"I hated you." Steve looked up from his sketch book in surprise at Tony's admission. He stared blankly for a few moments, the pencil frozen over the paper as he sat, unmoving on the corner of the sofa. Tony was hunched over his drafting table, facing slightly away, his attention seemingly on his display. They did this a lot these days; Steve casually intruding in Tony's workspace without comment or interruption, loitering in the corner of the lab with his drawing pad, sometimes for hours. Likewise Tony would randomly appear on the stair landing that served as Steve's impromptu studio, the both of them splayed out on the bench there in companionable silence as Steve sketched the vast expanse of New York spread out before them. It was a hard won friendship, but one that Steve felt had been well worth it.
"When I was a kid you were my hero," Tony continued finally, unease in his tone. Steve said nothing, watching as Tony's brow furrowed. "By the time I was twelve I hated everything about you. I guess I was jealous of you."
"Why would you..." Steve's voice trailed off. He wasn't sure what to ask really.
"Howard," Tony stated simply. Steve felt a twisting in his gut. He wasn't sure why Tony was even saying this. It was so unlike him, but the truth was, he'd found a confidant in Tony Stark, someone he relied on, and no one was more surprised by that fact than Steve. If there was something Tony needed to get off his chest then Steve wanted to hear it, needed to hear it.
"I don't think I understand," Steve admitted.
"Do you know he was still searching for you the year he died?" Tony said, his voice hollow. "He buried himself in his lab for years developing new tools just to find you. You were his obsession."
"I didn't know," Steve admitted, a bit dumbstruck. "He was... he was one of my best friends. I think he was my best friend after Bucky died. Sometimes he felt like the only friend I had left."
"You were the only real friend he ever had, Cap," Tony declared softly, his voice the slightest bit unsteady. "He said so all the time. There isn't anything he wouldn't have given up to get you back. And that's why I hated you, you meant more to him than I ever would, and I knew it."
"Tony."
"He went up to the arctic every summer looking for traces of you, he'd be gone weeks. Sometimes he'd already left when I got home from boarding school." Tony admitted and Steve winced. "Every time he pushed me away all I could think of was how much I hated you."
"I'm sorry."
"It's not like it's your fault," Tony stated dismissively, pretending to return his attention to his work.
"It might be," Steve answered uncomfortably. "That wasn't the man I knew, my friend wasn't... he wouldn't... Tony, I'm..." He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before lifting his eyes to stare at the back of Tony's head.
"He wasn't always like that," Steve insisted. "maybe if I hadn't ditched into a glacier and left him on his own, things would have been different. I'd at least have been there to tell him he was being an ass to his son."
"Would you have actually done that?" Tony gave a hollow snort.
"I thought you'd got to know me by now," Steve replied, his voice low. For the first time Tony turned to look at him. There was a wounded expression on his face, his eyes searching, though for what Steve wasn't entirely sure. Tony turned back to his work bench with a deep sigh.
"I think I understand now," Tony confessed, and it was clear from the set of his shoulders that the admission pained him more than he liked. Steve set his sketchbook aside, moving across the lab silently. He reached out hesitantly, his fingers curling back a moment before his hand finely settled softly between Tony's shoulder blades. He could feel the tension in the other man's body though the bare contact and he bit his lip.
"Knowing you now," Tony continued, struggling for control as he drew in a shaking breath. "For the longest time I thought he was looking at his past through rose colored glasses. People do, you know, especially when it's their heroes. You're everything he said you were, you're every damn inch of the man he admired. It's no wonder losing you broke him, I'd do the same in his place."
"No you wouldn't," Steve declared stubbornly. Tony gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head.
"You're not Howard," Steve's fingertips curled against the fabric of Tony's shirt. "He was my friend and I would have done anything for him, but sometimes he had a problem remembering that people could get hurt. That's not you, Tony, it's never you because that's one of the first things you think about. The... the sacrifice play is the only one you're ever prepared to make."
He felt Tony's shoulders slump beneath his hand and his thumb brushed softly over Tony's spine in a comforting circle. Tony's breath hitched and Steve resisted the urge to wrap his arms around him.
"You're a better man than your father," Steve swallowed hard. "You're a better friend, too. And even though I'd give anything to have my old life back, I'm so glad I got the chance to know you as you and not Howard Stark's son." He felt Tony's hand grip his arm, the contact grounding them both as Tony gave a sharp nod, of acknowledgment, of acceptance, he wasn't sure, he never really was with Tony. What he'd shared with Howard had been so easy, so light hearted. They were so different; father and son. In Tony he'd found family again, the younger brother he had been to Bucky was now what Tony was to him. And it was more valuable now for having lost it and then regaining it again.
Tony released his arm and he allowed his hand to fall away as Tony shifted toward one of the displays, distancing himself from his emotions more than from Steve. The silence stretched out between them for a few minutes, comfortable and right in a way Steve had seldom felt in this new world he'd awakened in.
"For what it's worth," Tony added hesitantly, his eyes still on the screen in front of him. "It's... nice to be able to believe in heroes again." Steve fought back an awkward laugh, averting his eyes to the blueprints scattered across Tony's drafting table. Tony glanced over his shoulder at him and he nodded.
"For me too," he confessed with a shy smile, the faintest flush on his face as Tony struggled not to laugh.
Notes:
While I don't condone the mistakes Howard made with his son I do think he gets a bad rap. He's a very young, very brilliant man who is very limited by the technology of his time. Genius is isolating, more so in 1940 than today and to lose one of the few people with whom he could actually have a rapport must have been devastating for him. It doesn't make his treatment of Tony excusable but it does make it an act of unintentional neglect more than abuse.
This story is part of a series called "Coulson Lives but the Avengers Might be the Death of him." The full list of stories and their chronological order can be found on my profile page