Title: these things take backbone (darling everything's on fire)
Pairing: Steve/Tony (for now - Loki/Tony and Peggy/Steve will follow)
Rating: M for sex and language
Summary: zombie!au or the story of how, when the world was falling apart around them, Tony found Steve. And then lost him again.
Notes: Okay, there's a lot of notes for this story -
a) i'm warning you now, people do die in this, although mostly in the last chapter.
2) the pairings listed above do not all happen in this chapter, but they will happen, I promise.
iii) this is in a world where Tony has the arc reactor, Steve has the serum, but Bruce is not the hulk and SHIELD never existed. also Loki/Thor are not gods and Peggy and Steve are modern day characters; i.e they weren't alive during WW2.
quatre) i have never been in a zombie apocalypse, and most of my characterisation is based on resident evil, 28 days/months later, left 4 dead and other such cliched views. None of this is that believeable, but it isn't meant to be, nor is it supposed to be an advice guide for what to do; some of it is intentionally vague on the who/what/why, because Tony wouldn't have known the details of everything.
crossposted to tumblr and ao3; reviews are greatly, greatly appreciated!
It had taken the government three months to collapse. There were rumours, obviously there were, of various encampments that were set up across the world for survivors to flee to, but more often than not these rumours were just whispers on the airwaves of radio stations that had fallen weeks ago. No stronghold could have fought off such a sudden and strong infection- hospitals were overwhelmed within weeks, labs were unable to control the virus they were using to create an antidote and any form of transportation port was down within days in a failed attempt to control its growth.
The worst thing about this whole scenario, Tony thought, was that this monstrosity had started out as a revolutionary new cure for cancer. It had promise, had excelled in the animal trials, but then something had gone wrong. Horrifically wrong. It started out with death. Everyone who had ever been in contact with the serum keeled over, even if it hadn't been administered to them. Doctors, scientists, patients, the families. All dead within days.
And then they weren't so dead anymore. And suddenly the streets were filled with the sounds and the destruction of the reanimated dead. Scratches, bites were suddenly deadly. All it took was a graze of a nail of an infected and then it slowly took hold, taking over your organs, slowing them down until the stopped, just briefly. And then they kick-started with a vengeance, everything in overdrive until all you knew was the hunger.
The majority of the population were dead or infected within two months. The remaining survivors turned on each other eventually. At first, it had been all travelling, keeping moving, searching for family members, and everybody had helped each other, everybody had been on equal ground. And then word got around about the scratches and how easy it was to transfer the infection and paranoia spread just as quickly. Suspicion haunted everybody and the trust, the uneasy automatic alliances fell through. It was everybody for themselves.
And in amidst that initial panic, the running away from civilisation, from survivors, Tony found Steve. Well, depending on which one of them you spoke to; Steve insists it was the other way around, but Tony refused to be seen as the damsel in distress. Even though he was. He'd been in New York when the virus had broken out and he just hadn't attempted to leave. He holed himself up in his Stark Tower, convinced he'd be able to wait it out. And then the blackouts started. Tony's tower didn't function without electricity and even if it was off the grid, it was still being affected. And then the barriers were breached and Tony didn't have a choice but to leave- he couldn't risk being trapped. So he'd packed up what belongings he figured were worth keeping, and he'd headed out, determined to find… well, something.
Tony had made it three blocks before he saw the first one, lurching towards him. And then there were more. Groaning, reaching for him on unstable legs. He's surrounded.
'Fucking hell.' Unarmed, trapped and afraid, Tony heads down an alley. They are gaining on him, and the only thing he'd managed to do by hiding in the tiny space was to create a bottleneck so he could only get torn apart by two or maybe three of them at once. He throws his bag on top of a dumpster, and manages to scramble up himself, crushing his body against the brick wall as much as he could in an effort to avoid the reaching limbs. The stench is overwhelming, all rotting flesh. He can see bone and brain but his need to vomit is outweighed by his 'oh god I'm going to fucking die here' feeling.
