~*~
Tony Stark was just, irksome.
Steve had grown up in Brooklyn, surrounded by love and care and on occasion, bullies. Bucky had kept him sane, along with his family. He was grounded, his need to punch the biggest guy in the room fed by friendly smiles.
Now Bucky was gone, everyone was gone, and Steve's rage had evolved into something much much more; something scary and dangerous.
He was a man fueled by loss, and a man so desperate to find the missing pieces was a dangerous one.
Some days Steve wouldn't even allow him to have contact with Stark, because he was always ready (wanting) to hit someone, and it had been decided by the universe that the two of them would piss on each other any chance they got. Steve knew his strength, at least tried to remember it, and he knew that Stark was a head shorter than him, definitely seventy pounds lighter; Tony was weaker, and Steve had promised himself after he had been given his new body, he'd always watch out for the little guy, because not a lot of people tend to.
In comparison, Tony was the little guy. It made Steve feel horrible, a disgrace, some sick and twisted sort of evil; he was taking what he was given and using it for wrong, or at least, he'd thought about it.
Steve was a sick enough bastard to think about hurting the man who made his blood boil, but he wasn't sure if he had it in him to actually attack.
He was lonely, under pressure, and constantly on edge. Steve had an entire team relying on him - minus Stark, the man seemed to rely on nothing but caffeine and booze to get him through life. It was a difficult life, this new one that he seemed to step into, and it had only gotten worse when Stark had waltzed into the picture, followed soon after by an army of Chitauri.
If Steve prayed for Tony every night, well, he would never admit it.
It seemed like something as drastic as a miracle would be the only thing to change the man.
#
As Stark fell from the sky, seemingly lifeless, Steve hadn't thought about the things he'd hated about the man.
The way he carried himself, as if he was better, the way he was so smart and hell bent on showing everyone that. Stark was always rambling about this and that, and it was so annoying because Steve didn't know what was happening and he didn't like not understanding. Stark was always taking risks and showing off. Never following orders.
He was a child, a genius, billionaire child.
Steve had never liked kids all that much, simply because they hadn't liked him.
Then, Tony being the child that he was, had gone off and done something stupid, during battle, nonetheless.
"Wait," Steve had said, utterly confused as he pressed into his com, "Stark, these things are still coming."
Stark's voice had been confident, and if Steve had heard the terror there, he surely didn't point it out, "I've got a nuke coming in and it's going to blow in less than a minute."
A moment later Stark had merely murmured into the coms, sounding less sure of himself by the minute, "And I know just where to put it."
Stark had attached himself onto that damned explosive, hanging onto the belly of it and propelling it - and himself - upwards, towards the giant gaping hole in the atmosphere.
Steve was a sputtering mess, because a child shouldn't risk their life; it wasn't characteristic of someone so obsessed with themselves to put their life on the line for others.
That was the moment that Stark had become an enigma, as unpredictable and dangerous as the nuke in his fucking hands.
"Stark," Steve had uttered, "you know that's a one way trip."
It wasn't a question, because Steve had known and Tony had most definitely known.
The entire world had known.
Steve had just reminded him of what he was about to face, because he didn't want the man to do something he would regret (even if Steve knew firsthand that Stark didn't even consider acting on the things he didn't absolutely want or have to do).
Steve and the team knew that he had to if they had any chance at saving the civilians below. Stark had realized this before them, and that's why his voice had grown soft and serious, a sharp contrast to his normally jovial tone.
Stark hadn't replied back, and Steve hadn't really expected him to; he had known what it was like to fly into death, it just so happened Tony was going up and he had been going down.
Steve bet the view was extraordinary, and kept that thought in his mind as Tony flew higher and higher. The captain refused to mull over all of the things he had regretted saying, because it would do no good now. The damage was done, and he had caused enough.
A half assed apology out of guilt - and by God was he guilty - would do nothing to sate his conscience, and he highly doubted it would do any good to Stark.
Moments later, Stark was flying above both him and Thor, over the Hulk's head, and up the side of his own home before descending into the oblivion above them.
Steve could see the darkness from the ground, and could only imagine the hell Stark would witness.
As fast as he had went up, Stark was flying out and towards the ground.
"Son of a gun." Steve murmured, shaking his head in disbelief, a grin the size of Manhattan on his face. Thor's expression matched his.
Until they noticed that Stark was falling and not flying.
