Chapter 1
Howard Stark's tales of Captain America were a cornerstone of Tony’s upbringing. In his father's rare moments of softness, Howard would recount stories of heroism and valor, painting a picture of a man who seemed larger than life. These stories captivated young Tony, who hung on every word, imagining a hero who could save the world.
"The captain was the best of them," Howard would say, his eyes distant and misty as he recalled details of their times together.
Jarvis had played into the boy’s hero worship just as much, always returning home with a Captain America comic book when he went out to do the shopping. He’d sneak them into Tony’s room when Howard wasn’t around, which honestly wasn’t hard. Howard hardly cared to know what was happening in Tony’s life.
He’d read them in the safety of his bed at night, ensuring nobody would catch him in such a childish act. Jarvis knew, of course, but they never acknowledged it besides a slight smile in passing when Jarvis announced he was going shopping.
Tony had a few favorites he liked to re-read time and time again. But he loved them all at this point. The comics made Howard’s stories really come to life and vice versa. He wished he could’ve met him, and his best friend Bucky Barnes too. The sergeant was always a great addition to the story; all quick wits and snarky comebacks that made Tony laugh. They really made his small corner of the world in Stark mansion seem so much bigger.
Aunt Peggy’s stories, however, showed a different side of Steve Rogers.
"He was the little guy who never knew how to quit," she’d say with a fond smile. "Steve had heart. Even before the serum, he had more courage than anyone I’ve ever known." Peggy told of Steve’s aspirations, of their talks about the future they hoped to share. She shared her worries that the war would’ve taken it away from him anyways, even if he hadn’t crashed.
Tony listened to her too, wide-eyed, absorbing the tales of bravery and resilience. He wanted to understand the look of longing and loss in Peggy's eyes, the same look Howard had when he spoke of Captain America. Somedays he understood it, somedays he thought he could. He learned Howard was still looking for the long-lost Captain but when he asked Aunt Peggy about it, she’d just shook her head with tears in her eyes.
When Tony was nine, the world declared Captain America dead. Howard refused to accept it, fighting the declaration for years after, convinced that Steve was still out there. Tony remembered the arguments, the late nights Howard spent pouring over maps and documents, the frustration etched in the lines of his father’s face. The government wanted closure, but Howard saw it as cowardice, a betrayal of everything Captain America stood for.
As the years passed, Howard became more reclusive, his obsession with finding Steve pushing him further away from his family. The once-frequent stories about Captain America faded, replaced by silence and the cold hum of machines in Howard's lab. The comics that Jarvis faithfully delivered to Tony every week eventually slowed and stopped when Tony went off to college. Being a young teenager on a college campus, he had bigger things to worry about than some childhood hero worship. Still, whenever he returned home on breaks, he found himself reaching for his favorite editions, losing himself in the adventures of Captain America and Bucky Barnes, if only for a few hours.
After Howard and Maria Stark’s untimely deaths, it took Tony four months to visit Steve’s grave. He hadn’t planned on it, but as he sifted through the remnants of his father’s life’s work, something compelled him to go. Standing there, the crisp air biting at his skin, he felt a strange connection to the man who had been such a significant part of his childhood. The headstone’s inscription read: “Gave his life fighting for those who couldn’t do it themselves.” Tony stood there, the words blurring slightly as memories of his father’s relentless search flooded his mind. The sorrow he felt was tinged with a new determination—a vow to honor both Steve’s legacy and his father’s unyielding belief in him, a belief Tony wished he himself had never lost.
The casket was empty under all that dirt, always had been. They’d asked Howard to donate Captain America memorabilia to fill it but he’d denied them of course. He was unsure if Peggy even had anything to give; if anybody did. He felt the intense need to find a way to fill it, to give the man a proper burial. He deserved at least that much.
"Jarvis, what do you know on the Arctic expeditions," Tony asked, a mere three days after his visit to the graveyard. No words were said but in mere minutes Jarvis returned with boxes of dusty files. Unlike his father, Tony had little faith in miracles, but he couldn’t let go of the hope that Steve’s body was still out there. The searching resumed, driven less by a need to honor his father's legacy and more to give peace to his own childhood hero.
