Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Iron Man, head over to the southern border of the perimeter. You need to get the civilians out of there asap,” Steve’s voice rang clear through the comms into Tony’s HUD. He’d been scanning the streets from the sky for more casualties, but everything seemed clear here.

“Sure thing, Capsicle. Where do I go?” he asked as he flew up and emerged above the high-rise buildings of Manhattan. The HUD showed him the map of the perimeter they had secured. The damage, thankfully, was maintained within an area of three by four blocks. He’d been wrapping up on the northern side of the area.

“Oh, you’ll notice,” Steve said ominously, but Tony saw what he meant straight away. As he shot closer to the southern border, he could see plumes of smoke rising from one of the lower buildings. The HUD showed him information on the building, seemingly an office building for some social media company. He resisted the impulse to sigh. That could make or break the story of the attack for days to come. At the very least, ‘HYDRA’ would probably rally public opinion behind the Avengers. Yay. Crossing the distance quickly, he stopped to hover in the sky in front of the building.

“Jarvis, what can you tell me?” he asked his AI as his eyes roved over the building, reading the HUD's intel but not getting a very clear picture.

“It appears that some of the debris from the original explosion managed to find its way into the building, Sir. It has caused a minor fire on the upper floor of the building. However, it seems the elevators have stopped working.”

Tony nodded, thinking quickly. He hummed into the HUD, “So, the other floors are good, right? I just need to get the people out. Has the fire department been notified yet?”

“Certainly, sir, although I can imagine they’re quite busy at the moment,” came the dry response in posh British.

“Don’t sass me, Jarvis, or I’ll sell you to one of these influencers. Just get the fire department here, I’ll get these people out.”

“If I could, I would be begging on my knees for mercy, sir.”

“Ha ha,” Tony replied drily as he readied to propel himself through the window that had already been smashed by the projectile. The HUD showed him there were 13 people on the upper floor. Glancing to his left, he could see the building where it all began – the HYDRA base – and he could see Steve fighting on the street below him. He knew Clint and Natasha were hunting down the rest of the Hydra goons somewhere behind him. Bruce was still at the tower, but ready to get into the field if necessary and Thor- Thor was God-knows-where.

“Going in now. Legolas, Nat, what’s your status?” he asked as he fired the repulsors to get him inside. Within seconds, he found himself in an office with a weird amount of neon signs barking inspiring quotes at him. ‘Good vibes only’? Yeah, right. He huffed out a laugh as he focused on what he could see. Most of the space where he landed was clear of smoke, and he could see that the employees were huddled together in the corner with, unsurprisingly, their phones out to film him. As he filtered out the ‘it’s Iron Man!’s, he heard his teammates’ replies coming in.

“I’m all wrapped up here, heading back to HYDRA’s nest to help the Captain,” Clint said, disgust colouring his voice.

“Me too, I’m just waiting for the NYPD to take these guys in, I’ll be right over,” Natasha panted into the comms.

Good, that meant most of the damage had been done and it had been limited to minor losses. He heard the Captain reply something along the same lines to the two spies, before asking about Tony’s status.

“Nothing too bad, here. I’m getting these professional over-sharers out of here before they forget about the fire because of me,” he said as he walked over to the fire that he could now see. He heard Clint snicker over the comms while Nat hummed approvingly. The smoke was heavier on this side of the room, and he could see a piece of aflame debris burning into the carpet on the floor, with most of the surrounding workspaces also engulfed in flames. A neon-yellow sign telling him to ‘shine bright like a diamond’ flickered sadly at him. He raised his right hand slightly at the general area.

“You know what do to, Jarvis.”

A stream of white foam sprayed out of the palm of his hand, instantly blanketing the area that was on fire. He sprayed until there was a generous blanket of white covering the room, deciding that would hold the fire until actual emergency services could get here. He turned on his feet and walked toward the employees in the corner and rolled his eyes to himself. They’d better get his good side on the headlines tonight.

He opened his arms in a ‘who first’ gesture and started hoisting the employees out one by one, not really in a hurry, as it seemed the fight was over and the danger had been contained. Satisfaction bloomed in his chest. They’d done well this time. The team had been shaken when the anonymous tip had come in on the tip-line that Tony had set up after The Battle. The tip mentioned a hidden HYDRA base in the middle of the financial district, right under their noses. They had decided to raid the base themselves, as they would be better equipped to deal with the fallout than NYPD, which had proven to be the right call. After storming the base, they’d found more agents than expected, and the ones that had managed to crawl out wanted to go out with a blast. Literally. Explosives had gone off in multiple buildings around them, taking good chunks of the road with them. Emergency services, which had kindly been alerted by the Avengers, had been on the scene to do most of the damage control and first aid, so the team could focus on bringing all the guys in as quickly as possible. Which they had managed quite well.

He put the last of the young influencers down on the street and flew off in a chorus of cheers from the group. He landed briefly to explain the situation to some firefighters nearby, before he took off again and crossed the remaining distance to the HYDRA base. Most of the front of the building had been blown out by the initial blasts, so he simply headed into the building before landing gently on the first floor where he saw a flurry of activity. As he marched over he saw Steve, Clint and Natasha all eyeing the happenings in the room. NYPD were ushering the captured HYDRA-agents out in groups and Tony let out a breath of relief before calling out to the others.

“Go team!” At that, the three of them turned around to face him, slight smiles breaking out on their faces as well.

“Park the can, you savage, I’m not talking to a blob of metal,” Clint challenged and Tony choked down a laugh while he did as he was told. As he exited the suit, telling Jarvis to put it in Sentry mode, he felt the heat of the smouldering debris around him. The grey undersuit felt comfortably cool against his skin. He sauntered over to them and raised his brow at Clint.

“You seem awfully chipper for someone who just fought their ex,” he quipped back. Clint barely seemed fazed at his comment and had just opened his mouth to engage in another verbal battle of quick wit, but was stopped by Steve.

“Right. All in all, it seems the mission went quite well.” Tony inclined his head, agreeing with him. He eyed the three agents in front of him and they all seemed mostly unharmed.

“We should have a look around, see if we can find anything of value here,” Steve commanded and Tony eagerly nodded his assent.

“Yes, please. I wanna get my hands on their crappy tech,” he said as he flexed and unflexed his fingers. The four of them walked past the burning remains of the break room they’d been standing in and headed over to the stairwell on their left where most of the police agents were coordinating the arrests as smoothly as possible. They’d initially began the attack here, and knew from the blueprints that HYDRA only possessed the first few floors of the building. They resumed walking and entered a long hallway to the right lined with doors. Some of those had also been blasted out. They opened door after door, not finding any more spies or anything that seemed of interest until they reached one of the last doors. Tony let out a triumphant laugh as he spotted the screens inside.

“You guys go ahead and check the other floors, Daddy’s going to work these babies.” Clint’s face contorted with a disgusted glare and while Natasha raised an eyebrow at him, she nodded and left. Steve just nodded curtly and pulled Clint with him.

As he entered the room, he turned around and commanded his suit, “Watch my back.”

The room itself was not that interesting. It was nothing more than a simple room, if quite spacious, lined front to back with TV-screens showing CCTV-images and computers. As far as evil lairs went, this one wasn’t that impressive. He grabbed one of the office chairs and rolled it towards the computer, dropping down onto the chair and pulling himself closer to the computer. He retrieved a USB from his pocket and inserted it into the side before writing the code that would copy all the files on the system onto his system. As he scanned through the files he opened on the screen, he felt disappointment flash through him as nothing of interest popped up. Nothing new, at least. Lists of names and objectives that they and SHIELD already knew about. There was a pop-up on the bottom of the screen and he leaned in closer to read it. His eyes widened and his heart leapt into his throat as he jumped up out of the chair and sprinted back towards the hallway with a shout.

“Jarvis!”

Immediately, the suit’s front started to open, mechanisms clicking and whirring as Tony dove for the suit. At the last second, he whipped back around as he remembered the USB in the computer. Stupid mistake.

The screens in front of him exploded and shattered glass and machinery scattered everywhere, jagged pieces shooting straight towards him. He couldn’t hold a pained grunt as he felt the shards slide across his skin before he felt the suit closing around him from behind. He fell to the ground, back hitting the floor, rattling his body and head slamming back as white-hot pain exploded over his chest. He screamed as he felt a line of what seemed like fire slice his chest in two. His breaths came out in pained gasps as he tried to ride out the sharp sensation of the new injury, eyes clenched shut.

Self-destruct. Of course. Awfully smart, considering.

He felt blood running down his side, pooling on his back, reminding him to get up. He realised that Jarvis had been calling his name, the HUD showing Jarvis’ diagnosis to him.

“Sir! Sir? Are you alright?” Tony could hear the obvious worry in the tone of his AI, while he managed to get his legs back under him and stand up, albeit a bit unsteady.

“Jarvis, open the suit, open the chest. I need to see it,” he ordered with a voice that was surprisingly cool.

Without a reply, the helmet was pulled away and he looked down as the suit was opened at his chest. Now the adrenaline was fading, he felt the sharp pulses of pain in time with his heartbeat. He stuttered out a breath as he saw the wound on his chest. An ugly line of red ran from his left shoulder to the arc reactor, the glass seemingly having been stopped by the casing in his ribs. Crimson blood seeped out of it, despite the wound not seeming too deep at first sight. His fingers came up to prod at it, and he hissed as he saw how the skin gaped in the area under his collarbone. All in all, it could’ve been much worse and it was not the worst he’d ever had. Just hurt like a bitch.

He looked up as he heard commotion coming from the direction of the stairway. The suit was already closing when he saw Steve running up to him, the two spies right on his heel. Steve skidded to a halt right in front of him, only sparing a glance into the room that had just tried to kill Tony.

“Tony! Shit, are you okay?” the Captain asked him worriedly.

“Language,” Tony berated him half-heartedly, gut twisting at the worry he saw in his friend’s eyes.

He heard and felt the knock on his suit as Clint stepped closer.

“Open the suit, idiot. Are you hurt?” Clint asked him with genuine concern in his voice.

Well, yes. But he wasn’t going to tell them that. They’d had enough worries for one day. He opened the face-plate, the helmet neatly folding back into the suit, leaving his entire head exposed. He flashed a grin at them. Natasha’s eyes bore into his.

“Just some scratches, I’m fine, I called the suit to me in time.”

He could see the others didn’t entirely believe him, so he decided to quickly side-step. He gestured into the room, now covered in debris.

“I lost the data. Kinda blew the USB before I could get it back. It didn’t seem like there was any new information on there, but still, I’m sorry,” he admitted his defeat gingerly. The two spies both stepped into the room, looking around. Tony dared a look at the Captain.

Steve slowly dragged his eyes away from Tony’s face, looking into the office, before snapping them back to his face. His eyes narrowed in suspicion, probably zeroing in on the cuts that Tony could feel on his forehead and cheek, and crossed his arms. Tony nearly fidgeted under his stare, but held fast. He couldn’t let on about his second mistake here. It had been such a good day for him, too!

“That’s alright. I’m glad you’re okay,” Steve admitted to him, voice gentle despite the mistrust still in his eyes.

“We didn’t find anything either on the other floors, so we should probably head back to the Tower, okay? I can check you over once we’re there, see if you missed anything.”

And if that didn’t feel like a punch to his stomach. Tony stared back into Steve’s eyes, taken off guard by the genuine care he found there and he nearly spilled his gut then and there. He actually wouldn’t mind too much if Steve patched him up back at the tower, but this injury just felt… different. Vulnerable, he supposed. He swallowed around a dry mouth as he was reminded of the arc reactor deeply embedded into his chest. He’d rather not have Steve poke and prod at it if he allowed the other man to patch him up. They knew about it, of course. But they’d never actually seen it. He didn’t want them to look at him differently after they had. And they would look at him differently. Looking at Steve now, the emotion displayed freely in his eyes… no, he did not want that to change.

He forced himself to breathe calmly and he smiled back gently at Steve as he told him, “Thanks for the offer, Worrywart, but I’ll be fine. I’m gonna fly back now. See you there?”

He went to stalk past Steve into the hallway, but he was stopped when he firmly grabbed his arm. He looked sideways at him, another moment of silence passing between them as neither of them commented on the sheer openness of the look. Tony had to fight a gulp. Then, Steve let his arm drop away.

“Okay, Tony. I’ll see you there. I trust you, okay? But you can still ask for my help later, the offer still stands, alright? Take care of yourself.”

Tony nodded and when Steve looked back into the room, probably to find Nat and Clint, he used the opportunity to escape from the situation and left the building. Damn his heart for skipping a beat.

Chapter Text

The police sirens in the streets below him were a lovely addition to the cacophony that was already playing in his head. He felt his breaths coming in increasingly sharper bursts, even though he tried to suppress the feeling of panic threatening to take over. He couldn’t fathom why, he was fine, wasn’t he? He heaved a breath and muttered a quiet thanks to whomever might have been listening that the Tower was right there in front of him already.

Tony hissed as he landed the suit on the landing strip of the Tower, the metal grating against his injury. He retreated into the tower as fast as he could without aggravating it too much. As soon as got inside, he opened the suit and tiredly ordered it to follow him as he walked towards the elevator. He pointedly ignored Jarvis talking to him – bothering him, really – and focussed on keeping his breathing under control, calm and steady. Something was simmering just underneath his skin and he didn’t like it one bit.

He entered the elevator, Jarvis having summoned it so that Tony wouldn’t have to wait, and leaned back against the wall. The suit followed him into it and settled in next to him, head turned his way as if Jarvis was watching him in concern. He ignored that, too. Drumming his fingers behind him against the railing, he waited for the elevator to finish the climb upwards to his own private floor. He watched as bright spots of red splattered at his feet. Once he heard the sound signalling his arrival, he pushed himself off the wall and squeezed himself through the doors as soon as they opened. He forced his feet across the space to the bathroom, half-turned around to point the fingers of his right hand to the elevator shaft.

“Wait there. Stand guard, or, do something…,” he trailed off, already having turned back to the bathroom door. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t installed the automatic doors on his floors, just so he could slam them open and shut in moments like these. Instead, the automatic door slid open, nearly soundless, giving him access to the one room where he would truly be alone. Not even Jarvis would be able to get in there. He felt a weight fall of his chest as he heard the faint click of the bathroom door sliding shut behind and he slumped at the feeling. He stumbled to the vanity and braced both his hands on the edge, leaning most of his weight into it as he stared unseeingly at his feet. He must’ve lost a lot of blood to be feeling like this

Looking down at himself, though, he knew that wasn’t it. No, he feared it was born out of something more … emotional.

Still not looking at himself in the mirror, he braced his weight on his left hand so he could grab the medical kit from underneath the sink. He’d stored it there for situations like these, where he could avoid going to medical since he wasn’t actively dying, but needed some patching up. He threw the lid open, finding a fresh roll of gauze on top. Foregoing scissors, he bunched up the entire roll in his right hand and went to press it against the deepest part on his shoulder. He heard the soft hiss of skin grazing past metal and his breathing hitched. He looked down at his shoulder and hissed again when he pressed the material against the wound with a wet squelsh. The blood was warm where it seeped across his hand. He eyed the medical kit on the counter. If he didn’t want the wound to get infected, he’d have to stitch it up and infect it properly.

He wasn’t an idiot.

It had nothing to do with not wanting to be forced into medical if the others found out he had a stupid infection.

He slowly dragged his eyes up and away from the kit and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His face was pale, interrupted by lines of red and soot stains that even coloured parts of his dishevelled hair various shades of grey. There was a haunted look in his slightly too-wide eyes that he didn’t like. If there were tears lining his eyes, no there weren’t. He blinked. The grey of his undershirt had turned black on most of his torso, a poor mockery of running mascara. Not that he would know what that looked like from experience. He had Pepper.

His eyes found the light on his chest shining through his shirt, the source of all his problems. He forced his breathing to remain calm as he took in the red smudged-shirt covering part of the usually calming – as if! – soft-blue light. With a grimace, he removed the gauze from his shoulder, groaning slightly as the fabric stuck to the edges. He bit his lip, watching as a few droplets of maroon dripped into the sink before he dropped the roll of gauze onto the floor. Raising his freed, bloodied hand to the arc reactor, he let it hover there, tapping his fingers at it like it was a sleeping beast, waiting to start snapping at him.

He sighed deeply and let his hand fall back to the counter. After a second, he went for the kit again and searched through the contents for a needle and thread. He set both on the counter and mentally prepared himself. Threading the needle was easy. He fought to get his shirt off for a minute, but decided it hurt too much to raise his left arm, stretching the split skin, so instead he grabbed for the pair of scissors in the kit. He cut away as much as he could and ripped off the remains with his right hand. His breathing had slowly picked up in speed and shallowness again, so he took another minute to calm himself down, pointedly looking away from himself.