"He's not slowing down." Thor muttered, swinging around his hammer, face worrisome.
Right as Thor was about to rescue his falling teammate, Hulk had slammed in from the side, grabbing Stark and clawing his way down a building for traction. Hulk had fallen onto his back, leaving a God awful indent in the street as he pushed the smaller man off of him with more care than expected, even if Stark had landed face first.
Steve was running suddenly, Thor by his side, the two of them arriving within seconds. Thor flipped Stark back over, the two of them yanking and pulling on the suit, looking for any sign of life; Steve was barely sure he could keep himself breathing, because this had been too damn stressful and he just needed - wanted even - Stark to be alive.
Steve had finally found the real Stark and it was ironic that he had died moments after.
The reactor was dark and Stark was pale. Steve laid a hand on his armored chest, distraught and feeling as though he'd been played with.
He had actually thought that Stark had lived, that the two of them could've made up and been friendly enough, or maybe even actual friends.
It would've been nice. They had just made a common interest, flying into dark cold places to face an untimely death, only to survive.
Stark had missed the last part.
Steve looked down, breathing heavily, the weight of the world on his shoulders. Apparently Bruce had been pretty upset by this too, and after a few deep growls, the Hulk was roaring at Stark's still form.
Then Stark's body wasn't so still and he was awake and breathing and speaking and his eyes were open.
"Uhugh, what just happened? Please tell me that nobody kissed me."
Stark was alive. Stark was fucking alive.
Steve could've kissed him.
#
Weeks went by and Steve was still hiding out, avoiding Stark at every turn; ever since the battle Steve had felt an attraction to the man, knowing full well it had always been there and his anger had simply dwarfed it. Even so, he would never let the man know, not after all of the bullshit they'd said to each other.
It seemed Steve could only do extremes; he either hated your guts, or loved you with all that he was.
Tony, unfortunately for Steve's ego, was starting to fall under the latter.
Steve had avoided him because of this.
Then the man in question was in Steve's face, stepping from behind the punching bag Steve had been ramming into for the past half hour. The captain was lucky he had quick reflexes, because Tony had nearly been given the gift of a broken face - and hey, look, Steve wouldn't of even done it on purpose.
Their relationship was already improving.
"Have I pissed you off more than usual lately?" Stark asked, looking curious as he rocked on the back of his heels, dressed in nothing but an extremely long t shirt and whatever he had - or didn't have - on underneath. It went to past his mid thigh, making him look like a little boy in an oversized t-shirt; Steve recognized it as one of Thor's.
Steve frowned, no, Stark hadn't done anything bothersome at all. Since the Battle of Manhattan, the man had kept to himself, despite the other's protests.
He was looking worse for wear too, with dark circles under chocolate eyes and his hair sticking high off his head, in need of cutting. His facial hair was a little messy, but it looked as though he still prided himself on his perfect goatee grooming.
PTSD and Agoraphobia were something's Bruce had mentioned.
"No, Stark-"
"'S Tony, Cap. I've told you this."
"Tony." Steve smiled, just to be friendly. "Look, it's not you-"
"It's me." Tony finished, smirking. "And I know it's me."
"You do?" Steve asked, surprised. What did he know, exactly?
"I do."
"Oh, okay."
"So," Tony rounded on the punching bag, checking it for damage - he had been replacing and upgrading the ones Steve and Thor were prone to breaking. Finally, Tony met Steve's eyes, looking up at the man and rocking back on his bare feet. "change that. M'kay?"
"Uh, okay?"
"Ball's in your court, Cap." Was all Tony said as he walked out of the room, Steve watching him all the while.
Steve whispered to himself, repeating what seemed like the only word he could utter when around Tony, "O-kay."
Ball's in your court, Cap.
That was an idiom Steve was familiar with, he just didn't know what to do with the information.
Was it an apology? Was he supposed to apologize first?
Stark- Tony's idiom had only made him feel like an idiot.
#
Tony made a thing out of late night-early morning gym sneak ups; it depended on the type of person you were when considering times past midnight as being morning or night.
(Steve, the technical ass that he was, always notified Tony that it was very early, and he should get some sleep.)
How could Tony sleep when he knew there was a barbarian shaped captain a floor below him, smacking around a bag of sand in hopes of feeling better about hating (past tense hating, Tony soon realized) him.
(Honestly, Steve was so easy to read and had only been somewhat amicable towards Tony after his near death in space's asshole.)
