Steve can't believe it's happening again. He honestly doesn't know what he expected. It's Sunday night, and he's seated uncomfortably on a bar stool in Tony's living room. Again. It really is like clockwork, but much like the end of a sad novel, Steve had hoped against reason this time would be different.
He's listening to Tony ramble drunkenly, angrily. His words are slurred and twisted, a far cry from the voice on the other end of the line thirty minutes prior. But Steve knows how quickly the billionaire can knock back his drinks. He'd polished off two tumblers of some caramel-colored liquor on ice in the ten minutes Steve had been there.
When would enough be enough? When would Tony stop all of this? Why did he have to call Steve over every Sunday night, seemingly sober, only for Steve to arrive to a drunken wreck?
Things hadn't always been this way. When Steve had met Tony, things had been fairly normal. Steve had been a working student; the typical, cliché starving artist. He was attending the art school at MIT, and had met Tony while he was working as an aid in an intro class. Tony was clearly only in there because it was a general education requirement, but his sketches weren't half bad. They were mostly things that Steve didn't understand, car engines and designs for other advanced technological tools. But slowly, he got to know the young boy. They'd ended up spending a lot of time together, and after graduating together, Tony had finished had finished Ph.D. when Steve finished his BA, they both moved back home to New York.
Steve had found a small apartment in Brooklyn, near where he'd grown up. Tony had moved back into his parent's place. Steve couldn't really call it a home. That's probably why they'd clicked so well. Steve's parents had died when he was young, and Tony had been raised by a butler and absentee father. They both had had people to care for them, but neither of them had had that true family bond growing up.
Three months ago Tony had lost his father, which is when this routine had started. And Steve wasn't stupid; no matter what Tony said about the man, it hurt him to lose him. He was still a kid, barely eighteen. They'd only graduated a year ago, and the twenty-two year old had basically been taking care of Tony since then.
He knew this was Tony's way of coping. He knew he drank himself stupid every night, usually falling into bed with one, or more, of the co-eds at the near-by universities. To be honest, that upset Steve as much as the drinking. He'd always harbored a crush on his best friend, but because he was so young he had never acted on it. Steve had also thought the younger boy was straight, until the middle of their last year, when he found him passed out and naked, at seventeen, with a senior football player who was already twenty-two.
"STEVE!" Tony exclaims, looking almost angry at the sober man's lack of attention, as he starts to sway a little bit.
"What, Tony?" Steve snarls, not realizing how worked up he's gotten. "What. Do. You. Want?"
Tony looks, well, hurt at Steve's outburst, and Steve starts to feel bad. Taking a quick glance at his watch, Steve observes that it's 10:53, and Tony is right on schedule.
"I, well I just," Tony stammers before tears start to well up in his eyes.
That's new. That's not what usually happens. By eleven Tony usually passes out, at which time Steve carries him to bed and places the aspirin and water next to his bed before leaving for the night. But Tony never cries. The only emotion he ever shows is anger, though he is usually too incoherent for Steve to know what he's actually angry about.
All of a sudden, Tony collapses onto the floor, sobbing harder than Steve has ever seen. In a second, he's picking up the drunken teenager, and moving him to the couch.
"It's okay," he tries to comfort. "I didn't mean to snap at you. Shhhh," he hushes him, running his hand across his forehead and through his hair in an attempt to soothe him. They stay like that for some time, Tony occasionally hiccupping in between his sobs, as Steve holds him against his chest.
Eventually, Tony's breathing starts to slow, and the sobs become whimpers, until they stop all together. His hands are fisted in Steve's shirt, and he's resting against his tear-soaked chest. Not wanting to disturb him, Steve slowly leans back, until he's lying back on the couch, with Tony still in his arms. He falls asleep, still rubbing small circles on Tony's upper back.
A good number of hours later, and Steve starts to wake up, bleary eyed and still exhausted, as the light streams into the living room. It takes him a minute, but he remembers the events of the night before, and notices that Tony is still lying on top of him.
After sliding out from under his friend, Steve stumbles into the kitchen, the leg that Tony had been laying on still asleep. Glancing at the clock, he observes that it's actually going on ten in the morning, and he's surprised he slept for so long, yet that he still feels tired. At least his lack of a real job means he doesn't have to be anywhere anytime soon.
Once he gets the coffee going, he grabs a bottle of water and some aspirin, to give Tony once he wakes, and a bottle of orange juice for himself, before settling down on the chair adjacent to Tony's couch.
He finishes his juice, when he hears the coffee maker beep. At the sound Tony starts to stir, groaning loudly. He tries to get out a command to JARVIS to close the blinds, but his voice is hoarse and the noise clearly hurts his head. Steve shuts them himself, and then goes to get two mugs of coffee. Tony is now sitting up, rubbing his head as he takes the medication laid out in front of him. He accepts the steaming mug of coffee, and makes his way to the bar.
"God, I need a drink."
At this, Steve freezes, dropping his spoon into his mug. "You what?" He practically screams.
"Oh my God, don't yell like that," Tony mutters. "I need a drink. Hair of the dog, ya know?"