He heaved another sigh, gripped the counter tightly with his left hand, bracing himself. Then, he slowly let go of it and raised the needle to where the cut ended at the arc reactor, ignoring how his hands started shaking. With his left hand, he tried to squeeze the edges of the wound together, groaning in pain as he pushed the needle through for the first time. The sound and feeling of the thread being pulled through his skin made him fight against a gag. The second stitch was easier. Slowly stitching his way up and away from the arc reactor, he slipped into a trance-like focus until he reached the other end of the wound on the bony part of his shoulder. He tied off the last stitch and dropped the needle on the vanity, tiny droplets of red splattering around.

Exhaustion washed over him, pulling him out of his focus. Dragging his eyes back up, he watched his work. It wasn’t pretty, but it did the job of stopping the bleeding well enough. He eyed the bottle of hydrogen-peroxide in the kit, deciding he didn’t feel masochistic enough today for that particular sensation and instead picked out the disinfecting wipes. He scrubbed the raw skin around his stitches until he was convinced there wasn’t enough blood anymore that could cause infection and threw the wipes next to the gauze on the floor. Problem for later. The scrapes on his face were also given a quick wipe, but they weren't deep enough to require more care. Unwrapping a new roll of gauze, he wrapped it as tightly – which was, admittedly, not very tight – as he could around his shoulder.

Too tired to take a shower, he left the medical kit sitting on the counter and sauntered out of the bathroom, over to his bed. He ignored the immediate onslaught of Jarvis’s questions, only registering the panicked undertone in the voice. Guilt panged only for a second, as relief immediately overtook it when he finally reached his bed. He flung himself ass-first into the soft sheets, barely remembering to pull the blanket up before his world turned black.

Chapter Text

“He’s definitely injured.”

Steve turned around from where he’d been watching Tony depart to look at agent Romanov – or rather, Natasha, now that the mission was over. The spy in turn watched him with one eyebrow raised, daring him to contradict her judgement. He sighed.

“I know, Nat, but I don’t want to crowd him right now, you know how defensive he gets if we do,” Steve said, voice pensive. He knew by now not to smother Tony with his ‘overbearing worrying’. He’d rather not deal with a pissed off Tony Stark if he could help it.

“I trust him to come to us if he needs it,” he explained to her. Steve hoped he would, but chances of that were – regrettably – quite low.

Natasha raised the other eyebrow as well, amusement dancing in her eyes as she cocked her head. She had obviously had the same thought process as him.

Steve chuckled and conceded the point, shaking his head.

“Nat’s always right,” Clint chirped up as he emerged from the room that had been blasted to pieces minutes before. While Tony was inside? He, like the two spies, agreed that there was no way Tony was not hurt at all. Especially given the two cuts that had marred his face.

“He’s not gonna come to us for help, Cap. Maybe to you, though,” Clint whispered the last bit over his shoulder as he passed around Steve and retreated into the hallway to the staircase.

Steve followed the figure heading into the hallway, not thinking much of the comment as Clint liked to rile them all up a bit. However, he had to do a double-take as he saw the smirk on Natasha’s face. He looked at her, puzzled, barely refraining from letting out a dumb ‘huh?’.

“What’s he on about?” he asked instead. Natasha let out a snort and crossed her arms in front of her chest.

“Are you that oblivious?” she said, playful joy in her smooth voice. “Tony usually finds his way to you, one way or the other.”

Steve paused. Did he? He’d never really noticed that the genius sought him out often enough for the others to notice it, but he felt flattered at the apparent trust Tony had in him.

He ignored the slight warmth he felt in his cheeks and thought about it. The team had gotten so much closer over the course of the last few months as they had started living together. He loved that these people, who were so special to him and to the world, finally started creating traditions and started sharing habits together.

For starters, they ate together nearly every day. Bruce had taken to teaching the other Avengers to cook, assisted by Tony when he would be out of his lab. Steve had once shown Tony a cookbook that he’d found lying around and the genius had promptly torn the first recipe out of the book with a big grin on his face and slammed it onto the fridge. The others had quickly picked up on this new habit of slapping recipes they wanted to try against the fridge. More often than not, Tony would run a recipe he’d found past Steve first, a questioning look on his face ‘til Steve had agreed it’d be tasty, before slapping it onto the growing stack of recipes with a smirk.

The movie nights had also been a huge success, usually ending with all of them piled on top of each other, some drifting off to sleep. They had made a list of must-see movies, and Steve or Thor got to pick the movies, since they had seen the least. Steve would always come into the living room first, taking his time to read through the descriptions so as to make the best choice. Lately, he would often be joined by Tony, who would plop down onto the couch right next to him. Steve would delight in the way he could voice his opinions to the other man, who’d sometimes share his own, until the others joined them. Sometimes, Steve would look down at the genius later to find him asleep, nestled against his side as the movie progressed.

Now that he really thought about it, more and more snippets of memories came to him in which Tony would just be there. Even during missions, Tony had begun to actually follow Steve’s lead or at least actually consider the advice given to him before taking to the skies. He’d begun proposing alternate plans in rapid descriptions to Steve, asking for his approval. After a battle, Steve never had to look around to know that Tony had found his way back to them – him – asking for a mission report or how the team was doing.

“Oh,” he voiced aloud, pleasantly surprised, as more and more recollections of Tony seemingly finding a path straight to him entered his mind.

How he would part the crowd of interviewers in front of the Tower to join him and flash him a smile. How he’d saunter over from a group of sponsors at a gala to complain to Steve. How he would always be at Steve’s six during training sessions with the team. How he’d wind up in Steve’s personal art studio at the tower, asking for his opinions on new gear for the team.

“Yes, oh,” Natasha quipped, stepping forwards, barely hiding her smirk behind her hand. “Did you only just realise that?”

Steve nodded, a smile tugging at his lips that was mirrored on Nat’s face when she dropped her hand.

“Figures.” She rolled her eyes jokingly, but then narrowed her eyes as she studied his face. Steve let her. Her brows furrowed together as she seemed to find something in his expression that she had not expected. Her lips parted a few times before she managed to voice her thoughts.

“You don’t even realise that you’re into him, do you?” she said fondly, the question coming out more as a statement, like she hadn’t expected any different but found it endearing.

The gears in his head ground to a halt. And then started spinning full throttle in the other direction.

Him? Into Tony? It’s not that he disliked the man, no quite the opposite, he greatly appreciated him but—

The same memories as before flashed through his mind and realisation flooded him that he had paid attention to Tony’s behaviour and that somewhere along the way his impatience and annoyance with Tony Stark had… shifted. He thought he’d felt pride and honour to stand beside the Iron Man, a hero who gave his all to save others. He now realised that what he felt for the man coming to his side again and again, showcasing his growing trust in Steve, could be… more? Like Natasha had suggested.

Steve had realised a long while ago that the man Tony pretended to be wasn’t the man he actually was.

The first time he’d gotten to see underneath the Stark-mask, he’d had to pinch himself to know it was real. It had happened just after the invasion and Tony had been showing him an alarm system he’d developed to warn them for incoming alien entities. He’d been awestruck by the sheer cleverness of it all and had complimented the genius on it, fully expecting to have his head bitten off in reward or to have the compliment be waved away. Instead, he’d found a genuine, almost bashful smile on Tony’s face before he’d continued going into the details of the system. And oh, was that were it started?

The image of this proud person, in his natural element and as his true self, had stuck with him and it had been the next thing that Steve painted.

Tony had even seen it once, when he came into Steve’s art studio. He remembered jerking up in surprise as he felt a presence at his back. He’d turned around to see the muse of his painting standing behind him and Steve had gone to cover the canvas up with his broad frame, waiting for the mocking comment. But Tony had pushed him aside, gently, and had taken a seat as he stared at the unfinished painting with open awe and appreciation in his eyes.

Steve had since made an effort to learn how to draw Tony out from behind the masks and walls that he’d crafted, and he had learned how to keep from scaring him away.

He liked that he got to see underneath the Stark-mask, to see the softness and care hidden there. The boyish playfulness. The brilliance of his mind, yes, but also the brilliance of his emotions. The other man cared so deeply it was an achievement that he’d managed to keep it hidden from the world, had kept it alive and vibrant.

His mind flashed to how Tony would always be at his side, seemingly always knowing what to say or do to help Steve or make him laugh. He’d be flooded with warmth in his chest whenever he looked down to find the genius asleep on his shoulder, face lax, or when he’d come up to him after a battle with the face-plate lifted to reveal poorly-concealed worry in his warm brown eyes. The genius took care of all of them, somehow knowing exactly how to make them all feel comfortably at home and Steve always watched on in delight as he watched Tony’s chameleon-like ability to morph himself into whichever version of himself that suited the situation.

Tony had helped him settle into the Tower and – more importantly – this century in surprisingly subtle ways. His rooms, or floor, really, were decorated in a mix between vintage and modern that made him feel right at home. The books, the recordplayer, the lightning, even the smell helped him feel at ease. He’d been gifted with a phone that came with a built-in AI that had a gentle female voice that would patiently explain the interfaces to him. Steve was pretty sure that the AI had been given special instructions to guide Steve into watching certain articles or videos that would explain modern concepts.

The most thoughtful thing Tony had done for him happened recently, after the entirety of a night had been spent getting to know each other in Steve’s studio, Tony lounging on his couch as Steve painted him. The next morning, he had found all of the paints and colours in his studio replaced with his favourite brand from the 1940’s, and the utensils had clearly been designed to Steve’s liking by Tony himself, who had apparently listened to every little complaint that Steve had listed about the longevity of modern art supplies.

And that was the thing with the real man behind the mask of Tony Stark. He was patient, thoughtful and selfless to a boundless extent. Steve had gained such a deep respect for this person and was thankful every day to be allowed to call him a friend. He grasped that the extent of the warmth he felt for Tony might extend beyond friendship, though.

He liked  it when he would turn around to find Tony there, sending Steve a warm smile. He liked it when he could ask stupid questions about technology or science and be met with infinite patience and understanding. He liked it when a gentle hand on his shoulder would lead him away from talking to reporters or sponsors. He liked it even more that he felt like he got to unearth more and more about Tony every day.

“’Oh’?” Nat asked him, who had been watching him as he must have zoned out for a bit. She stepped closer and put a warm hand on his arm with another gleeful smile. His answering smile came to him easily as the thought settled into him. He might be into Tony Stark—no, Tony. Yeah, he could see that making sense.

“Does he know? Do you think he might know I—” he began asking the first most important question crossing his mind, but was interrupted by the shake of Natasha’s head.

“That’s not for me to tell, Steve. But if you really want to know, no, I don’t think he knows,” she acquiesced, before looking at him again, eyes full of mischief. “You two are quite alike like that.”

She stepped around him to go after Clint, patting his arm as she did so.

“I’ll see you at home, Loverboy,” she sing-songed. He didn’t even fight the blush rising to warm his face.

He watched after Natasha as he breathed out in relief, feeling like something had clicked in his mind. He’d figure out his exact feelings some other time, it didn’t matter much anyway. He just wanted to be close to Tony, to help and comfort him, get to know as much about him as the genius would allow. Whether or not his romantic – what! Who knew? – feelings were reciprocated was an issue for a later time.

Worry clenched in his gut as the thought about how Tony could be bleeding out right now. The idiot would never admit it if he were, and they’d never know until it was too late. His feet were taking him down the hallway before he knew it. He worried his lip between his teeth. On the other hand, their help would not be welcome as of yet. Tony was much too reserved for that, an inherent reluctancy to show them what he thought was weakness. Steve would make it his mission to help the engineer, somehow. He’d give the other man the time to think, to process, to reach out. He wouldn’t push if he didn’t, but he would make it clear that Tony could always count on his support and help if he needed it.

Patience was key.

God knows he was going to need it with this man.

Chapter Text

Waking up was a slow process. He felt groggy, like he was underwater and he hadn’t the slightest idea of how long he’d been asleep. His arms and chest felt cold in the chilly air of his bedroom and he went to pull up the blanket from where it pooled around his middle. As soon as he reached down though, he felt as if someone doused him in cold water and he gasped as memories of the night before flooded him. He looked down at his chest and barely noticed the cold anymore as he stared at the ugly stitchwork there and the arc reactor nestled in between his ribs. The wound throbbed in time to his heartbeat and he was at once reminded of his least favourite time of his life. He squeezed his eyes shut and a tingling feeling spread outward at the sensation of phantom hands on his chest, prodding, pushing, breaking—

“Sir! Sir, I believe you are having a panic attack.” He gasped a ragged breath as the voice of his AI snapped him out of it and he felt his head clear slightly, noticing how his chest heaved with quick and panicked breaths.

The AI continued, “Please focus on calming yourself down. Might I recommend some breathing exercises?”

Tony waved his hand half-heartedly at the ceiling, focussing on slowing his breathing. Though it was only a mild panic attack, he was glad no one was around to hear the pathetic wheezing and gasping as his chest heaved. Well, aside from Jarvis, but he would never tell a soul about this. Tony clenched his fists in his sheets as he focussed on drawing in breath and holding it before releasing it again. He stared at the ceiling as he grounded himself, becoming lost in the faint blue glow emanating from his chest on the ceiling, threatening to overwhelm him again before tearing his eyes away and dropping his head to the side.

“Sir, are you alright? Can I—”

“Shut up, Jay,” he grumbled, before adding in a softer voice, “Can you open up the curtains for me?”

The AI complied, and as the curtains were dragged away with a soft rustle, he felt more of his anxiety lifting. His breathing slowly evened out. In the background, Jarvis was repeating the current weather conditions and some news updates. Tony felt himself relax enough to look down at his chest again. All in all, the wound itself looked decent enough, no clear signs of swelling or reddening in the area. He let out a long, slow breath before casting his eyes outside again. It was clearly morning by now and he frowned.

“How long was I asleep for, Jarvis?”

“It is currently 9.48 AM, Sir. You slept for nearly 16 hours,” he replied, smug satisfaction clear in his voice.

Tony glared at the ceiling, he couldn’t even remember when he had last slept this long. Besides, he didn’t have the time for it. He had places to be, things to invent! He began the painstaking process of sitting himself up, trying not to jostle himself too much and was relatively successful. He threw the blankets off and moved his legs over the side, closing his eyes for a second as black spots danced in his vision.

“You should have something to eat. Should I ask Captain Rogers to bring something—”

“Do not notify any of the others, Jarvis,” he sneered in earnest this time, “or I will donate you to those influencers. Besides, I’m fine. I’ll go down to eat something in a bit.”

With that, he pushed himself out of the bed, slightly unsteady on his feet.

“Shut. Up.” he ground out.

“I didn’t say anything, Sir,” came the smug reply.

Tony grumbled under his breath. He carefully made his way to the bathroom, feeling slightly better with every step he took. The door slid away again and he stepped through, stooping down to grab the bloodied rags off the floor and throwing them into the trash on the other side of the bathroom. He grimaced at the blood smears on the floor. Ugh. He braced his hands on the bathroom vanity, avoiding any stained spots and looked at himself.

His reflection was not nearly as bad as he had expected, as one usually does look better without smears of blood all over himself. Besides that, his skin wasn’t as pale anymore and sleep had restored some of the life in his eyes. He nodded slightly in appreciation. There were a few other slight scratches and cuts on his torso that he hadn’t really noticed before, but they were superficial. He was just going to take a shower before going downstairs to meet the others. He would put himself together, work to convince the others of his stellar health and then he could escape and withdraw into the workshop.

-----------

He walked into the elevator, feeling mildly refreshed by the shower. He’d redressed the wound and layered a T-shirt over a white undershirt to cover most of the bluish glow out of his own peripheral vision. He didn’t need the visual reminders of the arc reactor on top of the physical pain from that general region, not while the metaphorical wound was ‘fresh’ in his mind. One panic attack often led to the next for him. Leaning against the wall of the elevator again, he noticed that the bloody stains had been cleaned off the floor. He hummed to himself while layering his masks on. He felt well enough to come across convincingly.

“Who’s in the kitchen, Jarvis?”

“Everyone is, sir. It appears Mr. Banner is preparing lunch at the moment,” Jarvis hinted at him.

“Yeah, I’ll eat, you menace,” he replied with a smirk, fondness curling in his chest.

As the doors to the communal floor slid open, he found that the AI was right. He spotted Bruce behind the stove in the kitchen and saw Steve, Natasha and Clint hanging out on the couches in the living area. Clint lay sprawled over Natasha’s lap, feet kicking over the armrest at Steve, who was sitting on another couch. However, his attention was drawn by the waft of sweetness reaching his nose from the kitchen.

“Brucie bear, please tell me those are cinnamon buns,” he mused aloud, genuine hunger gnawing at his stomach at the scent.

