Seven

He is fine, eventually. Rhodey tattles to Pepper, but because she’s amazing, instead of calling his therapist, she sends him on a weeklong business trip to Japan. Tony merges a deal, makes several billion dollars, gets very drunk, and sleeps about three hours over the entire trip, but at the end, he feels amazingly better.

When he arrives back at the Tower is just after seven on a Thursday night – movie night, because Pepper is just that good of a planner. The team is already gathered in the den, popcorn popped and stationed in enormous bowls on the tables, couches and floors, disk waiting in the slot.

Clint drops from the ceiling when Tony comes through the door, landing solidly in Thor’s lap with a whoop. “Tony’s home!” he calls out, and the rest of them turn to smile at Tony, Bruce already pushing the play button.

“We’re watching The Martian,” Steve tells him with a smile as Tony approaches, undoing his tie and shedding his jacket in the middle of the floor.

Tony grins and flops down next to Steve and Bucky. He’s imagining it, but as they readjust it feels like they’re purposefully moving to sandwich him tightly between their muscled bodies. He ignores it. “Aw, Stevie, just for me?” he croons int Steve’s face.

Steve’s smile softens and Tony’s heart bangs against the reactor. “Just for you,” he says softly. Tony looks foward before he can see any more emotion building in Steve’s eyes.

The movie is fantastic – Clint and Natasha love the survival aspect, Tony and Bruce ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’ over the science, Thor likes anything in space, it’s just Bucky’s type of humor, and Steve spends the whole movie reveling in the fact that he’s chosen the perfect movie. Dork.

By the end of it, Tony feels better than he has in weeks, even if Steve and Bucky are so close to him that only the energy of their atoms keep them from melding with Tony.

It’s okay, because Tony has his team with him, and that’s all he needs.

***

Strange things start happening around the Tower. Weird things.

It starts pretty simple – Tony stumbles into the kitchen one morning after an eight-hour sleep binge (which is pretty exceptionally long for him) and instead of suffering through the effort of making a cup of coffee, there’s a steaming mug of his favorite blend sitting on the counter, in his largest mug. It’s pretty unusual for anyone in the Tower to make coffee and not drink it, but Tony just shrugs and hopes it isn’t Natasha’s as he downs the cup.

The same thing happens a few more times over the next few weeks, always after Tony has finally crashed after several days of working straight, and Tony is grateful to whoever keeps leaving it there.

It doesn’t even occur to him until the fourth time it happens the mugs are in his personal kitchen. He just shrugs it off though – the Avengers all live in each other’s space now. It’s pretty commonplace.

They start watching more Disney and Pixar movies on Thursday nights. Tony isn’t the one to suggest them – he’ll never admit his slightly insane adoration of children’s movies – but he enjoys them anyway. There’s probably some deep, psychological reason behind it, something about how the only shows he watched as a kid were National Geographic documentaries and his adult mind is trying to compensate for it. Tony doesn’t care. He just likes watching Wall-e float through space with his fire extinguisher.

Once again, the Avengers crowd in close to his sides, although this time it’s Clint and Natasha – which is a little nerve-racking, as Tony knows one wrong move and the red-haired assassin will slice his head off. He keeps his elbows locked against his sides and his back straight until Natasha sighs in frustration and pulls his head down onto her shoulder. Almost like it was a planned move – and since it’s the twinsassins he was talking about, it very well could’ve been – Clint pulls Tony’s legs onto his lap and Tony is left leaning between the two of them. It’s…comfortable, but Tony won’t let himself relax too much.

It’s not just Bruce and Steve pulling him out of his lab anymore. Now even Thor has been down to the lab to request his presence for some spur of the moment team-bonding activity, or needing help with a mundane task around the tower that they should be able to do by themselves.

One of the excuses they bring him is team dinner. They used to do them on Saturdays and Tuesdays, but suddenly they add Wednesdays and Fridays to the schedule as well. And Mondays and Sundays are team lunch day. Team lunches aren’t even a thing – Tony is eighty percent sure. The most ridiculous, however, is Wednesday brunch. Which… really? Tony can't wrap his head around it the first time Natasha strides into his space and orders him upstairs for French toast and waffles.

