Tony shivered slowly back to wakefulness, blinking open groggily to surroundings swathed in shadowy darkness. The sting of cold air nipped at his skin, bringing reluctant awareness seeping into his bleary mind. He blinked again, fuzzy with half recollections of memories, blurred and out of focus, fading into and out of each other, seamless and yet disjointed, confusing and disconcerting.
He shook his head slightly, trying to get his bearings, and his dull, shadowed world exploded into a swirling kaleidoscope of blackness with foul groggy greyness seeping in at the edges. His stomach dropped, nauseating dizziness enveloped him, and he screwed his eyes shut tight against the rising bile, headache pounding at his temples.
He felt… he felt hungover.
And although he'd been completely sober for over a year, it was hard, the temptation constantly there at the back of his mind, and he hadn't, he couldn't have, except that he knew he so very easily could have.
Many things could have set him on this path, so many different instigators, and yet they all had one thing in common. One person in common.
He'd made a promise, just over a year ago. Actually, he'd made two. The first to a distraught, wrecked Steve, the morning after the last time he'd overindulged, to the point of half killing himself. Tony had pled, begged and pleaded, and then finally, he'd promised. He'd promised Steve he'd stop. That he wouldn't drink again. Never again.
And then, later, in the cold emptiness of their- his rooms, Steve's side of the bed neatly made, sketchbooks, pencils, books and the picture of Steve, Peggy and Bucky missing off the side-table, all collected and removed, because Steve hadn't been able to believe him, Tony, open scotch bottle in hand, had made a second promise, to himself. He promised himself that he wouldn't lose Steve, no matter what it took. He'd do it. And then he'd upended the bottle over the sink.
He'd meant that promise, and he'd kept it. Kept it until Steve had believed him, until Steve had moved back into his life, with whispers of pride and gratitude and relief. And then he'd continued to keep it, until he'd almost come to believe it himself.
Three months had become six had become a year, and he'd kept his promises. And although every day was a struggle, some harder than others, some barely noticeable, he'd never once considered giving in, because he'd promised Steve.
And now, dizzy, nauseated, headache pounding waves of misery against his skull, Tony, with no memory of the events that had led to this moment, couldn't see himself giving in to that temptation. Couldn't fathom why he'd risk losing the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Unless he'd already lost it.
The sudden thought had his heart stuttering in his chest, an ache so raw he felt it grating against the arc reactor, and pushing through the fear, the pain and dizziness, he moved, opening his mouth to call for Steve.
And promptly realised that he couldn't.
Move, that is.
***as easy as***
Waking up mostly naked, extremely hungover, with no idea where he was or how he got there wasn't exactly unfamiliar.
Waking up mostly naked, extremely hungover, with no idea where he was or how he got there, with his hands tied was also not a first, although admittedly, it had been a while.
And upon further thought and a little more speculation, he figured that the spectacular headache and heavy nausea was more likely a result of whatever drug had been used to incapacitate him, slowly wearing off, rather than alcohol induced. A fact for which he wasn't ready to examine the depth of his complete and utter relief.
It also meant he'd been fucking kidnapped again.
It wasn't that he wished it was one of the others, but really, surely it was someone else's turn. In the big picture of the universe, why did he seem to be the favourite for capture and torture? He was actually nine to a team average of two, ten now. Yeah, he got it, minus the suite he was a regular super-genius human, and probably seemed like the least capable one of the team. But…super genius. Every single time, he'd walked away and his captors had…various definitions of not.
Tony Stark wasn't someone you wanted to fuck with.
So why was he, yet again, the likely a pawn in the ''villain-of-the-weeks' nefarious, yet likely overwhelmingly stupid plan.
Tony Stark hated being a pawn.
He was king!
Okay, so in all honesty Fury was probably the king. Fucking eyepatch. Tony was at least a damn knight, though. Except Steve, with his stupid noble face was definitely a knight. And he supposed that Thor was also a knight, seeing as how there wasn't a prince or a god on the damn board. Nat and Clint were bishops; knives, bullets and arrows flying at angles across a battlefield, providing backup. Maybe Tony could be a rook. Rooks were cool. And he had totally pulled Fury's bacon from the fire on a number of occasions, but… Coulson and Pepper were the rooks. Solid as castles, always there when needed, powerhouses in their own right, always on the straight and narrow.