At that, they all looked up at him, Bruce beaming at him from where he was stirring something in a pot.

“Yep, with baked apples. Good morning, Tony,” he added gently. Tony beamed back at him as he sauntered over to the other genius, hands stuffed down his pockets.

“You are the best, Fluttershy.”

He reached a hand into the pot on the stove, snickering as Bruce swatted at his fingers with the spoon. Bruce opened the drawer and grabbed a fork, stabbing a slice of apple onto it before handing it to Tony. Tony winked at him before walking over into the spacious common room.

The other team members were still looking at him with various degrees of scrutiny, and he noticed the frown between Steve’s brows. Tony came to a halt beside the soldier, lifting an eyebrow.

“Good morning, terror twins. Cap, don’t frown so hard or your handsome face will have permanent lines,” he teased, taking a bite of the apple. The sweetness washed over his tongue, nearly making his teeth fall out but hmm-hmm that was good!

Clint grinned as Steve’s cheeks reddened slightly and Tony felt pride swell in his chest. Oh, he could so pull this off.

Steve cleared his throat before speaking up.

“Hi, Tony, how’re you feeling?” he asked with just a bit too much worry in his tone to be casual.

“Oh, I’m perfectly peachy. Thought I’d have a good, long beauty sleep. How long did I sleep again, Jarvis?”

“16 hours, Sir,” Jarvis spoke into the room, smugness still in his voice and Tony flashed Steve a self-satisfied grin.

“Well, that’s a lot of handsomeness gained, wouldn’t you say?” he concluded with a grin as he wolfed down the rest of the apple.

From behind him, he heard the loud snort from Bruce and Clint rolled his eyes.

Steve sat up straighter and turned his entire body around to face him. His eyes scanned over Tony’s body and Tony was about to make a lewd comment but Steve was faster.

“Sure did. How’re you really feeling, though?” he said without pause.

“How many times are you going to ask, fusser? I told you, I’m good,” he retorted back, barely refraining from rolling his eyes before putting on a broad, toothy smile.

Clint whistled at the expression.

“Careful, Cap, that’s Tony Shark you’re dealing with, there,” he mused, cringing at the nickname.

Tony shot him a look. Sure, why not? He broadened his smile some more, baring his teeth.

Clint raised his hands in mock-surrender, pushing himself up from Nat’s lap to sit up beside her as Tony walked over to Steve’s other side and dropped down next to him, assured that he’d asserted enough dominance over the situation. He braced himself for his next question.

“So, what’s the verdict on yesterday?”

Nat rested her head on the hand she’d propped up on the armrest, regarding him with a calm look.

“Zero casualties, actually. We handled it all quick enough. There was barely any material damage to the buildings, either. Great job on that, by the way.” She nodded at him and he shrugged.

“Well, it was a joint effort. You guys did just—” he began before being interrupted by Steve, who inched slightly closer to him on the couch.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Tony.”

He was about to retort back but the tender look in Steve’s eyes stopped him from saying it aloud. He deflated, appreciating the man’s closeness despite himself.

He was saved from having to think about what both the look and his own reaction meant when Bruce walked over from the kitchen, handing two plates to Nat and Clint. His mouth watered at the sugary smell of caramel and cinnamon. As Bruce went to retrieve the other three plates, Natasha waved her fork at Tony.

“He made one of your recipes. They’re the salted caramel cinnamon rolls you found a few weeks ago.”

Huh. That did indeed sound familiar. And delicious.

“I threatened him to,” she added with a conspiratory glance at Bruce before stabbing her fork into the bun.

He swallowed at the warmth he felt at that. That was… genuinely thoughtful? Huh.

As he was handed his own plate by Bruce, he dug into the pastry and apples, the group engaging in some small-talk. He complimented Bruce on his baking, the buns being just the right mix between sweet and salty. He knew this recipe would be going onto the 'success pile'. Taking another bite, a new thought suddenly fired into his brain without his consent. He looked down at the pastry, appetite suddenly lost.

They probably needed something from him, if they were being this nice, bribing him with food. He cast subtle glances at his teammates, who were all still happily eating away. He couldn’t find a trace of tension in any of their eyes, but as he looked better he noticed the slight rigidity in the way they all carried themselves. He set his plate down on his lap and cleared his throat.

“Alright, out with it. What is it that you want me to do?” he asked with a smile that he could barely force onto his lips. He felt the shift in his breathing as all eyes turned to him. They probably just wanted him to do another data sweep, or design a new alarm system for HYDRA activity, or add some gadgets—

“What?” Bruce asked, dumbfounded. Tony looked at the others again, who had all put their forks back down with stunned expressions. His gut clenched.

“Well, there’s probably something you want me to help with, right? Since you made the food for me?” Was that not how this went? That's how Tony thought it went. 'Quid quo pro', right? Well, if the other person was kind enough.

The beat of silence was just a bit too loud and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Damage control? Damage control.

He had another comment ready but was once again stopped by Steve’s warm hand on his – left – shoulder, barely containing the wince.

“Nothing, Tony,” he said earnestly, casting a concerned look at the others before continuing, “We don’t need you to do anything. We genuinely just want to know that you’re okay.”

“Yeah, man,” added Clint.

“Well, yeah, I’m…” Taken aback, he squirmed in his seat as he finally placed the tension as concern. For him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not hurt?” Bruce asked, voice so serious it made Tony swallow around a dry mouth. Breathe, he told himself.

“Uh…” he answered intelligently. Should he make a break for it?

His uncertainty must have shown on his face, because Steve squeezed his shoulder soothingly. This time, however, he couldn’t hide the wince as Steve’s finger caught the stitches. He would have laughed at the sudden tension that rippled through all of them if the situation had been any different. Steve dropped his hand and Tony couldn’t stop himself from patting it where it fell in between them, biting his cheek.

“I took care of it, it’s just a bit sore” he admitted under the heavy scrutiny, not looking up from their joined hands until he’d said it.

No one responded for a few more seconds, until Bruce nodded at him approvingly and resumed eating again. Nat immediately followed his lead. Steve and Clint only looked away when Tony grabbed his own fork. He felt like he could breathe again when all eyes finally averted and he focussed on keeping his breathing level when still no one said anything. He didn’t know what that meant. He removed his hand from where it had rested on Steve’s and started shovelling down the cinnamon roll, until the silence became too much.

He set the plate down and stood up, heart thundering in his chest.

“I’m thinking I should put a flamethrower in the suit,” he stated.

“Okay. Thank you for telling us," Steve told him softly.

Steve obviously wasn’t talking about the flamethrower and something eased slightly in Tony's chest. He nodded.

“Okay, well, since you guys don’t need me here anymore, I’ll be going into the workshop.”

“Tony…” Nat started, but he flashed her a hesitant smile to show her he was joking as he walked away from them.

“Can’t delay genius, Tasha.”

He stepped into the elevator, Jarvis already having picked the destination floor.

“Good talk.” Clint’s comment was the last thing he heard before the doors closed and he exhaled roughly as the elevator began descending.

-----------

The metallic clanging of the wrench as it clattered to the floor jerked him out of his focus, making him stumble a step back from the worktable. He gasped as pain fired through him and he hunched forward, bracing his forearms on the worktable. The gnawing hunger in his stomach and the throbbing headache were only secondary to the white-hot pain radiating from his chest. He heaved in another pained breath as his legs threatened to buckle underneath him. Dropping his head onto his arms on the desk, he noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wheezed unhappily while the fingers of his right hand found a chair nearby and he dragged it closer. He sagged into it, bracing both forearms on the desk again and he slumped forward.

“Jarvis?” he rasped.

“Sir! Are you with me?” the usually smooth voice replied, laced heavily with distress.

“Jay!” he wheezed again as he nodded, panic gripping him at the overwhelming feeling of disorientation and pain.

“Jay, what’s going on?”

“You haven’t been replying to me, Sir. I could not notify the others, as you had ordered a complete black-out when you entered the workshop yesterday. It appears the wound has gotten infected. You… worried me,” Jarvis told him, obviously calming down now that Tony was responding.

Oh. Infection made sense. It explained the hot and stuffy feeling in his head, as well as the pain and warmth radiating from the wound. He brought his good hand up to prod at it, before he froze, registering what Jarvis said.

“’Yesterday’?” he gasped, cold dread flooding him. “Jarvis, how long have I been in here?”

The AI took a second to reply, “You’ve been working for approximately 33 hours, Sir.”

He stopped breathing. What the hell?

“Breathe, sir,” he was told gently, “can I lift the lockdown mode?”

Tony tried to heave in a breath, struggling to fill his lungs as moving sent agony up and down his spinal cord. He panted the breath out pathetically between his teeth. How had he lost so much time?

“What the hell have I been doing, Jarvis? Why didn’t you alert me?” he asked, the venom in his question not as stinging when he didn’t have the air to spit it out.

“I tried, sir. You wouldn’t snap out of it and I couldn’t get around the protocol,” his AI said, voice carrying guilt.

His lungs burned with the lack of oxygen, and he struggled to draw in another breath. It hurt. He scraped his fingers at his desk for purchase. Was he dying?

“Help,” he gasped out, shame burning in his cheeks, “Jarvis, help me.”

Straight away, Jarvis’ voice began rattling off details about the workshop. A guided breathing meditation blasted through the speakers and he struggled to follow it, chest muscles spasming at first. His fingers trembled underneath him, head dropping down to redirect his energy. He wasn’t dying, it was just a panic attack, he heard Jarvis tell him and oh, wasn’t that good to know.

Unwelcome tears spilled onto the worktable, but he didn’t care as he drew in the first full breath since he had jerked out of his trance. It stuttered out as he heard Jarvis telling him he was doing a good job. He grabbed onto the desk as he followed Jarvis’ voice. Whirring to his side drew his attention and he lifted his head just enough to find DUM-E there. He rasped out a breathy laugh as he watched his robot, arm twitching with concern, and he nodded.

“C’mere.”

He focussed on getting his breaths in as he felt the robot arm clumsily – but successfully – rub his back. It helped. The burning in his lungs receded as he got more and more good breaths in. He dropped his full weight onto the metal of his desk, head clearing even more as the cold bite of it soothed his chest and he closed his eyes. He breathed against the table for a while, guided by DUM-E and Jarvis. He didn’t understand what had happened. It wasn’t unlike him to be in the workshop for days on end without sleep or food, but he didn’t usually lose time like this. He nearly lost all of the control he had regained over his breathing as he opened his eyes to the faint glow on the desk in the shadow of his own body. Right.

He shook his head and pushed himself upright with shaky arms. DUM-E retreated slightly, but Jarvis didn’t stop his grounding techniques as Tony resumed breathing for another minute, leaning his weight against the backrest. Pesky arc reactor. Stupid anxiety.

“Sorry, Jay, you can stop,” he said as he stared at the ceiling, happy with the volume of his voice.

“Are you feeling better, Sir?” he asked, with such gentle care that Tony almost broke down again. He simply nodded, instead.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly. He still wasn’t breathing normally again, but it was good enough. It still hurt like a bitch, though. He pressed a hand against the cut, groaning, but his hand came away dry. That was good, at least. He should probably go and take some painkillers.

“Jarvis, did I store any ibuprofen in the shop?”

“No, sir. However, I know Mr. Banner has stored some in the communal kitchen. Should I bring the elevator up?”

Tony nodded. He blew out a breath, wincing as it sent another stab of pain through him, and braced himself. After a few seconds, he pushed up from the chair, head swimming with exhaustion but he remained upright. Nice.

God, he wanted to sleep.

He staggered over to where the elevator waited for him, breaking out in sweat as the effort of walking and breathing slowly took an ungodly amount of energy out of him. He placed a shaky hand on the door and pulled himself through, nearly collapsing onto the floor, but remaining upright through sheer will. He realised Jarvis was still talking to him, guiding his breathing into a normal pattern where it stuttered in and out of him. His butler fell quiet when the doors slid open on the communal floor.

He left the elevator and forced his feet around the kitchen counters, passed the large kitchen island at its centre and moved to the cabinet against the far wall above the sink. He focused solely on his quest for painkillers. Leaning bodily against the counter, he rummaged through the cabinet with a trembling hand, the other hanging forgotten down his side. He sagged in relief when he found the bottle of ibuprofen, setting it beside the sink.

Despite the pain, he actually felt like eating something. He opened the family-sized fridge to his right and looked inside. He squinted eyes that refused to focus, looking for something resembling food in the fridge. He sighed as he didn’t find any leftovers, and was too tired to bother looking any further.

Closing the fridge, he jerked back in shock as a figure stood behind the fridge door. He bumped into the kitchen counter beside the fridge, forcing his good hand to grab onto the counter for support instead of shielding his chest. He barely bit back a groan as fire licked at his chest.

“Jesus,” he ground out instead, steadying himself slightly before looking up into Natasha’s watchful eyes. “Warn a guy before you try to kill him, Nat.”

“To be fair, she did,” Clint piped up from the living room. Tony shifted his tired eyes behind Natasha and God damn it—

There they all were. Clint and Bruce were sat on the couch, apparently watching something on the TV, and Steve was there, too. His friend had fully turned himself around in his chair to look at Tony, sketchblock sitting forgotten on the armrest.

“What…” he exhaled, trying to draw air into his lungs, chest aflame with pain as every inhale stretched the infected skin. He felt like someone had replaced his brain with wet cotton. How had he not noticed them sitting there?

He nearly jumped out of his skin again when Nat spoke up again in front of him.

“I called out to you several times. Did you not hear me?” she asked, voice level, but Tony pressed himself back slightly more into the counter at the look in her eyes. Damnit. He could see that she knew that he hadn’t. He was thinking one step ahead of her when she raised her hand to place it on his arm, backing away quickly before pressing himself against the kitchen island, facing Natasha. He really did not want to talk to them right now, not when he didn’t have the wits about him to protect himself. To keep them from seeing.

“Nope, I was just thinking about the flamethrower design,” he said quickly with more faked confidence in his voice than he had expected. He forced his lungs to expand. He retreated another step along the kitchen island when he saw Steve getting up from the chair and approaching, too. God, he felt as if he was surrounded by tigers or something. Would these people just leave him to panic in peace?

“Are you okay, Tony?” Steve asked him with as his brows knitted together, coming to a stop just slightly behind Natasha, as if nervous to approach him.

Fuck that question.

“Just perfect, cap,” he snapped as he took yet another step back, barely refraining from gasping as talking snagged his air, while less and less oxygen seemed to be drawn into his body. His ears started ringing. He could feel his control over his breathing slip again.

“You’re not looking too good, Tony. Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re running a bit hot,” Bruce asked, also rising from the couch, the stark concern in his voice making Tony swallow back bile. Clint was following behind the other scientist. Tony felt his fingers go numb as suddenly all four Avengers seemed to be closing in on him. His feet dragged him backwards around the kitchen island, legs hitting against the last line of counters separating him from the elevator. He drew his fingers through his hair, immediately dropping them as he noticed the shaking. He hunched forward slightly, opening his mouth probably just a bit too wide to be nonchalant in attempt to heave in another breath. His fingers tightened their death grip on the counter behind him. The breath pushed out of him again as Steve was suddenly a few steps closer than he remembered.

Behind Steve, he saw Bruce pick up the bottle of painkillers from the counter, frowning before addressing Tony.

“Are you in pain?” he said with blatant concern. Tony watched as Steve’s head snapped around to look at the bottle Bruce now held, before snapping his gaze right back to Tony. Staring at him with a new intensity, Steve opened his mouth again, but Tony felt the last bit of his self-control slipping away.

“God, I’m fine! Just fuck off!” Tony bit out with as much venom as he could still muster. “Seriously, go find another hobby.”

He had to get out of here, now. At least the tone of his voice seemed to stun the others. He pushed himself away from the support and stepped into the space separating him from the elevator. His legs felt too unsteady to carry him all the way, and he knew that stumbling now would mean death—or, well, the façade would be up.

The intensity of the four pairs of eyes on him shattered the last bit of control he had. He didn’t dare turn his back to them as his vision started fading with black spots, oxygen no longer something he was familiar with. He actually gagged as he looked at Steve and saw all warmth in his friend’s eyes drain away, leaving behind the cold, hard shell of a soldier. His lungs turned to ice as he saw the same coldness in the other people surrounding him. He stumbled over his feet as he took a frightened step backwards as the soldier – no, Steve! – in front of him stepped closer, holding his arms out as if to grab him and Tony suddenly found himself a few feet lower. He yelped as lightning flashed on his torso, joined by throbbing emanating from his left buttock. He barely caught the weight of his upper body on his arms, something feeling so wrong about that movement. He looked down and found blood seeping through his shirt on his chest. Tony’s head snapped up as he heard Steve approach him, and found the man standing over him, holding out his arms as if he’d gone to catch him, before Steve completely vanished.