It’s weird to be eating this many meals a week – Tony hasn’t scheduled meals out side of company dates and events since he was fourteen and graduated out of that god-awful Hell known as boarding school. He thinks he’s gaining weight, but it surprisingly doesn’t seem to be affecting his figure at all. And the team seems eager to shove food and sweets at him, so it’s possible he’d fallen a bit bellow the healthy weight line. But genius halted for no man. Or pie. Even Clint’s lemon meringue. Which was Tony’s favorite.

Clint starts making that pie at least once a week. Tony supposes he’s making it for either Steve or Bruce, but he’s not really going to question this one. He won’t risk the pie.

It’s weird, sure, but Tony’s clothes actually fit better now, the black bags under his eyes have turned grey, and even Pepper smiles at him more. So he can deal with the pity that is obviously causing his team to go nuts. It makes them feel better after all, so no one’s losing. So long as when they look at him he can't see it brimming in their eyes, he will be fine.

He always is.

***

The vents aren’t as bad as Tony thought they would be. Honestly, he was expecting a claustrophobic chamber of unbendable steal, but it’s actually a little roomy. Of course, Tony designed it so a grown man could wiggle through them, and Tony’s smaller than Clint, so it isn’t terrible. The vents are decent, and Tony has a good enough sense of direction that he doesn’t feel hopelessly lost. And as they are ventilation shafts, air is not as in demand as Tony expected.

But they could be brighter.

That’s why Tony’s up here, actually. He’d originally designed them knowing that eventually he’d probably notice an archer infestation, but he hadn't expected Clint to be up here as much as he is. And after their most recent battle, Tony was planning on renovating the part of the Tower that took a few hits, so why not add a few other features as well?

Clint is currently on some super-secret mission for SHIELD – well, he’s in Hawaii trying to track down the drug-lord there who has been selling to minors, and he’s going undercover as Roderick Winnings, but it’s supposed to be a secret – so Tony isn’t worried about getting caught in the hawk’s nest.

Another interesting thing he’d discovered that day was that sound carried amazingly well in the vents. He’d overheard Bruce murmuring to himself about needing new glasses and Tony had already called in the prescription so he wouldn’t have to worry about it.

Bruce had been on the other side of the room from the vent Tony had heard him. Tony wondered if this was how Clint always seemed to know everything that happened in the Tower. Probably.

“He could be telling the truth.”

“You know he’s not.”

Tony paused. He was near Steve’s floor he knew, above the living room. And there was no reason Natasha shouldn’t be there – they were dating, they spent time together. Tony had no right to eavesdrop on their conversations.

“We shouldn’t press this, Nat. It’ll just make him clamp up.”

“I think it’s high time someone made him open up a bit.”

“We did make him open up! And then he didn’t talk to us for a week.”

“He was lying.”

“You don’t know that!”

“It’s my job to know, Steve.”

Really, Tony should just go. They were fighting, he really shouldn’t be listening to this. It was none of his business what kind of trouble was happening in paradise.

“Six burns, Steve. All in exactly the right spot.”

“He has burns all over his body.”

“None like that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Those scars aren’t from an accident.”

Tony should have left. He really should’ve, but he couldn’t now. It felt like he had frozen to the metal. He couldn’t move an inch.

“Someone – I don’t think it was him – burned his skin on purpose. The scars are too deep for anything else. What other reason could you think of for those to be there?”

“Tony has been dealing with kidnapping for years. Any one of them could have tortured him like that.”

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. God, he didn’t want to hear this.

“Why are you trying to convinces yourself that Tony isn’t your soulmate? You love him, I know you do.”

“I – Natasha, even if he was… he doesn’t want us.”

“You are clueless, Steve Rogers. Truly clueless. The way he looks at us… you have to have seen.”

“He’s just lonely.”

“Of course he is. Tony Stark has been lonely since the day he was born.”

He can't breathe. The vents are starting to feel an awful like that godforsaken closet on the third floor of the Mansion that Maria would lock him in when he was being too loud. And in the same way he did back then, Tony makes sure his quick breaths are silent and makes sure his shaking muscles don’t jostle the walls. He goes silent.

“I – I don’t want to hurt him….”

“We won’t, Steve. None of us could ever hurt him. You know that.”

“What – what if he says no?”

With a gasp, Tony comes back to life, scampering down the vents. He knows he’s banging around and clanging like crazy, knows they have to hear him, but he - he can't think.

