Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony always thought that, if the world were to end, the person he'd want to have by his side was Steve Rogers.

The world… hasn't ended. Not really. But it sure as hell feels like it has. And Steve…

Steve isn't by his side.

There's no point in thinking about Steve — Steve's broken promises, Steve's shield hitting the chest plate of his armor with super soldier strength, breaking the arc reactor in half. Breaking Tony’s heart. Steve, keeping secrets and then leaving. Steve, sending him a letter and a burner phone like that's an acceptable way to apologize.

There's no point in thinking about Steve. But Tony's never been good at keeping Steve out of his mind — not when they were teammates, not in the two years they've been away from each other.

Sometimes, he thinks he can still feel the flip phone in his pocket. Sometimes he reaches for it, only to remember that he left it with Bruce, back on Earth.

Sometimes he misses it.

Sometimes, he wishes he could still go to his contact list simply to stare at Steve's name like he used to whenever he couldn't sleep at night.

Sometimes he thinks it'll be like this forever.

“This is day twenty-one...” Tony pauses, taking a second to redo the math in his head. “Uh, twenty-two. Tricky thing, keeping track of time up here.” His damaged helmet stares back at him, eyes glowing, recording him. Recording a message he doesn't even know if Pepper will ever find, but he needs to say goodbye now, and she needs to be the first to hear it, because she's been there for him this entire time.

“I don't know if you'll ever see this, Pep. God, I hope you do, I hope— I hope you're still there, all of you— Rhodey, Happy, Bruce…” Steve, his merciless mind insists.

He'll never even know how many people he's lost. He thinks about Peter, about the way he can still feel the kid's weight in his arms — can feel it fading away, disappearing as Peter disintegrated right in front of him — and he wonders how many of his loved ones have had the same fate. Perhaps everyone, he thinks with a heavy heart.

Tony lets out a long sigh, his eyes falling closed. “I wish I had a different reason to record this message, but… We did everything we could. Me and the blue meanie back there.” He turns to look at Nebula with a soft smile on his face. She's been a good friend to him in these twenty-two days. Their eyes meet as he spots her sitting at the table where they've played paper football together. She's still keeping an eye on him.

Tony takes a deep breath as he stares at his damaged helmet again. “There's nothing left to do. Oxygen will run out tomorrow, and that'll be it.” He doesn't tell her how Thanos almost killed him. How, even if they had enough oxygen to survive a few more days, he'd die from starvation or dehydration soon anyway. Pepper doesn't need to hear about any of that. “Remember I said no more surprises? Well, I was really hoping to pull off one last one, but it didn't… didn't work out this time. I guess I just wanted to say I—”

He's not sure what he wants to say.

Pepper has stuck with him through the hardest times of his life, first as his assistant, then as his girlfriend and CEO, and then as whatever it is they have going on now, because they're not together, but she's always been there — a constant in his life ever since she started working for him, and even more after he became Iron Man.

And then she broke up with him because of Iron Man, and still she stayed. And she kept trying, kept taking him back each time they broke up, and Tony thinks that deep inside she knew it was hopeless each time. That he was too much for her. He never blamed her for it, of course. He'd be too much for anyone.

He wants to tell her he's sorry for everything. He wants to tell her he loves her. He thinks that maybe now she will finally be able to move on, find someone who will make her happy and won't build a dozen Iron Man suits right after promising her that they're going to stop avenging and settle down.

He settles for, “I miss you, Pep. I really hope you're okay.”

Tony reaches for the helmet to stop the recording. He feels so weak, so tired, and he thinks he should probably lie down before he passes out. But as his fingers make contact with the cold metal of the helmet, he knows he can't let himself fall asleep before recording another message.

It's his last chance to do it, after all.

He starts the recording. Glowing eyes scan him again, bathing his face in white light.

Tony squints a little as the light hurts his eyes, and tries to sit up straighter.

"Hey, Cap—" the old nickname slips out naturally, as if Tony had never stopped calling Steve that, and the pang of longing that comes with it makes his chest ache. What he and Steve had — whatever it is that they had — is long gone now. The grief Tony still feels is a weight he's been carrying with him for the past two years. A weight he's been unable to let go of.

Or maybe unwilling would be a more fitting word for it.

He's not sure where to start. He doesn't know how to talk to Steve anymore, and this is why he never called — how could he even begin to put into words the mess of anger and sadness and betrayal and hopelessness and love that threatens to overwhelm him whenever he thinks about Steve?

He needs to pull himself together. He has things he needs to say to Steve, and Steve might never get to hear any of it and Tony will never get an answer, but he needs to get it off his chest anyway.

“How funny is it,” he finally says, unable to keep the bitterness out of his tone, “that I never called or texted you in the past two years, and now that I'm going to die, the person I want to talk to the most is you?”

Tony shakes his head, looking away from the helmet, avoiding its eyes like he would have avoided Steve's. "I think it's because you'd get it, you know. You'd understand me right now. How it feels to be stuck… To know you're going to die, with no alternative but to wait for it to happen…”

It's interesting, he thinks, that he and Steve are so different and yet have so much in common. So much shared experience. It used to be so easy to talk to Steve before the Accords. Before he lost Steve's friendship.

“And it's ironic, isn't it, how I spent the past six years waking up in a cold sweat from nightmares about dying in space, only to find myself here now…” He lets out a chuckle, but that sounds bitter too. Oh, his dreams may not come true, but his nightmares certainly do. He might find humor in it if it weren't for the terror he feels whenever he stares out the windows of the Benatar and sees nothing but darkness.

“You'd understand this, too,” Tony mutters, his eyes fixed on his own hands on his lap. How many times, while living at the compound, did Tony get up in the middle of the night only to run into Steve in the kitchen? How many times did Steve keep him company while Tony drank coffee at 4 A.M. just to avoid falling back asleep and finding himself surrounded by an army of Chitauri again? Steve had nightmares too, of course, about the ice. Steve got it.

Somehow, even when they didn't see eye to eye, it was Steve who always truly understood him in the end. He thinks that that's why he trusted Steve so much.

That's why Steve's betrayal hurt so much.

But this is the moment people start thinking about all of their regrets, and Tony has a never-ending list of those. More than anything, he regrets not having called Steve before getting on this goddamn ship, even if just to hear Steve's voice one last time, no matter how much it would've killed him to do so.

He wants to ask Steve if there's anything he could've done to fix things between them. If Steve knows that when he left, he took a part of Tony with him.

Some words are too difficult, some feelings are too painful to say out loud.

“I'm sorry I never called,” he manages. “I carried that damn flip phone with me everywhere I went. Drove Pepper crazy. I should've called, I should've told you how I—”

No. He can't tell Steve how he feels now. There's no point in confessing his love in a message he doesn't know if Steve is ever going to hear, and even if he does hear it Tony will be dead by the time he does, and it won't matter anymore.

His feelings for Steve, however unconditional and unchanging, have never mattered, because Steve has never loved him back.

"I don't know if you'll ever find this,” he says then, like he said to Pepper, but his voice is weaker now. “I hope you're still there, Cap, you— you have to be. The world needs you, now more than ever.” He doesn't know how anyone could live in a world without Captain America, especially now. He knows that he couldn't.

All he can do is hope to God Steve is still alive, for the sake of everyone else.

He sighs, his eyes falling closed, and he wishes it weren't too late for a reconciliation.

“Please take care of them. I know you will, because that's what you do. Pepper, Rhodey, Happy, the team— Everyone. Whoever’s left, just— take care of them for me, Cap.”

He looks away from the helmet, avoiding its glowing eyes again, the eyes that light up Tony's face like spotlights. What if they're all gone? What if they're all gone and so is Steve? What if they're gone because he failed to find a way to keep Earth safe, because he wasn't strong enough to protect them?

His vision goes blurry as tears form in his eyes, and he reaches for the helmet again to stop the recording, its glowing eyes going dark as Tony turns it off. Steve doesn't need to see him cry.

He wishes he could see Steve again, even if one last time, even if for a second.

Tony puts the helmet down and covers his face with his hands, trying to stifle a sob.

“Tony,” Nebula quietly calls his name. Tony hasn't even heard her approaching, but her hand squeezes his shoulder gently as she kneels by his side, her worried eyes fixed on him. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he says, and they both know it's a lie, but she doesn't call him out on it.

“Come on, you need to rest,” she says, helping him up, and Tony feels too weak to argue. So he nods, leaning into her for support as they walk, and she helps him into the chair where he's going to fall asleep and never wake up again.

He wants to tell Nebula he's sorry that he couldn't get them out of here. That she deserves better than this, better than to die stuck here with him. He can't make himself speak.

As his eyes fall closed, his mind wanders back to Steve. Steve's face was the first thing he saw when he woke up after the wormhole. After finding himself alone in space, convinced that he was going to die. Steve, with eyes as blue as the sky on a sunny day, lighting up as they looked into Tony's. Steve, smiling like Tony was his favorite person in the whole world.

If Tony could make one wish right now, it would be to wake up to those blue eyes again.

Tony walks out of the spacecraft slowly, leaning on Nebula maybe a little more heavily than he would like to, when Steve comes running up to him at super soldier speed. Steve gives Nebula a nod as he offers Tony his arm, and Tony takes it, clutching it with both hands, needing both support and proof that this is real and not some kind of hallucination.

Proof that Steve is really here. That the world hasn't lost Captain America, even though Tony lost Steve two years ago.

“Cap.”

Steve offers him a soft smile. “Hey, Tony.” His free hand finds Tony's shoulder and squeezes a little — like he, too, can barely believe that Tony's real. “You're safe now,” Steve tells him, and Tony thinks he sounds a little choked up. “You're home.”

Six years ago Tony survived the endless darkness of space just to be brought back home to Steve. Today, history repeats itself. Tony wishes they were still the same people they were back in 2012, he wishes that the world were still the same, and that they could start over — no history, no resentment, no heartbreak.

He holds on to Steve like his life depends on it, like Steve will disappear if he lets go. His chest hurts as he breathes, as he tries to control the turmoil of emotions inside him, because Steve is here and Steve is safe and he wants to cry in relief, he wants to lean against Steve's chest and wrap his arms around him and let the steady beat of Steve's heart chase all his worries away.

Steve wouldn't let him, would he? Steve wouldn't want him to. Steve doesn't like him like that.

But Steve's here — comforting somehow, familiar. Tony thought he'd never see him again, that he'd never see anyone again.

“I couldn't stop him,” Tony says, his voice weak and raspy as he squeezes Steve's arm with all the strength he has left.

Steve wraps an arm firmly around him, ready to hold him up, and it makes Tony's heart ache. Steve's eyes still look so sad. So broken. Tony has never seen him like this. “Neither could I.”

“I lost the kid,” Tony confesses helplessly, tears forming in his eyes again. He failed, he wasn't strong enough, he wasn't enough—

“Tony, we lost,” Steve says with a grimace, like it hurts him to admit it. “All of us.”

They weren't enough.

Tony nods, trying to hold back his tears because he fears that once they start falling they'll never stop. He finally tears his gaze away from Steve to see Natasha, Rhodey, and Bruce standing at a distance. Tony wonders how long they've been standing there, if they've been watching him and Steve this whole time.

He's about to ask about Pepper, already expecting the worst, when she comes running in his direction. Steve politely steps out of the way as she pulls Tony close, and he finds himself enveloped in her arms, his face buried in her hair. It smells just like he remembers. Familiar. Like home.

“Oh, my God,” Pepper says, squeezing him tighter. “Oh, my God, Tony, I was so worried.”

“It's okay,” he says softly, returning the hug, running his fingers through her hair the way he always liked to do. “I'm here now, Pep. I'm okay.”

But Tony's eyes find Steve's again as Pepper kisses Tony's cheek, and Tony thinks he sees a pained expression in Steve's face before Steve turns away.

“Come on, let's get you inside.” Pepper starts leading him into the compound, with Rhodey hurrying to grab Tony's other arm and help him walk. As Tony turns his head to look over his shoulder, he sees Steve still standing on the exact same spot they left him.

He still sees pain in Steve's eyes. And something that looks like longing.

Tony's probably seeing things that aren't there.

“Tony, I'm gonna need you to focus.”

It's the first time he's seeing Steve in two years, and this is what he gets, instead of an apology — Steve telling him to focus. Like he's not paying attention. Like he could think about anything other than what he just went through.

Anything but the fact that he failed, that a kid died in his arms not three weeks ago. That a kid disintegrated into ash, still holding onto Tony and begging not to die, and Tony could do nothing to prevent it, nothing but to watch it happen. So many people died because Tony wasn't strong enough to fight Thanos on his own. Without Steve. Without the rest of the team.

No matter how hard he'd tried, no matter what he did to keep his friends and the entire planet safe, he always knew something like this was going to happen. He warned Steve about it, he warned the whole team about it four years ago, that whatever he could do — whatever they could do, it wouldn't be enough. Steve didn't listen. Nobody did. Worse than that — Steve reassured him that it would be fine, because the team would always be together. Because Steve would always be with him.

