Author's Beginning Note: I wrote this while reminiscing about things I did in high school. This particular premise is inspired from my Senior year on Drunk Driving Awareness day. It was a truly interesting and powerful concept that was brought into play with dressing up a teacher as the Reaper and taking students out of class as if they had "died." There were a lot of students that got very emotional during this time, especially those who were close to the people being taken. It had an impact, to say the least.

Disclaimer: I do NOT own anything that belongs to Marvel or their affiliates, such as The Avengers and its characters, and I have not and will not make any profit from this story. I'm just having a bit of fun.

Sitting in class, doing his best to drown out the teacher who was droning on and on about chemistry that he already knew anyway, Tony impatiently tapped his stubby pencil against his notebook. He went over the schematics for the better coffee machine that he'd sketched, instead of chemistry notes, one more time. Finding no mistakes in his work, he glanced at the clock, sinking further in his chair when he did. He'd been in the room for forty-five minutes. Just ten more minutes of suffering, he thought bitterly. His stomach rumbled angrily, seemingly in agreement.

The time, as per usual, passed slowly with his penchant for staring at the clock and willing it to speed the fuck up! Some girls next to him were whispering quietly about the drunk driving thing going on that day. Something about one of the gym teachers dressing up as the Grim Reaper and coming to take volunteer students, mostly Student Council kids, out of class to symbolize the statistics of drunk driving accidents in teens. Something about one kid for each hour? wasn't technically in that demographic anymore anyway, having turned eighteen a month ago.

Sighing in defeat, Tony rested his head in his arms only to have Clint, who was sitting three desks behind him, – the teacher's bright idea, not theirs – aim what felt like a rubber band at the back of his head. It snapped its uncanny accuracy against his right ear, stinging painfully for a brief moment. Tony whipped around, flipping his best friend off, glaring at the sniggering girl beside him at the same time. Clint winked at her, making Tony roll his eyes.

"Stark!" snapped Ms. Hill. This was far from the first time she'd had to reprimand either Tony or Clint. "Turn your ass around and pay attention. You've got three minutes before you can go." Tony opened his mouth to retort, but was cut off before he could get out a syllable. "I don't care if you've figured out the lesson already. Some of your classmates haven't. Deal with it." She promptly turned to the board and picked up where she left off.

Tony eyed her angrily for a moment before huffing and slumping in his seat once more.

Three excruciating minutes later, the bell rang. Tony swung his bag, pre-maturely packed up, over his shoulder and high-tailed it out of the classroom and into the hallway to wait for Steve. Clint brushed past him a moment later, saluting him mockingly, before vaulting away like the fucking gazelle he pretended he wasn't to find his girlfriend in the mess of students.

He casually leaned against the rough stone wall, playing with his phone absently, nodding at Bruce when the gangly kid ran by with a pile of books precariously stacked in his arms. As a senior, Tony was glad he didn't have to haul around that much crap on a daily basis anymore. Thor stampeded by moments later, heavy backpack flung over his shoulder like it was nothing. It probably wasn't. He beamed at Tony as he passed him on his way to lunch.

Minutes passed, and the halls were slowly clearing. Either kids were getting to class or they were already in the lunchroom. Their absence left an eerie silence in the corridor that got Tony's attention pretty fast.

The hell is Steve? Tony wondered, slipping his phone into his pocket and looking up and down the now vacant hallway. Is he even here today? He wracked his memory, but came up with nothing. No, he's supposed to be here. Did he have something to do? He pulled out his phone again and checked his messages. Nothing. He sent a quick text to Steve and waited. Wait. Steve is part of the Student Council. Maybe he is one of the volunteer kids for today? Yeah, think so. So…maybe he was already picked out of class for it? He slid down the wall, wincing when his elbow came into contact with a jutting stone, suddenly feeling strange and oddly hot. He stared ahead, still occasionally checking his phone, but everything before him took on a grey and hazy hue. He looked at his phone again, fumbling it when his fingers suddenly refused to curl around the case. It dropped to the floor. He let it stay there.

No, no, no! Not now! Please not now! He screamed in his head. A wave of overwhelming fear crashed into him then, leaving him breathless. Tony flexed his fingers against the cold tile floor, breathing in short harsh gasps. The corridor spun sickeningly, making Tony shut his eyes tight and stick his head as far between his knees as he could. Steve. Safe. Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve. Safe. Need Steve. The mantra continued to go through his head, getting louder and more insistent the longer Tony allowed it to run.

"Hey, you okay?"