The ladder of the fire escape above him clanks down, hitting the dumpster as it comes to a stop. Tony doesn't want to look up because he doesn't want to see these things above him as well as around him.
'Hey! I don't know you, but if you don't have a death wish, you should probably get climbing.' The voice… is enough for Tony to realise that he isn't infected because hell, actual words? As opposed to the groans and moans that he has heard non-stop for months? Tony risks a quick glance up to see blue eyes peering over the ledge at him and that is all he needs as an assurance. Tony's hands are shaking so violently, he can barely sling the straps of his bag over his shoulders and his fingers practically just flat out refuse to cooperate when he tries to wrap them around the sides of the ladder. He manages it though, climbs just a few rungs before the ladder is pulled up and he's hoisted onto stable, metal ground.
Tony collapses forward into surprisingly strong, secure arms. They wrap around him and pull him away from the edge, guiding him through an open window into a pitch black apartment. Tony is still shaking, but he knows he shouldn't be so trusting of this guy, he's heard the rumours. The people that know they're turning and for some reason want to drag down as many healthy survivors as they can. He pulls away from the warm body and steps backward, sliding down to the floor when his back hits a wall.
'Are you okay?' The stranger asks, perching on the windowsill. Tony can't see much in the sparse light of the room, but he can make out the general shape of the guy, and he is huge. Tall and muscles to die for and that is more calming to Tony than he cares to realise, because even if this guy could take him down pretty quickly in a fight, it also means he'll be damn good at defending them.
'I-' Tony, for once in his life, is speechless. He stares at his quaking hands, willing them to stop. He claws them through his hair, fingers getting caught in knotted curls. He brings his knees up to his chest, crashing his head forward onto them and taking a few unsteady breaths.
'Hey, hey. It's alright. You're safe now.' The guy moves, settling next to Tony against the wall. They brush shoulders and Tony can't help but flinch away, so used to being alone by this point that he couldn't relax here even if he wanted to. This doesn't faze the taller man, but he doesn't press further.
'I'm not though, am I? Nowhere here is safe, not since that goddamn virus made everybody go fucking Resident Evil.' He lets out a bark of hysterical laughter, twisting his head to look up at the guy next to him.
Tall, blonde and handsome returns his gaze steadily, eyes hard and mouth twisted in a thin line. He clearly doesn't like to think about that, the fact that nowhere and nobody is safe. He shakes himself out of it a moment later, and reaches out to offer his hand.
'I'm Steve, by the way.'
'Tony.' He reaches over to curl his fingers lightly around the offered hand, feeling callouses and cuts. He flinches away even harder from that.
'Don't worry. Not infected. Promise.' Steve holds his hands up in mock surrender. 'How about you?'
'I haven't left my sanctuary since this started. None of them got close enough to touch.' He signals the hoard below with a quick jerk of his head, before letting it fall backward, hitting the wall behind them with a light thump.
'Sanctuary?'
'You see that tower over yonder? The one with the big flashy Stark name on it?' Steve nods, gazing out the window. 'That's mine.'
Steve whistles, long and low. 'Tony Stark, eh? Never counted you among the survivors.'
'Neither did I.'
Steve has nothing to say to that, instead choosing to turn his head and just look at Tony again.
'If you keep looking at me like that, I might have to start charging.' Tony murmurs, looking delighted when Steve huffs out a laugh at him. 'What's your master plan for survival then?' He asks, spreading his hands out on his knees and studying them, refusing to look at the other man.
'Keep moving mainly. Get out of the city at some point maybe. I've heard tell of an underground base just past the border, DC way. What about you?'
Tony shrugs. 'Stay alive? Further than that, I have no idea.' They're silent after that, both contemplating the moment when they'll have to separate, and Steve doesn't want that. He may have been alone all this time, but there's something about this man that makes Steve want him to stay. Plus it's clear he can't look after himself- his first venture out since this began and he gets attacked straight away with no visible defence methods?