Damn. He wasn't being a fucking pawn. Was. Not.
Oh. Oh. Well, that actually made a lot of sense, even if he was loathe to admit it.
All over the damn board, up in everyone's business. Everyone's favourite, dynamite in his own right, did what he wanted when he wanted. And totally off screwing one of the knights behind the kings back.
He was the fucking queen.
God, he was so hungover right now.
Whether it was due to his righteous fury at somehow ending up the pawn in someone's game, or a result of the overwhelming fear that had swamped him earlier, Tony's mind struggled to clear, his not inconsiderable cylinders firing past the fog of his drug induced nonsense, and he began trying to take in his surroundings and situation.
He couldn't see a damn thing, beyond a sullen greyness that seemed to envelope him, his vision was lost to darkness within a few feet of his own position. The room though, or cavern, or cave…whatever it was (please not a cave) felt huge, yawning in mass across a large distance, cold and empty. He also felt, for some unknown reason, like he was… elevated.
He was actually standing. Which was a complete and utter shock, considering he'd had no idea he wasn't decked out on the ground until five seconds ago, but looking down, he could see his socked toes as they wiggled slightly against cold cement. Cement was reassuring, it spoke more towards room than cave. And well, his toes didn't just wiggle, he wiggled them, but he supposed movement was a good thing, even if his brain didn't seem awake enough to correlate his own actions with the result.
Toes, check. Movement, check. Socks, check.
The socks were important, that much Tony knew, but he couldn't exactly pinpoint why. More importantly perhaps, he was missing his shoes. And his pants.
He was kind of thankful for the boxers, not that he gave a crap about his modesty, but it was cold. He wasn't sure that he shouldn't also be mildly offended, though. Did his not so intelligent kidnapper honestly believe that Tony fucking Stark couldn't work out some genius escape using his boxers and socks?
He totally could.
He just had to work out a way to get his hands free, so he could get the damn boxers off.
He could feel the rope bound around his wrists, biting into the cold skin, and then again around his elbows, pulling his arms in tight at an odd angle against his back, his fists clenched almost at shoulder blade height. Fuck he was lucky he was flexible.
There was also something ram-rod straight shoved up between his arms and his back, and Tony supposed that's what had been keeping him off the ground when he'd been unconscious. A post of some kind, hard and unyielding, rough against his skin; wood perhaps.
The first step to getting free was to get away from the damn post. If he could manage to lift his arms over where he felt the top of the post cutting into his back, he'd be able to move more freely.
Whoever had tied him to the damn thing had obviously measured twice and cut once, because it was a ridiculously tight move. There was just enough give in the ropes for Tony to pull himself to his toes, using his own body's leverage to keep his balance. Quietly, quietly, not willing to alert his captors, if they were present, that he was awake any earlier than he had to, his gasps stifled to breathless huffs, and swearing kept internal, Tony began to push up and back.
A half shuffling move, half wriggling stretch, and he felt the rope between his elbows slowly start to slide up the post. With each movement, he felt the post slide a fingers width further down his back, until finally, stretched as absolutely far as he could, his chest straining to draw in breath, bowed in a backwards arch over the top of the post, he felt the rope catch on what felt like a lip.
Breath whistling almost silently through his teeth, sweat dripping into eyes, the salt stinging, Tony swore quietly under his breath, and with nothing left for it, he jumped, a tiny hobbled lift from the ground, his feet scrambling for purpose on the base of the post behind him, needing that tiny bit more height. He hissed as the rough edge of the post scraped a furrow of fire into his bare skin, shoulder blades to mid back, and then, with an almost popping sound, the rope caught on something solid, jutting out from the post, and then pulled free, thrusting Tony forward with unexpected momentum.
Several things happened at once.