There were hands reaching for his chest.

Someone was standing over him.

He scrambled back, a distressed noise catching in his throat as he couldn’t breathe.

His back hit the wall of the cave and he cried out in terror as he realised he had nowhere to go, but the hands were closing in, he could hear them yelling. He moved his hands to shield his body, surprise flaring faintly in the back of his mind at the fact they weren’t tied down to his side. Then, the pain hit him.

They had split his chest open. He could feel the blood running down, pooling in his lap.

He patted himself down as he panted through the absolute agony of his cracked ribs, the smell of his own blood dizzying.

There was something in there, something that wasn’t supposed to be, but they had pushed and shoved until it settled. He scrabbled at his ribs, fingers catching on the object lodged in there. He howled in panic as he scratched and wrenched at the cold sphere, but it only caused his breathing to stutter as he felt the pull deep into his sternum. He swore he could feel his frantic heart chafe against it with every panicked beat.

His chest heaved as his hands fell to his sides. He didn’t see his captors anymore, they had left. The cave was eerily silent now. But he knew what would be coming next. He moved his wrists to assure himself they weren’t back yet. But they would be coming back, and they would put him under again. Yes. Every time they put him under, he would wake up to something new, something worse. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what could be worse than this and he whimpered when he heard voices. He drew his knees up to his chest and covered his head with his arms, which were still free. He couldn’t ignore the shaking of his fingers, the struggle of his lungs. What would Howard think of him? He clenched his eyes shut.

He screamed and began struggling when strong hands took hold of his wrists and wrenched them away from his head. His heart almost beat out of his body at the animal panic that consumed his brain. They would restrain him again, tie him down—

He jerked as he felt something press against the inside of his wrists, something icy cold. His hands trembled in the grip of his captor as his eyes flew open, light flooding his vision as he took in the drops of water running down his forearms. Was that… ice?

His eyes snapped up and he gasped, the sudden rush of oxygen clearing his head. The image in front of him flashed between a dark cave and a bright, open area, faces in front of him switching between the clothed faces of his captors and Bruce and—

“Steve!” he gasped out. Tony didn’t recognise his own voice.

Awareness came back to him in bursts. Sometimes he heard the foreign language, the gruff and commanding voices, but he latched onto Bruce's comforting voice like a lifeline. The cold against his wrists helped him breathe, helped him clear away the mind-numbing panic and his brain slowly put itself back together enough to hear what Bruce was saying.

“You’re in the Tower, Tony. You’re safe, Steve and I are with you. Nat and Clint are over in the kitchen. Can you hear me? You’re okay, Tony,” Bruce muttered to him lowly.  

Tony heaved out a breath and nodded slightly, relief washing over him so strongly he sagged down. He stopped fighting the hands encircling his wrists and focussed on the small blocks of ice that were held against the skin on the inside of his arms. Neat trick. They didn’t have those back in Afghanistan. Which is not where he was, Bruce told him. He was in the Avengers Tower. He closed his eyes as his breaths came to him easier than they had all day, although the pain nagged at his peace. His head still swam.

He let his head fall forward a bit as he felt his face burning. He pulled carefully at his wrists and sagged once more in relief when his friends just let him go. He buried his face in his hands as he focussed on what he knew. He was safe, no one was out to get him. He was sat back against the wall in the Tower. His friends were all here, Steve and Bruce right in front him. He tried to ignore the shame as he thought of what they’d all seen, but at least they’d helped him. They’d pulled him out. He dropped his hands into his lap and looked up carefully.

Bruce had walked back into the kitchen, back turned as he talked quietly with the two spies. Steve sat cross-legged in front of him, watching him, probably gauging how aware he was now that he’d calmed down. Tony felt giddy at the ease with which he could breathe, but he was so goddamn exhausted. And it was time to take his leave. He’d made enough of a scene for the day. He folded his legs underneath him and got up as gracefully as a newborn doe. He noticed Steve getting up quickly as well, but the captain was obviously unsure of whether he could reach out and support him.

“Tony?” Steve began, but stopped himself. The question he wanted to ask was painfully obvious and Tony nodded slightly.

“I need to sleep,” he said. Which was true.

“Okay. You’re bleeding, though,” the captain told him, pointing a finger at his chest.

He looked down and found that there was indeed some blood on his shirt. Ugh. He'd have to redo the stitches.

“Oh. Yeah,” he muttered as he looked into Steve’s eyes, waving his hand slightly. He felt like the captain could see exactly what he felt, what he needed, which was weird, but also nice, because he really didn’t want to talk about this.

“Sleep, Tony,” he told him gently, eyes warm. Tony nodded and he wanted to turn around to go into the elevator, but he hesitated. He knew that sleep wouldn’t fix everything, not this time. He met Steve’s eyes and Steve dipped his head after a few seconds, eyes conveying so much care.

“I’ll come up later,” he told Tony and he smiled slightly at Steve as he felt some of the weight lift off his shoulders.

He retreated into the elevator.

Chapter Text

Studying the scene in front of him, Steve put down the pencil and flexed his fingers, slightly sore from gripping the tool too tightly for too long. He’d been sketching them, Nat and Clint, who were in their usual positions with Clint nestled into Nat’s side, but something was just off and he needed to put it to the paper to understand it.

The TV was on, but neither were really watching. There was a slightly too-distant look to Clint’s eyes, and while Nat was watching the television with a predator-like focus, her body was tense and her leg bounced where she had it braced against the coffee-table. Bruce sat on the other couch, reading a book – or, pretending to read a book, but Steve pointedly ignored the flashes of green in the man’s eyes.

If he hadn’t known them as well as he did, he would never have been able to tell that they were worried. Steve’s bet on Tony reaching out to them for help hadn’t paid off. They hadn’t seen the genius since the lunch-gone-sideways yesterday morning, and it was well into the evening of the next day. The tension had climbed the longer they hadn’t seen their genius. Steve studied the redheaded spy in front of him, her lips drawn into a tight line as she stared blankly at the TV-screen. She would never actually let on about how much she cared for Tony, but she had her tells.

She’d been angry – distraught – after they’d come back from busting the HYDRA nest. Her mood had been so foul that Clint had to bully her into opening up.

She’d found blood staining their private elevator that could only belong to Tony – unless Thor had suddenly returned from Asgard, had managed to get hurt badly enough to bleed and managed to keep both of those hidden from the entire team for two days. Then yesterday happened, and Steve oh-so-stupidly managed to apparently jostle the injury that Tony had carefully hidden from them. And he’d admitted to it. Admitted to being hurt.

He didn’t know whether that was a good thing. Either he was finally warming up to them and opening up, or he was so much worse off than they all realised. He winced at the creak of wood as his fingers had apparently tightened once more, straining the pencil between them.

They’d asked Jarvis about Tony, of course, but the AI was obviously constrained by one of Tony’s many protocols. The only thing that he’d be able to tell them was that Tony was in the workshop, and showed no signs of leaving. When they threatened Jarvis to tell them how Tony was doing, they’d get the same reply every time

“I am not at liberty to share anything pertaining to Sir’s well-being.”

What was worrying, though, was the increasing urgency and frustration the voice conveyed.

They’d gone down to the workshop, too, but the windows were blacked out. They’d commanded to be let in, threatened to bash the windows in if Jarvis didn’t allow them to enter, before they’d been told – not too unkindly – that everything in the Tower was as good as hulkproof, so good luck to them. After, they’d been told in a gentler tone that they would be warned if Tony were actively dying. Which wasn’t all that reassuring, but at least it was one way Jarvis could get around Tony’s protocol.

He’d been about to resume his drawing, but was pulled out of his concentration when Clint let out an undignified screech. Nat had suddenly jumped up from the couch, disrupting the heavy quiet of the room by pushing Clint off of her. Steve sought out her gaze, fighting back a wince as the knife-sharp intensity landed on him. Her reply came in the form of an incline of her head toward the kitchen.

“Tony.”

Steve whipped his head around, wincing as he nearly pulled a muscle at the speed of the movement. But, sure thing, Tony was right there. Some of the tension in the air drained away as they all took in their long-lost teammate walking into the kitchen.

Nat’s eyes left his face as she began walking up to Tony, and Steve smiled to himself at the way he could feel some of her anxiety melt away at just seeing Tony. He knew what that felt like. He saw Bruce and Clint exchange a glance, before they settled back into their seats, keeping an eye on their two teammates in the kitchen. Steve brought his hand up to support his chin to watch them as well, relief curling in his chest.

“Hey there, Shellhead,” Nat said fondly as she sidled up to Tony where he came to a halt next to the fridge. She didn’t bother trying to be quiet as she walked up to him, a show of both her comfort with the genius and her way of not startling him.

He noticed that the quiet stretched a tad too long and felt himself stiffen when he saw the exact moment Nat realised it, too. Her body language transformed from casual and relaxed to tense again within a second, shoulders drawing up to her ears, hands falling to her sides in shock.

“Tony?” she probed, a hesitant urgency to her voice as she read the man in front of her.

The man in question didn’t reply. He just sagged against the kitchen counter as he apparently found what he’d been looking for in one of the cabinets. He shuffled over to the fridge right as Natasha called out again and the sheer inelegance of Tony’s movement right there alarmed Steve more than the not-replying. It wasn’t all that uncommon for Tony to zone out, even around the team, but he was always deliberate in his movements.

“Tony?” Bruce called out from the couch, closing his book.

The spy turned around to cast them a look as once again there was no reply to his name, checking to see if they were seeing this, too. Something urged Steve to turn around to face the kitchen and he shifted his weight around in the chair, getting a better view. The sketchblock was absent-mindedly laid down on the armrest.

He had just settled in and watched as Tony shut the fridge door and jumped away from Nat, the wild look crossing his eyes not going unnoticed. Tony grabbed onto the kitchen counter tight enough to turn his knuckles white, looking like he might have keeled over if he hadn’t had the support, and flinched. Anxiety tightened in Steve’s chest. Something was wrong.

“Jesus,” he heard the genius rasp out between puffs of breath, ‘Warn a guy before you try to kill him, Nat.”  

He heard Clint shift behind him.

“To be fair, she did,” the archer called out to them, voice not carrying its usual cheer. So, he’d seen it happen as well.

Steve could tell exactly when Tony noticed them sitting behind Natasha in the living room. The genius’ eyes closed off and turned cold, but not before a flash of something passed across his face. He watched as Tony’s lips moved, not quite getting his words out, and Steve felt torn. Could they be reading this entire situation wrong?

As he narrowed his eyes on the genius’ frame, though, he knew that they were right. Tony’s upper body was held stiffly, his breaths coming out in a rhythm not entirely naturally. He wasn’t quite looking at them and Steve swore he saw a suppressed flinch when Natasha spoke up again.

“I called out to you several times. Did you not hear me?”

And oh he really did not like how Tony was pushing himself into the counter, making himself appear smaller in front of the spy. He was contemplating stepping up to Nat’s side, wanting to study his friend up close to see what was wrong, but also not wanting to overstep. His body made the choice for him when he saw Tony cringe away from Nat’s outstretched hand. Steve was already halfway out of his chair when Tony retreated until his back hit the kitchen island.

“Nope, I was just thinking about the flamethrower design,” the genius said, but his tone held none of his usual sarcasm, none of the usual brightness at the mention of his inventions.

He crossed the distance to the kitchen and then Tony finally met his eyes, but there was such alien wariness there that it made his heart skip a beat. Tony retreated another step.

“Are you okay, Tony?” he breathed out, unable to quench his curiosity. He just had to know that he was alright, what he needed. Steve came to a stop standing slightly behind Nat, shooting her a quick look, only to see the stillness there that usually accompanied the Black Widow. She seemed shaken.

He had asked the wrong question.

“Just perfect, Cap,” Tony spit back with that famous Stark-venom in his voice, but it didn’t match his body language at all. He withdrew another step and Steve noticed the way Tony’s chest hitched. He realised Tony was on the verge of panicking, forcing himself to remain calm. He clenched one of his hands into a fist, but Steve doubted whether the genius even knew that he was doing it.

He took a second to take in Tony’s state. His hair was dishevelled and plastered sadly to his forehead with sweat, which Steve noticed only now. Was he sick? The dark brown of his hair only emphasized the pallor of his skin, much too pale for Steve’s liking. Had he lost that much blood? Was he about to faint? He couldn’t allow Tony to just retreat and go pass out somewhere. Maybe he’d actually come up to ask for their help, but felt too exposed now he was here? Either way, every fibre in Steve’s body was screaming at him to not let Tony out of his sight, to take care of him.

Bruce abandoned his spot on the couch, a quick look at him revealing worry flashing across his face as he spoke up, “You’re not looking too good, Tony. Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re running a bit hot.”

Steve barely heard Clint get up as well, quietly making his way to the others, because his attention once again snagged on Tony. He’d somehow moved around the kitchen island in the brief moment Steve had looked behind him. Tony hit the far end of the line of counters and winced slightly. Tony had raised his hands to comb through his hair, but aborted the movement at the shakiness he found there and let out a small sound, which Steve could only try not to copy.

Steve felt his own breathing catch when Tony seemed to hunch inward, inhaling a ragged, painful-sounding breath from where he stood braced against the counter. If he was going to pass out, now seemed like the perfect time and Steve moved to stand closer to him, able to catch the genius if it became necessary.

“Are you in pain?” Bruce asked from behind him and the alarm in the doctor’s voice punched the breath out of Steve’s lungs. He swivelled his head around breathlessly, brows furrowed, to get a read on Bruce, but his eyes found the bottle of painkillers in the scientist’ hands instead. He whirled back to check Tony over again, now that Bruce had confirmed his suspicion, but that hardly mattered anymore.

Because Tony, willingly taking any sort of pain medication? That was unheard of. That just did not happen.

Tony, apparently lucid enough to read Steve’s mind, as good as bared his teeth at him as his face contorted into an ugly sneer.

“God, I’m fine! Just fuck off!”

Steve’s mouth snapped shut at the comment and he felt the others flinch at the sheer hostility the engineer had aimed towards them.

Tony took that exact second of shared hesitation to escape from the situation. He was already stumbling back and away from them before Steve had even recovered, but felt the collective urge to do something, now pass through the room. He felt like the situation was spiralling out of control fast, like Tony was about to slip through his fingers, never to be seen again. He stood frozen in place though, unable to act.

He watched as Tony’s guarded eyes fell on his, turning awfully distrustful and suddenly Tony gagged and choked on his breath. Their eye contact was broken and Tony stared at the ground before his breathing became audible. The grating, wheezing sounds were enough to snap Steve out of his stupor and he couldn’t stop himself from dashing forward to catch the genius, who was looking more unsteady with every passing second. A choked whimper escaped from Tony’s throat as he stumbled away from him, foot catching on the floor.

Tony’s cry echoed through the silent room as he smacked to the floor on his behind, hands shooting out to catch the weight of his upper body. The movement was accompanied by a distinct ‘pop’ and Steve cringed as he realised two things.

1. Whatever injury Tony had sustained, it had needed stitches

2. At least one of those stitches definitely just tore

Sure enough, a patch of red appeared on his shirt, staining the area below his collarbone. Steve halted in his movement, hands outstretched in the space between them, and his heart leapt up into his throat as he looked at Tony. The genius’ head snapped up to meet his gaze.

Tony’s pupils were so dilated his brown eyes appeared black.

Terror twisted his features.

Steve’s entire world narrowed to the sight of Tony – downed and vulnerable – and something clicked.

Right as Tony began scrambling back from him hurriedly, clumsily, while one hand seemed to want to guard his chest, Steve realised – much too late – that Tony was having a flashback. He had PTSD.

Tony collided into the wall and a slight, barely-suppressed whimper escaped from the other man, the sound echoing in Steve’s ears, who was still stood there, frozen, arms outstretched.   

The realisation slammed into him so hard it left him nearly as breathless as the man in front of him. He had no idea how to deal with this, how to help him, even though he wanted to do nothing more.

He’d seen some of the Howlies fall victim to attacks like these, hell, he himself had probably had a flashback or two during the war, or after Bucky—

He was stepping closer to Tony before he even knew it, remembering how helpful a grounding touch could be.

The engineer had crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest, looking right through Steve as he panted and gasped through his panic. Steve’s own lungs swelled with a hopeful breath as anticipation crested in his heart when he went to crouch down in front of Tony, one of his hands hovering over Tony’s, and he opened his mouth to ask—

“No!” Steve jolted back in shock at Bruce’s hissed yell, the world and sounds around snapping back into focus. The scientist appeared beside him, placing a firm hand on his bicep.

