The Savior of Brooksville was going to die.
Peggy's mind shied away from the mere thought, but it seemed more and more likely the longer they waited for the Doctor.
Something had to give.
Steve sighed as he surveyed his latest creation, hands limply holding on to the still wet paintbrush. As much as he loved art, it did get tedious not knowing the actual colors for everything. For all he knew, he could be coloring the sky wrong.
Bucky mewed excitedly, disturbing Steve's solemn contemplation. He was dancing back and forth, or trying his best to, with his three legs. Steve smiled fondly at him, the familiar affection for his favourite (and only) companion rising up in him.
"Yeah, yeah. I know you think it's brilliant, Buck. But neither of us can actually see all that well."
Bucky let out a shorter mew, affronted.
Steve looked at Bucky with a smile, "What? It's true. And you know I think you're perfect as you are"
Bucky sniffed Steve's outstretched hand and gave it a lick, carefully avoiding the paint. He knew from experience that it did not taste good.
Steve smiled faintly at the sight, and looked at the painting from the corner of his eye; familiar strains of frustration welled in his chest, and Steve burst out, "I can't keep living like this. Not when I can be out there helping people."
Bucky sighed because he had heard this rant before, several times, but more in frequency ever since Steve had read that article in his new scroll.
Steve continued, "I can help, really help them, make a difference in their lives. It's selfish for me to stay here while people are dying needlessly in Brooksville. Especially with no healers willing to go there because of the danger."
Bucky put his head on his front paw, bright grey eyes tracking Steve as he paced the length of the tiny living room made large by wall paintings and the floor length window-cum-balcony in the North. Humans were so easily riled.
"The Queen built 4 orphanages! Four! And the Chief of the Royal Guard grew up in one of the orphanages, can you imagine, Bucky? Boy, she is one heck of a lady, both of them."
Bucky responded by slowly licking his paw and flicking his eyelid.
Steve's smile flickered, "They say more and more people are dying by the minute…..Do you think I should ask him? He has to say yes! It's a matter of life and death, and it's an entire kingdom! What do you think, Buck?"
Bucky yawned.
"Yes. Today. When he comes, I will ask him." He nodded to himself and resolutely patted Bucky's head.
"Today."
"Tony, come on! They're catching up," Rhodey yelled as Tony attached the last explosive.
"Untwist your underpants, Sour Patch. We'll get out of this a Savior's Shield richer, see if we don't." He answered lightly jogging away as he judged the correct distance.
Rhodey huffed, "I doubt I'll be seeing anything when we're in prison, Tony goddamn it"
Tony giggled, adrenaline pumping, "Language, Sugar Plum", and pushed the button on his jury-rigged remote.
Rhodey ducked as the resulting explosion scattered dust and debris in his eyes, and hissed, "Come-fucking-on"
Grinning, as he hefted the case containing the famous red-white-and-blue shield over his shoulder, "Yeah, let's blow this popsicle stand", and jumped.
And then they ran. Tiny figures on the roof of an enormous white and salmon castle.
Meanwhile, cavalry had been alerted.
Rhodey grabbed Tony's shoulder and pulled him left, as guards poured onto the roof, dressed starchily in the official red and blue uniform. The vibration from their feet beating like a drum in Rhodey's ears, "They have us surrounded!"
Tony glared back fiercely, "Only if there's only one of us. Let's split up and meet back at Bruce's".
"Tony, no." Rhodey said, as he squeezed Tony's arm.
"Rhodey, you can't be caught helping me and I have the armor. Take those stairs and sneak away from the back exit. Go!" And with that Tony ran in the opposite direction, pulling the guards away from Rhodey, with the distinctive shield case on his back.
And Rhodey had no choice but to run, swearing to wring that punk's neck the next time (And there better be a next time) he saw him.
Natasha ran, Clint hot on her heels as the culprit ran towards the edge of the roof. He was not going to get away. The thief had nowhere left to go. He had made a mistake ditching his friend there.
Natasha stopped in anticipation of his stopping when he saw the sharp drop into the sea from the edge. The water would be akin to hitting concrete at this height.
Then, he jumped.