'Thanks, by the way.' Steve looks up at that, startled out of his thoughts. His confusion must show on his face because Tony shares a small grin before elaborating. 'For saving me out there. I'd be dead or one of them by now if it wasn't for your impeccable timing. So, thanks.' Steve smiles back at him, grin almost blinding, the skin at the corner of his mouth starting to crack from a combination of the dehydration and the fact he hasn't smiled in nearly four months.
'No problem.'
They sleep in that apartment that night, curled around each other for the warmth (and the comfort of having another living person so close). Steve shares the little food he has, and manages to make a small fire in a waste paper basket. He shows Tony the small radio he'd picked up a while back, and Tony manages to make it work with just a little tinkering and by hooking up to something that he explains to be an arc reactor and also, a very long story. They don't talk about survival and they don't talk about tomorrow, but they do talk about their past. Old stories from their childhood, from years before. Nothing about who they lost, what they lost. And they make it work. They laugh together, and both of them are grateful for that- it feels like years since either of them had laughed properly. They fall asleep both knowing that come morning they will go their separate ways and never see each other again, that they will never know if the other survives, but in that moment, they don't care. Because the company is worth it. It's worth it just because they can have one night that they don't have to endure alone.
The sun rose in the east, just as it always had. Its rays still managed to touch every part of the city, but it wasn't the same city. There were bodies in the streets, rotting corpses littered everywhere. Buildings were beginning to crumble and collapse. There was silence in the city that had previously never slept.
But waking up with another body intertwined with his? That was one thing that Tony was familiar with. His eyes twitched open as the light flooded the apartment and he squinted, turning his face away from the window. He glanced around the room, finally taking in his surroundings. The place had clearly been left in a rush- drawers were all over the floor, cupboards were wide open, clothes and various unnecessary objects were strewn over the wooden floorboards.
Then again, this could be Steve's doing. Or anyone who had been here before them. Tony slowly extricated himself from Steve's suffocating grip. He felt significantly calmer than he had been last night, and he stretched as he rolled away from the other man's still sleeping form. He gasped as he hit his feet on an open door, hearing Steve huff out a brief laugh behind him.
Tony groaned. 'Were you watching me sleep? Because I mean, we just met and that's kinda creepy.'
'I didn't want to wake you.' Tony glances back at him, sees the blush rising on his cheeks and smirks.
'I wouldn't have minded if it was for a valid reason.' He practically leers at Steve, and the other man's blush deepens impossibly.
'I-I…' He attempts to stutter out a response before shaking his head and clambering to his feet. He offers his hand to Tony, a shy smile gracing his features. Tony grins back and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. Steve busies himself with digging through a backpack balanced on a kitchen counter, pulling out a couple of cans of food, labels long peeled off, and a bottle of water. He offers the water to Tony first, who takes a few grateful sips before handing it back. They eat in silence, both filled with the feeling that they're deliberately dragging this out because neither of them wants to separate.
Tony watches as Steve rolls up blankets and gathers the rest of his belongings, packing them carefully away. He throws his own bag onto his back, and hovers by the door, until Steve is finished.
'So…' Steve trails off, unsure of what to say, scratching the back of his neck.
'Thanks for everything. Good luck in the miserable future.' Tony offers his hand, and Steve shakes it. If he holds it for slightly longer than necessary, Tony doesn't notice. They pull apart eventually, and with a brief nod, Steve sidesteps him to open the door, holding it open for Tony who ducks under his arm to shuffle through the doorway and down the corridor.
He makes it to the corner before Steve stops him.
They travel together from then on, never separating- where one goes, the other is directly behind. It works for them, with Steve's common sense and defensive capabilities and Tony's technical and survival knowledge. They travel as far as they can during the day, aiming to break out of the city and head to where Steve thinks this base is. At night, they shelter wherever they can- always high up and away from main streets. They manage to dance around most of the infected, who only tend to hunt at night and are fairly easy to outrun if they're solo.