The voice momentarily jerked Tony out of his tight ball of panic, but not enough to be of any help. He still couldn't grasp onto anything real. He found himself clawing at the collar of his t-shirt, breath caught in his throat now instead of coming too fast. Too tight. Too close. Stop. Stop! STOP!

He heard a small 'Oh,' before gentle hands grabbed onto his, steadying him fleetingly. He looked up and only just managed to focus on the red-haired girl kneeling next to him. "My name is Natasha. What do you need me to do?" she asked, voice like quiet steel, but steady.

Tony fought to speak, but still felt his throat closing off, causing him to yank his hands away from the girl, Natasha, and replace them on the collar of his shirt, pulling it away from himself. God, really? Speak, idiot! It's not that hard! Just SPEAK! But, as usual, belittling himself made nothing easier. Breath ragged, Tony gritted out between clenched teeth, every word bitten out harshly in the effort. "Where… Where is… the Grim Reaper… taking…taking the kids?"

Natasha gave him an odd look before comprehension dawned on her face. "All Student Council volunteers are in the conference room across from Principal Fury's office. Why?"

Tony completely ignored her question, forcing himself to scramble up from the floor and move down the hall at the fastest pace he could manage. He knew the girl was following behind, but he absolutely did not care by that point.

Already half hunched over in the continuous effort to breathe evenly, Tony stumbled to the next hall over, bursting into the conference room. The student's chattering ceased into deadly silence at his entrance. If he'd been thinking straight, Tony was sure he would have laughed at the picture he made to these people: hair a mess, clothes in disarray, eyes wide and wild and partially unseeing from the fear, and breath coming far too fast to be normal.

But none of that mattered.

His knees hit the floor and he collapsed in the doorway, forehead against the floor, the second he heard the shocked, "Tony!?"

Steve's worried voice washed over him, and he felt his heart release its vice-like grip in his chest, just a little.

He barely registered Steve's quiet request for the others to leave, or the chairs scraping the floor, or the hurried footsteps, or the curious whispers from the other students. Tony swallowed down a puff of hysterical laughter at Steve's vicious reply to Principal Fury's demand to know what was going on: "I'd think it'd be a little obvious, Sir."

After that, all Tony knew was Steve had wrapped him up in his arms carefully, not constricting him, but just holding.

His world was still an unhealthy haze, and he struggled for a few moments to get in a deep breath, but he thought he managed well enough in that moment. He felt more than heard Steve's rumbling voice murmuring soothing nonsense into his ear, his warm hand running through Tony's dark hair.

How much later is was, Tony didn't know, but he was able to make out Steve's whispers:

"You're okay. You're safe. Breathe with me. That's right, love, just like that. Breathe with me. You're safe."

Tony took in three gulping heaps of air before trying to do as Steve asked. It took a bit, but finally, he felt the dizziness recede and his lungs expanded after a few more moments. Feeling the last of the terror ebb, Tony slumped, exhausted, against Steve's steady support.

"You okay now, sweetheart?"

Tony clutched to Steve's blue t-shirt, breath still coming with minor shudders, but he nodded jerkily, looking up at Steve's concerned blue eyes before ducking his head back down. "Y-yeah. I'm okay. M-Most of it had happened b-before…"

Steve gripped him a bit tighter at that. "I'm sorry," he said, burying his face in Tony's hair. "Sorry you had to go through that alone."

"N-not your fault. 's mine."

"Tony…"

"No, really. I'm just glad I found you." Tony dimly realized he was speaking without stuttering and mentally clapped for himself. He felt Steve sigh against him, Tony's face rising and falling with Steve's deep in and exhale.

Tony knew that Steve would bring it all up again at a later time and do his damnedest to convince Tony that no one was to blame. Tony knew the attacks weren't his fault. He knew that. He really did. But when they occurred, it never felt that way. There was no rhyme or reason for them, and Tony hated things that seemed random. Random couldn't be put into a box. Random fit no categories. Random could not be dissected and understood on the cellular, atomic, or subatomic level. Random did not oblige under a microscope. Or an MRI. It didn't fit any frame of reference Tony could come up with or understand.

But that didn't change the fact that Steve would always hold him close, pet his hair, kiss his forehead, and tell him he was safe. Loved.

Tony smiled gently and pressed his face into Steve's chest, inhaling, and cuddling closer as he shut his eyes. Steve would take care of him now.

He always did.

Safe.

Author's End Note: The statistic used (one teen lost to drunk driving/drivers for every hour) was the one I was told as a Senior in high school. That was in 2013, so it's possible the statistic has changed; I hope for the better.

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! Comments are always appreciated!

~Aura