Clint stumbled in disbelief as he saw the man, and the shield, disappear over the edge. Natasha wasted no time, running over to the boundary wall to see the fool kill himself. Only he didn't. The man – somehow – was floating, blue light emanating from his palms, as red and gold metal spread over his palms and feet.
"What in the gods-"
"Clint." Natasha interrupted, "Shoot him down."
Clint stared at her, stunned, "Are you seeing what I'm seeing? He's flying!"
She stared him down, and enunciated, "Shoot. Him. Down". Clint huffed and murmured, "Ma'am, yes, ma'am" and pulled out an arrow.
Tony laughed as the cool sea mist hit his face, those uniforms had no idea what they were facing. The Crown had made a mistake when they had messed with Tony and his.
He twirled tantalizingly in the air, giving the watching guards a good show. Let them appreciate what they were letting get away.
And he flew. He was free and in the clear. Now all he had to do was go meet Rhodey and fix his –
Tony fell, as his right boot faltered, sparks flying as the lodged arrow pierced the fragile circuitry.
He was falling into the sea with little deceleration, at this rate…..
The next arrow might take him down entirely.
Tony increased the thrusters on his palms, and started zig-zagging his way to the nearby peninsula. All he had to do was avoid the next few arrows, and he'd be safe on land.
Nearly, nearly…
And then the next arrow struck his right palm.
Steve startled as the sound of a loud crash filled the air. Bucky sprinted into Steve's room, and yowled thunderously. Steve scooped him up and ran into the living room of his tower, there in front of the previously whole window, was a man lying on the floor surrounded by pieces of glass and a round backpack.
Steve flattened himself against the wall, and armed himself with the trash can lid.
The man drowsily raised himself on his arms, "Where am I?"
Panicked, Steve hit him point blank with the lid on the head.
As the man slumped to the floor, the glass cutting new gashes on his face, Steve's breathing quickened.
Who was he? Had he come here for Steve?
Steve, clutching the trash can lid, edged towards the man. He poked him with the tip of his boot. He didn't move. Steve moved a little closer, Bucky was still chattering in the background, Steve bent down to pick up his three-legged cat before the idiot could cut himself on the glass on the floor.
Steve, using his toes, carefully turned the man around. He rolled around with a soft thump, revealing his front. Steve ran his eyes over his frame. His hands and feet seemed to be…..red and violet? Steve's failing eyes couldn't tell any further from the distance, so Steve crouched on top of the man.
He perched Bucky on the top of his head, and tightened his grasp on the lid, ready to go swinging the minute the man even twitched. Steve squinted, bringing him to focus. On closer inspection, the man's hands and feet were metallic in nature. Maybe everyone on the Outside had those.
The man was wearing strange clothes, whereas Steve himself was clothed in paint splattered shirt and pants, the stranger was garbed in black and violet. His pants were of a material Steve had never seen before, smooth to touch, but durable even from sight, and his shirt had another violet shirt on it that seemed thicker, Steve felt hot just from looking at it.
In addition to the bizarre clothing, the man had hair on his face. Steve looked at it wondering about the sanity of the Outsiders. Maybe the man had a skin illness, like Father. It was weirdly shaped, like someone had taken a knife to it…it surprisingly suited the sharp face beneath it, illness or not.
The face itself was another matter altogether, with its long lashes and expressive eyebrows. Steve had a gut feeling this man's eyes would be devastating when open. He looked peaceful, like he had just settled in for an afternoon nap, instead of been smacked with a trash can lid.
Steve reached forward to touch the face - "Sonny! I'm home!" A voice trilled from the door.
Oh no.
"Run," he urgently whisper-yelled at Bucky, who ran to Steve's room for cover.
Steve dragged the stranger to his bed and shoved him under it. As he was done putting his bedding on the floor, the door opened to show a red face.
"Hello there, Sonny" Father said huffing, "Those stairs never get any easier."
"Hello, Father."
The protruding eyes surveyed the man in front of him, and then the broken window. "What happened? What have you done now, boy?" he asked sharply.
Steve jerked by, having forgotten about the window. "I was playing ball and-"
"Enough. I don't have time for this. I have work to do, go get the transfusion kit"
"Oh about that, Father. I meant to talk to you about that. I-"
"What was that? Speak up, boy! You know I hate it when you mumble. Weaklings mumble. You aren't a weakling are you?"