Tony learns fairly early on that Steve is capable of killing the infected quickly and precisely- but he prefers not to. The only way of dispatching them is to damage or remove the head, but they're slow and stupid and where possible, Steve will run. Climbing is a sure-fire way to get rid of them- they lack the fine motor skills needed to scramble up a ladder or to jump from ledge to ledge. Tony doubts that they can even jump. The disease is, ultimately, a brain infection. The brain swells until it barely fits in the skull, and this results in an extremely short attention span, so they wander off fairly quickly as well. Out of the number of increasingly bizarre and horrific ways the world could have collapsed in, this one isn't the worst.
But survival is still hard, regardless of the enemy. Pharmacies, supermarkets, corner stores were the first places to be raided and often lack supplies. The best place to find anything these days is in the houses and apartments that people had fled, if you didn't mind coming across the occasional decomposing body, but they were easier to find than avoid these days, and were easy enough to shrug off after you encountered your first few. The days feel longer than they did pre-apocalypse and they can get a significant amount done in each section of daylight they have.
They loot through any residence that looks whole and promising that they come across, collecting food and water and anything Tony thinks he can fashion into a functional weapon. Which turns out to be a disturbing amount of everyday household items. Steve has to start limiting it after the first time they have to clear out their bags, because heavy things are just not practical in this day and age.
They get on like a terrible sitcom mostly. Tony takes great pleasure in making fun of just about everything Steve does, and the other man can never defend himself, which only ever makes Tony laugh harder. Tony fails to grasp the true severity of the situation, but Steve takes that as light relief after the weeks of silence and knowing that every day was just 24 hours closer to his inevitable demise. Tony is the comic relief that he'd never realised he'd needed, and he's damn good at scoping out bountiful looting spots.
Until one day when they're already pushing it- it's mid-afternoon in early winter about a week after they meet and it's already starting to get dark when Tony convinces Steve that just one more, and then we'll find somewhere to camp. He promises this will be the last one. They'd only hit the suburbs yesterday and Tony is thrilled by the change of scenery. The house is darker than any other they'd been in that day, and that is already setting off nearly ever alarm bell in Steve's head, but Tony pulls out his grin, the one Steve can't help but agree to whatever he wants, and then Tony's dragging him up to the house. Steve kicks down the door as he always does and he says the same thing he always does.
'You take upstairs, I'll cover down here. Fifteen minutes max.' Tony nods and heads up the stairs. Steve wanders into the lounge, taking note of the rifles mounted on the wall and deciding that if he can find ammo, he might as well grab them. The house is eerily quiet, like the others, but he still stays low, mostly out of habit, checking around every corner before rounding it. He finds two full bottles of water and a selection of various cans among rotting fruit and flies. He grabs a can of salt (it's rare these days, and fairly good at preventing infections), and a bag of pasta (if they can spare the water, it'd make a nice change). He finds a couple of boxes of shells for the rifles and shoves one in his bag, carrying the other one through to load one of the rifles. He's in the middle of doing just that when he hears a loud thump, followed by a yell. He's halfway up the stairs before he can think twice, rifle clutched in his hands.
He rounds a corner into a bedroom, finding Tony sprawled on a double bed, using a lamp to keep reaching hands away from him. Hearing his footsteps, Tony looks over to Steve, and lets his guard down, just for a second. But it's long enough for the infected to grab his foot and pull, hard. Tony yelps, snatching his foot away and before Steve can even register what he's doing, there's a bullet sailing through the air, through its head. The noise of the shot echoes around the room, and both men freeze.
'Shit.' Tony whispers.
'We should… uh…' Steve gestures outside frantically, and Tony nods. Steve takes the stairs two at a time on his way back down, fleeing straight out the door, skidding to a halt on the road, Tony close behind him.
'Your bag, Steve. Where is it?'
