of his stomach turned violent, "Steve…"
"Don't wa- 'lone."
"You sound like a broken record." Tony said, though his words didn't hold any of their usual bite. "You're making me repeat myself, another thing that really isn't my style. Turn up your hearing aid, gramps, because I'm not going to say this again: you're not alone and you're not going to be alone. I promise I'm not going to leave you."
There was the barest quirk of the lips before Steve's eyes slipped shut and his face contorted into a grimace, "'m dying."
It wasn't a question.
Tony sucked in a deep breath and something stabbed painfully at his heart.
"Yeah." He said, his voice suddenly hard. "You're dying."
Anger, unexpected and unwelcome, swelled inside him and the urge to run and break and destroy threatened to overcome him.
"You're an idiot, you know that, don't you?" Tony snapped, unable to stop himself. "A stupid self-sacrificing ass. Why didn't you get the hell out of there when the order was given, huh? Why didn't you listen? This wouldn't have happened if you had just been selfish for once in your life. What's wrong with you?"
He wanted to kick and scream but he didn't. Not while Steve was looking at him with wide, wet and barely focused eyes.
"Scared." Steve whispered and the anger flooded from Tony's body as suddenly as it came.
Tony forced himself to smile, even though he knew Steve couldn't see it, "you're not going to be alone this time, Steve, I promise. I'll stay with you."
Tears flooded down Steve's cheeks and the grimace grew.
Tony reached over the bed and pressed the call button for the doctor, "the doctor'll give you some of the good stuff, help with the pain."
It took a while for the doctor to arrive but when he did he was suited up like Tony. He quickly checked the monitors and asked Steve a couple of questions that went unanswered.
"I'm going to up your morphine and then put something in your IV to help you sleep, okay?" The doctor said and, despite the fear Tony could see in his eyes, Steve nodded.
"All you'll have to do is close your eyes." Tony told him.
It didn't take long for the medication to kick in, causing Steve's face to slacken and the grimace to fade as the pain receded.
Tony wiped away the last of the tears from Steve's cheeks with his free rubber gloved hand in an uncharacteristic act of compassion and Steve offered him a small smile.
He tried to speak but Tony shook his head, "don't bother, I know what you want to say: I'm freaking awesome."
"A- ass."
And suddenly Steve was fighting sleep.
"Don't." Tony said. "Don't fight it. Just close your eyes, Cap, and go to sleep. I'll be right here."
Tony felt him squeeze his hand as his eyes fluttered.
"Sleep." Tony told him.
Steve's eyes fell shut and Tony's whole body sagged.
"He shouldn't wake up again." The doctor said after a minute.
"How long?" Tony asked, too tired to be angry anymore.
Too tired to be anything anymore.
"A couple of hours, maybe." The doctor told him. "His respirations and pulse are slowing and his body temperature is falling."
"A couple of hours." Tony repeated. "Right."
The doctor made some final checks before leaving the room without another word.
There was silence then and Tony didn't dare break it.
An hour after the doctor had left Steve's breaths started to become shallow and rasping, coming in weak gasps that stopped and started and convinced Tony that each one would be Steve's last.
And Tony couldn't help but think that it was so unfair, that Steve didn't deserve this. This end was too drawn out, too full of suffering, and nothing like what Tony had imagined for any Avenger. Avengers were meant to go out in a blaze of glory, fighting and doing what was right for the good of mankind. It was meant to be bloody but quick and in the open so that the rest of the world could see the sacrifice they had made.
Tony had always though an Avenger's death was supposed to be beautiful, in a macabre kind of way.
Steve's was anything but.
Steve had spent the last five days locked away in a room that only those with anti-radiation suits on could enter.
Five days of skin blistering and agony wracking his body.
Five days of seizing and trembling and incapability to control bodily functions.
Five days of fever induced hallucinations and drug fuelled hazes and friends saying goodbye.
Five days of hell.
And for what?
The people Steve had stopped to help, a mother and her disabled child who had somehow been left behind when the city had been evacuated, had died within minutes of the bomb going off.
Steve hadn't been able to save them.
Nobody had had the heart to tell him that all he had achieved was condemning himself to a slow and painful death.
Tony wondered if Steve would have made the same decision if he had known that this was going to be the outcome. If he'd still had stopped and tried to help despite knowing it was going to kill him.
Tony thought he would, a million times over if he could, anything to offer hope to those who desperately needed it, and somehow that made him feel better.
Steve had given up his life for something he really believed in and there was no way Tony could see it as the waste others were proclaiming it to be.
However unlike Tony's imaginings it was, Steve was dying a hero.
Another two hours passed and Steve's chest finally stilled.
"You'll be okay now." Tony told him, squeezing the lifeless hand he held in his own. "There'll be no more pain. You'll be okay."
Then Tony broke down and cried.