“Give him space, Steve,” he was told while Bruce dragged him up off his haunches forcefully, not pausing for even a second before pushing Steve back towards the kitchen. Bruce had been about to say something else but was cut off by a sound Steve never wanted to hear again.

A scream of absolute agony tore out of Tony’s heaving chest and none of them did anything but watch on in shock, stilling in their movements. They watched as the genius released his death-grip on his own torso and watched as unsteady fingers began to rove over his chest, coming to a halt with a panicked shriek on his arc reactor. There was a pause, another whimpered yell before he became frantic.

Tony’s fingers dug into his chest, grasping at the edges of his arc reactor as he tried to get enough purchase on the sphere. His anxious efforts were accompanied by the squeaking of Tony’s shoes straining against the floor. Feeling lost, Steve’s focus remained on Tony, not wanting to lose sight of him but also needing to look away. Tony’s strangled sob nearly brought tears to Steve’s eyes and he winced at the grating sound of nails scratching against fabric-covered metal. He barely noticed Bruce talking softly to Tony, crouched a few feet away from him, but he too seemed lost, shaking his head slightly at the lack of response.

Then, suddenly, silence returned to the room with a last, strangled cry as the fingers that had previously been tugging at the arc reactor suddenly fell to the ground, lifeless.

What the hell just happened?

He was pulled out of his stupor when he heard the soft words muttered by Bruce. The scientist was telling Tony he was safe, with his friends, not in Afghanistan.

Oh.

Right.

Fuck.  

Tony had never really told them much about how he’d received the shining beacon in his chest, but Steve knew a few things from the SHIELD files he’d read before meeting the team for the first time. If he had had any lingering doubts about the traumatic happenings in that cave back in Afghanistan – which he didn’t – they would have been resolved now.

Guilt punched into him as he thought back to how he had acted, to his apparent incompetence to read a situation. He’d likely triggered this attack, crowding Tony like he did. Good intentions be damned.

Steve observed Bruce from behind where he still sat crouched a few feet from Tony, who just sat there with a heaving chest. He sought out the two spies behind him and anyone with eyes could have told that they were as shocked as he was. They were both standing frozen, watching their downed friend relive an invisible danger. He shuffled over to them. 

“He has PTSD,” Steve said, still slightly unsure of his judgement.

“I… thought so, but I never really confirmed it ‘til now,” Nat confessed, eyes still focused solely on Tony’s huddled form against the wall.

Clint hummed softly, before stating with a hint of wonder, “Well, at least someone knows what’s going on.”

He nodded toward Bruce - still muttering soft words of comfort to an unresponsive Tony - who turned around slightly at Clint’s comment. They got a frown in return, before Bruce stood up and walked over to them, pulling them away further from Tony.

“Don’t be a jealous prick, Clint,” Bruce said, levelling him with a glare that showed only the slightest bit of mirth to show he was joking, on some level.

“Do I know what is going on? Barely, it’s Tony,” he sighed, but there was no bite to his words.

“I’ve seen him get flashbacks before but something’s different…” he trailed off, gaze seeking out the genius. Steve followed his lead and he noticed the slight rotation of Tony’s wrists at his sides, gaze up as he stared at the ceiling and gasped silently.

“I don’t know why, but he’s not snapping out of it this time,” Bruce concluded, voice tight with urgency.

Clint nodded at his words and looked at Nat, who was biting her cheek as she studied Tony.

“What do we do? He’s quiet now but I don’t want him to…” she hesitated before shooting them all a nervous look, and she continued carefully, “…hurt himself again.”

Unease settled in Steve’s gut at the thought. Bruce inhaled sharply next to him and when Steve dragged his eyes away from the troubled expression on Natasha’s face, he found Bruce already looking at him. The perturbed look to his eyes cleared Steve’s head and he stood to attention at once.

“I… have an idea. It might work. Come with me, Steve,” Bruce said softly and he immediately trailed after the doctor into the kitchen, when Bruce aimed another comment over his shoulder, “You two, stay back for now.”

Steve felt his mind clear as his panic dissipated while he followed after Bruce. They stopped in front of the fridge and Steve frowned.

“What are you doing?” he asked, glancing back at Tony, the distance between them making Steve want to run right back to him. Bruce pulled open the freezer compartment below and began rummaging through it’s drawers.

“Ice against the wrists might snap him out of it,” he said, stilling as he found the mould and he slammed the freezer door shut. He quickly popped out two cubes and whirled to face Steve.

“You need to hold his arms out for me, Steve. He won’t like that, but it’ll help.”

Steve swallowed.

“Can you do that for me, cap?” Bruce probed, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing lightly.

Yes, he could. He would do anything that would help his genius. He nodded.

Bruce smirked at him, expression turning into a grimace as he went to pull Steve along to where Tony sat, obviously still deep in his flashback.

“He’ll fight you, but do not let go, okay? I swear to you it’ll get better after a while,” Bruce whispered urgently.

Steve hummed in response. He only half noticed Nat and Clint standing against the kitchen island, facing away from Tony and in the back of his mind, gratitude swelled at how gracefully the spies dealt with this.

Bruce and Steve crept closer to Tony slowly, not wanting to startle him as they did before, but they were barely even acknowledged. The only real response they got was a slight whimper when Bruce asked Steve softly if he was ready. Steve swallowed around the anxiety in his throat when Tony began shaking lightly again, clenching his eyes shut and breathing tightly through his nose.  

They exchanged a last look and nodded in agreement. Steve breathed out and reached for Tony’s forearms, settling his hands there with a firm grip and pulling his arms away from his head toward Bruce. He kept his eyes glued to the genius.

Tony’s reaction was immediate and Steve flinched as a scream tore from his throat. He had to tighten his grip when the engineer began thrashing, fighting back, panic so thick Steve almost threw up.

“C’mon Tony,” Steve muttered under his breath.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw as Bruce reached over and pushed the ice to the inside of Tony’s wrists.

Strange, wild eyes snapped up and Tony gasped at the sensation, jerking back against Steve’s hold. His eyes flickered back and forth a few times, interrupted by aggressive blinks before for the first time, Steve saw a hint of recognition there.

“Steve!”

And wasn’t that the best thing Steve had ever heard in his life? He huffed out a relieved, shocked laugh at the rough exclaim of his name and allowed his grip to become slightly looser when Tony sagged back against the wall, eyes toward the ceiling again as he panted through whatever he was still seeing.

Bruce picked up his continuous stream of words again, waiting for Tony to confirm that he could hear him. Steve shot Bruce a small smile when they got a nod after a few seconds.

Tony’s pants slowly turned into big gulps of air as the genius blinked his eyes again and again, sometimes settling on his two teammates in front of him.

Steve glanced sideways and saw Bruce already looking at him with a pensive look, before it settled into a contented acceptance.

“Good job,” he mouthed at Steve, before releasing his own hands from Tony’s arms where the last bits of the ice melted away. He got up and retreated into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.

Steve didn’t release his grip on Tony’s hands and remained his study of the other’s face. His breathing seemed to be slowing down as more warmth returned to Tony’s face. It appeared that whatever wound he had, had stopped bleeding, which relieved some of Steve’s tension.

Steve’s own breathing levelled out with each breath Tony took, more and more life returning to his brown eyes. He deemed the situation safe enough to look away for a couple of seconds, so he turned back slightly towards his team standing in the kitchen. He found Nat’s gaze straight away and he inclined his head to her with a small, hopeful smile. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and she delved back into her conversation with Clint. Steve also turned back to Tony and felt a flash of lightning go through his body when he found Tony already looking at him, but the genius averted his eyes after a long second.

Steve’s smile fell as he noticed the red creeping up Tony’s neck that settled brightly on his cheeks. Steve was no stranger to the intimacy of having people watch him as he panicked, having emerged from ice after seventy years into the future, but these people were Tony’s team, his friends. Of course, Tony would still feel too exposed and vulnerable, and Steve’s throat constricted as he imagined the engineer was likely beating himself up internally for showing such blatant weakness. The genius let his head fall forward in shame.

His fingers itched to reach out, to soothe. But he didn’t.

He let go straight away when Tony tugged slightly at his arms, giving him that freedom. Gently letting his weight drop to the ground, he settled into a cross-legged position on the floor opposite to Tony, close but not touching, content to just watch him for now. The engineer had hidden his face in his hands, so Steve gave him the time he needed to collect himself and stayed quiet. He merely forced his breaths to come out a bit louder, hoping it would steady Tony.

Every now and then, he’d catch a quiet mumble fall from the genius’ lips. He realized that Tony was reassuring himself of his whereabouts and safety and he felt something flutter in his stomach as his pride swelled.

His previous hopeful smile returned to his face. God, how could anyone ever doubt this man – bull-headed, sarcastic and loud he may be, yes, but most of all strong.

Somehow, through that monumental trauma Tony had just relived in front of them, he had not once uttered a word, had not once asked for mercy. Steve would never have thought any less of a man that would have broken under such stress, because well, that would have been the intended outcome, hadn’t it? It would have been the expected response.

But Tony Stark never did quite as expected.

Instead, he fought back.

He’d fought back and emerged on the other side of his time in Afghanistan a changed man, moving heaven and earth to improve the state of his world, his own legacy. Yes, he had the fractures to show it, but here he was, talking himself out of that cave and back into the present.

Steve really couldn’t tell the amount of time passed as he watched Tony. Noticing the slight shift in the other’s posture, he kept his face neutral when Tony let his hands fall into his lap. The genius gingerly took in his surroundings, eyes landing on their team in the kitchen, before settling on Steve. His breathing had evened out as much as Steve had dared to hope for, but he knew this moment of quiet would be broken soon as some of Tony’s usual determination leaked back into his brown eyes. Mostly, he just looked exhausted, though.

Using his determination and that determination alone as a crutch, Tony had gotten his legs under him. Quicker than Steve would’ve thought possible, the genius was standing upright, swaying slightly as Steve got up off the floor as well. He suppressed a wince at the sudden rush of blood back into his cramped legs. The conversation behind him fell quiet when they noticed the two of them had gotten up, but Steve kept his attention fixed on Tony. He hesitated.

“Tony?” he breathed the name, stopping himself from asking the stupid, obvious question again. Tony understood, however, and he got a nod in return.

“I need to sleep,” the genius muttered softly, subdued but steadfast in his resolve to get out of there. Steve didn’t doubt the man’s need for sleep for even a second.

“Okay. You’re bleeding, though,” he offered in return, indicating the bloodied fabric on Tony’s front. It really did seem as though it had stopped bleeding, so he did not really have any qualms about giving Tony the time and space to cobble himself together again. Not for too long, though.

He watched as Tony looked down at his shirt, but his posture didn’t give away any surprise. No reaction at all, for that matter, except a wave of his hand with a muttered, “Oh. Yeah.”

Their eyes met again, and Steve just took the moment to study Tony. He knew his brain must be firing at him to get out of there as quick as possible, and Steve was genuinely impressed at the show of self-constraint Tony put on here. He’d honestly expected the engineer to bolt as soon as the opportunity presented itself, like he’d tried to do earlier. And had done so many times before.

Steve knew Tony had long ago taught himself he functioned best on his own, with a mug of coffee in his one hand and his tools in the other, locked away in some lab. It was up to them now to teach him different, to gentle-parent him out of those patterns and recalibrate that stupidly amazing brain of his into allowing other people to help him.

But that would start by giving him space. By allowing him to retreat now. Small steps.

“Sleep, Tony,” Steve told him gently, heart threatening to spill over with warmth as his comment was met with a hint of stunned relief in the genius’ brown eyes.

Tony had already half turned around, before he halted and looked back, seeking out Steve’s gaze again like they had in that damned HYDRA nest. There was a question in Tony’s eyes, and he answered it immediately.

“I’ll come up later,” he told Tony and the answering smile he got back released the knot that had formed in his stomach two days ago. Tony turned around and left.

As the elevator doors slid shut, Steve released a long sigh.

“What, no overbearing mother-Steve-ing this time?”

Steve snorted and his head dropped forward. He turned around after a second to face a smirking Clint, his expression both shit-eating and uncertain somehow.

His own smirk didn’t waver as he waited for the others to walk over to him where he stood.

“Well, I, uh…” he scratched the back of his neck with a grin, before crossing his arms in front of his chest and continued, “… I realized Tony doesn’t really appreciate that, does he?”

Clint raised his eyebrows at him and mirrored his stance, a smile brightening up his eyes as he relaxed at Steve’s calm demeanor.

“Gee, that only took you like, a year to realize?”

Steve shrugged in reply, smirking. “What can I say?”

“Since we’re on the subject of your denseness anyway, a little birdie told me you had another big realization back—” Clint started with a wide grin, poking a finger at Nat, who rolled her eyes at him.

“Really, Barton?” Bruce interrupted with a tired groan, but a smile tugged at his lips as he asked, “You want to get into that right now?”

“I mean, yeah, why the hell not—” He was cut off by a slap against the back of his head by Natasha.

“Shut up, birdbrain,” she reprimanded lightly, before turning to Steve with a somewhat more serious look.

“You feel confident he’s not going to do something stupid right now?”

Steve softened his smirk at the apprehension in her tone, and inclined his head.

“Yeah. He’s clearly exhausted from all that,” he waved his hand at the elevator. “I think he’s passed out on his bed already.”

“Correct, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis announced smoothly. Steve didn’t even jump at the disembodied voice anymore. The AI’s snark reminded him of Tony.

He took in his three teammates and saw the lingering strain and worry in their expressions, eased slightly now that they were joking around again for the first time in days. He felt confident that they would back his decisions.

“He just needs some space before we come blazing into his rooms with first aid kits. Tony and I agreed I’d go up to him later, but I figured I let him sleep for a bit first,” he concluded and breathed in relief when he saw Bruce and Nat nod, relaxing ever so slightly.

Clint frowned at him, delight shining in his eyes.

“What, you speak Tony now all of a sudden?”

Steve raised his best ‘Captain America’-brow at the archer. Clint threw his hands up in mock surrender and smirked, before gesturing at them to follow him back to the couches as he turned around.

“Jeez, the guy realized he had feelings not even two days ago and now he’s already a self-proclaimed Tony-expert,” Clint muttered to himself, before yelping as Nat flicked her fingers at his ear and he hurried away from her.

Steve met Bruce’s eyes with an unflinching grin. Allowing the scientist to study him for a moment, he took Bruce by the arm and tugged him along after Clint and Nat.

“I’ll explain to you what to do,” Bruce said with a soft smile.

Chapter Text

“Captain Rogers, shall I wake Mr. Stark up for you? He is emerging out of REM-sleep. I believe he might benefit from your presence when he wakes up.”

Steve had been sitting in companiable silence with the others for the past half hour, waiting for Jarvis to alert them of Tony’s waking. He and Bruce had assumed that the genius’ wound had gotten infected and would need further treatment. Bruce had finished his instructions twenty minutes after Tony had left so they hadn’t been sitting there for even an hour, but Steve had been getting impatient. He was eager to go up to Tony’s floor, to see how he was doing. He felt Clint stir beside him as he nodded.

“Yes, Jarvis. Thank you,” Steve said as he stood up from the couch, patting Clint on his knee with a slight smile. His eyes found Natasha’s, who was watching him keenly, body coiled tightly around the book in her hands. He dipped his chin.

“Is it alright if I go up straight away, Jarvis?” he asked the AI, slightly wary that he’d be sent away if Jarvis didn’t deem Tony ready.

“Naturally, Captain Rogers.”

Bruce got up off the sofa and walked ahead of him into the kitchen, but Steve felt pinned by Natasha’s stare. It wasn’t the Black Widow, but there was something unmistakably not-Natasha about her intensity. Shifting slightly, she maintained the eye contact. She seemed tense, and if Steve didn’t know her any better… nervous.

“Take care of him, Steve?” she asked him hesitantly, voice tight.

“I will,” he told her with a gentle smile. “Of course.”

He went to turn around to follow after Bruce, but halted when the spy added another comment.

“Don’t push him.”

She seemed about ready to jump off the couch and join him, so he quickly acquiesced her with a nod and another smile.

“I won’t, Nat.”

After another second of enduring her studying gaze, she nodded and relaxed back against the couch. He dipped his head and turned, following after Bruce. He knew that Nat wasn’t worried about him actually pushing Tony—she knew him well enough to know he’d never do that to him right now—it was likely about her wanting to prevent Steve from getting disappointed at the lack of pushing in return. A lump formed in his throat as the image of Tony unseeing and shaking against the wall pushed itself back into his mind’s eye.

He knew the image would haunt him for days to come.

He reached the kitchen island where Bruce was waiting from him with a lopsided grin, his hand outstretched with a little paper bag. It was the medicine that they’d agreed on, some painkillers and anti-inflammatory medicine, along with one of his power bars. God knew how many days Tony had gone without food.