Steve whips around to face Tony. 'It's still inside.' He pauses, looking around. When he sees the hoard coming from one end of the street he curses, thrusting the rifle at Tony. 'Take this. I'll be right back. Be ready to run.'
Steve sprints back inside, snatching his bag from the counter. Cans fall out at the violent motion and he curses again, shoving everything back inside and sealing it hurriedly. He grabs the other rifle and the half empty box of ammunition on his way back through the lounge. He leaves the house, taking in the sight of Tony backing away slowly, rifle smoking from where he's picked off a couple of the infected that were getting too close for comfort.
'Run!' Steve shouts, grabbing Tony's arm and pulling him away. They sprint down the road, before Steve yells left! And they veer down the side of a house and into a back garden, tearing past reaching limbs and leaping over obstacles. They vault over fences and don't stop moving, travelling in the most erratic way that they can. When they think they're clear, they duck into a fairly small house. They pause for a moment, listening for the tell-tale sounds of being followed. They look for signs of infected inhabiting this house (blood stains, half torn apart bodies, and the more subtle things like furniture fallen over when it has been bumped into). This house looks pretty clean though, but before they can stop and get their breath back, they check every room, climb the stairs warily and repeat the process upstairs.
Once they're satisfied, they blockade what they can and retreat upstairs, placing every obstacle they can in an attackers way. The collapse onto a bed, side-by-side, and breathing heavily. Tony's legs ache like hell and their chests are heaving with the effort of fleeing so fast. Once they've got their bodies back under control, Tony decides to try and control the conversation he knows they're about to have. As Steve lifts up the leg of his jeans and checks his ankle for scratch marks, he starts.
'Thanks for saving my modesty back there, he was so grabby.' And Steve punches him in the arm.
'How could you let yourself be cornered like that?'
'Oh, Captain, my Captain, it was hardly like I wanted that to happen. I do have standards you know.' If there was a definite way to annoy Steve, it was for Tony to call him that. But the minute he'd learned about Steve's military past, there was no fucking way he was letting that go.
'This isn't a joke, Tony! You could have been killed or-'
'Infected? It's not that hard to say, Cap. Only three syllables.'
'I would have had to kill you, Tony. I won't, I can't kill someone I care about again.' Steve curls in on himself, bringing his knees up to his chest and resting his forehead on them.
Tony is silent for a moment. 'I'm not sure which part of that to grasp onto, you know. The care about part or the kill again part.' When this provokes no reactions from Steve, Tony shuffles forward. He places his hand on the back of Steve's head and pulls it, manoeuvring them so their foreheads are gently pressed together. 'I didn't mean for it to happen. I'll be more careful in future, okay? You can be the captain of this ship.'
Steve looks up at him through impossibly long eyelashes and bites his lip. 'You didn't-'
'Get scratched, bitten or whatever? No. I promise, I'm fine.' Tony moves forward, just slightly, and Steve closes the gap. It's chaste, just a brush of lips, but it's the only sign Steve really needs that Tony is sorry. He pushes forward again, and this time the kiss is deeper. It's not the most pleasant kiss either has ever had- water is scarce enough and toothpaste is a thing of the past- but it's enough. Here in this bed, in this house, on this unnamed street, surrounded by death and destruction, it's enough.
Tony's hand drifts down to rest lightly on Steve's hip, and Steve surges forward even more, uncurling his body just enough for Tony to invade his space completely. There's no battle for dominance here, no need for it. It's a slow give and take, and when Steve pushes for it to be more, Tony lets him take it, knowing that this is what he needs, that it was the loss of control that scared him the most. They have very little power in this new, dying world that they have to take it where they can. Tony trusts Steve, trusts him enough to follow him wherever he leads. And that's saying something, because Tony has never been a follower by any stretch of the imagination.