Oh, Steve had never said that he was making a promise, no. But it felt like one to Tony regardless, because it felt like Steve meant it. Because he trusted Steve.

People change, he supposes. Things change. Shit happens.

“And I needed you, Steve,” he says. “As in past tense. That trumps what you need.”

That's a lie, of course, and Tony thinks that at least half of the people in the room can see right through him. Including, maybe, Steve himself. It's a lie. He still needs Steve, present tense. He will always need Steve. He thinks he needed Steve before he even met him. It's just one of the laws of the universe. Tony Stark needs Steve Rogers. He's given up trying to change that.

“You know what I need?” Tony reaches for the table in front of him for support as he attempts to stand up from his wheelchair, clumsy and uncoordinated, accidentally pushing a bowl to the floor with a clatter. “I need to shave.”

Tony pushes himself upright with difficulty, feeling dizzy. This time Steve doesn't run to him and offer an arm to steady him, and all the pain, grief and resentment he's been bottling up threaten to finally spill out of him. “And I told all of you that we needed to put a suit of armor around the world,” Tony continues, pulling out the IV from his arm as he speaks. He hears an exasperated sigh that's probably from Pepper, but his eyes remain fixed on Steve as he continues, ignoring the pain in his arm. “Whether it impacted our precious freedom or not. That's what we needed.”

“Well, that didn't work out, did it?” Steve asks so quietly, like he knows he shouldn't argue but can't help himself.

Tony hates all of this.

“It could've worked!” He raises his voice without even realizing he's doing it, upset enough that he doesn't care that they're not alone, that there are people in this room who don't even know why he and Steve are arguing. “If you'd believed me, if you'd let me try again, if you'd helped me protect this planet—”

“Tony—”

“This could've been prevented, Cap,” he insists, not interested in whatever Steve was going to say. “But that wouldn't work for us, right? We're the Avengers. Not the Pre-vengers.”

“Okay, Tony, that's enough.” Rhodey reaches for him, resting a hand on his arm, squeezing a little to get his attention. “You made your point, okay, now sit down.”

“No, wait, I'm not done.” Tony pulls his arm out of Rhodey's hold without even looking at him. “I said we'd lose. Remember that, Cap? Remember what you said to me? You remember, you have an eidetic memory.”

Rhodey's hand rests on his shoulder this time. “That's enough, Tones. You're sick, come on, you need to rest—”

“I'm fine,” Tony says, stepping away from Rhodey again, pretending that the room doesn't spin around him and that he doesn't feel as weak as he does. He can't sit down and be quiet. He has things to say and Steve needs to listen.

“You said we'd do that together too. You looked me in the eye and said that. And I believed you. But guess what, Cap? We lost. And you weren't there.”

You broke your promise, he wants to say. You left me alone. All I ever did was trust you. All I ever did was love you.

“Tony.” Steve steps closer, too close, and somehow still not close enough.

“So no. I got nothing for you, Cap,” Tony says, angry at Steve and even angrier at himself. It makes him feel even more like a failure, having to admit that he doesn't have the answers Steve is seeking. It hurts that Steve is here for answers and not for him, and for a moment all he wants is to hurt Steve back. “I've got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada— No trust. Liar.”

He wonders if he's imagining tears in Steve's eyes or if they're really there. He feels lightheaded, but he's almost certain that he sees in Steve's eyes the same pain he feels.

“Here, take this with you,” Tony says, one hand detaching the arc reactor — the housing unit of Mark 50 — from his own chest, the other grabbing Steve's wrist and pulling his hand towards him. He places the arc reactor in Steve's palm and swears he hears Steve gasp when it touches his skin. “You find him, you put that on, and you hide.”

He wants to tell Steve to wait — wait until he recovers so he can come along, because they're going to need everyone to defeat Thanos, the whole team, whoever's left, and Tony wants to help.

But then Steve's free hand comes up to cover Tony's, and his gaze falls to where their hands meet. Steve's skin is so warm and there isn't enough air in the room. Tony lets his eyes fall closed for a moment, willing the dizziness to go away and thinking that maybe it's time to take Rhodey's advice and sit down.

He feels naked without the comforting weight of Mark 50's arc reactor against his chest, too vulnerable without his suit, defenseless in front of Steve, who has broken his heart once, and is somehow doing it again, because he still has that power. Because six years ago Tony put his heart in Steve’s hands, handed it to him as easily as he handed him Mark 50 just now, and he always knew it would be a bad idea, but he doesn’t think he ever truly had a choice in the matter. Tony hasn't had shrapnel in his chest for five years now, but it hurts like he still does, and Tony never knew that heartbreak could feel like this.

“Tony, are you okay?” Steve's voice sounds distant, like Steve is far away instead of standing right in front of him. He thinks that the hand cupping his cheek has to be a figment of his imagination.

It takes all the strength he has left to open his eyes and look at Steve again. He tries to focus on Steve's worried eyes as his vision blurs, and he can feel his own body going limp just as Steve's arms wrap around him tightly.

He thinks he hears Steve saying his name again, right next to his ear, as everything goes dark.

Chapter Text

The next time Tony opens his eyes, it takes him a little while to realize where he is. In the dim light he can see he's in a hospital bed, his left arm hooked to an IV again, and as he looks at the windows he realizes he's still at the compound. The blinds are closed, and it looks like it's dark outside — probably the middle of the night, judging by how quiet the compound is.

His eyelids feel heavy like he hasn't slept for days, but he forces himself to keep them open as he blinks and looks around. And then he sees her: a familiar figure on a chair to his left, sitting as still as a statue — so still he didn't even notice her at first, her dark eyes fixed on him.

Nebula.

Tony's not surprised to see her here, keeping an eye on him, taking care of him just like she did on the Benatar while he had an infection.

“Did I ever tell you about this movie called Avatar?” Tony asks, his voice a little hoarse. “Maybe you'd like it. Lots of blue people.” He makes a vague gesture with his hand, but his limbs also feel too heavy, and he lets it fall back on the bed. “They're not as cool as you, though.”

“You're right, there's no one like me,” she says, her face still as unreadable as before. But Tony's learned enough about her in the twenty-two days they spent together to know that she's happy to see him awake. He can see it in her eyes.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

Tony lets his eyes fall closed again, just for a moment. “Tired. What time is it?”

“It's nearly morning,” she says quietly. “Go back to sleep. We can talk the next time you wake up.”

“Where's Steve?” Tony asks before he can stop himself, because he might be disoriented but he remembers Steve, remembers the look on Steve's face when he called him a liar, remembers putting his arc reactor — his whole armor — in Steve's hand. Remembers Steve's worried eyes and the hand cupping his face and the strong arms holding him up and those sad, sad eyes.

“Asleep, I think,” Nebula says. “They all needed rest when we got back. But he wanted someone to keep an eye on you. I volunteered.”

Tony's brain struggles to process that information in his exhaustion. “Got back?” he asks. “Where—” And then he remembers why he put the armor in Steve's hand. “Thanos.”

Nebula nods, but she's not looking at him anymore. “We found him.”

“You did?” Tony shifts to sit up a little more, but feels too weak to do it on his own.

“It was easy.” She stands up to help him, raising the head of his bed and adjusting his pillow. “I knew where to go.”

Tony pulls the covers up a little more to cover his naked chest. “How did it go? Is anybody hurt?”

“No,” she says as she sits back down. “We're all fine.”

Tony can tell that it's a lie. He's an expert at telling everyone he's fine when he couldn't be further away from it. He stares at her, but she's still facing away from him, and it's clear that somehow the mission was a failure. The mission that was their only chance.

Tony swallows hard. “The stones…?”

“We were too late,” she says, and as good as she may be at keeping her emotions hidden, Tony can tell that this time it's a bit of a struggle for her. “By the time we arrived there, he had already destroyed them.”

“Did he tell you that?” Tony's brows knit together as he tries to make sense of it. “But it has to be a lie, right?”

“My father was many things,” Nebula says. “But he was not a liar. He thought that after what he had done, the stones served no purpose other than temptation, so the safest thing to do was to destroy them.”

For a couple of seconds there's silence, as Tony takes in that information. The stones were destroyed. They can't use them to undo what Thanos did. There's no way to fix what happened.

And then the rest of Nebula’s words start to sink in.

“Wait,” he says. “Why are you talking about him in past tense? Is he—”

Nebula's dark, sad eyes meet Tony's again. “He's dead. Thor killed him.”

“Oh, God. I'm sorry.”

Her eyes widen in surprise, and Tony realizes why: no one else on the team has said that to her. No one in their right mind would feel sorry to hear that Thanos is dead. Tony can't say that he does, either. But he does feel for her. She's lost so many people. Her sister and her friends are all gone except for the raccoon, and now Thanos is gone too. And Thanos was an asshole, sure, but he was also her father — or at least, the father that she knew. Tony knows a thing or two about being unprepared for your abusive father's death and the complicated feelings that come with it.

“He deserved it,” she finally says quietly, like she's saying it more to herself than to him.

Tony wishes he felt strong enough to get up and give her a hug, even though she probably wouldn't let him. “I'm sorry you had to witness it.”

“It's… well.” She leans back on her chair. Sunlight has finally started to shine faintly through the closed blinds, and he can see her a little more clearly now. “It's over,” she says. “Nothing else we can do.”

Tony wonders if she meant to say ‘it's fine’ at first. They sit in silence again as the sun rises, filling the room with light. Tony doesn't know what else to say to her. She deserved so much better. But now they all have to face the fact that their friends are never coming back. All their hope is gone. Shattered. They're helpless. They'll have to rebuild somehow, pick up the pieces, move on without the people that they've lost.

“Well,” she finally says, standing up. “If you're not going back to sleep I should get you something to eat. Your Pepper made me promise that I would.”

He's not hungry, but he nods, still at a loss for words. Then, just before she walks away, he reaches for her, his fingertips brushing against the back of her right hand.

“Nebula—”

She looks at him again, stepping closer to his bed, and Tony takes her hand in his — slowly, silently asking for permission. For a moment she doesn't react, and Tony wonders if he's overstepping too much. Then she returns the gesture, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

“It's going to be okay,” he says then, and it feels like lying, because he can't imagine ever feeling okay again and he's sure that she feels the same. But he needs to hope, needs to try to make it okay, for her and for everyone else who's still around. “We'll figure this out. Somehow.”

She nods, and despite the sadness in her eyes, the corners of her lips curve up just slightly, in what Tony thinks is probably the smallest almost-smile he's ever seen.

Grief is a funny thing. Sometimes, when Tony keeps himself busy with work, he gets distracted enough that it slips his mind for a while, and he can almost feel normal again. But sometimes, when he wakes up disoriented in the middle of the night and his room is too dark and too quiet, it feels like he can't breathe.

When Tony lost his parents, grief felt different. That December in 1991, whenever he saw someone celebrating Christmas, or shopping, or otherwise carrying on with their lives, he caught himself wondering how the world could keep spinning now that Maria Stark was gone. The sound of laughter felt so alien to his ears whenever he heard it, because he felt like he would never laugh again. Never find another reason to smile. Never again feel joy.

Grief feels different this time. Worse. Now, the entire world is grieving. Everybody's lost somebody. Some people have lost everyone. The more he hears about it, the more he realizes how lucky he is that so many of his friends are still around. There are no jokes now, no laughter, no celebrations. There's sadness behind every smile directed at him, there's sorrow in every pair of eyes that look into his own.

Tony recovers quickly with the help of the Xorrian Elixir that Captain Marvel — Carol — brings him. It heals his body, allows him to get out of bed, to go back to the workshop and start working on his suits again. It doesn't fix the emptiness in his chest left by the Snap. It doesn't fix the fact that he's failed to protect the Earth and its people, and that whatever he can do now for the ones who are still alive will never be enough.

Tony asks Happy about May Parker, then instantly regrets doing so when Happy says, with tears in his eyes, that she's gone. All Tony can say to him is that he's sorry. People have lost their loved ones and all he can do for them is say that he's sorry, like it makes any difference. Like it'll somehow make things better.

It doesn't do anything. It doesn't fix anything. Tony's used to fixing things. Solving problems. Saving people. He can't fix this.

He doesn't know how.

He doesn't ask Steve about Bucky Barnes and Sam Wilson. He thinks he knows the answer. Nebula and Rocket left days ago. Tony's glad that they at least still have each other. Thor left as well, and Tony wishes he hadn't, because he thinks he and Thor would be able to understand each other now more than ever. Tony asks Natasha about Barton, and thinks she's probably lying when she says she doesn't know where he is.

“He lost his entire family,” is all she tells him, and Tony doesn't insist.

Grief feels like a gaping hole in his chest where the arc reactor used to be, a hole that somehow hurts so much more than the arc reactor ever did, and there's no surgery that can heal it.

Grief can be numbed, Tony tells himself as he gets up from his chair to fix himself a drink.