“You go and play nurse, Cap,” Bruce teased and it helped relieve some of the tension building up in his stomach. Chuckling slightly, he took the bag from the scientist, quickly checking the contents.

“You remember what I told you, right?” Bruce asked again, for the umpteenth time, his expression suddenly turning serious. Tilting his head slightly as fondness curled over him, Steve steadied the scientist with a hand on his arm.

“Yes, Bruce, I still remember, like the last twenty times you asked me.”

“Sorry,” Bruce responded, smiling sheepishly. Steve waved the apology away.

“God, Tony has no idea that all of you mother-hen him even worse than I do,” Steve said, raising his voice slightly so Nat and Clint knew the comment was directed at the both of them too. “He’d lose his mind over all your fussing.”

He got three snorts in return.

“I promise to take care of him,” Steve stated haughtily in his best Captain America voice, laying a hand over his heart, and he continued a bit more seriously, “I’ll patch him up, make him drink, eat, sleep ‘til he can’t stomach the affection anymore and then – and only then – will I report back to you.”

Bruce hummed appreciatively next to him and Steve watched with a smile as he received nods from Clint and Natasha on the couch. The archer turned back to the TV.

“Whatever you say, Romeo. Just leave already,” Clint groaned.

Steve grinned at Bruce and he felt himself become slightly nervous now that nothing was keeping him there anymore. Huh.

“Right,” he said, and with a slight wave to the scientist, he walked over to the elevator, sighing as the doors slid shut behind him. Clutching the bag of medicine to his chest, he looked at the ceiling, a remnant from his tech-challenged days, and addressed Jarvis.

“Does Tony know that I am coming up?”

“No, Captain Rogers, he does not.” There was a slight pause. “I figured the chance of Sir refusing your entry would be lesser this way.”

Steve smirked to himself. Tony really had given his bots way too much personality for his own good.

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

“Of course, Captain.”

Nerves crawled in his chest and in the back of his throat and he felt irrationally anxious. How hard could it be to take care of the genius?

Well.

He hummed to himself and huffed out a laugh.

Letting his head fall back to his neck, he closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He’d do his very best to fulfil his ‘promise’— the question was whether Tony would allow him to. Nevertheless, Steve would fight the genius all the way, the genius who just so happened to be the worst patient SHIELD-medical had ever had the absolute displeasure of dealing with.

And that was at the best of times. Now, Tony was hurt with a wound not only physical, but apparently emotional as well. Steve heaved another sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose, readying himself for the likely sky-high defensiveness he’d have to put up with. Fondness kept him from actually feeling bitter, though. The stubbornness was what made Tony, Tony.

And then again, wasn’t that the whole reason he was here in the first place?

Jarvis announced his arrival to Tony’s floor and he felt slightly sheepish as the elevator doors slid open. He really wasn’t sure whether he’d be welcome.

“Tony?” he called out, remaining within the safe confines of the elevator, giving Tony space to send him away. He didn’t know what he would do if he were sent away, but he would find a way to deal with that, too.

No reply came, however, so he pushed on, “Tony, I’m going to come in, alright?”

Emboldened by the lack of dismissal—which admittedly also made his heart skip a beat— he stepped out into Tony’s rooms and took in the space around him. He didn’t know what he’d expected, maybe piles of destruction or bloody trails leading to the bathroom, but he found nothing of the sort.

He turned toward Tony’s bedroom, undeterred by the silence and basking in the comfort that Tony’s rooms always offered him.

The first few times he’d come up here, he’d been nervous, scared to overstep the other’s boundaries as he went to put the genius to bed after a movie night, but he’d never been sent away. Steve had always been too scared to ask if he could stay, however.

He had ached to, though— every single time.

Walking around the corner of the living room into what Tony deemed his bedroom, the scene that met him warmed his chest and he smiled.

He found Tony sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at Steve tiredly, tufts of hair sticking out in all directions. Something eased inside of him at the sight of a very much alive billionaire genius.

Said genius was definitely not alright, though, swaying as he was on top of the covers, fully clothed except for his bare feet. His legs dangled over the side, toes barely touching the floor.

“Hey, Tony,” he said, sending him his softest smile as he walked closer. Tony dropped his gaze to his hands laying on his lap as Steve halted in front of him, and Steve decided to drop down to his haunches, wanting to appear as non-threatening as possible. He noticed upon closer inspection that Tony’s hands weren’t shaking. Good.

“How’re you feeling? Did you have a good nap?” he prodded, trying to get Tony to meet his eyes again, wanting to gauge his mental state.

Tony dipped his head in acknowledgement before muttering, “Just woke up.”

He met Steve’s eyes for a second, before half-heartedly waving his hand around the mess of his hair. Steve snorted at the gesture and a smile tugged at the corner of Tony’s mouth at the sound, but the expression flattened out again after a second. Steve swallowed and he sobered up as well.

Watching Tony wring his hands together, he focused on breathing evenly, setting an example for Tony. The genius seemed either nervous or uncomfortable, and Steve felt surprised that he hadn’t been sent away by him yet. The other’s quietness was also surprising. He’d been expecting and preparing for defensiveness and stubbornness, not… whatever this was.

Tony likely just needed some time to wake up and readjust. Flashbacks were no joke. Bruce had told him about the physical strain it could place on a person, depleting their energy rapidly and clouding their brain, flattening emotions.

He wanted to see if he could rile Tony up a bit, get him to bite back and make him feel somewhat in control again by allowing him to fall back onto his casual sarcasm.

“You weren’t joking when you said you needed your beauty sleep,” he quipped lightly, nudging Tony’s shin gently with his hand while smiling up at him.

His smile wavered, however, when he got nothing back in reply. Tony was still not looking at him.

He noticed that the engineer’s body was starting to get increasingly rigid with every passing second, and if Steve had to guess, he was beginning to feel the pain and discomfort of the injury. He was also likely remembering what had happened earlier, downstairs.

The pain at least, Steve could do something about.

Putting the paper bag down on the floor next to Tony’s foot, he exhaled quietly before making to get up, but he snapped his eyes back up again when he heard Tony’s breathing hitch.

He found Tony watching him with an indecipherable look in his eyes, lips drawn into a tight line, but his hands had stilled in his lap. Steve allowed Tony the space to think and saw his throat bob a few times before the genius finally spoke up.

“What are you doing here?” Tony asked, voice low and raspy. He maintained the eye-contact, but Steve found no confusion there. He looked… puzzled, maybe?

Steve reached out, not touching until the genius gave a slight nod, before putting his hand on Tony’s thigh and he squeezed soothingly. He didn’t really know what to answer. He wasn’t elegant with his words, not like Tony could be. Why put any more thought into eloquence than necessary? Now, he felt out of place, though, clumsy. As if one wrong comment could shatter Tony’s last remnants of calm.

“I’m here to patch you up, Tones,” he added the nickname after a slight moment of hesitation. He’d heard Colonel Rhodes use the nickname a few times and he hoped the familiarity of it would put Tony at ease. His own smile came to him easily when Tony nodded with a slight smile, eyes amazingly open.

Despite being allowed to see underneath Tony’s masks, Steve never considered him to be easy to read. He could only ever read what he was being allowed to see. Here, Steve was scared he’d see too much if he looked for too long and he wasn’t sure if Tony intended to drop all of his defences in this moment, so Steve broke the eye contact. With a last squeeze of the other’s thigh, he got up from his crouched position and released his grip.

“I’ll be right back,” he muttered softly, not surprised when he didn’t really get a reaction from the engineer. He knew his words would register somewhere in Tony’s mind after a little while, though.

Leaving his friend on his bed, he quickly walked over to the bathroom, but kept his footsteps quiet. He knew that Tony kept a medical kit underneath his bathroom sink and he hoped it was fully stocked. He could go down to Bruce’s lab but he was hesitant – and unwilling – to leave the other man now.

The doors to the bathroom slid open and Steve gasped, heart leaping up into his throat as he took in the scene. Blood splatters covered most of the floor and tiny splatters had made their way onto the usually pristinely white sink. His stomach churned and he had to brace his hand against the doorframe to keep himself from running back to Tony to search him over and hold him close.

The medical kit sat opened on the sink, some of the contents on top stained with smeared red blotches. He dragged a hand over his face and closed his eyes to recollect himself briefly.

Right.

Back to work.

He stepped across the floor swiftly, trying to ignore the bloody patterns for now. The dark maroon indicated the blood had long since dried, so at least Tony wasn’t bleeding to death… anymore.

He sighed and just snapped the box shut, grabbing the kit and hurried out of the bathroom, feeling unsettled.

Making his way back over to the bed, he was pleasantly surprised to see Tony turned toward him. His heart slowly returned to its normal rhythm while he watched as some of the spark returned to Tony’s eyes when he followed Steve’s movements to where he halted in front of the genius. He kept his own expression neutral, setting the kit on the nightstand, even though he couldn’t press down on his concern anymore after the scene in the bathroom. He flicked the kit open again and looked past the blood, finding the box to be adequately equipped.

“Why are you here?” Tony suddenly asked again, voice still strangely devoid of his usually loud emotions. The question made him pause. Steve looked back at the genius and frowned.

“I just told you—”

“No, I know,” Tony interrupted him with something close to an eyeroll, the ‘duh’ unspoken in the air between them and Steve punched down the hint of relief he felt, not understanding him. Tony pressed on, trying to sound annoyed but Steve only heard poorly concealed uncertainty, “I mean, why are you here?”

He felt his frown deepen at the engineer’s tone. It conveyed so much more to him than the actual question itself, which wasn’t all that enlightening. The anxiety in Tony’s voice, however, was loud enough to understand what was being asked of him.

He sank down onto his knees again in front of Tony, but didn’t touch him. Tony’s hands had begun shaking again.

“I’m here because I want to be, Tones. Because you’re hurt. I want to take care of you,” he pressed, wanting the genius to understand the sincerity of his words.

He didn’t need to be an empath to understand the question that flickered across Tony’s eyes as he tried to get his walls back up, why?

“You could’ve just dragged me off to medical,” Tony pressed with a hint of dejection to his voice before Steve could think of something to say, something to help.

“I know you don’t like medical. You hate medical,” Steve stated, tilting his head slightly as he grieved at the look of distress that crossed Tony’s face.

“Yeah, but why does that matter,” to you? he didn’t ask, but Steve’s heart broke nonetheless. He noticed as the genius’s breathing picked up in speed and his internal alarm bells went off. Another panic attack would push him beyond exhaustion.

He sought out Tony’s eyes as he went to grab one of his hands and smiled slightly when the genius allowed the action. Steve’s large fingers wrapped around cold, shaky ones and he brought the hand to his own chest, pressing it flat against his own, steady heartbeat. Tony’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t pull back. Steve grinned to himself in victory as the genius took in a full, surprised breath. He swiped his thumb tenderly over the back of Tony’s hand as he sucked in deep, exaggerated breaths.  

“It matters to me because it matters to you, Tones. Like I said, I want to take care of you, in any way I can. I know that you would benefit much more from a friendly touch than whatever those doctors can offer you down in the med bay. I also know that this,” he gestured at Tony’s general chest area, “is not the only wound you’re suffering from right now. There’s one here as well.”

He peeled his right hand off of Tony’s and reached up to lightly tap at the side of Tony’s head. Once there, he couldn’t stop himself from gently cupping Tony’s cheek. The genius’ eyes closed for a second, before catching himself but he didn’t pull away, and surprise remained in his brown eyes.

He wasn’t good at this touchy-feely stuff, but he’d try to do it for Tony.

“You matter to me, Tony. To us. So your comfort and well-being will also always matter to me, and if that means I have to play nurse for you, then so be it,” he concluded, feeling unsure of himself.

Silence hung between them as he let the other think, scratching gently at his scalp and he noticed some of the rising panic had ebbed away. Watching Tony right now felt like watching a computer system reboot, seeing the familiarity return to his expression and eyes as he finally managed to make sense of the situation.

“You’re not a doctor, though, Cap,” Tony stated sceptically, but the slight lift at the corner of the genius’ mouth made Steve exhale a relieved breath. There he was.

“I have field medical knowledge, Tony. I was in the army,” Steve retorted drily, dropped his hand from Tony’s face and gently placing Tony’s own hand back into his lap.

“Right,” the engineer replied sheepishly, watching Steve’s movements for a second before looking back up.

A smile spread across Tony’s features and they grinned at each other, that spark of mischief gleaming in the genius’ eyes.

Steve nearly lost himself to that look, but recovered after a moment. He broke the eye contact and looked down at the paper bag he’d placed on the floor. He looked back up as he wrapped his fingers around his package and sighed, smirking.

“I brought you dinner,” he joked as he held it up, slightly reluctant, ready for the atmosphere to shift.

And shift it did, but it did not turn hostile like he expected.

Tony hummed, shrugging slightly but wincing at the movement. Steve’s smile faltered at the complete lack of protest, the total acceptance of the situation, as well as the obvious indication of pain. His chest constricted again as he remembered the task ahead of him.

Steve ran a hand through his hair, breathing slowly, before he opened the bag and looked at its contents. He picked out the power bar and gave it to Tony who, Steve noticed, was growing more tense again and had turned away from him on the bed. His focus was on the pillow, but Steve knew he wasn’t actually seeing it. He gently nudged the genius’ arm with the crinkling wrapper.

“Here, eat this first. When was the last time you ate?” he began, but the blank, tired look in Tony’s eyes made him power on, “Nevermind. Just eat this, you need to get some nutrition into your body before you take any medication. Let me get you some water in the meantime.”

He forced himself to smile when Tony grabbed the bar from his hands and began unwrapping it. Satisfied that the other could be left alone for a minute when he took the first bite, Steve stood up from his kneeling position and patted his leg softly.

He moved toward the luxurious kitchen taking up much of the space of the living room, all decked out with sleek anthracite counters and cabinets. He quickly took one of Tony’s fancy tumblers out of one of the cupboard and let some meticulously-filtered water fill it, straight from the tap. His Ma would never believe the wonders of the 21^st century, he snorted to himself. Or what Stark money could get you, he supposed. He set the glass on the counter and braced himself for a second, letting out a long sigh and rolled his neck.

He felt like banging his head against the wall. God, he felt unfit for this. He would have handled defiance with grace, stubbornness with perseverance and even though he wanted to treat Tony’s vulnerability with the utmost care— because that was precious— Steve, quite frankly, didn’t know what the hell he was doing.

He would just have to figure it out on the go, though. There was no room to fail Tony here, and he’d do his damnedest best to make him feel comfortable.

He picked up the glass and walked back over, forcing himself to look calm as he met the genius’s gaze, anxiety written plain across Tony’s face and body. He’d somehow finished the bar already in the minute that Steve had stepped out. He sat down next to the genius on the bed, leaving a decent amount of space between them and pushed the glass into his hands.

“Hungry?” he ventured, grinning slightly.

“Yeah,” Tony replied with a weary smile of his own tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I’ll get you some more later,” Steve said, suppressing a wince when no reply came. He’d never seen Tony so… resigned.

“You’re so quiet,” he suddenly blurted out before hurriedly trying to save his observation with a wince, “it’s… are you alright?”

Tony searched his face, mostly unreadable, despite the clear anxiety shining through, before he spoke up guardedly, “Am I not more… agreeable this way?”

The genius didn’t even flinch at what his words implied.

“What?” Steve uttered quietly, horrified.

“I’ve been told I’m an asshole whenever I open my mouth,” Tony said, but his tone wasn’t biting. It came out rather unsure, genuinely tentative.

“What?” he uttered again, blinking as he suppressed a frown. He tilted his head as he studied Tony, thinking for a few seconds before speaking up, “Well, maybe sometimes, but I happen to like you when you’re being an asshole, Tony, so please, don’t hold back on my account.”

Elegant. Observing the look on Tony’s face, turning from restrained to slightly bemused, he allowed a real smile onto his face. He was just recovering from Tony’s self-deprecating remark when his brain caught up to his own words.

“But you can be quiet if you want to,” he quickly added, worried Tony would feel like he had to fill the silence now that Steve had said that. He squirmed when Tony’s expression turned unimpressed, slight smile creeping onto his face. He was about to elaborate when Tony interrupted with an airy, incredulous laugh.

“Steve. Shut up. Seriously, it’s fine, forget I even brought it up,” Tony said with a genuine smile now. He visibly hesitated before he placed his hand on Steve’s where he had dropped it in the space between them and added, “Thanks.”

Steve nodded and looked at their hands. He was going to actually bang his head into the wall in a minute.  

He cleared his throat and with his free hand, Steve picked up the bag and shook out the three little bottles into his hand, reading the labels, looking for the doxy… something. Steve wasn’t a doctor, and Bruce swore he wasn’t one either, but he would trust whatever Bruce told him to do in situations like these. He put the other two bottles down on the sheets and pulled his hand from under Tony’s to open the first bottle.