Steve's hand strokes down Tony's side, and his whole body shivers when Tony slips his hand underneath his shirt and starts rubbing rough little circles into his hipbone. Steve's other hand wraps around Tony's neck and pulls him even closer, and it's almost like he's willing them to melt together into one entity. They separate for air, but they don't go far, noses still touching as they simply breathe. Steve's pupils are blown and his cheeks are flushed, and Tony knows he doesn't look much different. When they join their lips again, Steve's hands drags over Tony's hip and down, tugging at his belt. Steve pulls away, but before he can ask if this is okay, Tony seals his lips over the other man's and moves his other hand down to undo both of their belts.
They shimmy their trousers down over incredibly bony hips, and move in together. Steve gasps into Tony's mouth at the light, dancing touch over his cock, and Tony lifts his hand up, spits into it as best as he can and reaches back down to wrap one large hand round both of their dicks. Steve descends into little breathless moans fairly quickly, ducking his head slightly to watch with fascination as Tony strokes both of them and they rub together. Tony covers his face with light kisses, all over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Steve arches his hips, just slightly, and Tony can feel the tightening of his muscles and knows he's close, so he lets go of his own cock, focussing completely on Steve and the bitten off moans now spilling from his lips. He comes soon after, biting down on his lip and when Tony kisses him again he can taste the coppery tang of blood. Steve's breathing is shaky, but he reaches down to reciprocate, wrapping a strong hand around Tony. The positioning is awkward, but neither of them can bring themselves to care as Tony's hips stutter into Steve's hand and he spills onto the bed between them.
There's nothing delicate or elegant about the shared hand jobs in the bedroom of somebody who's probably long dead, but nothing can beat the feeling afterwards, after they've cleaned up as best they can, and they're curled tightly against each other underneath a blanket, trying to beat the icy bite of the cold. And there, curled in a second-hand bed, they can forget about the ex-people outside that are baying for their blood. They can feel something that neither of them has felt since long, long before the world collapsed- they can feel wanted, safe and unafraid.
It's three days before Tony broaches the subject and by this point they're breaking Steve's cardinal rule of staying in one place for more than one night because they're about to hit the main highway out of dodge and they need to seriously find a car or something. They're intertwined in yet another old, dusty bed, with Tony staring at the ceiling. Steve has his head on the other man's chest and they're a mess of tangled limbs.
'Before this thing happened, I only really had two people.' He begins, shifting uneasily underneath Steve. 'Pepper and Rhodey. Rhodey stayed on the west coast when Pep and I travelled over here. I never took the news seriously, so I never attempted to reach him. I don't even know if he's still alive. I know it's highly unlikely, though.'
'Why are you telling me this?' Steve asks, moving until his head is resting on his hands on Tony's chest and he can see his face.
'The other night. You said you couldn't kill someone you cared about again. I want to know who that was. So I'm sharing information.' He pauses, but the only response he receives is Steve closing his eyes, lips slightly downturned. 'Pepper was with me in the tower, but she didn't want to stay. She wanted to follow the rumours to safety. We fought about it for days, until she finally packed up and left without me. I- I watched her go. I watched her get ambushed and I…' Tony swallows. 'I watched my best friend die and I didn't even try to help her.'
He closes his eyes now, refusing to cry, but Pepper had once been everything to him. He can feel his hands shaking, and for a previously renowned technological genius, his hands sure do shake a lot these days. He feels Steve move, but he doesn't open his eyes, not even at the brief brush of lips over his temple. He senses when the pillow compresses under the weight of Steve's head and he feels the other man's breath on his lips when Steve starts to talk.
'His name was Bucky. He was my best friend. We grew up together and all that jazz. We were together when the first rumours broke out, when the official news broke and when the officials broke down. He was the one that taught me all the techniques- he'd always had better common sense than me. It was about two weeks before we met, and he and I were travelling, it was broad daylight and there shouldn't have even been a problem, but we split up and I heard a yell. I ran towards him, dispatched the thing clawing at him but I was too late. There was blood everywhere and most of it was his and I didn't know what to do. It was too late but I couldn't just leave him.' Tony hears the tremor in Steve's voice, and he opens his eyes, moving his hands. One comes to rest on his back, pulling the taller man closer to him, and the other one runs its fingers through his hair. Steve doesn't stop there though.