It was obvious, painfully so. Tony was tired of torturing the man (because yes, Tony had felt guilty when he had saw the relief on Steve's face when it turned out that he hadn't suffocated in space's asshole), but he would leave it up to the captain to fix.
Meanwhile, Tony would attempt to fix himself.
He hadn't thought that he had been that traumatized - a word Bruce had been throwing around with consistency. Then the dreams of falling miles and miles came back in bits and pieces and witnessing space firsthand was something.
(Tony wouldn't dare call it traumatizing, he wasn't traumatized.
Correction. He'd only been traumatized that one time after a miscellaneous mission when he'd walked into the shower room on the Helicarrier, only to be confronted by a very naked Fury.
The man had been far too calm, standing in the nude, eye patch on in the shower. Not that Tony had checked or anything.)
But no. Space hadn't done anything too damaging. It had definitely made him curious as to what upgrades he could add to the suit to space proof it. Maybe an expandable dome head? He'd look like an authentic astronaut then (something little Tony would've been fond of).
These off hand thoughts were what kept him from thinking about all of the other threatening species out there; Steve had been a welcome distraction after his brain had decided to revolt against him and wander.
If he couldn't fix himself, then he could attempt to fix what Steve and he didn't have.
Steve was so very delicious, even when he was being a little - well big, definitely over six foot - shit. Tony had always thought he was attractive, with those big lips always pressed tight and angry and his abs out and sweaty as he hit things.
Tony liked it when he hit things.
That's why he always snuck - okay, not snuck, Natasha and Clint snuck, Tony only attempted to - down to the gym below him to watch the captain.
(Maybe, secretly, he was devising a way to befriend the captain.
Then again, maybe he was just getting his dose of eye candy for the day.)
Steve could hear him coming from a mile away when he was paying attention, but when the captain was all worked up, giving the punching bag his all, he heard nothing.
Tony would never admit that he had stood in the threshold of the gym for over thirty minutes before Steve had noticed.
(Maybe he would admit, because it was his record, a glorious feat.)
Then Steve did notice, and Tony hadn't because he'd been thinking about fucking aliens again.
"Tony?"
Steve unwrapped his hands, looking concerned and surprised.
"Are you okay, Tony?"
Tony could only shake his head.
No, he was not o-fucking-kay.
#
"Sit down." Steve murmured to the shell shocked man, looking over his pale skin and hazy eyes. Tony had never admitted a weakness, especially in front of him.
Steve was more than worried.
Steve felt panic nip at his insides.
Tony didn't move, fingers clutching onto the threshold of the gym door. Steve came close, sweaty hands up in the universal sign for surrender.
"It's okay, do you need Bruce, or somebody?"
Somebody you actually like?
Tony didn't answer, looking catatonic. Steve nodded once, slipping into Captain Mode.
"Okay, lets get you settled in bed, and I'll call someone-"
Steve noticed how Tony was shaking, knees wobbly. He moved forward before Tony could fall and injure himself further, even though Steve had a inkling that the shorter man's injuries weren't of the physical type.
He thought back to the soldiers he used to lead, how even when they were standing in a sea of bodies - some of their own, some of the enemies - he had managed to keep a calm about him. It was simple then, his boys had needed him, and he would never let them down; Steve had to remember that Tony was one of his, and he was as responsible for him as he had been for everyone else; even if they were all dead or close to it now.
In the end, bodies were bodies, and friendly and enemy weren't used as titles. Every single one of them were casualties, and everyone of them had had families-
Steve couldn't think back to his own skeletons. Tony's were here, and very real. His were lying underground, seventy years back.
Steve hefted the lighter man up in his arms, bridal style. He frowned at how light the man seemed to be, and promised himself that he would make a conscious effort to beef him up.
How had he managed to ignore the signs of torment Tony's body had been giving?
Looking down at Tony, whose eyes were shut tight now, right above two dark half moons; it was obvious, the lack of sleep and food and care.
Maybe all of these little visits Tony had been making were an unconscious cry for help?
Steve had been ignorant.
"I promise to make good use of the ball you've given me, Tony. Just-"
Steve felt himself falter as he walked into the elevator, pressing buttons with purpose; Tony's eyes were rolling behind his lids and then he was stiff and shaking all over in Steve's hands.
"Don't give up on me."
#
The memories overtook him like a sea of water.