“Take these,” Steve instructed as he shook two yellow-tinged pills into his palm, “they’ll help treat the infection.”

He watched as Tony grabbed them out of his hand with slightly trembling fingers and down them without any protest. Steve swallowed before he resumed.

“I’ll, uh… I’ll set reminders for the next doses, so don’t you worry about that. I’ve also got some ibuprofen with me to help with the pain and I’m guessing the wound’s inflamed, so that’s a win-win,” he explained, watching Tony hesitantly for a second before reaching out for the third bottle and continued, “If the pain is really bad, you could also take some Tylenol?”

Steve shook out 2 pills of ibuprofen while he waited for Tony to think on his words. When, in lieu of a reply, Tony just offered the palm of his hand to him, he quickly took out two tablets of Tylenol as well and gently placed them in the genius’ outstretched hand. He watched as Tony meekly swallowed the pills one by one and folded his hands in his lap again, worrying his lip between his teeth.

As Steve began thinking up a gameplan for the actual patch-up, he noticed that Tony’s eyes would sometime flicker to his face, but he pointedly looked away. Let him assess the danger, allow him to tell himself he’s safe with his friend.

“You could’ve gotten Bruce to do it?” Tony tried again, swallowing, obviously trying to stall.

Steve thought about that for a second, before he shrugged. He could have, but they’d all agreed that Steve was the better option this time. He’d do it, though, he’d go and get Bruce if Tony asked for him, but Steve severely doubted that was what Tony actually wanted.

“What?” Tony pushed, voice rough as his anxiety increased.

“Well, like I already told you, I wanted to do it,” Steve repeated, seeking out Tony’s gaze before continuing slowly, “but I could get Bruce if you’d prefer him to help?”

“No, I…” Tony looked away again, casting his eyes down to his obviously shaking fingers, appearing frustrated.  

Steve quickly, but gently, pushed on, “Well, let’s get you patched up then, shall we?”

There was only a beat of silence before Tony suddenly looked up again and Steve felt blown away by the intensity of the anxiety expressed freely on his face, likely against his own knowledge.

“You don’t have to, Steve. I’ll be fine if you leave me be, I promise,” Tony responded with a smile-turned-grimace, breaths hitching with the intensity of that underlying distress. There was an attempt to cross his arms in front of his chest, which Tony gave up on with a wince.

Scooting himself closer to the engineer and turning to face him, Steve put both his hands on Tony’s arms, steadying him and studying his face.

“It’s alright, Tones. There’s nothing to fear here, it’s just me,” Steve spoke softly, and God if that word usually inspired a fight with Tony. None of that defiance welled up now, though, so he pushed on gently, “I am not sure about what it is exactly that’s stressing you out right now, but this won’t change anything. It won’t change what I think of you.”

He thought for a second, biting the insides of his cheek as he noticed he had Tony’s full attention. His brown eyes were pinned to his with a desperation there that enveloped Steve wholly.

“Allowing help, allowing me to help doesn’t mean that you’re weak. Even if it did, you don’t have to be strong like this all the time, Tony. Allowing me to help is okay, Tones, hell, asking for help is good, great, even. I’m not seeing anything here that is making me want to run the other way and never look back,” he continued with a smile, no longer able to suppress the urge to run his fingers through Tony’s hair now that he was sitting so close to him, so he did. The engineers’ eyes fluttered shut, hiding the emotion there, the hesitant awe that had just begun creeping in.

“I’m invested in you, Tony. There’s something about you that just makes me want to wrap you into my arms and never let go so that I can make you feel better, so you’re doing us both a favour here by allowing me to take care of you,” Steve paused at Tony’s amused snort and smiled back.

“Every time I get to learn something new about you, that feeling only increases. I know that we might not have gotten off on the best foot, but I can tell you now that I’ll forever try to make that up to you. You deserve to feel comfort, to have that person in your corner that you can allow yourself to open up to. I won’t betray the trust you’ve given me, Tony.”

He was still carding his fingers through Tony’s hair, feeling lighter with the words off his chest. He knew it was going to take time for the engineer to really believe all of that, but Steve didn’t mind. He would repeat them as many times as Tony needed to hear them, and he would wait.

He felt something flutter in his belly when Tony’s steady fingers wrapped around Steve’s forearms and Tony gently pulled him in closer, until their foreheads touched.

Steve closed his eyes and smiled to himself as he felt his heart skipping a beat at Tony’s gesture of gratefulness, at their unashamed closeness. Both of them just breathed there for a second, until Steve broke the silence.

“The others feel the same way, by the way.”

He pulled back slightly, enough to see Tony’s entire face light up in mischief.

“The exact same way, Stevie?” he asked with faked scepticism and Steve dropped his head with a snort, rolling his eyes even as his heart skipped a beat in excitement.

“Shut up, you git,” he retorted, sitting back slightly, “You know what I mean”.

“Hmm, really don’t. Please enlighten me,” Tony said, tilting his head with a fond look in his eyes.

“You’re insufferable. I’m serious. The entire team would drop whatever they were doing to help you if you were to ask for it, Tony. They adore you, as do I. This, though,” he gestured with his hand between the two of them, with Tony’s fingers still clasped around his forearm, “is a conversation for another time.”

Tony stilled, expression softening again and he nodded, softly dragging his thumb up and down Steve’s arm. Steve grinned, relieved that Tony seemed much less anxious and he wanted to bask in this moment but he also knew that Tony needed to sleep. They had a long while ahead of them before that could happen, though. He sighed, feeling so very reluctant to end the moment.

Tony immediately picked up on his change of mood and released his grip, setting Steve’s arms down gently on the sheets. His throat bobbed and a slight shudder ran through him.

“It’ll take about thirty minutes for the pain meds to kick in. You want to sit it out?”

Tony shook his head and replied, “No, let’s just get this over with already. Besides, I’m feeling better already,” Tony added cheekily, although it wasn’t as earnest as it was a second ago. Steve mourned it.

“Idiot,” he said instead, nudging Tony’s chin with his finger. Sighing again, he stood up and said, “Let me just grab a chair, then.”

He quickly padded back over to the kitchen and took one of the unnecessarily expensive chairs, choosing one that was low enough to be able to reach Tony on the bed. Walking back, he placed it right beside the bed and sat down, knees brushing against Tony’s. He pushed himself into a soldier-like focus, regarding the man in front of him as his patient. The engineer was twitching his feet against the floor, the only current giveaway of his anxiety.

“Let’s get that shirt off of you,” Steve said, long past expecting a chuckle or joke at that. He got a look in reply though, which was something, at least. He continued, “Do you want me to help you get it off, or should I just… cut it?”

He watched as Tony’s mind flitted through the options. The genius sat up straighter and reached for the hem of his shirt, but aborted the movement with a hiss. Tony closed his eyes in resignation and exhaled before he spoke up, “Yeah, just… just cut it off.”

Steve hummed in assent. He grabbed the kit off the nightstand and rummaged around until he found the fabric scissors. Tony pulled at the fabric of the bottom of his shirt and held it out for him, stretching it so Steve would have easy access. He had to force himself to keep breathing slowly as he placed the scissors and began cutting, ignoring how the fabric shook with the tremors that wracked the other’s body. He kept his own body relaxed, even though he was nervous to see what he’d find under the shirt. What he’d been worrying about the past few days.

The scissors ripped through the fabric of his shirt pretty easily and he quickly made his way up towards Tony’s chest. He jerked when suddenly Tony’s hand closed around his wrist, stopping his movements. He looked up to find the genius’ complexion pale, lips pressed tight into a line.

“You won’t hurt me,” Tony said, but there was no threat to the statement. It was a question, fear and dread plain to see in his eyes. Steve found it easy to answer.

“No,” he agreed, “I would never willingly hurt you.”

Steve never looked away from him as Tony searched him, body tense, until something settled in his gaze. With an audible swallow, Tony released his grip.

Steve looked back down again and resumed his path with the scissors, until the last thread of the collar gave way with a soft ‘snap’. Putting the tool down on the bed, he looked up for permission and steeled himself when he got a nod.

He took hold of the fabric and gently pulled it aside. The bright beacon of light on his chest was the first thing to draw his attention and he stilled, looking up to find Tony studying him with a sickening intensity. His eyes were drawn back down to the Arc Reactor placed atop his ribs. It was… wow.

“Can I touch it?” Steve asked hesitantly when he reached out before he could think about what he was doing. He looked up briefly to see Tony nod, eyes closed off again. Steve wavered for a second at that, but his curiosity got the better of him.

He softly padded his fingers against the metal, touching the glowing parts of it. He had no idea what he was seeing here, some piece of tech so incredibly advanced it lay far beyond his understanding.

His fingers lit up with the soft blue where he rested his hand atop it. It was cool under his hand, and although he had expected some type of whirring, it only moved under the influence of Tony’s breathing. Breathing that was carefully controlled, shallow and high in his chest.

Steve moved his fingers down to study the edges of the arc where it sat against the genius’ skin, pushing the shirt aside slightly. That’s when he frowned.

Angry red came into view on the right side of the arc reactor, and Steve’s fingers faltered. He looked up again to find Tony looking off to the side, face perfectly expressionless. He pushed the fabric all the way past Tony’s shoulder and winced in sympathy as it revealed a red, swollen line cut across his chest all the way to his shoulder. The cut was riddled with stitches and blotches of dried blood around the middle and he scowled at the sight, finding some of the stitches ripped out and the depth of the cut became clear.

No wonder Tony had seemed in so much pain, the wound was clearly infected, skin around it tinged red as well. There was warmth radiating of his chest, but at least there didn’t seem to be any… pus, or something, Steve thought with a hint of relief.

He sat back slightly, retracting his hands and grabbed the kit off the nightstand. Placing it in his lap, he began to look through it for the things he needed while the atmosphere between them grew tense. Neither of them said anything and Tony remained perfectly still. Steve felt his own heartbeat pick up in speed, but he wasn’t sure how to remedy the situation.

He found a needle and thread, as well as some sterile gauze and antiseptics, and placed them all next to Tony on the bed. He picked out the tweezers as an after-thought.

He exhaled as quietly as he could while he took in Tony, who still wasn’t looking at him but tension and anxiety were radiating off of him. He was so clearly uncomfortable that Steve almost wanted to apologise and scramble away from him so he could recover. Almost.

The only thing he could offer instead was control, choice. Give him direction over Steve’s actions by giving him whatever options he had.

“Do you want to do this sitting up or lying down?” he asked softly, but the engineer still startled slightly.

“N-not lying down,” Tony said quickly with a hint of desperation as he looked back at Steve, shuddering out a breath. Steve shrugged.

“Sure thing, sitting up it is. Are you comfortable on the bed?”

Tony nodded meekly, eyes clouding over slightly.

Steve leaned forward in his chair, desperate to try and pull him back in.

“Hey, Tony, stay with me. Don’t go… don’t go there again. I’ll tell you what I’m doing every step of the way, alright? I can stop whenever you need me to. It’ll feel better after I’m done.”

The look in Tony’s brown eyes was saddened, defeated, but he nodded. Watching his reaction, Steve slowly reached out for his hand and squeezed it lightly.

“Breathe with me for a second?” he suggested. He wasn’t going to rush Tony into this. He had nowhere to go, neither did Tony, and he didn’t see any reason to make this any more uncomfortable than it needed to be.

There was a hint of surprise in the engineer’s eyes as he watched him back while they both breathed deeply. Tony’s fingers still shook slightly, so Steve resumed lightly rubbing his thumb over the back of his hand. He could see Tony readying himself, some resolve returning to his expression and Steve smiled encouragingly, “You’ve got this, Tones.”

When Tony snorted and rolled his eyes, Steve patted his hand one more time and stood up slowly and explained, “I’m going to get some clean water to clean your chest so I can see the wound a little better, alright? I’ll be right back.”

Tony hummed and gave him a half-hearted thumbs up.

Grinning, Steve quickly went to get a bowl from one of the cabinets and halted in front of the sink again. He filled the bowl, feeling much more certain of himself than he did a few minutes ago. Turning the tap off, he walked back over and put the bowl next to the kit, grabbing a roll of gauze and letting it soak up the water. He turned to Tony, who had relaxed slightly, but the resigned look was still there. The engineer was tracking Steve’s movements sharp enough, though, so Steve was positive he wasn’t about to launch into a full-blown flashback.

Steve had to push down a grin at the sight of him when he sat back down. With one half of the shirt draped across his shoulder, the other still hanging down his front loosely, he looked endearingly lost.

Tony noticed the scrutiny and huffed, moving his good arm clumsily to pull the shirt away. Stepping closer to help him, they worked to get the remnants of the shirt off together.

“Eager to see more of me, hmm?” Tony commented with a slight wince as he was freed of his shirt, looking up at him from his seated position.

Steve hummed in return, keeping his tone light, “Oh, I’m not minding the view at all.”

He really didn’t. He kept his eyes firmly on Tony’s, but there was no denying that the genius was built like an athlete, lean and muscled. Hauling around hundreds of pounds of metal would do that to a body.

The genius’ expression turned disbelieving, even though he tried to hide it.

“Even with all this?” he asked as he pointed at the arc reactor and then at the wound, genuine insecurity bleeding through.

Steve narrowed his eyes a bit, allowing himself to smirk as he nudged the underside of Tony’s chin. “Well, if anything, it makes you look more rugged.”

Tony let out a surprised, short laugh at that, wonder in his eyes, before looking away and shaking his head, smile still there.

“I honestly can’t figure you out.”

“Hmm, I’m just happy to be here,” Steve said cheerily with a wink as he sat down again, reaching for the gauze and wringing it out. Tony watched him with a warmth Steve hadn’t seen a lot before, but he was happy for it. It meant he was distracted from his pain, 100% aware and with Steve in the here and now.

“Alright, I’m just going to clean the blood away now. Let me know if you need a break, but this shouldn’t hurt too much,” Steve said, keeping his voice and expression gentle.

“Yeah, go ahead,” Tony said, trying for a smile even as some of the tension returned to him. Tony sat up a little straighter, baring his chest to him as he cleared his throat slightly.

There was something there still, beyond his hesitancy to accept Steve’s care and concern. He figured it was something to do with his earlier flashback, but he wasn’t going to push now. There would be time for that later.

He went to work, wiping at the dried blotches of red on his chest, working toward the slice. The blood came away easy enough and Steve hummed happily. There wasn’t actually that much blood, so this must be from where the stitches were torn earlier. Tony must have actually properly cleaned the wound when they first came back from their mission and he smiled at the thought. It shouldn’t have surprised him, Tony was a functional adult after all, despite what he himself said.

He rinsed the gauze out and refocussed his efforts on the wound itself, starting at his shoulder.

“Might be a bit more tender now,” he muttered when he pressed the roll onto the edge, a small droplet of water running down Tony’s torso. A quick look at the genius revealed a relatively calm expression and watchful eyes following his hands.

He quickly made his way onto the pane of the genius’ chest, as there wasn’t that much blood to clean away, thankfully. The stitches had held admirably well. Tony winced slightly when he dragged the cotton across the area where a few stitches had torn and Steve muttered an apology. He moved on steadily, cleaning his way across his chest and leaving clean skin in his wake, all the while keeping an eye on Tony’s body language.  

Tony tensed when he scrubbed the last bits of the angry line where it met the arc reactor on the middle of his chest. He paused briefly and saw a flash of anxiety pass across Tony’s face and his throat bobbed. He wasn’t told to stop, though, so after a few seconds of eye-contact, he resumed.

Bunching up the roll to clean the last bits of the wound, the material grated against the metal and Steve frowned, leaning closer ever so slightly. Was he seeing that right? The arc reactor seemed…

He sat back as he gasped in shock, eyes snapping to Tony’s as he uttered without thinking, “Jesus, Tony, is this thing inside your chest?”

Tony seemed to shrink away from his scrutiny, but he didn’t try to hide his anxiety from Steve this time. He maintained the eye contact with Steve, even though it seemed to cost him. The engineers’ shoulders hunched inward slightly and he could see Tony retreating into himself. The lack of a verbal answer said enough.

A lump formed in Steve’s throat and he absent-mindedly dropped the roll of gauze next to the bowl while his free hand went to rest on Tony’s chest next to the arc reactor. He could feel the genius’ heart hammering against his ribs in a rhythm that matched his own frantic beating and he grabbed hold of Tony’s limp hand, cradling it to his own chest.

Tony’s breath stuttered and he averted his gaze as Steve watched him grind his jaw. He didn’t know what to say.

“God, Tony, I never knew. I…” he trailed off, mouth dry.