'He died and I was frozen. I couldn't move. And then it was too late and he was back and suddenly he was attacking me. I couldn't think straight and I- I-'
Tony hushes him. 'It's okay, Cap. It's over, I'm here. I'm sorry.' Steve quakes underneath his arms, but Tony's shoulder remains dry and eventually he stills. He tries to speak again, but Tony cuts him off with a fierce kiss, and they don't try to talk again.
The next morning, they don't mention what they'd been told the previous night. It's an unspoken agreement that they don't bring that up again, and they're both grateful for that. Tony regrets asking Steve, but he's glad he knows now. If they split up less that day, and if their hands brush together more often than normal, neither of them mentions it, but they appreciate the comfort.
They find a car, a Land Rover in a good enough shape that Tony can hotwire it. That means, more than anything, that they can loot a whole lot more now because they actually have some means of carrying it, and Steve's so grateful that he doesn't even raise an eyebrow when Tony sneaks most of the contents of a garage into the boot. They find a bottle of whiskey and normally Steve would reserve that strictly for emergencies, ignoring the little sips that Tony would sneak anyway. But tonight, they're celebrating and they crash into a bedroom that night, merry and happy and together.
They'd agreed early on that there were some things that just weren't practical after months without proper hygiene and in these days of constant emergencies, so they'd restricted what they did at night to kisses and hand jobs because this wasn't about love or forever. It was about now and tomorrow and beating the loneliness.
That night the kisses are tinged with whiskey and they're giddy and they fall asleep with smiles on their faces and hope in their hearts.
Hope that doesn't last any length of time at all.
It couldn't have gone any worse really. They wake up in the middle of the night to a crash and a groan and an overwhelming feeling that can only be describes as oh fuck. They scramble to get their clothes on, cursing the fact that that one simple thing that they'd been so strict about before had been forgotten about the one time they needed to have heeded their paranoia.
Steve is the first one ready, rifle in hand. He orders Tony to stay put and pack up while he checks out the noises. There's another crash before Steve can finish his command and then there's a hole in their hastily-made barrier in the doorway and a rotting arm grabbing at them.
'Fuck. Steve!' Tony rushes around grabbing everything he can and thrusting it into their bags and everything is spilling out just as fast as Tony can put it in and there are more groans and more holes and Tony has never been so afraid in his entire life; he has more to lose now than he did that day in the alley.
'Tony. Look at me.' Steve is kneeling in front of him, hand under his chin. 'Get ready. I'll distract them- you get out that window and into that car.'
'You'll meet me out front?' Tony can hear the tears, the fear in his voice.
Steve offers him a small, sad smile. 'Yeah, Tony. Sure will.' He leans over and crashes their lips together quickly and violently before springing away and pulling Tony up until he's standing. 'Stay safe.' He mutters, throwing the bags out of the window.
'Steve-' Tony tries to protest, he does. But they choose that moment to burst through the door and Steve is shooting but there are too many of them and he can't fight them all.
'GO TONY!' Steve shouts, and while he's distracted one of them clamps its jaws down on his forearm and he screams. Tony knows there is nothing he can do and now is not the time to be scared of the fall from a first-story window so he jumps; rolling to avoid injury just like Steve had taught him in the first few days. He grabs the bags and hightails it to the car, throwing the bags in the passenger seat and starting the vehicle.
He hesitates, briefly. And then a shape is thrown into the view of the headlights. It used to be tall, blonde and beautiful, but now it's mangled, ruined. Blood stained and dead. Tony swallows his disgust and reverses enough to give him room to swerve around the body of his friend. If he sees it move out of the corner of his eye, he doesn't dwell on it, knowing that nothing he ever knew of Steve survived that attack.