"I know what it means," Steve snaps, slamming his mug down on the coffee table. "But if you think I'm going to let you wake up and start drinking-"
"I didn't know I gave you a say," Tony snaps back. "Why the fuck do you care?"
"Why? Why do I care? Tony! Every God damned Sunday night you call me. And every Sunday night I come. And every fucking Sunday night you are too drunk to function. Yet I wait, I listen, I help. You're the closest thing to family I have. So yeah, Tony, I care."
"Well why do you care so much? No one else does! Everyone else just leaves me!" He sucks down the rest of the water bottle, and tosses it to the side. "My mother left when I was two. My dad threw himself into Stark Industries, and at night the only thing he cared about was the bottom of a bottle. And then he had to leave me, too. Guess he was just hangin' in there until I could take over his precious company. But hey, apple doesn't fall far from the tree, does it?" He laughs, dryly.
"Tony," Steve reaches out to place a hand on his friend's shoulder, who promptly shrugs it off. "He didn't leave you. He, he died, Tony."
"And what do you know about that night?"
"I don't know much at all," he realizes. He remembers Tony getting the call, and abruptly leaving. He had never asked him about it, figuring Tony would talk when he wanted to. The news had just said something about a lab accident, but Steve knew they didn't know much, either.
"You're right. You don't know," Tony's voice starts to break, and he sits down on the floor, leaning against the bar. "You don't know that he wasn't in some stupid lab accident. You don't know that a maid found him, at his office desk with an empty bottle of whiskey in one hand, and an empty bottle of pills in the other. So yeah, he just left me, too."
Steve sits down next to him, allowing the younger man to lean over onto him. He laces their hands together, and presses a kiss to his forehead.
"Tony," Steve says softly. "I will never leave you. You're the only person I have left in this world. You should have told me about your father, I would have been there for you. I am here for you."
"I know."
"So. Will you let me help you?"
"I don't…I don't need help."
"Tony," Steve pushes apprehensively, "you do need help. Your father was depressed and an alcoholic. Which caused the other may not be clear, but after it drove away your mother it only spiraled. I'm not going to let you keep heading down that path. Let me help you."
"I just, okay," he sighs. "But, can I take a nap? I can hardly think straight right now."
Steve laughs, and helps Tony to his feet. "Fine, but drink some water, first."
Once Steve got Tony to a real bed, he set about with his plan. Starting first with the bar and kitchen, he cleansed the entire place of alcohol. In every room of every floor of the apartment, Steve meticulously searches for even the smallest bottles and flasks. The only place left is Tony's bedroom, and his workshop. For the workshop, he would need Tony's entry code and help, so he didn't mess anything up. For his bedroom, he really only needed Tony to be awake.
It's been a few hours since he started his undertaking, and as he finally collapses on the couch Tony appears, looking much better than he had that morning.
"Hey. Thanks for being so cool with me earlier, man," Tony starts, until he notices the empty bar. "What the fu-" he started, before seeing the look on Steve's face. "I mean…thanks. Did you get the whole bar?"
"I got the entire place."
"You what?"
"Except for your workshop and bedroom."
"I-I well, wow. You had your work cut out for you. Thanks. Thank you. For caring."
"You're welcome," Steve reddens a little. "It wasn't a big deal. I just wanted to make sure you're okay."
Tony sits by Steve on the couch, wrapping his arms around his best friend. This makes Steve's heart beat a little faster, and he's hoping Tony won't notice.
It's a surprise when it happens. Tony is just about to press a kiss to Steve's cheek, when Steve turns to ask if he wants to finish the last two rooms. When Tony's lips connect with the other man's, they both freeze. It's weird. Steve knows it is. He is paralyzed with fear, though, and can't break away. That's when Tony slips a hand around to the back of his neck, and the other onto his cheek, and leans into the kiss. Steve just about melts at that point, pushing gently into the kiss as well.
When they break apart, Steve stares at Tony, waiting for the younger man to speak.
Finally, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Steve says, smiling bigger than he thought possible.
"I love you," Tony blurts out, before a look of horror crosses his face. But he continues, "That's why I call you every Sunday. I panic. I know by the end of the week how badly I've fucked up all week. And I just don't want it to repeat the next week. I can't take any more of the random girls, and guys, and in a moment of sobriety, I call you. Then I feel like an idiot. So then I drink. It just seems to make sense at the time and I-"
Steve stops him with a kiss. "Stop, it's okay. I understand. And you don't know how long I've wanted to hear you say that."
"Wait, really?"
"Tony, I have loved you as long as I have known you."
"I'm sorry," Tony says, looking guilty. "I wish I could be romantic, say the same," Steve laughs at this, "but I think I really realized once my dad died, and you were the only person there for me, who understood me."
"Don't be ridiculous, Tony. I really didn't expect you to feel anything at all," Steve till beaming. "But I'm glad you do."
Tony presses another kiss to Steve's mouth.
"Well then. I'm going to get better. For you. What do you say about letting me help you finish up those last two rooms?"
"It's a date."