"No, Father"
"Then speak up"
Steve took in a steading breathe, this wasn't going as well as he'd hoped, but then it was partly his fault for annoying Father so. He knew Father was extra testy before his transfusions.
"I-well…The Queen, she's asked for healers and so-"
Father sat up so suddenly that Steve had to take a step back in alarm, and thundered with flashing eyes, "The Queen? What's this nonsense about the Queen?! Who told you about the Queen?"
Shoot!
Steve stammered, "The books you bought for me last week, Father. They mention-"
Father made a noise of derision, "Always with the bloody books, Sonny. Weaklings read. The right sort are born with everything they need."
Pushing down the flutter of protest, Steve persevered, "Everyone in the kingdom is real sick, and the doctors aren't hopeful. If I could give them my blood-"
Father got up from his seat, and towered over Steve, and shouted "No! How many times do I have to tell you. You can't use your powers outside of this tower. They will use you and toss you aside. Why don't you listen? Are you stupid?"
Steve flinched as if struck, "No, Father"
Red faced, Father loomed closer, "Then no more of this nonsense about helping the queen, alright?"
Steve nodded seemingly subdued, mind already whirring with the beginnings of a plan.
"Okay then. Enough of this talk. Bring me the blood transfusion kit."
Tony stirred and took role, he was sitting on - possibly tied to a – chair, his boot and palm repulsors were possibly shot, he had a blindfold on, there was someone standing over him, something was biting his ear, no one was talking-
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh," Tony woke up with a scream, flinging his body everyway, trying to dislodge the monster who was feasting on his flesh. Only to fall back into the chair he was held to with intricately knotted ropes.
"Get it off me, get it off me, get it off me" he chanted desperately, holding still out of the fear that his ear would be ripped off in the resulting struggle. He could feel rough gradient beneath the teeth, he was going to die young and pretty. He had done some pretty shitty things in his life, but even he didn't deserve this.
"Calm down! It's only Bucky" A voice yelled exasperatedly.
Oh god, the monster had a name. Fuck it, rather an ear, than a head. Tony started whipping his head back and forth, hoping to dislodge the beast. His effort proved fruitful, when the weight on his shoulder lightened, and a fearsome snarl filled the air.
"For the love of – It's just a cat!" the voice boomed, and – presumably, he – ripped away the cloth covering Tony's eyes.
Tony flinched as his pupils adjusted to the sudden bright light. And haloed by it was a tiny blonde figure. Tony's eyes widened as he took in the steely blue eyes set in a sharp young face lined with determination, the crossed arms lending to an air of quiet authority to him.
He was beautiful in a wood-nymph-out-to-seek-justice kind of way.
Without permission, Tony's face loosened, and he smirked "Well hello there, who are you and why haven't we met before?"
The face sharpened further, brows drawing together quizzically, "Quiet. I'm doing the talking now," the boy straightened his back even further that Tony was concerned it might just snap. His arms uncrossed and twitched towards the trash can lid at his feet.
He's scared.
Tony was startled by this realization, Blondie didn't look like someone who was scared of much, despite his fragile bone structure and lanky frame.
Something inside Tony softened, the sight of this boy armed with a trash can lid in front of him, terrified out of his mind and yet conversing with him, undid something in him.
"What do you want with me? Bleed me dry, sell me to the highest bidder?", the boy bellowed.
Then again, Tony always did have a thing for the crazy ones.
"Wha-?" Tony gwarps in surprise.
"Don't act so surprised. I know what you Outsiders want from me"
Tony took in the outraged face, and burst out laughing, "Princess, I can tell you with full confidence that I have no interest in your blood or any part of you," well okay, that wasn't entirely true, "Now if you'd be so kind as to untie me and I'll be on my way, no hard feelings"
The boy leaned back on his heels, biting his lower lip considering, "And what about this? What would you be willing to do for this?", and he reached behind him to bodily lift up the canvas bag containing the Shield.
Tony jerked forward, for a second he had forgotten –
He couldn't afford to forget, no matter how many pretty blondes he found. Now he just needed to get that Shield and get to the nearest lab, otherwise...