He was drowning, sinking even, and then Steve's arms were there, strong and muscly, holding him up; letting him breath.
He was okay with Steve. The man, no matter their issues, would never intentionally harm him.
He felt himself drift, his stomach clench painfully. Tony would probably have to eat soon, no matter how much he dreaded it.
He couldn't keep down anything, not with the amount of panic he was constantly under.
Swallowing anything felt like breathing in space.
Sucking in nothingness, floating in a suit that had betrayed him, and then falling into the light after being pushed back by flames.
Tony dreamt of that beautiful nuke, and then, moments later, felt himself tremble with the explosion until he became one with the fire.
#
Steve's kisses, Tony realized, were the complete opposite of space.
They were warm and lively, full of care.
Tony moved his hand a little bit under Steve's mouth, just to let him know that he would remember this; the moment Captain America had kissed his knuckles as he lay in a hospital bed.
Surprisingly, Steve hadn't pushed his limb away, only pulled it close, kissing around the IV.
Tony would've smiled if he'd had the energy.
#
Hypoglycemia.
It was nothing he couldn't recover from, just a simple case of low blood sugar that could've easily been prevented.
"You need to eat." Bruce murmured to Tony's unconscious form, looking at Steve to reaffirm his statement. "He needs to eat."
"Understood, Bruce. Thanks for helping. I just, didn't know what to do."
Bruce nodded once, rechecking IV lines for kinks and looking at the two of them.
"It's understandable...Take it easy on him. He deserves some rest, and I know that Tony can provoke, but-"
"Tony and I have reached some form of friendliness." Steve clutched Tony's hand tighter, looking over the man. "Even if he doesn't believe it."
"Tony's been trying..." Bruce started softly, looking as though he was betraying his best friend, which, in Tony's mind, he was. "He told me. About everything. The gym. The talks. Don't take his trust for granted."
If Steve saw a hint of green in the good doctor's eyes, he didn't mention it.
"Has he talked to you about this." Steve gestured to the unhealthiness that encompassed the entirety of the smaller man, watching Bruce's brow crinkle.
"If he had, I would've helped. I've been away-"
"I know Bruce, you deserved that retreat-"
"And that's why I think he reached out to you. Ever since Pepper-"
"Pepper?"
"Yeah." Tony croaked from the bed, sending daggers at Bruce and using his free hand (Steve noted that he didn't pull away from him, so that was something) to wipe away the sleep from his eyes. "She broke up with me. Avenger stuff."
"She broke up with you because you've been saving the world?"
"...Yup."
Steve wrapped his fingers around Tony's, offering strength. Tony closed his wet eyes.
He obviously loved her, still did.
Bruce sighed, patting Tony's leg, which was covered in a blanket.
"Look, lets talk about this later. For now you need to eat and recover. No stressing, no workin-"
"Brucie, I know."
When Steve caught Tony's eyes, he saw that look. The look Tony had had when he'd flown into space, willing to die for the population below.
It looked like he was giving in.
Steve wasn't ready to let that happen.
#
Weeks went by, and finally, Tony was eating.
Both food and Steve's mouth.
It had been an accidental brush of shoulders that had led to a hug, which somehow led to Steve and Tony swallowing each other's tongues.
The latter led to an incredible night.
But Tony wasn't fixed. Normal was as far away as the Chitauri's home base, and Steve could only help in the ways that were accepted.
Tony didn't like to talk about it. He would sit up in the middle of the night, tugging away from Steve's arms, shaking so bad that Steve had to walk him to the toilet, where he ended up getting sick.
Instead of verbal communication - like any other stable minded person - Tony only allowed Steve to hold him, or rock him, or kiss him.
It was torture for the bigger man, to hold Tony in his sleep, listening to all of his thoughts, which did come out as words.
Infinite darkness was a line that had struck Steve hard.
He'd bought a few night lights and had placed them around the room after that, leaving the TV on safe channels - any station that wasn't broadcasting the attack was hard to find, but Steve had searched and found one; the QVC channel. Of course this led to Tony buying ridiculous items, but it had worked, and their nights had been puke free ever since.
Tony was still having nightmares though, and eventually Steve discovered it wasn't just this last attack.
Tony had been through a lot.
Some nights he was muttering about Howard, others he was screaming about Jarvis. A few times Tony had yelled out for some of the Avengers.
Sometimes he'd even relay conversations that Steve had remembered having.
That's when the bomb dropped.