This revelation just added a whole extra layer of complicated to the man that was Tony Stark. The thought of not only having been kept in sub-optimal living conditions – to put it in the mildest of ways – but to also return with a very much unwanted and intrusive reminder… Steve shuddered.

Of course Steve hadn’t known, couldn’t have known. But he should have wondered.

He could tell Tony was starting to panic, hand starting to shake in his and he was blinking furiously. He was still looking away, though, so his expression was hidden from Steve. Tony weakly tugged at his hand but Steve didn’t release it, instead pushing it flat against Steve’s chest.

“Tony, look at me. Breathe,” Steve spoke softly, his mind getting over the initial shock as he noticed the distress in the other.

Tony heaved in a breath and pushed it out between his teeth just as quickly, the motion almost seeming angry.

“That’s it, Tones. Just breathe,” he commended, eyes drawn to the arc reactor on Tony’s torso as it moved with his breathing. He tasted bile in the back of his throat as his mind conjured up scenarios of how it must have been placed—scenarios helped along with the memory of Tony’s flashback.

“Can you look at me, Tony?” he asked, as much for the sake of Tony’s wellbeing as his own.

He felt the engineer’s chest stutter under his palm as Tony’s next inhale snagged in his chest.

Tony shook his head once, tightly. “I don’t want to.”

He breathed past the hint of irritation that welled up at Tony’s tone, but Steve had long since learned how to look past his mask of indifference. He took a second to think, to revisit everything he knew about his stay in Afghanistan, but in the end he found the answer simply in the way Tony was wired.

Tony was showing weakness— and weakness was never a good thing for Stark men, least of all Tony Stark. Rejection was something Tony had had to deal with over and over again, and he was expecting it now, too. From Steve.

“Tony, this doesn’t change anything. It isn’t going to change how I look at you. Or how I feel about you, for that matter,” he said, a small smile creeping onto his face as he saw Tony’s face flicker briefly. It seems he’s hit the nail on its head.

The genius’ shoulders sagged minutely, before he tensed up again. Tony tried to pull his hand away a second time but Steve refused to let go. The genius took an aggravated breath and spoke up again in a tight voice, but there was misery leaking through, “Isn’t it? Don’t tell me you’re not feeling pity for me right now, Steve.”

Okay, so at least Tony believed his words. His face burned at Tony’s accusation, though, because he was right. He wouldn’t want to name his emotions ‘pity’ himself, but in a way he did pity the genius. Hopefully not in the way Tony was afraid of, though.

“Maybe so,” he began hesitantly, “but it doesn’t change anything, like I already told you, but I’ll keep repeating it until you believe me. I’m still not running away. You know what I’m seeing, why I’m feeling like this?”

Steve paused for a second, collecting his thoughts as Tony turned his head and met his eyes doubtfully. The genius was strung so tightly that Steve couldn’t help but feel pity, worsened by the uncertainty in Tony’s eyes.

“In front of me is a man that means so much to me that it hurts—a man that is good and honest and brave, who went through all of this and deserved not a single second of it. I can’t even begin to tell you how deeply sorry I am that you had to experience this, but whether I feel pity or not is beside the point.”

Tony’s hand stilled against his chest and Steve searched his face frantically. The reluctant hope in the engineers’ eyes made him power on, “Tony, you have been led to believe that showing emotion is a sign of weakness, that it’s a flaw. I can’t stress enough how wrong that assumption is.

“I see you, Tony, I see you and your experiences and all your masks and God, I see your strength. I would never think any less of you because of something that happened to you, something that was done to you. I’m not going anywhere, Tony,” he concluded, putting every single scrap of earnestness in him into those last few words.  

They both breathed in the silence after his admission, simply looking at each other as the seconds passed.

The tension drained from Tony’s body and this time Steve allowed their hands to fall into Tony’s lap, interlacing their fingers. Steve ignored the minute tremble in Tony’s lower lip and watched as the genius shut his eyes and breathed deeply before nodding.

They stayed silent while Steve gently placed his hand on the back of Tony’s neck and pulled him in, cradling the genius’ body into the hollow of his upper body where they sat. He simply rubbed circles into Tony’s back and breathed in the scent of his hair for a while. It was a mix of his expensive cologne and motor oil, which was just so delightfully Tony. He marvelled at Tony’s warm breaths against his neck.

He considered his next words very carefully, “Do you need to talk about it?”

Need to, because knowing Tony, he’d likely never want to talk about any of it.

Tony stayed silent for a while, but he didn’t tense up in his arms.

“I can’t,” the genius muttered into his shirt, before correcting himself, “I don’t know how to.”

The openness of his voice tugged at Steve’s heartstrings and he hummed, “Alright.”

He could wait until Tony found the words, however long it would take him.

Tony sighed loudly and pulled away from him, sitting up and wiping at his face, “God, I need a coffee.”

Steve snorted, releasing his hold, “You need sleep.”

Tony shrugged his good shoulder with a slight grin and an eye-roll.

“Sure. Just get on with it, Cap,” he said with a hint of his usual humour in his voice. “I assume you want to stitch me back up?”  

Steve nodded, allowing Tony to braze past the vulnerability of the moment.

“Yeah I just want to do a few here,” he said while indicating the area in the middle where a few of the stitches had popped earlier. “Looks like you tore a few.”

“Ah, yes. I’m afraid my ass is not going to be as nice as usual to look at for a while. Unless you prefer it blue, of course,” Tony said, raising one eyebrow in a challenge and Steve huffed a laugh.

“If you don’t shut up, Stark, I swear…” Steve began, not bothering to finish his threat as Tony’s smirk grew at his exasperation. He flicked Tony’s hand, earning him a mocking gasp as the genius jerked his arm back and Steve grinned at him before focussing again.

Deciding he’s done enough cleaning, he leaned in to confirm the suspicion he’d formed earlier. It looked like five of the stitches Tony had placed had torn during his fall. Upon closer inspection, that proved to be true, and while the three in the middle had gotten lost somewhere, the two around the edges were still embedded in Tony’s skin. Great.

“I’ll have to pull the stitches out first. ‘S not gonna feel too nice, but I’ll be quick,” Steve told the other man, while he reached out for the tweezers.

“Okay,” Tony simply answered, and he leaned back again slightly, carefully bracing his weight on his good arm behind him.

Once he had better access to the genius’ chest, he leaned forward and with a last look at Tony, he reached with the pliers to grab hold of the first one.

“Is it bothering you?” Steve asked when the pliers closed around the thread. “Your ass?”

Just as Tony let out a surprised laugh, Steve pulled on the stitch, dragging it out of the wound.

“Ow!” Tony exclaimed, looking at him with a surprised smirk, something like glee on his features.

“Two can play the game, Tony,” Steve said with a quick wink in Tony’s direction. He placed the bit of thread on the gauze he’d dropped earlier, before moving on to the next one.

“Not really, by the way. It’s definitely bruised, though,” Tony answered his question and he winced again as Steve plucked out the other stitch quickly.

Droplets of blood welled up and Steve swiftly pressed another piece of gauze against it, trying to be gentle now that the wound was gaping slightly. Tony still winced when the fabric came to rest against inflamed skin.

“Too bad. Means I have no excuse to wrangle you out of your pants tonight,” Steve said evenly as he plucked the needle and thread off the nightstand, but his heart skipped a beat at his open flirting.

Tony gaped openly at him, “Who even are you?”

Steve looked up from where he’d fed the thread into the needle and grinned, before turning slightly apologetic.

“Sorry, I guess it’s shitty bedside manners to flirt with my injured patient,” Steve admitted. Tony simply looked at him, something fond in his expression as he searched for a reply.

“No, it’s… it’s nice. It’s distracting me from the…” the genius said as he tapped his finger against the arc reactor.

Steve smiled at him, the way Tony just gave him that piece of information freely, while he twirled his finger around the thread.

That had been his intention after all, but it’s nice to know it’s appreciated. “Good to know.”

He was incredibly happy with how relaxed Tony was at the moment. The genius sat back on the bed, still leaning his weight slightly onto his good arm to give Steve better access, but his breathing had evened out. He was watching Steve quite attentively, but his expression had changed so much from the anxiety he’d been broadcasting earlier. He had tilted his head slightly to watch Steve fondly.

“I’m just gonna stitch you up now. Five, I think.”

Tony hummed. “Okay, good. I think the meds are kicking in. I’m starting to feel a little loopy,” he said with a slight smile.

Steve smiled back and leant forward to get back to work. Silence settled over them once again as Steve placed the stitches as carefully as possible, keeping an eye on Tony’s body for signs of distress. Asides from the occasional shudder or hiss, the genius remained mostly relaxed, thankfully.

Tying off the last stitch, he let out a soft breath and looked up to find Tony already watching him. His eyes had taken on something more troubled, but he didn’t seem upset or anxious, so Steve figured he was thinking, like Tony sometimes did.

“All done. Last up is disinfecting, and then you can sleep for however long you want,” he said, patting Tony’s thigh as he grabbed the disinfectant and yet another piece of gauze. “This is the good stuff, Betadine. Doesn’t sting as much as hydrogen peroxide.”

Tony visibly shivered at the mention of the disinfectant, smiling at Steve. “Thank goodness for you, Spangles.”

Steve began applying the antiseptic, spreading it along the wound with the cotton with gentle, steady hands. He worked his way across the wound, starting from the shoulder again and it left behind yellowish stains around the cut. Taking extra care around the fresh stitches, he was so concentrated on his task that he nearly jumped out of his skin when Tony suddenly spoke up.

“It happened in Afghanistan. They, uh…” his voice trailed off. When Steve looked up to meet his eyes, the engineer quickly looked away. “No, don’t—please don’t look at me. It’s, uh… it’s easier that way.”

Steve swallowed but he looked down again with a nod. He hadn’t expected Tony to open up to him tonight about this, but he’d take whatever the engineer would give him.

Tony remained silent for a while, and he heard him trying to calm himself with slow breaths. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve could see him closing his eyes for a second. When he spoke up, Tony’s voice was so anguished that his stomach clenched.

“They broke my ribs, Steve. They—I was held down while they cut me open. They cracked my ribs apart, split my fucking chest open while I was awake beneath their hands.”

A wave of cold ice swept across Steve’s body and he had to fight to keep his hands steady on Tony’s chest, to not look up at him to see his expression. His throat tightened to the point where it was painful when he heard Tony shudder.

“Then they… they removed—God,” Tony cut himself off when his voice broke, the word sounding almost like a sob.

Steve couldn’t help himself, his eyes snapped up to Tony and his heart broke. He had his eyes clenched shut, lashes clumping together with unshed tears, and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip.

“They cut around in my chest and hacked into my lungs, my ribs,” Tony continued brokenly, but no tears fell as he opened his eyes and bore into Steve’s. “I felt a hand on my heart, Steve. Christ that fucked me up. And it hurt. They shoved the housing in there and it—it was agony. Absolute agony.”

Tony paused for a second, before whispering to him urgently, “I felt all of it.”

Steve felt wholly frozen in place. There was no way of conveying the horror he felt at Tony’s words, the way his heart was thumping painfully against his ribs at the image Tony had just created inside his mind. Tony himself, somehow, seemed to recover from his own horror. Despite all he had just said, he still did not tense or shrink away, he just seemed desperate.

“I can’t… I can’t talk about this stuff, because there is no way to downplay it. It’s just… it just is. It’s gruesome and nauseating and there’s so much more that I don’t even the strength to talk about.”

Steve didn’t say anything, couldn’t say anything he hadn’t already said and one look at Tony told him he wasn’t expecting him to. So he listened.

The genius seemed to shake himself out, put himself back on track and he continued, although his expression remained slightly desperate, “At first, when I came back from—when I came back, I didn’t even remember most of the details. Guess I must have suppressed it, so I could deal with it later.”

Tony gave him a sad smile that they both knew meant to deal with it never.

Steve slowly put his hand on Tony’s thigh again, not knowing if touch would be appreciated at the moment, but he relaxed when Tony shifted his weight off his arm so he could place his hand on top of Steve’s. The engineer began stroking his hand as if Steve was the one in need of comfort.

“But then… Obie—Stane,” he corrected himself with a tilt of his head, “he, uh…”

Tony trailed off again, worrying his lip between his teeth. Steve knew who the man was, of course, he’d acted as Tony’s father figure for a big part of his life. He also knew that their parting was less than amical, but he never got the full story. He was dreading it now, though.

“He stole the arc reactor,” Tony said with a pained expression, though his voice remained carefully neutral, “Came into my house, paralysed me and ripped it out of me while he loomed over me.”

Steve’s heart sank. The things this man has gone through… It was a miracle he was still standing. Standing strong.

“God, that’s so hard to talk about. I don’t…” Tony’s voice died again, his eyes glazing over for a second. He quickly recovered and pushed on with a gentler expression.

“Anyway, after that whole ordeal, everything crashed back into my mind, but I hardly had the time to deal with it back then. There is so much I should tell you but I don’t have words for it, not right now.”

Steve merely nodded. His mind was reeling with emotions but he pushed his own turmoil away for now. If Tony could deal with this, then so could he.

“The injury… I’m sorry I hid it from the team, from you, but it felt too raw, you know? It brought back too many memories from then and I didn’t want to deal with it now,” Tony admitted and Steve was still wondering how the hell he was talking about this so freely, admiring his conviction.

“But I guess my brain had other ideas about that, didn’t it?” he asked without any venom in his voice, a knowing smile on his face Steve couldn’t help but mirror. “I had a panic attack down in the workshop earlier, I think that’s what triggered the… episode, in the kitchen.”  

Tony looked slightly bemused at his choice of words for his flashback, but Steve obliged him with a smile.

He pushed down the wave of guilt as he remembered himself standing over Tony, who had fallen to the ground as Steve approached. It was no wonder that that image would have pushed him into a frenzy after what he'd gone through. Twice.

Steve swallowed tightly and squeezed the engineers' leg under his hand. He would apologise for that later, but he already knew Tony wouldn't blame anyone other than himself.

When the genius remained silent, Steve realised he was done speaking on this matter and he let some of the pride he felt appear on his face.

“You’re incredible, Tony. You survived. You made it through all of that.”

Tony sat back gingerly and inhaled deeply, air filling his chest and he breathed out long and slow, before he chuckled lowly, “Yeah, I guess I did, huh?”

He regarded Steve for a second, a strangely content look on his face and Steve felt his body relax as well. Tony’s eyes landed on the antiseptic still in Steve’s hand and he laughed.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

Steve cut him off with a wave and smirked, “All good. I just wasn’t expecting it.”

Tony nodded and blew out another breath, “Yeah, me neither.”

He seemed to hesitate for a second before he added, “I’m glad I did, though. It feels… better.”  

And then that warm feeling settled back into Steve’s chest and he smiled up at the genius broadly.

“I’m glad,” he said earnestly. Tony patted his hand and sighed airily, eyes warm and content in a way Steve hadn’t seen in a while.

“Feel free to, you know, wrap it up,” Tony spoke up and with a soft smile, Steve resumed his cleaning, but the most of it had already been done. Another flash of joy went through him when Tony didn’t even flinch when he wiped at the last section against the arc reactor. He finished it up and sat back to admire his work, dropping the gauze next to the other cloths.

“I’ll leave it uncovered for tonight, that should probably help speed up the healing.”

There were so many other things he wanted to say, wanted to ask, but he knew it wasn’t the time. Tony’s demeanour told him there would be plenty of opportunities in the future.

Tony’s eyelids started to droop slightly when neither of them said anything and Steve smirked.

“I think it’s best if you go to sleep, Tony.”

“No argument from me there, Cap,” he groaned tiredly, before looking up at him. “Can you give me a hand?”

Steve nodded with a smile and got up out of his chair, stretching slightly before going to steady Tony by his armpits. With a slight grunt, the genius got upright and leaned his weight heavily against Steve’s side.

Reaching out with one hand, Steve managed to pull the covers back enough so Tony could crawl straight back into the bed. He helped Tony sit and lean his weight back so he could finally lie down while Steve moved his legs under the covers. When the engineer seemed properly settled in, Steve pulled the blanket back up and draped it on top of Tony, tucking it in against his side slightly.

Tony had already closed his eyes when he stepped back and he watched him for a second. Steve felt bone-tired, drained by the stress and concern he’d felt ever since that damned HYDRA takedown. Tony’s face looked strangely peaceful now, with his eyes closed and frown lines smoothed over by exhaustion.

He suddenly felt at a loss of what to do. He’d done what he’d said—he’d patched Tony up and managed to get him into bed so he could sleep. He felt weirdly bereft as he took another step back, glancing over at the elevator. When he looked back over to the bed, he found Tony’s eyes on him, and he knew straight away that the genius felt the same.

“Stay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Steve replied with a smile.