When Tony leaves the workshop the next day to get some more coffee from the kitchen, he walks into the team sitting around the dining table.

The team now consists of Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Rhodey and Tony himself. Pepper takes care of Stark Industries business, not Avengers business, but she's sitting with them now, and looks like she was engrossed in the conversation up until the moment Tony walked into the room.

“Tony,” she says. “How are you feeling?”

“I'm great!” Tony hopes she means physically, because then he's only partially lying. His back hurts after falling asleep and spending the night on the workshop couch, but other than that, he feels fine. Emotionally, on the other hand, he's a wreck, but he's not about to admit that in front of the whole team.

He offers Pepper a smile that he knows won't fool her, and makes an effort not to look at Steve, even though he can feel Steve's gaze on him. “So, what's going on here? Why's everyone having a meeting without me?”

“We've been working,” Rhodey says. “Repairing the damage in New York City. Helping people any way we can. We still have a lot to do.”

“You don't have to help if you're still recovering,” Steve reassures him, his eyes fixed on Tony, still full of worry, and Tony can't help but meet his gaze.

Steve stares at Tony like he's scanning him for injuries, for any sign that Tony might not be feeling okay.

Tony doesn't like it. Oh, he wants Steve to worry about him — the irrational, desperately lovesick part of his brain wants nothing more than for Steve to care about him, take care of him, love him. But wanting it is terrifying, and Tony can't allow himself to, because it can only end in heartbreak.

Steve worrying about him doesn't make any difference, anyway. Steve worries about everyone. He cares about everyone. He's good like that. It's part of why Tony fell in love with him.

Tony makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I'm fine, Cap.”

Damage repair. That sounds nice, actually. He needs this — to feel useful, to make a difference. He wishes that repairing his relationship with Steve were as easy as repairing buildings.

Tony mentally shakes himself. Focus. “I'll just grab some coffee and get a suit ready, and I'll be ready when you are.”

Tony walks into the kitchen area. He makes his coffee. He takes a sip of it before turning around and finding Steve standing there, staring at him, on the other side of the counter.

“Tony, I… I still have your suit,” Steve says. He grimaces a little. Tony wonders if it's out of guilt for not having returned Mark 50 yet, or if Steve just hates his memories of that night when Tony put the suit in his hand and called him a liar. Probably both. “I'm sorry,” Steve continues. “I haven't had the opportunity to give it back to you yet. But I'll stop by the workshop later and—”

“Keep it, I have more,” Tony says without thinking. He's not ready to deal with any of this. And then he immediately regrets saying it, because what the fuck did he just do?

“Uh…” Steve's brow furrows. “Are you sure?”

It's too late now. Tony forces a smile again. “Yeah, of course! Don't worry about it, Cap.”

And before Steve can say anything else, Tony hurries out of the kitchen and back into his workshop, cursing under his breath.

God, he needs to stop acting like a teenager with a crush around Steve. Being in the same room as Steve shouldn't make him as anxious as it does, but his heart flutters and aches whenever Steve is near, and their past still feels too recent, and talking to Steve still hurts, and hasn't Tony been through enough pain without having to revisit Siberia in his mind whenever their eyes meet?

Well, there's nothing for it now. Steve is keeping Mark 50 and probably using it as a fucking nightlight because Tony is too much of a mess to think clearly in his presence. It's fine. Tony can use Mark 47 until he makes himself a new nanotech armor.

He'll work with the team again, that's what matters. A little accountability for his failures and mistakes.

It'll be good for him.

Mr. Stark, I don't wanna go.

No— Tony holds onto Peter, holds him tight as if by doing that he could keep Peter alive, keep him there, keep him safe.

“I don't wanna go,” Peter repeats, his voice shaking, and Tony knows in that moment that the fear in the kid's eyes will haunt him for the rest of his life.

He lowers Peter to the ground as the kid's knees give out, or maybe it's Tony who feels too weak to hold himself up, because this can't be happening, not with Peter, not like this. He doesn't know how to stop this, doesn't know how to fix it. All he knows is that he sinks to the ground with Peter in his arms, and he wants to reassure Peter that it'll be okay, that he won't let anything happen to him, that he will protect him this time like he always has, like he always should have.

Peter's eyes, wet with tears, are locked on Tony's now. “Why did you let this happen?”

“No—” Tony says, his voice breaking, his heart pounding in his ears. No, this can't be happening, it can't be, he never meant for any of this to happen, he tried his best, he tried so hard—

He shakes his head and tears slide down his face. He didn't even realize he was crying. “I didn't—”

“You could've saved us.” Peter's voice is barely a whisper now, and Tony knows there's not much time left, he won't be able to save Peter, he can't do anything, he doesn't know how.

He's useless.

“No,” Tony begs, desperately, holding Peter tighter against his chest, “Please— don't—”

He can feel when it happens, can feel Peter's body starting to turn into ash just like Strange and Quill and the others did just moments ago, disintegrating into small pieces that float into the air in front of him until Tony's holding onto nothing. Until Tony's sitting there, staring at his own hands as it dawns on him that they've lost, that Thanos succeeded, and that Peter is probably just one of the many people he's lost today.

“He did it,” Nebula says, but in a second she's gone too, gradually but quickly disappearing in front of him, and Tony turns his head to look around, knowing that it's pointless because he's alone, because there's no one else on this damn planet except for him—

“Tony,” a familiar voice calls his name from behind him — Steve. Tony pushes himself up unsteadily, he needs to get to Steve, Steve is here, Steve is alive, Steve won't leave him alone again—

Steve reaches out a hand that starts turning into ash before it can even make contact with Tony's skin.

“No, Steve!” Tony stumbles forward, tries to grab Steve by the shoulders but his fists close around nothing but ashes as his hands go right through Steve's body as it disintegrates in front of his eyes. Tony falls to his knees, right in the place where Steve stood just a second ago.

“Steve!” Tony sobs, staring down at his palms, expecting to see Steve's ashes there, but there's nothing now. Steve's gone and there's nothing left of him, nothing that Tony can keep.

There's nothing left but Steve's voice ringing in his ears, as clear as if Steve were standing right next to him: Why didn't you do more?

No, Tony repeats to himself desperately, no, no, no, no—

And then Pepper's standing there in front of him, just out of reach, but only for a second before she, too, starts to turn into ash, her face wet with tears as she stares silently into Tony's eyes. Then it's Rhodey, then Happy, then Natasha and Bruce, and Tony watches, paralyzed, sobbing, shaking, waiting for his turn, wishing Thanos had just killed him.

He's alone. He's alone on this fucking planet and his friends all blame him and his friends are all gone. He's going to die here, alone, and it's what he fucking deserves.

Why didn't you do more, Steve repeats in his ear, and Tony buries his face in his hands and screams.

He jolts awake, a half-muffled scream escaping his mouth, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He looks around the dimly lit bedroom, disoriented, taking a couple of seconds to recognize the furniture, the windows, the bed he's lying in.

I'm at the compound, he tells himself. I'm in my room. Most of my friends are here too. Pepper. Rhodey. Happy, Bruce, Natasha. Thor and Clint aren't here but they're alive.

And Steve. Steve is alive. Steve is here.

It was just a nightmare. Just a bad dream.

Except it wasn't just a nightmare, because Peter's gone. Because Tony was really on Titan. Because Strange and Quill and the rest of Nebula's friends are gone too, and so is half of all living things in the universe.

Why did you let this happen?

“No, that isn't how it happened,” Tony mutters, curling in on himself, raising a shaky hand to wipe his face. His eyes are wet. He's been crying in his sleep. That isn't how it happened. Peter never said that, Peter didn't blame him.

But it doesn't matter, does it? It doesn't matter that Peter never said that to him in reality. That doesn't make Tony any less guilty. If he had tried harder, done more, Tony could've protected him. Protected everyone.

It feels so wrong, so unfair that he gets to be here when Peter doesn't. Peter was just a kid, a kid who had his whole life ahead of him, and Tony would gladly trade places with him without a second thought, if he could. If anyone on that fucking planet should have survived it was Peter, not Tony, never Tony. And Tony should have died there. Thanos was about to kill him. Strange had to trade an infinity stone for his life. As if his life were more valuable than other people's. As if Tony were even worth it.

He wonders if this is his curse, having to live while other people die because of his mistakes. His inadequacy.

Tony pushes himself out of bed and washes his face in the bathroom sink, pretending he doesn't see the dark circles under the eyes that stare back at him from the mirror.

Chapter Text

Tony wipes the tears from his cheeks with his sleeve before lifting the bottle to his lips again to take yet another swig of his scotch. It sloshes inside the bottle as he lowers it to the floor. He doesn't exactly remember how long ago he slid from the couch to the floor, only that for some reason it felt a lot more comfortable to sit that way.

Now he's thinking that maybe he should climb back onto the couch and lie down. He doesn't want to get out of the workshop to go to his room, doesn't want to risk being seen by anyone. Maybe he should just spend the night exactly where he is.

Rhodey and Pepper would be so disappointed if they saw him like this.

It's fine. He's disappointed in himself, too.

He brings the bottle to his lips again, takes a long pull. It still doesn't make the pain go away.

He hasn't been able to stop thinking about Peter all day. About him, and that fight with Thanos over a month ago — if one can even call that a fight — and the way Peter's eyes looked into his own so full of fear, and the guilt Tony's carried with him since.

Why did you let this happen?

No, Peter never said that, Tony reminds himself again. But he did hold onto Tony and beg not to die.

You should've done more, Tony tells himself, in his mind.

He closes his eyes in an attempt to stop more tears from falling, and takes another sip from his bottle, determined to keep drinking until it stops hurting or until he passes out, whichever comes first.

Before either of those things happen, however, the workshop door opens. At first, Tony's slow brain struggles to figure out who it is in the dim light. Tony watches the person's feet circle a workbench, and only then he looks up and sees that it's Steve.

Steve.

Fuck.

“Tony? Do you think we can—”

Steve cuts himself off when he spots Tony on the floor, rushing to him just like he did that night Carol brought Tony back to Earth. He kneels in front of Tony and even in the dim light Steve's eyes look red-rimmed and wet.

“Tony, what's going on?”

“Nothing. I’m fine,” Tony slurs. A tear runs down his face, betraying his words, and he hurries to wipe it away with his sleeve again. Then he figures he doesn’t really care if Steve sees that he’s crying. Steve looks like he’s been crying too. Maybe they can cry together. Wouldn’t that be romantic? He sniffles, lifts the bottle from the floor again, and offers it to Steve. “Sit down, drink with me.”

Steve doesn't reply, but he takes the bottle from Tony's hand and sets it down on the small table next to the couch, out of Tony’s reach. Tony assumes that means no. Tony should’ve known better. Of course Steve would say no, he can't even get drunk. Poor guy. It must be miserable.

“Why are you crying?” Tony asks.

“It's nothing.” Steve’s voice cracks a little when he speaks, and tears well up in his eyes again. “What are you doing on the floor?”

Tony raises an eyebrow. “I was drinking. And if you're not gonna drink you could give me back my bottle.”

“I think you've had enough,” Steve says, his tone soft and kind. He doesn’t sound at all like he’s disappointed in Tony, like Tony would expect him to be. Steve sounds like he understands.

Tony wants to tell him that it’s not enough, that it still hurts, that he needs everything to stop hurting for a moment, that he just wants to be able to sleep without having nightmares. But Steve speaks again before Tony can attempt to explain all of that in a way that makes sense.

“Alright, let's get you back on the couch.” That’s all the warning Tony gets before Steve lifts him up and deposits him back on the soft cushions. Tony closes his eyes shut as the room spins horribly. God, he feels sick.

He wants to protest and say that a man has every right to sit on the floor for no reason if he wishes to do so and that Steve should’ve left him there. What he does is swallow hard and hope to God he won't throw up on Captain America of all people. What is Steve even doing here, for fuck's sake? Looking for him in the middle of the night? They don't spend time together in the middle of the night anymore, do they?

They're not friends anymore.

He feels the couch dipping as Steve sits next to him. “You know, when Bucky died— When I thought he had died, I… I tried to get drunk. I didn't know what else to do. I thought drinking would numb the pain a bit. It probably would have, if it weren't for the serum.” Steve offers him a sad little smile. “So I get it, Tony. I get how you feel. I've felt it before. I feel it now that Bucky’s gone again. And Sam too.”

Oh, so that’s why Steve has been crying. Bucky Barnes. No wonder he doesn't want to talk about it, too. Tony looks down at his own hands. He misses holding the bottle in them. Unfortunately, Steve is now sitting between him and the rest of the whisky.

“Anyway,” Steve says after a moment, wiping his eyes with his hand. “I came here to bring you this.”

Steve pulls something out of his pocket then, something that glows pale blue in the dimly lit workshop. The arc reactor. The housing unit of the nanoparticles that make up Mark 50. Tony stares at it as it lies on Steve's palm. After that night in the kitchen, he didn't really expect to see Mark 50 again. But of course Steve would choose to return it to him. Why would Steve want to keep anything of Tony's?