"That's mine", he gritted out.
The boy's left eyebrow twitched up, as if sensing the lie. "Is it, and the fact that the bag has the words "Property of Brooksville" written on the back is just….a coincidence?" he asked archly.
Damnation.
"Listen here, Sweetheart. You're so out of your league here, that you're playing a different game. Just hand me the bag and our business will be done. Don't make this harder than this has to be."
The boy bristled, "You talk a lot for someone who has no real options here"
Tony despite being tied to a chair in the middle of god knows where, managed to lean back and languidly give him a smug smirk, "Sweetheart, I'm never out of options."
Steve was out of step, needless to say. This man was disconcerting, and he had a feeling that even if he had been the kind of person who had interacted with more than one person in his life, he would still feel the same way about this smirking stranger.
Well then, he just had to play his game.
"I don't care about this bag" he said, "but I'm open to a business arrangement", he said spitting out the word "business".
The man grinned, "Sweetheart, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship."
"Romanoff, report" Margaret "Peggy" Carter, the Chief of the Royal Guard of the Kingdom of Brooksville said, tone razor sharp.
Natasha stepped forward, and in a emotionless monotone recited the words that had been swimming inside her head for the past 3 hours.
"The thief entered the Palace this morning at 10AM with an accomplice, he stole the Shield of the Savior, and flew away, possibly having been hit twice-"
"No, "possibly" about it, Ma'am. I hit the arrows responsible, he was hit alright, but the fucker kept flying anyway" Clint drawled. Peggy shot him a cutting look, and nodded to Natasha to continue.
"Possibly having been hit twice, he flew away and his location is currently unknown." Natasha sniped, equally irritated at the interruption.
Peggy strode forward, and inspected the crime scene, one part of her mind sadly thinking of the man who the Shield was supposed to one day go to instead of gathering dust in a Palace. She silently shook herself to stop her unproductive thoughts and focused on the mission. She turned back to face her two best agents.
"Romanoff, Barton, I want you on this. I want this bastard found and brought to me with the Shield. One day the man whose it is will come back, and I will not be made to disappoint him. Do you understand." she said crisply.
To which they nodded, because what else could they do.
"Okay, okay," Steve nodded decidedly, "So, here's the deal, you take me to Brooksville and I'll give you the bag, but till we reach Brooksville, you won't be touching this bag."
The other man quirked an eyebrow, "Thief's honor, Sweetheart. Now if you will," and he wiggled the fingers on his tied hands.
Steve's lips flattened, as he fingered the trash can lid in reach, "Let me warn you, make one false move-"
"Yeah, yeah. You'll make me regret it, yada, yada, yada. Now can we get this show on the road, Princess? I have things to see, people to do",The tied man blithely said.
Steve pursed his lips further, "My name isn't Sweetheart or Princess. It's Steve."
The man's lips twitched at Steve's obvious irritation, "Well, hello there, Steve." He said in a sing-song manner and then stayed pointedly silent.
Well fine then.
Tony grunted as he clutched the rope fashioned by combining every blanket, bedsheet and pillow-case they'd found in the tower, this was hard work. Granted one with exceptional benefits, he mused as he eyed the figure above him, body straining with the effort of keeping the boy – Steve – hanging off a rope, 30 feet in air.
The decision to not reveal his name was a strategic one, even if there was little chance this waif had no idea who he was, he couldn't take the chance of the Crown finding out about him, if they didn't know already, he remembers seeing a certain Apprentice with the guards during his last…encounter with them.
Nevertheless, he can't risk it, it would lead Them straight to Rhodey and Bruce, and he won't let that ever happen.
Steve's heart was beating faster than it ever had before, Bucky was yowling loudly as he was strapped still to Steve's chest, as Steve carefully climbed down the tower, with the Thief's stolen bag on his back. Why had he ever thought that he could do this? He was a follower, not a leader! Father always said so.
But no. He had to do this, despite how much of a coward he was. People's lives were on the line. He couldn't be selfish. Steve was sick of seeing life being lived, he was ready to do some living himself.
"You alright there, Princeling?" the man below him called up.
