"I'm looking at you through the glass

Don't know how much time has passed

Oh God, it feels like forever,

But no one ever tells you that forever feels like home

Sitting all alone inside your head"

—Through Glass, Stone Sour


"Sir?"

The word broke through Tony's sleep. He woke slowly, emerging from a dream he barely remembered. The bed was soft beneath him. Cool air breezed over his arm while the rest of him was cocooned and warm. He didn't open his eyes, pulling the covers up to his shoulder and nestling deeper into the mattress.

"Sir?"

He frowned. "Not now, Jarvis." He meant to sound stern, but the words were barely intelligible.

"Sir—"

"Whatever it is, arrange it, cancel it, or push it until later. Buy doughnuts. Go wild."

"Sir, it's Captain Rogers."

He sat up, blinking the room into focus. "Steve?"

"He's experiencing a night terror, sir. My attempts to reason with him have failed. Intervention is—"

"Is he talking?" Tony croaked, pushing back the covers and rising to his feet.

"Yes, sir."

"Subject?"

"The usual."

Damn it. Second time this month. December was always a bad month, especially if it snowed, and the weather was set on outdoing itself every year.

He marched to the elevator, not bothering to grab a robe. His sleeveless tee and boxers would do. "You know the drill, J. It's party time. Get Sam on the roof."

"He's already there."

Tony raised his eyebrows. That was half-impressive. Teleporting would be more so, but they worked with what they had.

He entered the elevator, breathing in that distinct elevator smell, and it descended without his command. As he tried to organize his thoughts, he yawned. It was going to be a long night. He shivered under the fluorescent lights as the silence stretched. Now that he was awake, the silence was unsettling.

"Little music wouldn't hurt," he grumbled.

The Jaws theme song began playing.

He frowned. Uh-huh.

"Jarvis, are you… being funny?"

"My sources indicate that humor eases tension, sir."

"Consider it eased. Mute music and back away from the turntable slowly." He ran a hand through his hair, considering the matter at hand. "Remind me of Sam's ETA to destination."

"Six minutes."

Not good. Tack on a few more minutes for greeting, retrieval, and arrival, and they were talking ten minutes, at least. He could keep Cap calm for ten minutes, couldn't he? Nervously, he blew out a breath. His fingers drummed against the elevator railing. It was too long, but then, thirty seconds would be too long.

"Update on Cap's status?"

"Agitated."

"You don't say?" he bit out. "Gonna need a little more than that, J."

"He resides in the northwest corner of the bedroom. He was wandering, but he knocked over the lamp again, and—"

"Tripped?"

"Cut his feet on the glass, sir. I've alerted the medbay of his imminent arrival."

Tony took a deep breath. "How could he shred his feet again? The new lamp is plastic."

"The bulb, sir."

"Oh, for the love of…" That did it. Overhead lights from now on. This time, he'd babyproof the whole room when Cap was away. He'd even install carpet on top of thick foam padding. While he didn't care about replacing the appliances on a regular basis, he did care about finding solutions because solutions fixed problems and if this remained an unsolved problem, then what was the point of being a genius?

Finally, the elevator eased to a stop and the doors slid open.

Tony winced. Already, he could hear it. Steady murmuring from beyond the bedroom door. Cap kept it closed at night as a safeguard against wandering too far during one of his… episodes. He wasn't of sound mind to know where he was, let alone how to open a door.

Small favors.

Tony eased his way out of the elevator, scanning the living room. Occupational habit. It was vacant and sparse. He'd suggested a decorator once. Cap had just laughed as if it was a verbal jab, but he'd been serious. This place needed some serious jazzing up. A few black couches and a record player didn't do the space justice.

"Anyone home?" he called, not expecting an answer. He cocked his head to listen for one anyway, but the murmurs continued unabated. "Knock-knock, sunshine."

There was a soft thud, thud, thud in response. But that was it.

His steps were smooth as he approached the bedroom. Slow and silent. In truth, he was stalling, hoping against hope that Sam would beat him to the punch. After a few more seconds, it became apparent that wouldn't be happening. He was on his own.

Thud, thud, thud.

"Time frame?" He spoke quietly, although it probably didn't matter. Hydra could storm the floor and Cap wouldn't notice.

"Three minutes, sir."

He grit his teeth. What was Sam doing out there, seeing the sights?

Steeling himself, he eased open the bedroom door. Jarvis had activated the emergency backup lights, so the room had a cool-white glow. It was almost gray, reminding him of a prison cell.

He looked around for signs of life. When he found it, he froze. Strictly speaking, he wouldn't call the man in front of him alive, so much as an empty shell.

"Jesus, Steve," he breathed.

Thud, thud, thud.

The back of Steve's head thudded against the wall. He sat in the far corner, eyes open but unfocused on the floor in front of him. His vacant stare saw something that no one else ever would. A nightmare, a memory. Most likely something in between, where the night terrors lived.