Tony takes the arc reactor from Steve's hand. His fingertips brushing against Steve’s skin just for a moment, but the feeling lingers, and Tony wonders if Steve feels it too. If Steve also craves more of it. “So you don't wanna keep it.”

“I—” Steve says, and pauses. Then, “It's yours, Tony. It wouldn't be right for me to keep it. It's yours.”

“I gave it to you—” Tony speaks slowly, trying not to slur his words too much. “That night, to protect you.”

Steve nods. “I know.”

“All I ever wanted.” Tony looks down at the arc reactor in his hand, watches it as it glows. Blue always reminds him of Steve's eyes. “All I wanted was to protect people. Everyone. And now—” Now they're gone. So many of them are gone. Scenes of last night's nightmare replay in his mind, and he clutches the arc reactor against his chest. “I can't. I can’t do this anymore. He was just a kid.”

“Tony—” Steve starts, but maybe he doesn't really know what to say, because he doesn't finish. Instead of speaking, he gently pulls Tony into a hug.

Tony tenses up, surprised by the unfamiliarity of it, but Steve is warm and soft against him, and Steve smells so good, and Steve is the man Tony has loved in secret for the past six years, and Steve hurt him and still Tony has missed him every single day. Tony buries his face in Steve's neck, too weak to pull away, too in love to refuse the comfort of Steve's arms around him.

“It's okay, Tony,” Steve says, one hand caressing Tony's hair, fingers running through his curls so gently it just makes him feel even more miserable.

Steve shouldn't be this gentle with him. Steve wasn't gentle with him before leaving two years ago. And maybe Steve was right, then. Maybe Tony doesn't deserve gentleness.

It's not okay, Tony wants to say. It's never going to be okay again. His throat burns with the effort to hold back tears. I was ready to die to keep Thanos from getting that damn stone, he wants to explain. I was ready to die but I'm still here and half of the people in the universe are gone and I'm still here.

He thinks that maybe if he voiced these feelings Steve would understand why he was sitting on his workshop floor drinking whisky straight from the bottle. The words just won't come out of his mouth, though.

“You're going to be okay,” Steve says, his voice so quiet it's nearly a whisper right next to Tony's ear.

Tony shakes his head, holding back a sob, tears falling from his eyes and damping the fabric of Steve's T-shirt. “It should've been me.”

“No, Tony,” Steve says, choking up. He sniffles, and holds Tony tighter, letting out a long, shaky breath. “No, it shouldn't.” He keeps caressing Tony's hair, his other hand rubbing Tony's back softly. “You're going to be okay,” he repeats, so softly Tony almost believes it. He wants to believe it. He wants Steve to be like this with him every day, not just when he's a sad, drunk mess.

They stay like that for a few minutes until Steve stops and says, “Come on, let's get you to bed, okay?”

Tony's brain, too slow due to all the alcohol he's just consumed, is still trying to process those words when one of Steve's arms wrap around his back and the other slides under his knees. Steve lifts him up, bridal style, easy as breathing, like Tony weighs nothing. Tony wraps an arm around Steve's neck on instinct, his other hand still clutching the arc reactor, and closes his eyes again as the room spins even harder than before.

“Why,” Tony manages to say by the time they stop in front of Tony's door. “Why are you doing this?”

“I just want to make sure you'll get some proper rest,” Steve says, somehow opening Tony's door without dropping him to the floor. “FRIDAY, can you turn on the lights, please? Twenty percent.”

“Sure, Captain Rogers,” FRIDAY replies, and the lights turn on, bright enough that Tony can see everything around him, but not too bright that it'll hurt his eyes.

Steve crosses the room and sits Tony down on the large bed. He gently pries Mark 50's arc reactor from Tony's hands and places it on Tony's nightstand. He helps Tony change into pajamas and helps him lie down on his side. Covers him with the comforter. Puts a pillow behind Tony's back. Adjusts the ones under Tony's head. Runs a hand softly through Tony's hair one more time.

Tony's barely conscious for most of it. He wonders if it's all a dream. It must be. If it's a dream, maybe Steve will kiss him. Maybe Steve will stay the night.

Then Steve pulls his hand away, and Tony reaches for him, grabbing his wrist before he can stop himself. “Stay,” he whispers, and he knows he never would've done it if he were sober, but right now he's too drunk to care. He doesn't want to be alone.

Steve smiles softly. “I wasn't going to leave.” His big, warm hand finds Tony's, and Steve sits on the edge of Tony's bed.

“Leave the light on,” Tony says, struggling to keep his eyes open. “I don't—”

“You don't sleep in the dark,” Steve finishes it for him, quietly.

Tony tries to focus on Steve's face, to figure out if the fondness in Steve's expression is real or if he’s imagining things that aren't there, but he falls asleep before he can think too hard about it, still holding Steve's hand.

When Tony wakes up, still lying on his side, he notices three things: his head is pounding, his mouth feels dry, and there’s a pillow behind him. Tony removes the pillow and lies on his back, looking at his large bedroom windows. Sunlight is shining through, and he closes his eyes again as the light makes his head hurt even more. For a moment he has to think really hard to figure out how he even got to his bedroom, because he’s certain that his plan had been to sleep on the workshop couch last night.

And then he remembers.

He was drunk when Steve found him in the workshop. He’s not sure what happened after, or what Steve wanted, except that Steve carried him to bed. Tony opens his eyes again to look at himself. He’s wearing pajamas. When did he change into pajamas? Did Steve help him change? How long was Steve with him?

Tony rubs his face with his hand. What the fuck did he do?

“Fri?” he asks as he relaxes against the pillows again, his voice hoarse.

“Yes, boss?”

Tony sighs, expecting the worst. “What happened last night?”

“Captain Rogers found you in the workshop when you were drinking on the floor,” FRIDAY says. Somehow it doesn’t help that her voice is devoid of any emotion. “You cried on the Captain’s shoulder—”

“Oh, God.”

“—And he carried you to bed, helped you change, and tucked you in. And stayed until the morning.”

Tony’s eyes shoot open at that. “He did what?”

“He sat next to you and stayed until approximately 6 A.M.,” she says, her tone completely indifferent, a stark contrast to the panic Tony’s feeling.

“Why did he stay?” Tony asks more to himself than to FRIDAY, but she, helpful as ever, decides to answer him anyway.

“You asked him to.”

Tony groans. “Seriously?”

This time, FRIDAY doesn’t reply. Tony’s almost grateful for that. Then, he notices the one thing he didn’t notice when he woke up: the housing unit of Mark 50 is on his nightstand. He has a vague, mostly abstract memory of Steve offering it to him in the workshop, and of their fingers touching when Tony took it from him. He doesn’t remember anything else. Doesn’t remember ‘crying on Steve’s shoulder’, like FRIDAY claims he did. God, he hopes he didn’t say anything too embarrassing. He tends to do that when he’s drunk, or going through something that—

Oh, no.

Tony sits up, making his own head pound even more, swallowing hard as a wave of nausea hits him. He stares at the arc reactor glowing innocently on his nightstand, its pale blue light so faint now that the room is filled with sunlight.

Shit.

He used the helmet of that same suit to record a message for Steve when he was stuck in space, didn’t he? When he thought he was going to die and that all he had was one last chance to say something to Steve. He told Steve he missed him. That he regretted not calling. That Steve understood him better than anybody else. And then he put that same suit in Steve’s hand and told him to put it on.

What if Steve did? What if Steve listened to that message, what if he watched Tony’s hologram pouring his heart out about how much he wished he could talk to Steve again?

All of those things were true. Neither of those things were enough to express what Steve actually means to him. But now that he’s decidedly Not Dead, he’s not so sure he wants Steve to hear all of that.

“Fri,” Tony says again slowly, dreading the answer before he even asks the question. “Did Steve put on the suit? Did he— did he find the message I recorded for him?”

“Yes, boss,” she says. “To both questions.”

Tony groans again in frustration. Okay. So Steve knows how Tony feels about the two years they’ve spent apart. He knows how Tony feels about him. Maybe he really knows how Tony really feels about him. Maybe Steve was able to read between the lines and realized that Tony’s feelings are romantic. Surely Steve would think that that explains a lot of things.

But there’s only one reason why Steve would listen to all of that and not say anything about it to Tony — Steve doesn’t feel the same way. Steve didn’t miss him. Doesn’t wish Tony had called. If Steve had been stranded in space, the person he’d record a message to probably would’ve been Barnes, or Natasha, or Wilson. Not Tony.

And what does Steve even think of him now, after last night? After seeing Tony like that? Sure, Steve stayed with him all night according to FRIDAY, so he probably doesn’t feel completely disgusted with Tony’s behavior, right? At least Steve wanted to make sure he was alright. The fact that Steve didn’t leave Tony alone after putting him to bed last night has to be a good sign. But that’s just who Steve is, Tony reminds himself. He wouldn’t have left any of his friends alone in that state. He would’ve done that for anyone on the team. The problem is, no one else on the team is trying to get black-out drunk to avoid having nightmares. Tony is the only one who’s doing stupid shit like that.

Tony covers his face with his hands, ashamed of himself. At least he doesn’t remember having nightmares last night. Then again, he doesn’t remember much of anything, and now this whole situation with Steve feels like a nightmare in itself.

His head protests again as he stands up, but he forces himself out of bed anyway. He needs a shower and he needs about fifty cups of coffee, and he needs to lock himself in the workshop and never get out of there again. He doesn’t know how he's going to face Steve the next time he sees him.

Luckily, it’s not too hard to stay away from Steve for the next couple of days. Steve doesn’t try to pay Tony another visit in the workshop, so he only sees Steve when he’s working with the team, and he makes sure to keep the faceplate down the entire time so Steve can’t see his face. Tony leaves the workshop at odd hours, usually in the middle of the night, spending most of his time working to keep his mind off everything. He eats in front of his computer more often than not, and on the nights he does go to bed, he waits until FRIDAY confirms that no one else is up before he walks out of the workshop.

It works out just fine. Until one night when Steve finds him in the kitchen.

It’s 3 A.M. and Tony’s making coffee, because his thoughts kept going to places he didn’t want them to go to all day, and now he’s scared of falling asleep and finding himself on Titan again with Peter or another one of his friends turning into ash in his arms. Distracted as he is, Tony only hears Steve approaching when Steve is already walking into the kitchen area and Tony has nowhere to run.

“Tony,” he says, his voice too soft. “You okay?”

“I'm great,” Tony says instinctively, turning back to the coffee machine as it pours coffee into his Stark Industries mug painstakingly slowly. “What are you doing up, Cap? Going out for a run before sunrise?”

“I just can’t sleep,” Steve says as he opens the fridge to get a carton of milk. “There's been a lot on my mind, I think. Listen, Tony… I'd like to talk to you about something.”

Tony turns around, his heart racing. He watches as Steve puts the milk carton down on the counter. Steve has seen the message. What if Steve wants to talk about that, finally? What if he wants to say that he's missed Tony too? That he, too, has regrets about the time they've been apart?

“Yeah?” Tony says, his eyes searching Steve's face for any indication that Steve might feel that way, too scared to hope but too desperate not to.

“I’m… I'm starting a therapy group,” Steve says, hesitant, clearly as nervous as Tony feels, but apparently for a completely different reason. “You know, for people who… have lost people. Which is everyone, I know, but— I just… I think it will be good for us to talk about our experiences and offer each other some comfort. To feel like we’re not alone. And I know you’re struggling, I know it’s been hard for you, and I wanted to know if… If maybe you’d like to join us. I think… I think it could be good for you.”

Steve’s eyes look almost pleading, and Tony stands there, staring at him, with too many thoughts racing through his mind at the same time. So Steve doesn't want to talk about the message that Tony recorded and that he definitely watched. No. Steve thinks he needs therapy. And if he's going to be honest he does need therapy, but the fact that Steve thinks so too is more than he can handle right now. More than that, he can’t be in a therapy group led by Steve of all people, not when loving Steve was already reason enough for him to need therapy two years ago.

He should’ve never let Steve see him that night. He should’ve locked Steve out of the workshop, changed the override code that Steve knew. It doesn’t just hurt to be in Steve’s presence now, it makes Tony feel mortified with shame too. What does Steve think of him now? Is Steve offering therapy because he thinks Tony’s a mess? Because Tony clearly can’t take care of himself? Did he sit on the edge of Tony’s bed all night watching Tony sleep and thinking about what a disappointment Tony is?

“Therapy group?” Tony snaps, because this is the only way he can protect himself. “You came here at 3 A.M. to tell me I should join your therapy group?”

Tony's hostility clearly isn't the response Steve has been expecting. For a moment Steve doesn’t say anything. Then, his brows knitting together in concern, he says quietly, “You've been through a lot, Tony. It's okay to need help.”