"Fine," Steve gritted out, the exercise was making it hard for him to concentrate on anything other than the rope in his hands and the next foothold. He didn't even notice the irritating new nickname. Fortunately, it was also making it hard for him to panic about Father and what he will do when he comes home to find an empty tower for his next transfusion.
A thump distracts him from his gloomy thoughts, as the thief let go of the rope, falling harmlessly to the ground. He turned around and opened his arms invitingly.
Steve huffed indignantly. He can do this by himself, he's not completely useless, and continued climbing down to the thief's amusement.
Because of Steve's smaller frame, he had to be more careful not to sprain his ankle jumping down, but he managed, falling down at a respectable height with an embarrassing grunt.
The Thief, thankfully ignored the noise, and clapped his hands, "Okay then, Princeling. Where to?"
Steve brought himself upright, and growled, eyes flashing, "That's not my name."
The Thief smiled, "But it suits you so much better, Sunshine."
It would not do to kill his only means of escape, at least not until the Thief took him to his destination, Steve decided it would be prudent to ignore the nicknames and focus on the mission at hand. He just had to be objective and forget all about the devil trying to rile him up.
"Brooksville. Take me there and you can have your bag." He said.
Steve saw a brief hint of panic and surprise, before the Thief rushed forward towering over Steve, and thundered with eyes terrifyingly blank for the first time since Steve had seen him, "Why do you want to go to Brooksville?"
Steve straightened, pushing his chest out unconsciously, "Because I want to." Asshole, it went unsaid.
The Thief stared at Steve for a beat longer, and took a step back, not quite untensing, but eyes less blank than before.
"Deal." He said, and he raised his hands, palms perpendicular to the ground, to Steve's confusion.
Steve cocked his head, and gamely touched the Thief's palms quicksilver fast with his fingers.
The Thief blinked in surprise, palms still outstretched.
Steve and the Thief stared at each other, and for some reason Steve could feel heat snake up his face. The Thief stepped closer, only this time it didn't feel like an intimidation tactic. It felt like…something else. He came even closer, and Steve felt a hand on his elbow, trailing down his arm, raising it to hip height. And then the Thief's palm meets his. All the while this confusing act takes place, Steve for some reason couldn't move his eyes away from the Thief's.
"That's how we do it on the outside.", The Thief said, voice somehow softer, as if speaking would shatter the fragile moment.
A bird somewhere chirped.
"Do what?" Steve breathed, he had never felt like this before, his heart was racing, even faster than when he was clinging to the rope, and his stomach was in a whirlpool. His voice wasn't working.
"Shake hands. We do it whenever we make a deal." The Thief said.
Steve's hand jerked. He had forgotten.
Steve ripped his hands away, he had to remain objective. Eyes on the mission, and nodded, "Right. So, we have a deal then. Good."
And then Steve realized he had no idea where to go from here.
Fortunately his companion did. He bowed, and said, "This way, then, Your Majesty."
Huffing, but glad that the weird moment was seemingly over, Steve followed the Thief.
"Oh, sweet, merciful Goddess." Tony breathed. He couldn't believe his eyes. While he was (or had been, at least, before his impromptu career of thievery) in the business of creating the unbelievable, this dy had proved to be too much even for by his standards. Breaking and entering the Tower The Lost Prince, par for the course. Stealing the shield, Daddy dearest is probably rolling in his grave, but whatever. Getting shot down by the Wonder Twins, only to crash into a whole princess-in-the-tower type of deal, fine. The weirdly possessive three-legged cat who liked to perch on his head, not as fine, but still one of his better days.
But the moat filled with snapping snakes, surrounding the tower he and Steve had just exited from….that was proving to stump even that day his girlfriend decided strangulation would be the best wake up call for him.
Oh, spit.
"Is that normal?" Steve asked weakly.
Tony felt the bizarre urge to start laughing. Even Princess knew it wasn't normal to be guarded by a hoard of snakes.
"No." He said shortly, mind whirling with possibilities of escape. If Tony didn't need the Shield so badly-
The repulsors on his right side were shot to all hell, and there was no way his prototypes could carry both him and Steve. So, flying was out.