"Can't—" he mumbled. "Can't find a way. Can't figure it—can't."

That makes two of us, Tony was about to say.

But the bloody streaks on the floor silenced his quip and then he was moving on autopilot, snatching a pillow from the bed and stripping away the pillowcase. His movements were sharp, efficient. He could almost be in the lab, grabbing tools for a sentry glitch.

Dropping the pillow onto the glass, he used it to kneel in front of Steve. The pillowcase was bunched in his hand, but he didn't try to apply pressure to Steve's feet. Not yet.

"Cap." Tony tried to catch his eye. "Steve. Can you hear me, buddy? Snap out of it. Please, snap out of it. We both know I'm no good at this. How about putting us out of our misery, huh?"

Thud. Steve jerked his head back, as if trying to fully wake up. But whatever he saw had claws in him. He didn't respond in any other way, except to utter, "Can't get it. Can't save him. Can't—" He broke off, hands clenching into white-knuckled fists.

Tony closed his eyes. He made a conscious effort to push down the emotions stirring inside him. Steve needed him to keep it together. For both of them.

"Easy. Just take it easy. You don't need to save him, Cap." He kept his voice low. "First off, you've got me, and secondly, you already saved him. You did. He's safe, he's okay, he's—Jarvis, tell me he's en route."

"Initial contact made. Second contact in progress."

He felt helpless. This wasn't working. Not just this, here, now, but all of it. They couldn't continue like this. Something had to change, and soon. He'd insist on it this time. No more waiting for this phase to end, no more This Too Shall Pass nonsense. The night terrors weren't passing.

They were just cementing Steve's past to the forefront of his mind, and Tony was sick of it.

"You're leaking a little," he said, gesturing to Steve's bloodied feet. At least the skin had already pushed out the glass shards. "I'm going to help you with that. Even I can't mess that up, right?"

His only answer was a lolling nod before—thud.

"And stop that," he ordered, pressing the fabric to Steve's left foot and holding it there. He knew his words wouldn't be heard, not over the ceaseless litany of can't, but he continued talking anyway.

"I know you're the boss and all, but you can't brain yourself on the walls whenever you want. You need to get in line for that kind of thing around here."

No response.

"Sorry. Still bad at this, I guess. Hey, have I ever told you about Jarvis' security systems?" The confidence that slipped into his tone was genuine. "We couldn't be safer. I update him every month to counter whatever baddies we've discovered recently. Aliens, robots, gauntlet-waving genocidal maniacs… even things like astral projection and teleportation, although those countermeasures are more delayed, requiring copious amounts of analyzation—"

"No."

Tony stilled. "They don't take analyzation?"

"Have to—" Steve suddenly pushed off the wall and tried to stand. "Have to go back."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, big guy." Tony dropped the pillowcase. He put his hands on Steve's shoulders, trying to press him back down. "I know I'm bad company, but I've been expressly ordered to—damn it. Steve. Hey, Steve, look at me. Eyes here." They were nose-to-nose as he searched Steve's eyes for any recognition, any lucidity. But wherever Steve was (and Tony had a pretty good idea), it was far from this place and time, and only one person could bring him back.

If they could just get said person here, that would be wonderful.

"Okay, okay," he rambled. "We'll go back, Steve, all right? We'll find him. We just have to sit for one second, and…"

He thought hard.

"And review the topography of the area. So we can plan our rescue. It'll only take a second."

He hoped.

Steve took a moment to register the words, but eventually, he gave a dazed nod.

Yay, Tony inwardly cheered. So much to celebrate.

"Here, let me help you." Hesitantly, as if Steve might decide his close proximity was a threat, he shifted himself under Steve's shoulder and took the majority of his weight. "Good," he grunted, lowering them back down in a controlled descent.

Then they were both sitting against the wall. In Steve's blood.

"You owe me a new pair of boxers." Thoroughly winded, he looked to the ceiling. "How's the calvary looking, J?"

"Incoming at any moment, sir."

Thank God.

"There's our backup," he said. "We made it."

Steve was still distant, trapped in the horrors of his mind, but he wasn't chanting or bumping his head against the wall anymore, so Tony felt he'd done all he could.

He clapped a hand on Steve's knee and held it there. It was awkward—Mr. Touchy Feely, he was not—but he hoped it would be grounding in a way his verbal charm obviously wasn't.

He was just a stopgap measure and he knew that. He didn't mind.

As the seconds ticked on, he grew more aware of the ungodly hour and the fact that Steve's room was freezing. "Jarvis, temperature?"

"Cold enough to ensure continued vasoconstriction, sir."

Oh. To slow the bleeding. Still, no wonder he couldn't pull Steve from his night terror about—

The air crackled.

