Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, and this is just an AU. So… yeah. Oh and I don't own the song.

I just used some of the lyrics because they were absolutely beautiful and I shipped it so much that I made the song more compatible to them. Also, it's midnight and I probably am not in my right mind. Tell me if it sucks or something.

…

Steve sat in front of the dinner table, his hands occupied with a sketchpad. He was drawing Tony, his husband—deceased husband, he had to remind himself, as usual. He couldn't help it, with him gone, he just—he couldn't help but panic, even if he's come to peace with it. What if he forgot his face? How he was in the morning? How Tony would smile at him in that dazed, real way of his when Steve had just carried him from a too-long night in the workshop. He didn't want to forget the way Tony made him feel. He didn't want to forget him.

Bang! The front door slammed, making Steve jump a little, before slumping with a wry smile. Peter must be back.

The teenager strode in, hand in pockets, head bowed as he made a beeline for the refrigerator. He leaned towards it, the door covering his face and his fingers tapping the top of it casually. Steve blinked at him worriedly, standing up as he put his sketchbook down. "Peter? Where've you been all night?" he asked quietly.

The only response the young man gave was more finger-tapping, "…Peter?"

The pleading, concerned tone made his fingers pause, Steve could hear a distinct inhale, before Peter slowly straightened his body, showing Steve his black eye and bruised cheekbone. Steve's sharp intake of breath made Peter flinch slightly, sheepishly bowing his head a little. "What happened?" Steve asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he reached out to touch the tender flesh.

"I, uh, slammed my face into this pole when I was skateboarding." Peter mumbled, avoiding the eyes of his father. Steve made a disapproving sound in the back of throat, a clear indication that he didn't believe even a midget of the bullshit that was coming out of his son's mouth. Peter made a reluctant sound right back before biting his lip and confessing, "I may have gotten into a fight… because of a girl."

Steve blinked, biting his lip. So this was dam—girl problems? He couldn't help but shift uncomfortably, wistfully thinking, Tony would have known what to do in this situation, before rubbing his face exasperatedly. "I won't lecture you if—and only if- you go and let your Uncle Bruce check out your worrying injuries. Deal?"

Peter looked so unwilling, looking so much like Tony after every incident in the lab; Steve had to push away the longing for his husband, the heart pulling, gut wrenching hope that maybe somehow, they'll see each other again. Maybe in another life or in another place. It was a stupid, hopeless, impossible dream, but Steve was desperate and so in love that he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Dad, you're doing that—that thing with your face. Like an elephant was crushing your heart right in front of you or something." Peter's voice pulled him from his reverie, the brown eyes staring at him unblinkingly. A long beat of silence stretched along, before Peter decided to mumble, "Are you thinking about him? About Dad?"

Steve sucked in a breath, struck dumb, before nodding numbly. His stared down at his hands, big and callous, and could almost hear Tony's cackling as he said; You know what they say about big hands, Cap. He didn't know and he never really did get to even when he asked. It was such an irrelevant memory, one that he shouldn't have remembered right now, but he couldn't help but latch onto it, because it was so Tony, and not even the smile-for-the-camera Tony, just Tony Tony, the guy who would've bought you a country and would have said that he just didn't have anything better to do.

"I just—I miss him, Pete. More than anything in the world." He said in a weak, unstable voice. Peter looked at him uncertainly, like he was waiting for Steve to burst into tears, before he sat down on one of the chairs, looking at him with a crooked smile, "Tell me about him—about you and him, Pops."

"By the time I was your age, I'd give everything, to fall in love truly was all I could think." He began after a moment to collect himself, "That's when I met your Dad, the guy of my dreams, the most brilliant, beautiful and incredible man that I'd ever seen. I remember him saying something, looking like he was constipated, and he just blurted, 'Are you in love with me?' He downright froze after, before he said, 'It was the way you looked at me, I don't know. I just—I thought maybe, never mind.'" Steve paused to breathe, his voice rough and full of emotion, "I grabbed onto his hand, you know, because he was so ready to bolt, and I kissed him. Right there, in the middle of Times Square. We were inseparable after that."

Steve cleared his throat, his voice had cracked too much back there, and he couldn't help but see Peter gaining the same look he had said Steve had adorned earlier. He began to continue with a reminiscent smile on his face, "You know, most of the time, he'd convince me to drink with him. He'd tell me that life was short, that I should do something exciting for once. He was very convincing, you know. I almost always did everything he asked me to, as long as it didn't endanger his life." He licked his lips, "We'd sit up on the balcony, watch New York and its blinking and lively lights, and just talk. We'd talk about our past mistakes; we'd open up, joke about our scars. We just—we shared everything with each other."

"One day, we were walking around some park, and I just sat him down and made a fumbly, awkward speech on how much I loved him and when I finally popped the question, he stared at me, like he was going to protest. I really felt like he was about to, but for some reason, he stopped, stared at me and then just flashed me the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. Just—god, he was beautiful."

He breathed in again, looking at Peter in the eyes, "Now, son, I'm only telling you this part of our story because life can do terrible things." The tears pricked his vision, and he let them stay as he fiddled with his pencil, "You'll learn one day, I'll hope and I'll pray that God shows you differently."

The tears flowed freely down he cheeks as he continued his voice thick and pained, but he remained staring at his son in the eyes, letting the pain shine through. "He said, 'Steve, don't panic, and don't react badly. But—well, I'm sick. The deadly kind and the doctor said I only had weeks—" Steve paused, choking on a sob as the memories washed over him.

Tony paused, pain and sorrow flashing through his features before he pushed all of those emotion away, plastering a smile on his face, "Steve, Steve, baby, honey, sweetie, don't cry. You'll get over it. Come on, you'll move on. You'll—you'll carry on with someone else, maybe that Peggy girl you used to like. You'll raise Peter with her, you'll be happy. You'll be fine."

Steve hadn't been listening to him, his face stock-still and dumb struck before crumbling slowly, his eyes scrunching up with tears as the horrible news sunk in. Tony grabbed him by the shoulders to pull him into a hug, waking him up enough from his haze to begin babbling, "But, no, no, you're perfect. You're here and you're okay and you're beautiful and perfect."

Tony pulled back, giving Steve the smile he had hated the most in his entire life. That fake one he gave the paparazzi when his father died. It felt like Tony had just punched him in the gut. He couldn't breathe, couldn't hold onto anything but the body pressed closed to him. "But you're perfect."

"You know, you were the greatest thing that ever happened to me."