"What do we-"
"Shh, I'm trying to think of a way to get us across." Tony said distractedly, mind focused on the problem at hand. Those snakes didn't seem like the kind to take a napping break.
Tony supposed he could fashion something that could carry them both across the moat, he had to find some wood –
"We could try those floating rocks."
Huh?
Tony turned to face Steve, and saw him pointing towards the ground. Closer to the snakes than Tony felt comfortable, were rocks that, yes, appeared to be floating of their own volition. But they didn't look terribly steady. They would have to climb down to the pit of snakes, and hope none of them were inclined to just reach up and snap them up. They would then have to pray and jump, hoping to land on the next rock and not fall into the pit of hungry (Tony assumed), vicious serpents.
That sounded absolutely doable, Tony thought sarcastically.
"That sounds insane." He said aloud.
Steve pursed his lips, he seemed to do that a lot, and said, "if you're too chicken to do it, I'll do it alone. And I'll take the bag with me."
Bastard.
Now Tony had to make sure Hercules here didn't end up killing himself, those kind of things tended to throw a man off his food.
"How's your balance?" He asked.
"Terrible." Steve pipped, cheekily.
Wonderful.
"Careful!" Tony cried, word ripped out without his permission.
Steve looked up dryly, foot still extended, about to enter the pit leading to the moat.
Tony licked his lips, embarrassed. "Listen, just give me the damn cat and the Shie-bag. I'll give them both back to you when we reach the other side."
Steve folded his arms, "No."
"Yes, yes. I know. I'm a thief and can't be trusted, yada, yada, yada. But for your continued, annoying, survival. Trust me till we reach the end of the stones."
Steve looked at Tony, piercing ice blue eyes seizing him up. Tony felt a shiver run down his back, those eyes seemed to see right through him. He suddenly felt like he was being read like a book, with all his mistakes and failures underlined in red ink. He clenched and held steady.
Steve pursed his lips again, pink turning white with the effort, and reluctantly lifted the cat from his shoulder. "But only because Bucky seems to like you"
Tony looked at the yowling cat dubiously. Unsure that any part, except the sharp claws, really liked being near him. But he took the annoyed feline, all the same.
Steve said, "But I'm going to keep the bag"
Tony sighed. That seemed about right. While he had only known Steve for a short, painful, partly-tied-up, time, he had an inkling that there was a strain of stubbornness that ran deep in that tiny body.
Thus, they began.
Tony carefully, jumped onto the first rock, for one heart clenching moment, the rock seemed to shake, and then it steadied.
Over Bucky's irritated rumblings, Tony crouched down, and leapt. He landed on the next rock. He cautiously twisted to look back at Steve.
He was still standing in the pit. A few feet away from the gaping mouths of the snakes. Face twisted up, furiously contemplative.
"Well, then Sunshine, come on then!" Tony urged, once again biting his cheek in reprimand for the slip of endearment. But something about this slip of a boy prompted them, more often than not without his permission.
When the boy still didn't move, Tony picked out his next weapon in his arsenal, "What? Too chicken?" he crooned mockingly.
Immediately, Steve's bright face hardened like turning raisin into grapes. Taut and furious at the implication. He took in a deep breathe, and leapt.
Tony's heart was skipped a beat in the short – but simultaneously long – time it took for Steve's nimble feet to land on the first rock. He breathed out in the aftermath of the pregnant pause.
Onward then.
Thus, Tony and Steve began. Tony, as gingerly as possible, leaping first on the rock, watching to make sure his next step wasn't into the mouth of the waiting beasts, and then he stood, heart in his throat, for Steve to move to the next rock.
While the arrogant, reckless thief Tony made himself out to be shouldn't have cared about this boy who was keeping him from his goals, Tony couldn't help but hold in an awaiting breathe when Steve, who hadn't glanced up once, with deep concentration, jumped.
Tony guessed he could just chalk that up to another of his failures. Wouldn't dear old Dad just laugh? Tony was sure the bastard was having a merry time in whichever part of hell he was thrown in (knowing Tony's luck, probably the throne), over Tony's fortune.
Too soft, without priorities, not even that good of a thief.
Impressive resume, Tony thought detachedly.
A disappointment.