Tony jerked his head up. Moving his hand to Steve's arm, he lightly squeezed. "You see that? I special ordered your very own guardian angel. You can thank me later."

As the portal widened, he strained to see inside it. The warm glow of a cottage bedroom gave him some hope. But it was three familiar faces, even solemn and worried as they were, that made him feel like everything would be okay.

"It's about time. Stop for a drink at the Wakandan pub?"

"How long?" Bucky ignored his biting wit to come forward, kneeling beside Steve. He took in the bloody floor and then looked at Tony, and Tony felt like they'd be discussing that later.

"Jarvis?" he asked, rising to his feet. "How long?"

"Fourteen minutes, sir."

Bucky's jaw clenched. Gently, he cupped Steve's face. "Stevie, can you hear me? I'm here."

Steve's eyes darted forward. They were almost lucid. Then they looked away, something like fear in their depths. Steve turned his face to the side, resting his forehead against the wall. "No," he exhaled. "You can't be here."

"I am here. It's okay, you're okay now." Bucky lowered his hands. "I'm staying. I won't leave you." He nodded to Dr. Strange, who remained on the other side of the portal, and Sam, who grabbed a duffel bag before stepping into the room.

"My door is always open," said Dr. Strange. He disappeared as the portal closed with a whoosh.

Sam swallowed hard. He lowered the duffel bag to the floor, taking in the scene.

It was plain to Tony that he wanted to help. Not only was he a veteran too, but he was a damn good friend. In this case, however, three was a crowd. He'd done his part.

"I'll make some coffee," he said to the room at large. "If anyone wants some."

"Thanks, Sam," Bucky said, assessing Steve's feet. "You were right to come for me."

Sam nodded once and left the room.

Tony wondered if he should leave too, but he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. Like hell he was leaving.

Bucky didn't bother to insist. "Hey, short stuff," he said to Steve, letting his Brooklyn accent color his words. "You remember when we used to hit the local diner to listen to the radio, and we heard Take The 'A' Train for the first time?"

He nudged him, letting out a small chuckle. "We heard it was a real train, remember that? Got the idea we'd ride it, but we couldn't afford the fare."

Steve's feet had mostly stopped bleeding, but Bucky gingerly tended to a deep cut.

"We were so bright-eyed," he continued. "Nothing could shake us. 'We'll be able to afford the A train soon,' we said. 'I bet the A train is just one stop away,' we said."

Though Steve kept his head turned away, a ghost of a smile passed over his lips. Remembering a time before.

"Let's see," Bucky said, "How did the lyrics go?"

He looked at Tony, who muttered for Jarvis and then nervously bit his lip. Bucky must have been trying to replace one train memory for another. It wasn't the worst idea.

The song began playing, volume low.

You must take the A train… to go to Sugar Hill, way up in Harlem…

"If you miss the A train…" Steve whispered along. "You'll find you've missed the quickest way to Harlem…"

"That's right," Bucky praised. "You remember the lyrics."

Steve peeked at Bucky. His gaze was clearer now, but cautious. "Are you really here?" he asked. "You fell."

"That was a long time ago." Bucky took Steve's hand, pressing it to his own chest. "Feel that. Warm, alive. Strong."

Soon, you will be on Sugar Hill in Harlem…

"Bucky."

"That's me."

"You're here."

Bucky tilted his head. "You needed me."

"We were on the train. I tried to save you."

"You know what your problem is?" Bucky clasped his shoulder affectionately. "You're a punk. You're too dumb not to run away from a fight. You've been fighting our past for 85 years. Let it go."

"Can't." He sounded broken.

Bucky sobered at that. "You can't let it destroy you. If you want a fight, that's the battle worth fighting. Fight for yourself. I'll help you through it."

Steve seemed to study Bucky for a long moment. He blinked hard, as if he couldn't trust his own eyes. Then he blinked again. Bucky just waited patiently.

Finally, he took a deep, shuddering breath. "Deal," he whispered.

"And if it doesn't pan out… If you go bananas, crackers, and nuts… I'll get us matching straightjackets. I'm with you to the end of the line, pal."

Steve reached out, pulling Bucky forward in a crushing hug. He ducked his head down, hiding his face.

"I knew you'd come back," he said, words muffled. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." He let out a harsh breath, arms flexing as he tightened his grip.

"Nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all."

Tony felt an ache in his chest.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that Steve, the most annoyingly selfless human being on the planet, still felt at fault for an accident from a lifetime ago. It was a goddamn accident. The weight of Bucky's suffering had never been Steve's to bear. It wasn't right.

As he stared down at them, he tried to take comfort in how they had each other.

It wasn't enough.

But it was something.


"And it's the stars

The stars

That shine for you.

And it's the stars

The stars

That lie to you"

—Through Glass, Stone Sour