His brain leads him to his lab and he drops from the vents onto his couch in an ungraceful slump. He shivers and retches over the arm of the couch, before pulling himself together with a gasp.

“Fire up the diagnostics for – I don’t know, whatever I was last working on,” Tony orders JARVIS, leaping up and looking frantically around the lab. Everything is in place, he feels his cheeks and they’re dry. “Have – have Steve and Nat asked about me?” he asks, scrubbing his eyes to make sure they’re dry.

“Agent Romanov requested your whereabouts ten seconds ago. I informed her you were working on Agent Barton’s new arrows. She and Captain Rogers are both headed down.”

“Don’t tell them anything,” Tony orders, spinning around and putting his hands up against the designs. He begins to flick numbers around, switches out random materials, watches the simulation out of the corner of his eye, not really gathering data, though the screen next to him records it all.

When Steve and Natasha burst into his lab, Steve visibly panicked and Natasha slightly disheveled – which is about as panicky as she ever gets – Tony looks calm and collected, not a hair out of place as he runs two separate simulations.

Tony looks up and grins at them. “Natasha!” he exclaims, waving the data table out of the way. “Just the girl I needed. What do you think is better for grappling arrows – thinner shaft with more space inside, but lighter material, or thinner rope inside the shaft, which would be a little heavier than Clint is used to?” he asks, leaning back against the desk behind him. “I’m thinking thinner rope would be better, but then I’d have to design that as well – you know, actually I'll just go with that. I’ve got the time,” Tony decides, waving the screens away. “J, pull up a new blank project.”

“Tony – how long have you been down here?” asks Steve, confusion entering his already strained face.

Tony waves him off with one hand, the other already working on the new thread thin grappling rope. “Ugh, none of that,” he whines. “I know I know – sleep is important, regular meals are necessary, blah, blah, blah, I'm almost done with this, okay?”

Steve’s face melts into utter relief, but Natasha’s eyes are sharp. He hasn’t fooled her. “We heard something in the vents,” she tells him, crossing her arms over her chest.

Tony rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so have I,” he snarks. “We do have an archer infestation, I'm sorry you didn’t get the memo.”

“Clint’s in Hawaii.”

“He is?” asks Tony, taken aback.

“Sir, the day is currently Thursday the twelfth,” JARVIS supplies, the sweetheart.

“Oh. Man, I lost a day or two somewhere in there,” Tony says, scratching his head and yawning widely. “What time is it?”

“One thirty,” Steve answers before JARVIS can, smiling softly at Tony. “Come on, genius, let’s get you to bed.”

Tony lets Steve pull him from the lab and up the stairs, hastily calling for JARVIS to save and whining a bit about Steve’s gentle manhandling. Natasha follows a step behind and Tony can feel her gaze like knives on the back of his neck.

“There are six burns on your body,” Natasha says, and Tony freezes mid-step, Steve the only thing that keeps him up. “There is one on your thigh, one on your hip, your calf, your side, your shoulder, and on the nape of your neck.” Tony closes his eyes and prays that this isn’t happening. This can't be happening. “The burns were intentionally inflicted but you have made no initiative to have the scars surgically removed or altered.” Natasha takes a step forward and Tony drops his head. He feels Steve’s fingers tighten around the top of his arm. “In the same spot that these burns are on your body are six soulmarks on each of our skin. Do you have an explanation?”

Tony swallows thickly and finally looks up, his eyes meeting Natasha’s, a grimace on his lips. He feels like he’s about to throw up or fall over. There’s no way he can come back from this. He’s been found out.

The levee has broken.

“Tony….” Steve’s voice sounds heartbroken, betrayed, like something has just fallen into light that he has been trying so hard to believe wasn’t real. Tony flinches away from it, wrenching out of Steve’s grip and stepping to the side.

“I used to have your marks,” Tony confirms, not looking at either of them. He laughs harshly and says, “But you don’t need to worry about that. They’ve been gone for a long time. I’m not going to try and worm my way into your life – I didn’t tell you for a reason. So I’d appreciate if you didn’t tell anyone and we never spoke of this again. Thanks.”

“Worry – Tony, what are you –hey!”

Steve catches his wrist and pulls Tony to his chest before the genius can leave the room as he planned. Tony finds himself wrapped up between two strong, big arms, gentle fingers tangled in his hair. He’s unquestionably imprisoned within the confines of Steve’s arm, but Tony doesn’t feel trapped.