But this wasn't the time to pick at old wounds. He had a tiny Amazon to deliver to Brooksville.
Tony stopped, breath coming out faster than it was thirty minutes ago. His entire body was prickling with pain. Tony prided himself on being fit, but even he hadn't trained himself to jump on rocks as far as the eye could see. He needed a break.
The damn ca-Bucky's claws dug into Tony's shoulders, prompting him to turn to check out Steve. If Tony was tired, he didn't even want to think about what Steve with his delicate, fine-boned body was feeling.
On inspection, not too well. Tony saw as Steve bravely tried to stand upright, hands shaking with the residue of intense exercise. Tony could see Steve's bony knees quivering. He felt a flash of sympathy, which he viciously squashed. Steve wouldn't appreciate it, nor would anything get his back up more than pity.
Tony decided they could afford to rest for a few minutes. And it was not because of the flush on Steve's bent face, he determinedly told himself.
"Why aren't you moving?" Steve asked quizzically, facing Tony.
"Let's take a break!" Tony called out.
Steve said, "No! We can't. We have to get out of here as soon as possible. Father might come back."
Tony blinked at the genuine note of fear he could hear in Steve's voice. That was unexpected. Tony couldn't quite imagine Steve, despite his build, being much afraid of anything life could throw at him. But then, fathers are special like that, aren't they?, a nasty voice whispered in Tony's head.
Shaking off his inner thoughts, Tony asked, "Why? When is he supposed to come next?"
Steve said, "Day after tomorrow's morning. But he might decide to drop in again, he does that sometimes."
"And why can't he be here? Are we running from him or something?" Tony asked half jokingly.
Steve looked at him dead in the eyes and very seriously said, "Yes."
Tony stood up straighter, feeling a sense of foreboding in his stomach, "And what happens when he finds us?"
The silence and Bucky's claws digging deeper was all the answer Tony needed.
Tony didn't even get time to contemplate this new development when the rock below his feet started shaking suddenly.
He turned to better steady himself, as Steve cried out in alarm from behind him. The shaking was getting worse as the seconds ticked on, and soon Tony vibrating over a pit of tens of thousands of snakes, with bent knees and arms flung out in support, and a yowling cat.
In desperation, Tony braced himself, and, after calculating for the vibration of the rock, leapt. He landed on the edge of the next rock, which immediately stilled.
Tony stood up slowly, ready to stabilize himself at the slightest hint of vibration, but the rock was still.
Tony turned around sharply, and yelled, "Jump on the next rock, Steve!"
He watched with bated breath as Steve flung himself to Tony's previous rock, and exhaled when the rock steadied.
Steve too stood up carefully, and met Tony's eyes.
"So, no standing on a rock for too long, got it," Tony joked weakly.
Steve just shook his head.
Onward, then. Posthaste.
Steve could feel a drop of sweat trickle down the side of his face. The slow glide of it highlighted just how bone tired he was. They had been jumping over rocks for the past hour, and he just wanted to stop for a minute.
But he knew he couldn't. And between his aching muscles and a pit full of slithering snakes, he'll take the aches.
The Thief was still ahead, leaping powerfully from rock to rock, stopping occasionally to check that Steve was still behind him, with Bucky screaming murder on his head.
It made for an awfully sweet picture.
Focus on that, Focus on him. You can do this, there isn't any other option, he thought to himself.
So he leapt, hands clutching the Thief's bag, hung on his shoulder, desperately. If he lost it, he would lose his leverage, and then he would be alone again.
He viewed the clench of his muscles, the weight of the shield, the sweat on his temple, as if detached from his body. He felt like an outsider peering in.
So, he jumped, and steadied, and jumped, and steadied.
The mechanical work was cumbersome, however, he could see the end in sight. Steve took courage in that fact and went on.
Finally, only one rock remained, and the Thief was safe on the land, but Steve felt like he couldn't jump ever again, so to rouse himself Steve stopped, and tried to rouse himself by slapping his cheek. The Thief looked at him oddly from the corner of the land he had just reached.
"Come on, Steve, you can do this," he whispered to himself, and he jumped to the next rock. Unfortunately, the added energy resulted in him miscalculating his trajectory, and to his horror, his foot hit the edge of the rock, and the open mouths of the snakes rushed closer.