No, Tony can’t do this. Why can't Steve just argue with him like a normal person? That Tony could handle. He's used to it. But Steve worrying about him like this, while firmly ignoring everything Tony said to him on that recording? That's too much. It's rubbing salt on Tony's wounds.

He turns around and grabs his mug. He can’t look at Steve right now. Steve probably thinks he's pathetic, pouring his heart out on camera about how much he misses a man who clearly never felt the same way about him.

“I’m fine, Cap,” he says, as bitter as the coffee in his hands. “I don’t need your therapy group or— or anything. I’m fine.”

And he leaves the kitchen without giving Steve a chance to reply.

Tony's doing repairs to Mark 50, loud heavy metal playing on the speakers to distract him from his thoughts, when the workshop door opens. For a second he panics, thinking it’s Steve again, but as he tears his gaze away from the armor that's laid out on the workbench in front of him, he sees that it's Pepper who's walking in. He breathes out a sigh of relief.

“FRIDAY, turn off the music, please,” she says, and suddenly there’s silence.

It's strangely comforting to see that she still does this, even now. She used to walk into his workshop unannounced and turn down his music all the time, even before they got together, when she was just his assistant. The familiarity of it warms his heart. Maybe not everything has to change, after all. Maybe this is something he can keep. He looks at her with a fond smile. “Hey, Pep. What’s up?”

“Can you come sit with me for a moment?” Pepper asks, walking to the couch without waiting for an answer. “I’d like to talk to you about something.”

Uh-oh. Those words never precede anything good. Tony puts his tools down and moves to the couch, wondering what he did wrong as he sits next to her. Maybe he should've offered her a drink. He definitely feels like he needs one right now.

“I haven't seen you around much,” Pepper says, and her voice is soft, not accusatory. Tony almost wishes she were mad at him instead, because that's easier than having her worry about him like this. He’s always hated making her worry.

“We miss having meals with you, you know,” she continues. “Me, and Rhodey, and the Avengers. But you never leave the workshop anymore.”

She rests a hand on his thigh. It's nice, this proximity they have. How they're still close, even when they're not together. A little confusing, perhaps, for his lonely, needy heart. But still nice.

Tony drops his gaze to the hand on his thigh. “I've had a lot to do, I… I'm fixing Mark 50 and working on a new suit, I've been thinking about upgrading Rescue as well, just in case you—”

“Tony.” The hand resting on his thigh is gone and now it cradles the back of his neck, and before he can say anything she pulls him in for a hug.

Tony buries his face in her neck without protest, welcoming the familiar shape of her in his arms again. Sometimes, when she holds him like this, with one hand resting on the middle of his back and the other at his nape, he can almost believe that everything is going to be okay. That everything in the world can be fixed. That he, Tony, can be good enough.

“I know you feel responsible for everything that happened,” she says quietly. “You've always had this terrible habit of taking the blame for everything, even for things that aren't your fault. Always feeling responsible for the whole world, like you alone are supposed to carry it on your shoulders. In a way I think I've always loved that about you, even though it always drove me crazy. Your need to help people. Protect people. I find that admirable, Tony. How much you care. But what happened isn't on you.”

Tony slowly lifts his head to look at her. They're so close now, her soft eyes staring at him with so much care. She loves him, he knows. She always has, even before he realized it. Even before he realized that he loved her back.

Tony leans in without thinking, craving more of this familiarity, once again desperate to fix something he knows he has broken beyond repair. His lips meet hers in a soft kiss, and for a moment she responds to it, a slow, sweet slide of lips that Tony knows too well, that feels comforting and easy and right.

And then she breaks it, and Tony knows it isn't right. Because being together doesn't work for them. It never has. But maybe now— maybe now that the world is different, maybe now that everything feels so fragile, maybe now—

“Tony,” she says again, her voice not as soft this time.

“I know,” he says, dropping his head to rest his forehead against her shoulder. “I know we've tried many times and it didn't work out, I know that, I just… I…”

Her fingers run through his hair slowly in a gentle caress. “You know, Tony, every time we broke up it was always for the same reason.”

Tony sighs. “Because I've done something reckless.”

He can feel Pepper nodding as her cheek gently brushes against the side of his head. “Yeah. And because I wanted you to stop. I wanted you to change, Tony. Every time you put on that suit and left with the Avengers to fight against some villain and I didn't know if you were going to come back to me—” She pauses, but her fingers never stop caressing his scalp, like she doesn't even realize she's doing it. “Remember when you destroyed all of your suits, because you wanted to show me that you could stop and settle down? But you kept building suits, you kept working with the Avengers, and I kept telling myself that one day you were going to stop. That one day I wouldn't have to worry anymore.”

Tony's ready to hear disapproval in her voice. Disappointment, maybe. That was the reason they broke up two years ago, not long before the Accords happened, not long before his friendship with Steve was ruined forever. Tony just couldn't stop. Didn't want to. Because being Iron Man gave meaning to his life, made him feel useful, like he had a purpose, like he was good, like he was redeeming himself for all of his past mistakes.

He and Pepper could never see eye to eye about that, because she always wanted a normal relationship where she didn't have to worry about her partner flying into a portal in the sky while carrying a bomb, and Tony… Tony needed to be Iron Man. He still needs to be Iron Man. He doesn't know how to stop.

He thinks that she must love him too much, otherwise she wouldn't have taken him back every time they broke up in the past two years. He wishes he could give her what she needs. And what if what she's telling him now is that she wants to give it another try? There's fondness in her voice even as she talks about the reasons why their relationship didn't work out. So much that Tony thinks maybe everything is going to be okay. Maybe she wants to figure out ways in which they can compromise before getting back together.

But she sighs and shakes her head. “I can't keep asking you to change, Tony. And I think that I... I need something different from a relationship. Not that I stop worrying about you when we're not together.” She lets out a sad little laugh, and as Tony hears it, Pepper's words finally start to sink in. “I think what I'm trying to say is that dating a superhero is too stressful for me, but I realized I need to stop trying to make you choose between being a superhero or being with me. I think it's time for me to accept that I can't compete with Iron Man, and move on.”

Tony lifts his head from her shoulder slowly, and she lets her fingers slide through his curls one last time as she drops her hand to her own lap. “You breaking up with me?” he asks, and the question sounds ridiculous even to his own ears, because they're not even together at this point. She has already broken up with him months ago. She's broken up with him so many times. So why wasn't he prepared for this? “I mean, for real? For good? I—”

He hadn't exactly expected Pepper to take him back after their last breakup, but now, after everything that happened… Is she finally giving up on him completely? Is he too broken? Too much of a mess? Probably. Still, he can't help but reach for her hand, grabbing it as tears start to form in his eyes. “Pep, I can try, I can— I don't know if the world will even need superheroes now, maybe I can—”

“I think…” She interrupts him, and her eyes look a little too wet too, and she squeezes his hand softly. “I think the world will always need superheroes. And you love being one. I just don't want you to make a promise you won't be able to keep.” Her hand shifts to slide her fingers between his. “But I want to ask you something.”

“Yeah,” Tony says weakly, staring at their hands as they rest intertwined on her lap. “Anything.”

“Talk to Steve.”

Wait, what?

Tony looks at her, his brow furrowing as he tries to make sense of the whole thing. He can't possibly have heard that right.

“Yeah, I know—” she says, and this time her smile doesn't look as sad. “I know what you're going to say — you're going to ask who I am and what I've done with Pepper.” Her smile widens a little, just for a moment before she looks serious again. “Look, Tony... Just go to him. Talk to him.”

Tony blinks at her, frowning. “Why are you saying that? Did he ask you to—”

“No, he didn't,” she says, shaking her head. “But I know how you feel about him.”

“Oh.” That's all Tony can say in response. Such a simple statement, the one that she made, and yet it turns his entire world upside down. “You—” He clears his throat. “You do?” He can't say that he never suspected that she knew. Hiding his feelings for Steve has been difficult at times, no matter how hard Tony tried.

“Yeah.” She makes a face that's somehow both apologetic and amused at the same time. “I know you think you're very subtle about it, Tony, but I know you really well, you know.”

“I—” He doesn't know what to say. He can't lie to her. He looks away, fixing his gaze on DUM-E in his charging station instead, painfully aware that his fingers are still intertwined with hers. “How long have you known?”

“Since I watched you miss him for two years,” she says. “I mean, before that, I… suspected… That you felt something for him. But I thought it was just some combination of devotion and attraction. But once he left I think I finally figured it out. And now, ever since you came back to Earth, I've been watching you long for him.”

Tony grimaces. He can't deny any of it. “I'm sorry.”

“Don't be,” she says quietly. “It's not your fault. It's not a choice, is it? Who we love.”

“I love you too, though,” Tony says, meeting her gaze again, because he needs her to know that he never lied about that, he never meant to mislead her in any way. And oh, God, she's still holding his hand like he's the one who needs comfort in this situation. She deserves so much better than this. “I always have. You have to know—”

“I do,” she reassures him with a small nod of her head. “Don't worry, I never doubted that. And I know you'd stay with me if I asked you to. But I'm not here to do that, because I realized years ago that neither of us are fully happy when we're together.”

Tony lowers his gaze again. He sounds sad and bitter when he speaks. “So you're, what, setting me free so I can be with him?” He lets out a humorless chuckle at the absurdity of it.

“I'm accepting that we're better at being friends than lovers.” Pepper's voice is still as calm as it was before. Oh, she has given this a lot of thought. She probably made up her mind about this days ago. Tony wishes he'd had time to prepare for this too. “And I'm putting an end to this mess we've gotten ourselves into in the past two years. All this breaking up and getting back together over and over… it won't get us anywhere, Tony. I'm tired of it.”

Her thumb caresses the back of his hand softly. Tony is still lost for words. He thinks he might start crying if he tries to speak.

“Now,” Pepper continues, “do I think you should take a chance at being with Steve? Yeah. I don't think he'd have a problem with dating a superhero.”

Tony laughs — it comes out as a sad, wet sound that would be more accurately described as a sob. He can feel Pepper's eyes on him, and he tries to breathe deeply and hold back the tears. He won't cry about this. Not again.

He swallows. His voice doesn't quite sound like his own when he speaks. “There's just a little flaw in your plan, Pep… He doesn't like me like that.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Really? I have reasons to disagree.”

Tony looks at her. “Why?”

Pepper smiles again — soft, supportive, reassuring. “Because just as I see the way you look at him, I see the way he looks at you. He cares about you. He misses you. You seem to be the only one who can't see it.”

Sure he cares, Tony thinks. But that doesn't mean romantically. That doesn't mean he'd date me. God, he doesn't even know for sure if Steve is into men. He's had his suspicions about Steve and Barnes, of course, but there's no way Tony can go to Steve now and ask if he and Barnes were lovers.

Of course Steve cares about him, though. Steve cares about everyone. It hardly means anything now that they're barely talking to each other. Tony can't even look at Steve after everything that happened since they've reunited. Steve doesn't love him. Tony's sure that Steve doesn't even want to be friends again. He just thinks Tony needs help, that's all.

What he says out loud is, “I thought you kinda hated him.”

“Oh, I did,” she says. “Of course I did. When I saw how hurt you were after he left… But everything's changed now, hasn't it? He's back, and it's clear he feels bad for everything that happened. That first night when you got back, I could see it in his eyes. Everyone could, I think.”

That still doesn't mean he loves me, Tony thinks. Not the way I love him. But he keeps that thought to himself. Arguing about it won't stop Pepper from leaving him.

It's Pepper who breaks the silence, her hand letting go of his only to rest on the back of his neck again. “I want you to be happy, Tony. After everything you've been through... I just want you to be okay.”

She leans in and kisses his cheek softly before standing up and running her fingers through his hair again. For a moment Tony just looks up at her, but as she doesn't give any sign of leaving or having anything else to say, he wraps his arms around her waist like he's done so many times before, pulling her closer, letting his eyes fall closed as he rests his forehead against her stomach.

“Pep,” he says, choked up. She rests one hand on his back, keeps caressing his hair with the other. Grounding him. She's always been good at that. He doesn't know what he's going to do if she ever stops. Tony breathes. In. Out. In. “I never meant to hurt you, Pep. Or lose you.”

“You're never going to lose me, Tony,” she says, and now her tone is firm, like this is more important than everything else they've discussed tonight.

Tony looks up to meet her gaze, the tears in his eyes making her face blurry.

“Never,” she repeats.

And Tony knows that it's a promise.

Chapter Text

Tony doesn't go to Steve. Of course he doesn't. What is he even supposed to say? Hey Cap, first I called you a liar and then I got drunk and cried on your shoulder because I'm in love with you? It's pathetic. He's pathetic.

He thinks he and Steve have probably reached a silent agreement to stay out of each other’s way by now, since each new interaction that they have is more embarrassing and infuriating than the one before. It works. It's good. He and Steve avoid each other and Tony doesn’t have to deal with all the feelings that Steve’s presence awakens in him.