"Big man." Tony murmured against Steve's pec, shifting slightly. "Big man." He repeated, his words slurred.
Steve didn't need more than three hours a night, so he spent most of his time in bed awake, listening to everything Tony was going through; eventually, he would have enough to piece together, to make sense of the man that was Tony.
"Big man in a suit of armor." Tony muttered out, quiet as ever. Steve could hear him over the TV, and felt his heart race with familiarity.
Take that away and what are you?
Steve recognized the line he had thrown at Tony, watching the man reply back mechanically had made him grin in victory for days after; he had obviously struck a cord.
Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.
"You're a fucking human, Tony."
Steve hadn't realized he'd been so loud. Tony, who had been sleeping somewhat peacefully on his chest, sat up, rubbing his eyes with confusion.
"A beautiful human. A great fucking person." Steve finished lamely, looking into the alarmed eyes of his boyfriend.
"I was sleep talking." Tony said, and even if it hadn't been poised as a question, Steve felt inclined to answer.
"Yeah. Tony. You were." Steve was breathing heavily now, watching Tony twist his hands in his lap.
Silence claimed possession over them, weighing heavily on Steve's chest.
"I didn't know you still remembered that..."
"I don't. Not intentionally, anyway."
"Tony, look at me."
"Why Steve?" Tony spoke to his lap, messing with a thread on his boxers. "Why do I need to look at you? So you can feel even more sorry for poor traumatized Tony?!"
"No. So I can apologize. I didn't know that it had such an effect. I was only trying to one up you, and I was so angry then-"
"Well, I'm angry now, so you can leave me alone. Wouldn't want to insult you and make you have nightmares about it-"
"I caused nightmares?" Steve's voice was as soft and vulnerable as Tony's face.
"Uh, no-"
"Yes. Yes I did." Steve ran a hand through his hair, messing it up further. "I fucking scared you. I'm why you can't sleep at night!"
Steve was screaming now, and Tony, despite himself, flinched.
The blonde's jaw snapped shut and he stood, pulling on a t-shirt.
"Steve, no, please." Tony was looking at him now, pleading. "You're not the only reason, you're barely a fucking reason-"
"But I am a reason, and I can't- I can't. I can't lay here with you knowing I did that. I fucking caused it."
"Steve!"
"Tony I'm a sick bastard. I don't deserve you-"
"Steve if you just listen!"
"What!?"
"Sit down. Please. I'm not afraid of you."
Tony reached out and grabbed Steve's forearm, pulling him down on the bed and settling into his lap, just to make sure the other man knew that he was still wanted.
Silence fell again, but Steve remained still. He'd wait forever for Tony.
"So, uh. My dad. He really appreciated you." Tony paused, licking his lips nervously. "And when I saw you, it was kind of like meeting my competition. In a way. Even if Howard had been dead for a while."
Tony sighed, twirling the short hair on the nape of Steve's neck. "You were so strong and orderly, it kind of threw me for a loop. And then we got off on the wrong foot and, and you hated me. It was. It was like Howard was there, telling me I wasn't good enough all over again."
"Tony, I'm sorry."
"So I was an ass, and yeah, what you said kind of fucked me up, because without the armor I'm Howard's son, the off spring of your most beloved fucking fan, and I felt like a letdown to poor re-acclimated Captain America because I didn't like you-"
"You're not Howard's son. Not after the things he did to you."
"Well, science would disagree." Tony quirked his lip a bit, pressing further into Steve. "But it's not you I'm afraid of. It was what I expected you to be."
"Reality, after we got to know each other, was better than your expectations, I hope?"
"Yeah, Steve." Tony smiled up at him, hugging him close. "You look way better in real life, those posters made you out to be some block headed goldilocks-"
"Tony!" Steve laughed, kissing the smaller man's forehead. "Be serious."
Tony quieted, nodding against the blonde's chest. "Yes, my glorious boyfriend. You are a lot better than what my jealous imagination cooked up."
Tony pursed his lips, examining Steve's face.
"But seriously, who in the hell designed your memorabilia? I mean come on, they got the bone structure completely wrong."
"If only you could've done it. I'm sure it would've been a lot more detailed." Steve smirked, winking at Tony, who only looked confused.
"I'm not so sure, that seizure messed up my memory. I might need to take another look. And then maybe another."
Tony was pulling at the bigger man's fly before Steve could even lie them down.
~*~