“You stupid, stupid man,” Steve murmurs, swaying a little as he tightens his grip on Tony. “Do you honestly believe that? That we don’t want you? Tony, what in god’s name do you think we’ve been doing for the last months?”

Steve sounds just a bit angry but mostly incredulous and sad. And it doesn’t seem like the anger is directed at Tony by how tightly he’s still clinging to Tony, so that’s a plus. “What?” asks Tony, stiff-muscled and confused, but not pulling away.

“We’ve been wooing you, as Steve would put it,” Natasha said, her head popping into existence next to Tony’s face. “Or trying to,” she added icily. “Evidently, the subject of our affections has not been denying us as we’d presumed.”

“What?” asks Tony dumbly.

Steve pushes Tony away and for a second Tony freaks out, wonders what he said wrong and how he could’ve fucked this up already – whatever ‘this’ is, it hasn’t even begun and he’s ruined it. But Natasha winds her fingers through his and the simple action somehow slows the rapid beating of his heart to something that is maybe reasonable, given the high-stress situation.

It takes Tony a second to realize what’s happening, but when he does his jaw drops. After all, this is almost literally a recreation of his first wet dream as a kid, though Natasha is a pleasant addition.

Steve is peeling off his light grey t-shirt that is several sizes too small, and Tony’s mouth goes a little dry. Not because of Steve’s perfectly tan skin, or because of the rock solid washboard abs – he’s seen those before and he’s managed to school his bodily responses to them – but because in the center of Steve’s chest, right between his pecs….

“You… you have my mark?”

Natasha kisses his cheek lightly and Tony turns to her with dazed eyes. “We all do,” Natasha says gently, pulling down the collar of her shirt far enough that Tony cans see a ring of blue between her breasts. She lets go and the blue is once again covered, but Tony knows that it’s there. He just can't believe it.

“What are you-” Tony has to tear his eyes away from Steve’s still bared chest to see Bucky, standing in the hallway, eyes wide in surprise, before he simply shrugs, hands going to the hem of his shirt. “Guess we’re doing this now then,” he grumbles, pulling his tank top over his head and dropping it onto the floor. “I’m guessing this is yours?” he asks with a smirk, tapping the rim of the line.

They all have it. His mark. It’s – it’s not just him. And – maybe, just maybe… Tony doesn’t have to be fine anymore.

Tony’s knees buckle without warning and Steve is a second too late in his attempt to catch him. Tony ends up on the hardwood floors on his hands and knees, heaving and gagging but not throwing up, because despite his team’s best efforts he hasn’t eaten in a few days. He closes his eyes against the taste of bile on the back of his tongue.

It feels like where the arc normally resides there’s a ball of radioactive acid eating away at his core from the inside. The pain is greater than having a car battery shoved into his open ribcage and pressed against his heart was. It’s like a ring of molten gold was shoved deep into his skin and had begun melting away to conform around his veins and ribs.

“-mark trying to bond-” that’s Bruce, when did Bruce get here? Tony can't see anything but a haze of grey. The rest of his skin feels like it’s burning now, tightening and changing, melting away. “-accepted us as soul-” he hears the fragment of Bruce’s words but the doctor – like everything else – is fading in and out. Tony can't make out more than a few words at a time and everything else is just noises. “-he’ll be fi-” The burning sensation is increasing and Tony doesn’t actually know what’s happening now. He wonders if he’s dying, if he’s been poisoned. It’d prove his theory that the universe’s favorite thing is irony, him finally maybe possibly getting this chance to be with them, and then dying.

Tony doesn’t want to die. As bad as things have gotten, he hasn’t wanted to die in a long time. He has so many things he needs to do. Deeds he needs to atone for. Lives that are his job to save. People he needs to avenge. All the things he would never be able to make, all the ways he would never have a chance to improve. He doesn’t want to leave the world before he makes up for everything and sets the record straight.

But Tony can admit he’s reckless to the point of suicidal tendencies, and though he doesn’t wish for death, he’s never been concerned about it. Especially after Afghanistan. So long as he died saving someone, doing the right thing… the thought didn’t bother him.

But right now? Right now when all he feels is pain and the warmth of his team’s bodies gathered around him?

Tony kind of wants to live.