So he stays in the workshop — his home, his safe place — working, making repairs and upgrades to Mark 50, building new armors and making new gear for the team. Not because he thinks they will need it anytime soon, but because it brings him comfort. Reminds him of the old days. Gets his mind off things.

But Steve apparently can’t even wait a whole week before invading Tony’s safe place again.

“Boss?” FRIDAY’s voice rings louder than the music. “Captain Rogers is outside. He says he needs to talk to you.”

Tony firmly keeps his eyes on his computer screen, typing another line of code into his keyboard. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“I did tell him that. He said he’ll wait until you’re free to see him.”

Tony stops his typing then, glancing at the door. “What, he’s just going to stand outside the workshop until I let him in?”

“Apparently, yes,” FRIDAY says, emotionless, completely unbothered by Steve’s audacity. Tony cannot relate.

What the hell? What can Steve possibly want with him now? And if it’s so important, why won’t he just use his override code to enter the workshop like he’s done before? It’s not like he’s giving Tony the option to say no here. Tony takes a sip of his drink, his eyes still on the door as he places his almost empty glass down on his desk again. “What does he want?”

There’s a pause, in which Tony can feel his own heart thumping in his chest. It feels like several minutes have passed before FRIDAY speaks again.

“He’s asking to talk to you on the intercom, Boss.”

Tony sighs. Rubs his face with his hand. Takes another sip of his drink. This can’t be good.

“Sure, what could go wrong,” is what he tells FRIDAY, with a grimace. “Put him through.”

The music is replaced almost immediately by Steve’s voice. “Tony?”

“Hey, Cap.” Tony answers, “I’m a little busy at the moment, so do you think we can—”

Steve doesn’t let him finish. "Look, Tony. You can yell at me if you want, you can kick me out, you can shoot a repulsor blast at me, I just— I just need you to listen to me first.”

Oh, no, Tony thinks. Not again. He knows what Steve wants. It’s the same thing he wanted before, and Tony’s not in the mood for it right now. “Look, Cap, if this is some kind of intervention — although I think you'd need to bring a few more people with you for this to qualify as an intervention—”

“I'm here to apologize.”

Tony stops mid-sentence, his eyes on the door, his mouth hanging open in surprise. He closes it. Swallows.

“Can I come in?” Steve insists. “Please?”

There's no way Tony can run from this, apparently. “Yeah,” he says, defeated. “Come on in.”

The door opens and Steve walks in, and Tony takes another sip of his whisky and now all that's left in his glass is ice and he really should refill it before he tries to deal with Steve.

Steve stops five feet away from Tony's desk and his eyes follow the glass as Tony puts it down. “Tony.”

Tony doesn’t stand up. He crosses his arms and leans back in his chair. “Cap.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “Tony, I...” he pauses. His gaze drops to the floor.

Clearly, Steve doesn't know how to say what he came here to say. Maybe he should've rehearsed it, Tony thinks bitterly.

Steve's had several opportunities to apologize and has let all of them pass him by. Tony's given up on waiting for Steve’s apologies. He's not sure he wants to hear them now. “Are you sure you don't want to just write that to me in a letter?”

Steve nods, like Tony’s hostility isn’t unexpected. “I know I hurt you.”

“Do you?”

Steve runs a hand through his hair. “Tony, I thought— I thought I was helping you by giving you space. I thought that was the right thing to do. Clearly, I was wrong. And I can't keep going like this, I can’t keep pretending everything is fine while you lock yourself in here and drink until—”

“You know,” Tony says, finally standing up because this is going way too far. “I don't think it’s any of your business what I do in my spare time, Steve—”

“You were wrong,” Steve interrupts, but his voice is so quiet, so endlessly sad. “I’m the one who should’ve called you.”

Tony blinks at him. Does Steve mean what Tony thinks he means? He told Steve he should've called him exactly once, in that stupid recording. Is he really here to talk about that? No. Surely not. “What do you—”

“I carried my phone with me too, Tony,” Steve says, pleading eyes fixed on him. “The whole time. Always waiting, always hoping you’d call. But I think I knew— deep inside I knew that you weren’t going to, because I hurt you too much when I left. And I was scared to call you because I knew you hated me for— for everything. But I hoped that if you ever needed me, you’d call.” Steve takes a deep breath. “But you didn’t. Bruce did. And that’s when I realized just how much I had hurt you. Then Thanos happened, and you had gotten on a ship and I— God, Tony, it was the worst— it was torture, not knowing where you were, wondering if you were even—”

Steve stops, like he can't make himself finish. Like the simple thought of Tony not being alive is unbearable to him. Tony stands frozen behind his desk, his eyes still on Steve, lost for words.

“But you came back,” Steve says, and for a second his lips curve up in a smile despite the hurt in his eyes. “You came back, and you gave me your armor.”

Tony remembers that night. He remembers exactly what he said to Steve, how he chose his words carefully, words he knew would hurt. And now Steve is here, telling him he has the same regrets as Tony.

“I didn’t put it on at first,” Steve continues. “Your suit. I took it with me like you told me to, because— because when I held it, it felt like you were with me, somehow.”

Tony swallows. “What made you put it on, then?”

“I don’t know.” Steve looks around for a moment, like he’s trying to find an answer to Tony’s question, or maybe deciding how much he should say. “I wanted to feel close to you. I…”

Tony can see the moment Steve makes the decision. He squares his shoulders, taking another deep breath, and Tony knows Steve is going to say everything he has to say now, no matter the consequences.

“I missed you, Tony. Those two years I spent away from you, I missed you the entire time. And then we were back here and… and I still miss you. It feels like you're still galaxies away from me.”

Tony doesn’t know what to do with this — the emotion in Steve’s words, in his voice, in his eyes… It's too much for him to process right now.

“I decided I’d wait until you were better to give you back the suit, but when I brought it up you said I could keep it. And I did because— because it was the only thing I had from you that I could keep. And I was reluctant to let go of it. I don’t know what I was thinking, the night I put it on. I just wanted to feel closer to you somehow. I didn’t know of any other way to do that. You were avoiding me.”

”I—” Tony starts, ready to defend himself, but Steve doesn’t let him.

“It’s okay. I get it. I was avoiding you too. I wasn’t even brave enough to sit by your bed and tell you myself that we failed at retrieving the stones. After seeing how upset you were with me I just couldn’t look you in the eye and tell you that all our hope was lost. I wanted to talk to you once you recovered but you clearly didn’t want to spend any more time around me than strictly necessary and I wanted to respect that.”

Steve pauses again, and Tony waits, unsure of where exactly the conversation will go.

“The moment I put the suit on, FRIDAY told me there was a message from you. A message for me. She asked me if I wanted to watch it. I thought it was recent. Urgent, maybe. That you needed something. She instructed me to take the helmet off and put it on my nightstand. I watched a hologram of you… telling me that you were lost in space and that you wanted to talk to me. Apologizing for not having called. Saying that I’d understand you. Talking about knowing you're going to die and waiting for it to happen—” Steve’s voice is hoarse, and— are those tears in his eyes? “Tony, I— I can’t tell you how much I regretted not being with you. Up there. On that ship.”

Tony shakes his head. “You don’t wish you’d been there. It wasn’t fun.”

“I wish I’d been with you, Tony,” Steve says firmly. “I don’t care if it was fun or not.”

There’s a pause, and now Tony’s sure that Steve’s eyes are glistening with tears that he’s clearly trying to hold back. He never thought he’d see Steve crying for him. He’s not sure he knows how to deal with it.

Tony circles his desk, stepping closer to Steve. “Maybe we should sit down,” he says, his voice softer.

Steve stares at Tony for a moment, blinking back his tears. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.” He nods, then walks to the couch and sits down. “You know, the night I watched that recording was the same night I came in here to talk to you and found you drinking on the floor.”

“Oh,” is all Tony manages to say, moving to sit next to Steve like he’s not fighting the urge to run away. All he wanted was to forget about that night. He should’ve known that would be impossible.

“You asked me why I was crying.” Steve shakes his head with a sad, bitter laugh. “And I didn’t want to tell you. Do you remember that?”

“Oh,” Tony says again, like an idiot. He doesn’t remember it. And FRIDAY never mentioned it either. “I— I don’t—”

Steve nods again. “I didn’t talk to you about it then because— Well… It looked like you needed more comfort than I did.” There’s a fondness in Steve’s eyes that Tony isn’t ready for. “And after that I… I think I offended you by saying you should join my therapy group. So I didn’t try to bring up the fact that I’d found your message. I thought that would upset you more.”

“I already knew you had,” Tony says, because if Steve’s choosing to be so honest and open about everything, the least he can do is try to do the same. “FRIDAY told me, the morning after you gave the armor back to me. I—” Tony swallows. He wants to say FRIDAY told me I asked you to stay, and why didn’t you, and how much did you hate me that night?

“I woke up alone,” is what he says, and immediately regrets it. There’s being honest and there’s baring his soul and his heart for Steve to see, and he’s not supposed to be doing the latter.

“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve says. “I didn’t know how you would feel if I were there when you woke up. I didn’t know how much you’d remember.”

“Clearly, not much,” Tony says. An attempt at humor that fails to make Steve laugh, and Tony just sits there for a moment, his gaze fixed on his own folded hands on his lap. When Steve still doesn’t say anything, Tony gives it another try. “Look, Steve… I don’t know what you think of me after that night—”

“I don’t— I don’t think badly of you, if that’s what you’re asking,” Steve says, and Tony looks at him again. Steve isn’t just trying to comfort him. Steve is telling the truth. “I’m worried about you.”

“That's almost worse—”

“Why?” Steve asks, barely hiding his exasperation. “Why is it such a big problem when people that love you worry about you?”

Tony stares at him, frozen, his heart pounding. People that love you. Surely Steve doesn't mean it like that, does he? Tony wonders if he even realizes what he just said. But Steve doesn’t correct himself, doesn’t try to take it back.

Tony opens his mouth to speak. Closes it again. Tries, one more time, to force his brain to make words. All he manages is a weak, “what?”

“I know you don’t want us to worry about you, Tony, but—”

“No,” Tony interrupts, because Steve is answering the wrong question. Maybe he is trying to take it back, after all. Certainly Steve meant it as a friend, and is now scared that Tony took it the wrong way. But Tony can’t let it go now. He needs to know. “You said ‘people that love you.’ Did you mean that? You— You love me? That’s a strong word, Steve, I mean, we haven't exactly been getting along, or even talking to each other, really. I wasn't even sure you still considered me a friend—”

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, and Tony’s almost grateful for it, because he doesn’t know if he would’ve stopped rambling otherwise. Steve reaches for Tony's hand and holds it, his touch firm and reassuring. “Yes, I love you.” Steve sounds choked up, his eyes too shiny again, too wet. Endless oceans of nothing but sorrow. Like it’s killing him to say those words out loud. Like loving Tony is killing him. “Not as a friend, though,” he confesses like he knows what Tony's thinking. “I’m in love with you, Tony. Have been, for a long time.”

It doesn’t feel right. Steve's words are all Tony has ever wanted to hear, and Steve's hand is so warm against his own, and he wishes he could just lean in and kiss Steve like he's always dreamed about doing. But in the fantasies Tony never allowed himself to entertain for too long, Steve was happy. The real Steve sitting next to him clearly isn't. It looks like loving Tony hurts him, and Tony shouldn’t be surprised, because loving him hurt Pepper too, didn’t it? It hurt her so much that she finally left him.

Steve lets go of Tony's hand, and Tony looks away, at the glass he left on his desk, and fights the urge to get up and refill it. He doesn’t think he can meet Steve’s gaze.

It shouldn’t be like this.

Steve lets out a long sigh. “Never good at showing it, huh? I didn’t recognize it for what it was at first. And then I— it just didn’t matter, then. You had Pepper. You two were great together. I’d never— I’d never try to get in between—”

“Wait,” Tony says, letting Steve's words sink in. None of this makes sense. The only thing that makes sense here is that Steve isn’t happy about loving him. “But you and Barnes—”

“What about me and Bucky?” Steve asks, and he sounds so confused that Tony is forced to look at him again.

“Weren’t you—” Tony hesitates. He feels bad talking about Bucky Barnes now, because Steve already looks enough like a lost puppy without Tony bringing him up. But Steve’s brows knit together like he genuinely doesn’t know what Tony’s asking. God, he’s really going to make Tony say the words, isn’t he? Tony sighs. “Weren’t you two together?”

“What?” Steve raises his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “No! He was my childhood friend.”

“So what?” Tony asks, only mildly offended that Steve finds the idea so appalling. “I’ve dated a childhood friend before. That turned out to be a mistake, but that doesn’t mean that it’s always a bad thing.”

Steve watches Tony with a soft smile on his face. “Bucky and I never felt that way about each other.” Then his smile is gone. “That's not why— that's not why I left with him, Tony. I wasn't— I wasn't choosing him over you.”

“Yeah, you were,” Tony says quietly. “But I get why. I do. I had a lot of time to think about it. Two years, to be exact.”