Lights flared into brilliance around him, illuminating the space of his capture, but Tony didn't have even seconds to notice, as his forward moment threatened to propel him off the edge of the small precipice he'd apparently been standing on. Digging his heels in, catching the cement edge on the fine threads of cotton, hips thrust forward, Tony threw the weight of his upper body backwards, gagging as the rope he'd yet to notice around his throat tightened as he fell backwards.
Scrambling away from the edge, struggling to get his feet back under him and regain his balance, Tony choked and spluttered, coughing as his access to oxygen was stolen, and his throat closed in a bruising grip.
Barely able to hear his own ragged breathing through the rush of blood in his ears, Tony finally managed to stand upright, backed up against the post that had held him, arms bound tightly behind him, pulled into an ungainly and disfiguring position, clad in only socks and boxers as chilled air prickled his bare skin.
With a noose about his neck, and plummet to death barely a foot in front of him.
And then, about the only thing that could possibly have made this situation both better and worse.
"Tony? I- is that you?! " a voice, kind of quiet, breathless almost, but also undoubtedly Steve's.
***as easy as***
It took Tony such a long moment to sort through the sudden mess of fear, terror, relief, hope and dread, that Steve called again, this time slightly more frantic, voice slightly stronger in its worry, "Goddamn it! Tony?!"
Shaking himself free of his stupor, Tony answered, "Steve! I'm okay, I'm fine. The others?"
"Jus' you. Thought it was just me- 'til second ago. Know w…what's going on?" Came the quiet answer and Tony was able to pinpoint the direction as the far side of the cavernous room they were in.
Room, not a cave, but huge, and oddly framed. A ridiculously high ceiling, some 20 feet above them, with a dividing wall splitting the room in two, possibly half height, at maybe 10 feet.
Steve's voice was coming from the far side of the wall.
"...Sorry Cap, I'm at a loss. Maybe this one's you're fault?" Tony called back, scoping the room and its odd structure.
Steve's voice was light, wispy and whether that was from the teasing lilt or from some other cause, Tony wasn't sure, "When's it not- your fault?"
Tony sighed, "Point. But really, I've got nothing. I haven't done anything to piss anyone off more than usual for weeks! "
"Worry about why and who later. -What's your situation?" Steve asked, sounding further away, voice softer.
"I'm a bit tied up, kind of stuck. Not too precarious", Tony lied. Well, it wasn't a lie unless he fell off the edge of his own personal mini-cliff, but Steve didn't need to know that if he didn't already know that.
"Yeah, I'm- much the same…" Steve replied, pausing in the middle of his sentence before continuing, slightly stronger, and Tony, master peddler of bullshit himself, could smell what Steve was shovelling from a mile away.
"Really? What, tied to a post like me? Can you get your arms over the top like I did?" he asked, trying to pinpoint exactly where Steve was on the far side of the room, but unable to see anything beyond an assortment of ropes and chains hanging from the ceiling, which didn't really do a whole lot for his sense of relief.
Steve huffed an airy breath, his voice lilting with soft relief as he answered, "You're loo- loose?"
"Sorry to bust your bubble, babe, don't expect Ironman to save his princess anytime soon. I'm only partially loose, still tied up, but I can move around a bit" – straight off a ledge to my death, "Doesn't really help us much, I'm still stuck in the same area. What about you, can I expect 'Cap to the rescue' anytime soon?"
Steve heaved a sigh, replying, "Not 'xactly. I'm kind of, under something".
Tony frowned, under something, what the hell did that mean? "What are you under?"
"…A slab?" was the short reply.
"A slab?" Tony asked, trying to imagine it, truthfully trying to work out why Steve hadn't just lifted it off… super strength and all.
"Yes Tony, a slab! Some type of rock, I think-" In his frustrated ire, Steve's voice was louder, but more strained, and as he trailed off, Tony realised that Steve was actually gasping for air.
Moving slowly, carefully trying to maintain his balance, difficult with his arms bound at such a sharp angle behind him, and the weight of the rope, rubbing coarse and heavy against the tender skin of his throat, Tony inched closer to the edge of the platform, trying to see.