Steve yelled, knowing with certainty that this was it, this was how far he got in the treacherous Outside. He opened his eyes wide, and prayed it would be over soon.
But a hand grabbed him before he could fall into the awaiting mouths, steadying him, and leaving him hanging in the air.
Steve looked up to see that the Thief was above him. He was floating lopsidedly, with green light coming out of his red hands and feet, his hands felt cold to touch, and get warm at the center.
The Thief's face looked determined, his features hard like marble.
And then they slowly drifted - there was no other word for it – toward the land.
After what seemed like forever, Steve's feet hovered in the precipice of the pit, and he swung himself weakly onto the land, eager to be done with the whole experience.
And Steve, for the first time in his life smelled the wet, green grass that he had occasionally seen tracked in on Father's shoes. But those few strands were nothing compared to the soft feel of them against his cheek.
Lying face-first on the grass, Steve dug his nails into the grass, only to feel a natural clayey give, unlike the floors in his room. He brought his right hand near his face and examined it, curiously surveying the brown dirt-like material under his nails.
He had never felt so much in his life.
A questioning mrow interrupted his thoughts. Steve reluctantly got up, and saw The Thief still hovering in the air above him, gazing thoughtfully into the pit. Bucky happily walked up to Steve and nuzzled him on the chin, affectionately.
Steve pet Bucky, seized with the realization that this was the first time Bucky was on land since he had met Steve. He loved his cat so much.
The air blew his fringe off his face, as the Thief descended slowly, oddly. In all of Steve's stories about flying it had never seemed so…awkward. It seemed like dancing in air, but the way Tony went about it, it was like someone had injured his wings.
Steve immediately sat up, suddenly annoyed, "Why didn't you do that from the very beginning?"
The Thief looked at him blankly, and said, "Because my repulsors aren't working. They can only carry one of us, and maybe not even that. What just happened was a combination of luck and my genius. The second you can count on, the first, not really."
Steve blinked. The past few minutes whirling in his head, and he remembered the speed with which the Thief had responded, seemingly uncaring of his own safety to rescue a boy he had just met.
He looked at the Thief in a new light...only, did thieves do that? Save others, despite their own safety? That seemed more in line with the heroes of his stories, rather than the villains.
Something didn't add up.
He shifted, the weight on his legs falling on numbed legs. He glanced down at the object he had forgotten he even had.
Oh.
The Thief was still a villain, not a hidden prince. This wasn't that kind of story.
Disappointed, but annoyed that he was, Father always warned me about the Outsiders, Steve sighed.
"What's up, buttercup?" The Thief quipped, as he leaned back on his hands, sitting next to Steve, face upturned towards the sun.
Steve snapped, "Nothing. You ha-have-"
Steve couldn't breathe.
"Hey, hey! What's wrong?!"
He could hear a frantic voice around him, as his vision blurred. It felt like his lungs were shrinking.
He-
He couldn-
Tony stared in horror, as Steve, small and thin, curled up wheezing, like he couldn't get a breath in.
The violence of the movement startled him. Bucky was meowling furiously, running around Steve in panic.
Think. Tony. Think.
Tony snapped out of it.
He knelt next to Steve who seemed to be in the throes of a panic attack in addition to his asthma.
Dammit why didn't he tell me he had asthma, I would've…
Tony shook off the unhelpful thoughts, confident they would come back to haunt him later anyway, and focused on making Steve sit up straight.
That seemed to help.
Okay.
Okay!
Tony, now supporting Steve's body with his own, could feel the rattle of Steve's chest like it was his own. He tilted Steve's bent head and leaned in, murmuring in Steve's ear.
"I know it's hard, but I need you to breathe. Shhh. Follow my voice. Breathe in and breathe out….breathe in and breathe out…."
Tony closed his eyes as he tried to recall Bruce's words for panic attacks. At least his trauma was good for something.
Slowly, it felt like years, Steve's breathing slowed matching Tony's words beat by beat, sobs quietning.
And Tony felt like he'd just taken a beating by a mountain troll, as he heard the hitching breaths.
He rocked them, silently.
This too shall pass.