Steve bows his head, looking miserable. “I'm sorry. I know we had our disagreements about the Accords—”

“The Accords were shit,” Tony says bitterly, looking away too as he feels tears forming in his eyes, not wanting Steve to see them. “They were never going to work. I think I knew that the whole time, I just… ” Tony lets his voice fade out. He doesn't really want to talk about the guilt that drove him to sign the accords.

“I know that everything you did was to protect people,” Steve says softly.

Tony lets out a sad little laugh, and his tears fall before he can stop them. He wipes his cheeks with his hand. God, he's crying in front of Steve again, this is ridiculous. “Isn't that the same reason why you did everything you did?”

“Yeah. We’re not that different, after all, are we?”

Tony shakes his head. “Nope.”

They sit in silence for a few seconds as Tony attempts to blink his tears away. Then Steve speaks again.

“I’m sorry I left you, Tony.”

Tony’s eyes finally meet Steve’s, and he opens his mouth to say it’s fine, that Steve doesn’t have to keep saying that, but Steve keeps talking. “I’m sorry I broke your suit. I didn’t know how else to make you stop. I needed to get him to safety because he was innocent and because he was the only friend I had growing up. I— I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him and your parents—”

Tony shakes his head. “We don’t have to do this—”

“I was terrified, Tony,” Steve says. Apparently they have to do this. “I told you in that letter that I was sparing myself. And I was. I thought that if you found out… It would be the man I love against my best friend. I didn’t think I could bear it.”

There it is again. Love. The man I love. A spark of hope makes Tony's heart beat faster when he hears Steve say those words, and Tony has to remind himself that this is hopeless. Love isn't enough to fix everything between them. He wishes Steve would stop using that word.

He wonders if he could make Steve happy. If Steve would let him try. He'd do anything to make him happy.

“I should’ve told you.” Steve’s eyes are wet with tears again as he continues. “From the beginning, I should have told you the truth and faced the consequences.”

“It’s fine, Steve,” Tony says, and with relief he realizes that he finally means it. “I resented you so much for leaving, but I— no matter what I said to you— when I was up there all I could think about was that I wanted to see you again. That I hoped you were still alive.”

Steve's smile is sad, and yet it warms Tony's heart. “I was down here hoping I'd see you again too.” Steve pauses for a moment, brows knitting together, his eyes looking even more anguished than before. “Do you think we could’ve won? If I'd been there with you, do you think—”

“No,” Tony says. “No, he— he was too powerful.”

Steve nods slowly, his gaze falling to his own lap, and Tony fights the urge to reach out and hold his hand. Steve deserves better than this. Better than him.

And Steve deserves an apology too.

“I’m sorry for the things I said to you that night when I got back,” Tony says.

Steve shakes his head. “None of what you said was a lie.”

“Steve—”

“I hurt you, Tony.” Steve's eyes meet his again. “I understand that. And I can't tell you how much I regret it. How much I wish I could go back in time and change things. I'm sorry I kept secrets from you.”

Tony nods, smiles softly, and then says the words he's always wanted to say to Steve but thought he'd never get the chance to. “I accept your apology, Cap.”

Steve offers him a shaky little smile and takes a deep breath. “Well. Thank you for listening to me, Tony.” He stands up. “I’m sorry if I—”

“Wait a minute, where are you going?” Tony reaches for him this time, just managing to grab Steve's wrist before Steve can step away.

Steve stops and meets Tony's gaze again, but doesn't return to the couch. “I already took too much of your time,” Steve says apologetically. “I hope this doesn't change anything between us, you knowing how I feel. I promise I—”

“Wait—” Tony says again, realizing his mistake. He got so caught up in how impossible it is for Steve to love him that he never even let Steve know that his feelings are mutual. And Steve deserves to know, even if Tony's not anything that he wants, even if his love for Tony is the reason for his unhappiness— Steve deserves to know that he's loved. He should've told Steve that years ago.

“God, I'm such an idiot,” Tony mutters to himself as he stands up, his hand still around Steve's wrist, and Steve is still staring at him, but there's something else in his eyes now, something that looks a lot like hope. Tony's heart is pounding as he looks at Steve. “I feel the same way. About you. I— I’ve loved you since our first mission together.”

I love you. Those three little words that Tony has kept locked inside his heart for six years, his deepest secret that he can finally, finally say out loud. He wants to shout it from the rooftops.

“Do you—” Steve asks, his eyes searching Tony's face like he's desperate to find proof that what Tony's just said is real. “Do you mean that?”

“Yes,” Tony says. “You don't— You don't have to… do anything with this information. I’m not expecting you to be with me after everything, I mean, you’ve seen how much of a mess I am — I’m so sorry you had to see that, by the way — and I shouldn’t have gotten mad at you when you said I should join your therapy group because boy do I need—”

“Tony.” Steve's tone is soft. Soft as his eyes. Soft as the expression on his face. Soft as the hand that reaches for Tony and lands on the back of his neck.

Tony stops talking. Steve steps closer to him, and Tony can barely breathe. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Steve asks as he leans in closer, his gaze falling to Tony's parted lips. “Can I kiss you, Tony?”

“You don't have to—” Tony says in a shaky whisper, and he thinks he's shaking all over, and he wonders if Steve can tell.

“I want to,” Steve says. “Tony, I have wanted to. For years. But if you don't—”

Tony doesn't let him finish. He reaches for Steve with both hands, fisting the fabric of his T-shirt and tugging at it, pulling him closer, closing the distance between their mouths.

Steve's kiss is soft too, slow and tentative, like Steve is still unsure if Tony is really okay with this, like Steve is scared he'll overstep somehow. Tony wraps his arms around him and parts his lips to invite him in, and Steve deepens the kiss, swallowing the soft noise that escapes Tony’s mouth as their tongues meet. Tony's shaky hands hold onto Steve like a lifeline, scared that this moment won't last, that he’s going to lose this somehow, that Steve will change his mind and decide that Tony isn’t worth it after all.

Somehow, Steve doesn't. The kiss only becomes more urgent, more desperate, and when they part Steve's mouth moves to Tony's jaw instead, then slides down to his neck, planting open mouthed kisses there, making Tony moan, shuddering in his arms.

“God, Cap.”

At that, Steve stops and rests his forehead against Tony's, breathing hard. “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Tony says. “No, don't be sorry, that was— that. Damn.”

Steve lets out a breathy little laugh. “Yeah. It was.”

Then Steve kisses him again.

It's everything Tony has ever dreamed of — the taste of Steve's mouth, the warmth of Steve's embrace, the way Steve's arms pull him in and hold him close, pressing his body against Tony's. Tony's breathless as he runs his fingers through Steve's hair, short nails scratching the back of his neck, and Steve makes a noise in the back of his throat that goes straight to Tony's cock. Steve's hands slide down to the curve of Tony's ass, squeezing, somehow pulling him even closer, pressing Tony's hips against his own. Tony's moan is muffled by Steve's tongue in his mouth, but then Steve breaks the kiss again.

“Tony,” he breathes, panting against Tony's mouth, and Tony's heart leaps in his chest. Steve loves him. Steve wants him. Somehow, after everything they've been through, they get to have this.

Tony's fingers curl in Steve's hair, gripping tight. “Wanna carry me to bed again, Captain?”

Steve laughs, louder this time. “Yeah, I do,” he says, his hands moving to rest on Tony's waist now. “If you're sure—”

“I'm sure.” Tony smiles. “You don't actually have to carry me, though. I was just kidding.”

Ignoring Tony's words completely, Steve picks him up in his arms just like he did the other night. “Well,” he says, with a dazzling smile that almost makes Tony swoon. “It would be my pleasure.”

It's ridiculous, letting Steve carry him to his room like this when Tony can walk perfectly well by himself, and for a moment he worries that someone might see them, and then he decides he wouldn't care if someone did. Steve doesn't seem too worried about it either, because he doesn't put Tony down until they step into Tony's bedroom and close the door.

Steve doesn't give Tony time to wonder if they're really doing this — he just pulls Tony closer and joins their lips again, and it's between kisses that they undress each other, Steve's hands sliding under Tony's T-shirt, caressing his skin, exploring, making him shiver. Everywhere Steve touches feels like it's on fire, and he never wants Steve to stop touching him. Tony responds by doing the same, his hands smoothing over Steve's sides, fascinated by how warm Steve's skin feels under his fingers. Tony wants to touch him everywhere.

Tony’s T-shirt is the first to fall on the floor, followed by Steve’s, and then Steve kisses him again, his hands already making their way down to the front of Tony’s pants.

They’re fully naked by the time they fall in the middle of Tony's king size bed, and Steve's lips find his again as he lies on top of Tony, like he can't stay away even for a second. Tony reminds himself Steve's been waiting for this moment for as long as he has, and the thought of it warms his heart, fills his stomach with butterflies.

Steve’s arms slide under Tony's body to hold him even closer and their chests press against each other, hearts beating together as Steve covers Tony's neck and shoulder with soft kisses, lips gently caressing every inch of skin he can reach.

Tony can't help but feel a little nervous, his hands shaking a little as he slides them down Steve's back, because this is Steve Rogers and this is a dream coming true, and part of him still can't believe he gets to love Steve. That he gets to show Steve his love.

Then Steve lifts one of Tony’s legs to wrap it high around his waist, slotting their hips together, and Steve’s cock slides against Tony's with just the right amount of pressure as Steve moves, and oh, God, Steve is so hard already and they've barely even started.

“You’re so beautiful, Tony,” Steve says, breathing hard against his neck, his breath tickling the sensitive spot below Tony's ear, followed by another open mouthed kiss, and another, and Tony bares his throat to him and moans, shuddering under the warmth of Steve's mouth. He's never felt so loved, so wanted, so happy. “You have no idea how much I've dreamed of this,” Steve continues. “Of you.”

Tony feels tears in his eyes again — this is the love of his life, the man of his dreams, the man he only allowed himself to love in secret for the past six years. And yet Steve is here in his arms. In his bed. Steve, who has loved him back this entire time, is now kissing him, touching him, whispering sweet words in Tony's ear. It’s so much better than any dream or fantasy Tony could ever have, and it’s impossible, it’s unreal, and somehow it’s still happening, and everything else in Tony's life is wrong right now but this feels so right.

Maybe loving Steve was always right, maybe they should've been together this entire time, maybe if Tony had been honest and open about his feelings since the beginning things would've been different between them. Somehow none of that matters right now. Right now, all Tony can focus on is how wonderful it feels to have Steve so close to him, on top of him, both of them sharing this moment.

“I did too,” Tony says in a whisper, shivering as he feels Steve's mouth on his neck again, his eyes falling closed, tears running down the sides of his face. “Even when we weren't talking, even when I was angry with you, I—”

Steve lifts his head to look at him, half-lidded eyes so dark with desire but still so soft as they meet Tony’s, and Tony's love for him fills his chest, almost overwhelming now that he's finally allowing himself to feel it. Tony tries to blink back his tears, but somehow, Steve doesn't seem to have a problem with them.

Steve’s hand wipes Tony's tears and cups his cheek softly, and Tony thinks that Steve's eyes are a little too wet as well, and it’s okay, it’s okay because they’re together, and maybe now they’ll always be together, if Steve wants him. Steve seems lost for words, but somehow his eyes say everything, and Tony's hands find Steve's hair again, pulling him down to join their lips in another kiss.

It takes his breath away, the way Steve responds to it, letting Tony take control but kissing back with the same eagerness, the same passion. Tony catches Steve's bottom lip between his teeth as they part and bites, maybe a little too hard, and Steve lets out a groan that makes Tony's cock twitch where it's trapped between their bodies, desperate for more friction.

Nothing in the world could turn him on more than the noises Steve makes, the sound of Steve's heavy breathing, the way Steve claims Tony's mouth like a starving man. Tony pushes his hips up into Steve's and Steve groans again, louder this time, pressing Tony into the mattress as he rolls his hips to slide his cock against Tony's, setting a slow pace that drives Tony crazy. Steve's gaze is fixed on Tony, watching him with eyes dark with lust, and fuck, it feels so wet already, like Steve is dripping pre-come everywhere. Tony can't decide if he wants to put enough distance between them to watch it or if he never wants to let Steve move a single inch away from him.

“You feel so good, Tony,” Steve says, his lips brushing against Tony's jaw for a moment and then kissing down his neck. “I want— God, I want everything.”

Tony means to say that he wants the same, he wants whatever Steve wants, but all he can do is gasp for air as he feels Steve's lips against his chest. Steve's mouth finds one of his nipples, licking and sucking, and Tony thinks his brain has forgotten how to form coherent sentences, the perfect heat of Steve's mouth making it impossible to think.

“Fuck, Steve, that feels—”

Steve lets his teeth graze against the hard nub of Tony's nipple before he lifts his head to look at him again. “Yeah?” he says, before kissing his way to the other one to give it the same attention, and without warning his hand finds Tony's cock, wrapping his fingers loosely around the shaft and running his thumb over the head.