His silence must have worried Steve, because his voice was quieter as he called, "Tony?
-okay? "
"Yeah Cap, Don't worry. I'm okay, really. I'm not hurt. Still getting over a bit of a rude awakening, though." Tony answered, not really paying any attention to what he was saying, standing much closer to the edge than he was comfortable with, at least while not decked out in red and gold.
"Good-ugh! " Steve's sharply drawn in breath matched Tony's, although for different reasons. Tony, as far over the edge as he felt he could go without rising falling, had finally caught a glimpse of his partner, just as the giant slab of what appeared to be some form of rock, pinning him to the floor, lowered another inch.
"Steve! " Tony called, worried when no further sound was forthcoming, and he leaned further over the edge, his own safety be damned, as he tried to get a better view, only able to see the slab, the fingertips of a hand and the very ends of a few locks of short blond hair, Steve's actual face beyond his vantage point. "Steve! Answ-"
"'m 'kay. Just…" came Steve's eventual answer, and Tony had to fling himself backwards as he involuntarily moved forwards with eagerness. His own grasping breath ringing clear in the room as the noose pulled tight.
"'-ony!" came the breathless, desperately concerned voice, Steve struggling against the weight, his lungs deflating enough to vocalise his worry with winded determination.
Shoving backwards frantically, Tony spun, half off the ground, both supported and punished by the grip of the noose, until he thudded into the post behind him, catching his shoulder at an odd angle. Collapsing halfway to his knees, using his chest to prop himself against the post, Tony ground himself, his forehead thudding into the rough wood as he breathed slowly, deeply, colours popping wildly in his line of vison.
What the hell was going on? Ropes. Pulley's and chains- nooses and slabs of fucking rock… This seemed more like some sick game of 'torture the superhero' than any form of kidnapping that Tony had ever experienced. Where were the demands for ransom, the 'build this or suffer' threats? Even the numerous revenge kidnappings made more sense than this, with the gloating and rage filled tirades.
He finally managed to gasp out a half convincing response to Steve's continued breathless desperation, gagging and coughing as he replied, "I'm 'kay! I'm fine – just- I'm good."
"Th- thank go-" Steve's voice was so strained, so breathless that he couldn't seem to finish his exclamation of relief, and Tony could hear his thin wheezing huffs of breath, so much worse than mere seconds before.
Exactly what was happening began to fall into place as Tony eyed the mess of ropes and chains that stretched from ceiling to floor on the far side of the wall.
"Steve! It's on a fucking timer! You need to get out! Steve! ST-" Tony shouted, distressed fear making him lose any sense of calm, Steve's whistling breath loud in his ears.
Steve actually laughed, a hollow huffing sound "Trying. Hours…. Can't, hands pinned. N- no purchase."
Tony stilled, his brain going into overtime as he was presented with a problem. Steve was obviously stuck beneath the slab, otherwise he'd have escaped hours ago, climbed up, rescued Tony and they'd be well on their merry way into the sunset by now.
No Purchase. His hands pinned.
Without room to move his hands, even an inch either way, there was no way Steve could get the thrust he needed to force the slab off.
Not even a man with super strength can lift something when immobilised.
Tony wondered whose sick idea of torture this was. To leave a man to die, to be crushed to death inch by terrible inch, it served no pur-
He was the purpose.
Trapped high above, Tony was being forced to watch, to listen, as the man he loved was taken from him bare meters away, and he could do nothing. To try and help would lead to his own death, and his own death would be a meaningless, selfish sacrifice. This was about making Tony Stark suffer.
A low, pained sound reached his ears, and Tony didn't want to know what it could mean, didn't want to imagine Steve's lips turning blue, his eyes bulging…
"Tony? Are you- Tony!? " Steve called, worry making him slightly clearer, and Tony realised that it must have been his own voice, his own pain he'd heard, and Steve, despite his own agony and danger, was still worried about Tony.
A deep steadying breath, and Tony answered. "Fine, I'm fine. Just… I need a minute. To work this out".
"The others- Bruce and Clint. Thor. Nat. They'll come." Steve was talking, his voice thready , wavering almost out of Tony's hearing capabilities.
Mind consumed by possibilities, running numbers, likelihoods, percentages, Tony answered absently, "They'll be too late. That thing will crush you in a matter of minutes. Another inch or two and- Your ribs. Lungs… No time. "
"Tony, you need to, you need to wait. Pr- promise me- After I… After. You'll- you'll hang in there…" Steve whispered, and Tony totally missed Steve's inadvertent irony, caught up in the fact that Steve wasn't trying to reassure them. He was trying to reassure Tony. For after.
After Steve was dead.
"T- Tony. Need. I need y-you t…..prom-" It was a soft thready whisper, but echoed around the empty cavernous room, and Tony bit his lip, closing his eyes as he pressed his face to the post before him, he wasn't going to listen to this to Steve- Steve saying goodbye.
He wasn't.
A rage borne of sheer horror washed over him, and Tony shouted, aiming at the only convenient target, "No. No, no, no! Try! You don't get to- FUCKING TRY HARDER! "
Only silence answered him.
"Steve? S- Steve?!" The world seemed to slow, and Tony pulled back from his crouch beside the post, awkwardly shuffling to his feet, knowing that he needed, he needed to – see, except he knew he couldn't. "St-" the desperate plea cut off as his eyes ran over the piece of paper taped midway up the post.
Mr Stark- Tony. Can I call you Tony?
Tony. I've taken the man you purport to supposedly love,
and I say supposedly only because of what I know of your
past.
Captain America to the world.
Captain Steven Rogers to some.
Steven to a few.
'Love', I would imagine, to you.
Normally I wouldn't interfere in anyone's personal life like this,
But you see, and I'm not sure you do, but Mr Rogers is no ordinary man.
And he deserves more than an ordinary love.
He's strong, powerful, courageous and virtuous, but people forget-
He needs looking after too. Needs saving as well.
People who truly love, are truly in-love, they save each other, no matter what.
Will you save the man you love, even though it will end your own life?
All you have to do is jump.
Do you love him, Tony?
Do you love him enough?
***as easy as***
Do you love him enough?
Enough.
Tony knew he could live for 1000 lifetimes, and never would he be able to love Steven Rogers enough.
But enough for this?
Easily.
His eyes had already tracked the rope that led from his own body, trailing to the ceiling in graceful arches, and back down on the other side, to somewhere in the tangled mess of those attached to the slab. It was possible. His entire weight, caught in free fall, pulling against the slab, might give Steve enough room to get some purchase. It might be enough.
He stared at the other side of the wall, unsure if Steve was- If Steve could hear him. But if there was even the slightest chance, Tony wouldn't go without- without saying something. Not goodbye, because he wasn't that strong, but something.
"Steve? I don't know if you can hear me. I don't know if this will-… It says it will, and I'm going to believe, because it asks if it's enough…I have to believe it'll be enough, because I can't- " Tony trailed off, his gaze sweeping over the printed words again. Do you love him enough?
Yes.
"I'm going to- just… I hope you know. That I do….more than I can say. Enough, to save you, anyway I can. Just. Enough. " The words he really wanted to use, the words he felt he should use, wouldn't come, and Tony's breath caught on the ones that would.
Something- the inflection in Tony's voice, the sudden hollow weight of the atmosphere, or just an instinctual knowing must have connected the synapses in Steve's mind, because inexplicably, he just knew.
Knew that Tony was about to do something- something terrible, something irreversible.
"Tony?! Whatever it is you're planning to do- don't! Please. Tony-" Somehow, Steve's voice was stronger than it had been since Tony had woken, but the underlying breathless quality was still there, the hollow rattle of lungs compressed, of a body forced almost beyond what it could endure.
Steve was out of time, they were out of options. It had to be enough.
Tony stepped, once, twice… and with his third he fell.
Please.
Let it be enough.