“Steve—” Tony moans, his back arching from the bed, toes curling. Steve doesn't stop, smearing the pre-come that's leaking from Tony's cock all over the head with his thumb, his touch insistent, maddening, while he locks his lips around Tony's nipple again and sucks, hard enough to hurt.

Tony's cock jumps, throbbing in Steve's hand. “Fuck, Steve—”

It’s amazing, having Steve like this, being touched by Steve like this. But Tony wants more, needs more. He wants everything too, wants to touch Steve everywhere, wants to find out every single way he can make Steve feel good. But right now there's one thing he wants — needs — more than anything else. He tangles his fingers in Steve's hair, tugging until Steve lifts his head to look at him. “If you keep that up you're gonna make me come.”

The corner of Steve's lips curve up in a smirk. “Good.”

Tony shakes his head, moaning as Steve circles the head of his cock with his thumb again. “No,” he says. “No, I want you to fuck me.”

That makes Steve stop, his eyes widening in surprise, like he can’t believe Tony would let him do that. “God, Tony. I—” He laughs and presses a kiss to the center of Tony's chest, the exact spot where Tony's heart is pounding inside his ribcage. “Yes,” Steve says against his skin. “Yes, if you're sure…”

“I am,” Tony reassures him. “I— Really I want everything, but—”

Steve's lips leave a trail of kisses from Tony's chest to his shoulder. “Don't worry. We'll have time to do everything.”

Tony nods, the certainty in Steve's eyes chasing away any fears he could possibly have. Steve loves him. Steve's not leaving again. Tony can feel Steve's love all around him, and he feels safer than he ever has before. “Okay,” he says. “Now make love to me.”

“Oh, Tony,” is all Steve says before kissing him again, slow and deep and so good Tony never wants to stop.

He still breaks the kiss, taking a moment to just breathe against Steve's mouth before he reaches for the nightstand, chuckling when he realizes he won't be able to reach inside the drawer from where he's lying in the middle of his bed. “Lube,” he says. “First drawer.”

Steve smiles against his lips. “Okay.” He disentangles himself from Tony to get the half-empty bottle.

“Hey.” Tony rests a hand on Steve's thigh as soon as Steve is back at his side, already applying lube to his fingers. “Stay close to me?”

“Of course,” Steve says, another soft smile on his face. He lies on his side next to Tony, reaching down between Tony's legs, humming softly in approval as Tony parts his legs for him. Steve moves slowly, one finger just circling Tony’s rim for a moment, and Tony lets his eyes fall closed with a soft sigh, relaxing even more under Steve's touch. He’s about to ask Steve to move faster when Steve slides his finger inside, and he barely has time to register that before he feels the hot, wet slide of Steve’s tongue against his nipple again.

“Oh, fuck, Steve—”

“Sorry.” Steve offers Tony a smirk as Tony looks at him, not looking sorry at all. “I couldn’t resist.” He pushes a second finger in, still slow and careful, but clearly as impatient as Tony feels. And then he curls those fingers and rubs them right against Tony's prostate, and oh—

“Good?” Steve asks, and all Tony can do is throw his head back and moan.

Tony purposefully didn't ask if Steve has done this before or how much experience he has. It shouldn't matter. But Steve definitely seems to know what he’s doing.

“Just—” Tony pants, one of his hands on Steve's shoulder, nails digging into his skin, the other fisting the bedsheets. “Fuck, just fuck me, Cap, I’m ready.”

Steve laughs. “Not yet,” he says, adding a third finger now. “I don't want to hurt you.”

It's not enough, and Steve knows it, and Tony moves his hips against Steve's fingers with a quiet moan, wanting to get them deeper. “You won't,” he insists, stubborn. “Steve—”

Steve kisses him, swallowing Tony's protests, swallowing his moans, fingers still working him open, still touching that sweet spot inside him every time they slide in and out and Tony can't think, all he wants is more, all he wants is Steve.

When Steve breaks the kiss Tony moves with him, still seeking his lips, wrapping his arms around Steve's neck to pull him closer again. Steve kisses him softly, briefly as he pulls his fingers out, and Tony lets him go this time, breathing heavily as he relaxes against the bed.

With eyes closed, he feels Steve move, waits for Steve to position himself between his legs, hears Steve lubing himself up. The slick sound is obscene in the otherwise quiet bedroom, only making Tony even more impatient.

“Tony,” Steve says quietly, and when Tony opens his eyes Steve is on top of him again, and Tony holds his gaze, and it's Steve's cock pushing past his rim now, Steve's cock instead of his fingers, and it feels—

God, it feels incredible, the way Steve fills him up, the slow slide of it, the way Steve breathes against Tony's lips as he bottoms out, the way Steve just won't stop staring into Tony's eyes.

Tony wraps his legs around his waist, clinging to him, his hands caressing Steve's shoulders for a moment before they find his hair again. Steve is finally inside him, all the way inside him, and Tony can barely believe that this is real. Steve starts moving then, just slowly rocking his hips at first, but it makes Tony gasp and moan, his own cock throbbing where it’s trapped between their bodies.

“Oh, Tony,” is all Steve says, and Tony thinks he could come just from the way Steve says his name, the way Steve breathes against his lips for just a second before he claims Tony's mouth in another hungry kiss, like he can’t stay away, like he needs Tony as much as Tony needs him.

He fucks into Tony harder, picking up the pace, his hand grabbing one of Tony's legs again to lift it higher around his waist. The kiss becomes uncoordinated, messy, but Steve still swallows every noise Tony makes, still bites his bottom lip and sucks his tongue and pulls moan after moan from Tony's throat. They pant against each other's mouths as they part, sharing the same air, and Tony never wants this to end, never wants Steve to move away from him. And yet he thinks that there's no way that this can last long, considering how long they've been waiting for this and how turned on they are, but he reminds himself that it doesn't matter, it's fine, because Steve wants to do this again. Steve wants to do everything.

Steve kisses the corner of Tony's mouth, then along his jaw, then down his neck again, whispering praise against his skin, panting and moaning quietly as Tony's hips move to meet his thrusts. “You're so good to me, Tony. So perfect, you feel amazing. Want you to come for me…”

Tony whimpers with Steve's next thrust, and he’s painfully hard now, desperate for just a little more friction. Somehow Steve knows exactly what he needs, because he slips a hand between their bodies and wraps it around Tony's cock again, and God, Tony's so sensitive now, so dangerously close. Steve is inside him, and Steve's hand is stroking his cock, and somehow Steve's mouth is on his neck, and this time sucking hard enough to leave a bruise.

It's all Tony needs — he comes all over himself with Steve’s name on his lips, arching from the bed, his nails scratching Steve's back, leaving his own marks on him. Steve fucks him through it, and that seems to push Steve over the edge too. Only a couple more thrusts and Steve is coming deep inside him, moaning close to his ear, panting against his skin.

Tony gives him time, fingertips gently tracing patterns on Steve's back, on his shoulders, on his nape. Steve lets out a contented sigh and lifts his head to look at Tony again, a soft smile on his lips. “How are you feeling?”

“Perfect,” Tony says, smiling too. “Absolutely perfect. I do feel like I need a shower, though. Join me?”

Steve's smile grows larger. Brighter. “Yeah. I'd love to.”

Tony's falling, falling through a portal in the sky, trapped inside a suit that's unresponsive, a suit too damaged to be turned back on. He still tries — tries to get his repulsors to work, tries yelling at JARVIS to wake up and help him, but JARVIS is offline and Tony's going to die, he's going to die and there's nothing he can do to stop it—

The landing doesn't hurt like Tony expected it to. It doesn't hurt at all. He's not dead. He opens his eyes, expecting to see Steve, expecting to see the team, to be back in New York.

He finds himself on Titan.

He's back on Titan, and he's alone.

Tony stands up with difficulty, the armor too heavy, weighing him down, making it impossible to move. He reaches for the faceplate, his gauntleted hand grabbing it, trying to pull it off, but it's stuck, he's stuck and he can't breathe, there's not enough air inside the suit, there's not enough air on this goddamned planet and he can't breathe, he can't—

“Tony!”

Tony wakes up with a start, shaking, panting, his heart pounding.

“Tony?”

He turns his head in the direction of the familiar voice, finds a pair of blue eyes staring at him in the low light.

“Steve,” he says, relieved, still gasping for air. Then he sits up, hugging his knees, facing away from Steve. “I'm sorry.” He rubs his face with his hand. He's still shaking. “This— this happens a lot. I probably should've mentioned it.”

“Hey.” Steve sits up too, moving closer, resting a hand on Tony's shoulder. Tony can feel the warmth of it through the thin fabric of the T-shirt he wears to sleep. “No need to be sorry. I have them too, remember? Remember we used to make coffee in the middle of the night?”

Tony nods. “I remember.”

Steve puts his arm around Tony's back, leaning a little closer and pressing a soft kiss to Tony's shoulder, where his hand was just seconds ago. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Tony grimaces. “I don't know.” He'd hate to burden Steve with it, he knows that Steve is always trying to be there for everyone, to be strong enough for all of them. But if he can't talk to Steve, then he can't talk to anybody else. “It always ends with me on Titan,” he manages to say, keeping his eyes firmly on his knees. “Sometimes I'm alone. Sometimes I'm— Sometimes there are people with me. Peter. The team. You. And then I watch you all… disintegrate into ash. It's never me, though. It's never me. It should've been me.”

“No, Tony…”

Tony can feel Steve's eyes on him. “I was supposed to die on Titan,” he continues, his voice tight. “Thanos was ready to kill me. Strange— He gave up the Time Stone. For me. For my life. Maybe—”

He swallows hard, blinking back the tears that are forming in his eyes again. God, why is he always crying in front of Steve? And Steve is going to hate him for this. He should. He hasn't moved from Tony's side, hasn't loosened his embrace, but how can he still love Tony now that he knows Tony is part of the reason why Thanos won in the end?

Tony wipes his eyes, bitterly. “Maybe if Strange had just let me die—”

“No,” Steve says, his voice thick with emotion. “I'm glad— I'm glad he didn't. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I—” Steve breathes deeply. In. Out. “My nightmares are the same as yours. Watching our friends die. But they're often about you, too. It was my biggest fear, Tony… As I told you last night… When I came back here, I— I was so scared you were never coming back. Tony, I… I wouldn't know what to do — how to be here again — without you.”

“Steve…” Tony shakes his head, because what Steve is saying is nonsense, of course he'd know what to do, he'd keep going, keep trying, keep believing in a better future, that's what Steve does. That's just one of the things Tony loves about him.

“I don't know why Strange did it,” Steve continues. He sounds like he's holding back tears just as much as Tony is. “Maybe he had a plan. Maybe that plan didn't work out. But I'm so glad I didn't lose you, Tony.”

Tony doesn't know what to say to that. Doesn't know what he's done right in his life to deserve Steve's love, to deserve being here with Steve right now. Without a word, he turns and wraps his arms around Steve, pressing his face against Steve's chest. Steve holds him, running a hand through his hair, kissing the top of his head.

“You shouldn't have to comfort me all the time,” Tony says guiltily against Steve's chest. “You're also going through all of this, but you're always taking care of everyone else. I should be taking care of you too.”

“And I know you will, when I need you to.” Steve rubs Tony's back slowly. “But you're always taking care of everyone else too, you know. That's just another thing we have in common.”

Tony could argue with that— he doesn't feel like he's doing a great job of taking care of anyone, not even himself, lately. But he settles for just pressing his ear against Steve's chest and listening to his heartbeat, letting the sound of it soothe him, letting himself relax.

“Do you want to try to go back to sleep?” Steve asks quietly after several moments of silence. “I know you usually go to the workshop on nights like this. But I'd be happy if you stayed here with me. Unless you'd rather get up and make some coffee for old time's sake.”

Tony laughs against Steve's chest. “No, I want to stay here.” His nightmares seem a little less scary now that Steve is here to hold him. Maybe they can start making some new, different memories. “I'll warn you, though… There will be many nights like this one.” He pauses for a moment. “Do you also feel like— like you'll never recover? From… Everything?”

“Sometimes I do,” Steve says, his face buried in Tony's hair. “But I have to believe that I will. That we will. We're not alone, Tony. We have each other. And that's why we're going to be okay.”

Tony nods. They have each other now. Last night wasn't a dream. It was real. But everything else that happened to him — to them — was real too, and will never go away. The nightmares won't go away. The world is still damaged — he is still damaged, and he doesn't know for sure if that will ever change. But he chooses to trust Steve. To believe that they can do this together.

This time, Tony lies down with his head on Steve's chest, Steve's arms still around him, and he thinks that he wouldn't be surprised if he managed to fall back asleep.

Steve is right. They have each other. Even if they can't fix anything that happened, maybe they can make each other better. Maybe they can help each other heal.

Having Steve by his side makes him feel stronger, and maybe this is all he can ask for.