He began to visit the graveyard more and more, going from standing and staring to one day talking, the next sitting and eventually he’d tell stories and share updates on the search. It became a sort of routine of his. He didn’t stick to a strict schedule; sometimes visiting twice the same week and other times going months between visits. But he’d always stop by Miss May’s flower shop on the way, swing by Emerald Café for a coffee and make his way here.
He'd bring a camping chair, set down the fresh flowers before sitting and sipping his coffee. He'd tell Steve, or at least his headstone, about his life. He talked about the bot he was building and how terrible the coding was but that it still worked! He shared the truth about his relationship problems with Sunset, and then with Ty. He’d ask Steve if he knew he was trying to find him, that he wouldn’t give up. Sometimes he cried, like the day Jarvis had passed, but sometimes he laughed. An agnostic man talking to an empty grave; must’ve been quite the sight but Tony couldn’t seem to stop visiting.
As the years passed, Tony had learned much more about Steve than he could have ever imagined. He had managed to talk to many of the soldiers he’d fought with, many people he’d saved and read every file, watched every video, gathered every belonging he could get his hands on. He often tied it back to the stories he listened to raptly in his childhood and was determined to find out all he could about the man. Soon, all the folks Steve enlisted with had passed on and so had his family and even Peggy too. Steve Rogers officially was alone, nobody left who truly knew him, all but for Tony who he’d never even met.
He kept visiting. Kept bringing flowers and kept talking to a dead man’s empty grave. He only hoped that one day he could say it wasn’t empty anymore.
Many, many years later, Tony got a ping from JARVIS—Steve Rogers was found in the ice. The moment the alert flashed across his screen, everything else faded into the background. For years, Tony had been chasing coordinates, analyzing data, and following every possible trail, hoping that Steve was out there, somewhere. And now, he was. But SHIELD had already moved in, trying to take control.
Tony didn't waste a second. He suited up and shot off towards the facility, every moment feeling like an eternity. The thought of Steve being alive had been a distant hope, a whisper in the dark he tried to not fall for. Now, that hope was a reality, and Tony wasn’t going to let anyone stand in his way.
He burst through the doors of the facility, the loud clank of his armored boots echoing through the halls. His hand was already raised, repulsor charged, and ready to fire. “Move, or I’ll move you,” he growled, eyes scanning for Nick Fury. Agents scrambled, unsure of how to handle the sudden appearance of Iron Man.
It didn’t take long for Tony to find Fury. The man was standing beside a figure Tony had only seen in old war footage and faded photographs—a man who was supposed to be lost to time. But this was no proud Captain America standing tall and strong. This was a shadow of that man.
Steve Rogers looked... broken. His pants were too short, the shirt too tight, and instead of highlighting muscles and stature, it accentuated how gaunt he had become. It was like his body had been in stasis under the ice, burning through every reserve just to stay alive. His posture was stiff, but his eyes told a different story—unfocused, glassy, and red-rimmed. He looked like a man who had lost everything, and then some.
Tony’s anger at SHIELD faltered when he saw Steve’s state. The fight drained out of him, replaced by something more powerful—a need to protect, to help, to fix. He lowered his hand, the repulsor dimming and faceplate lifting, and took a step forward, his voice softening. “Steve...”
Steve flinched slightly at the sound of his name, eyes flicking toward Tony but not really seeing him. He quickly noticed the way Steve’s eyes flicked nervously between his eyes and the dimmed repulsor. He looked like he was ready to bolt, every muscle in his body tensed and ready to flee from this strange new world he didn’t understand.
Realizing the Iron Man suit might be a source of fear for Steve, Tony took a few steps back before opening the suit and stepping out, leaving him in his wrinkled regular clothes. “Steve,” he said softly, his voice gentle, “I’m not here to hurt you. My name’s Tony Stark. I’m Howard Stark’s son.”
Tony swallowed the lump in his throat. He had come here ready to fight to save Steve from SHIELD’s clutches, to ensure that he was given the freedom and respect he deserved. But seeing Steve like this, all Tony wanted was to reach out and offer some kind of comfort.
Meanwhile, Steve was simply in awe and simultaneously shocked at the sight he’d just seen. Howard’s son—his son—had just stepped out of a suit of armor that would’ve had Bucky pissing himself it was so astounding. But it wasn’t just the armor. It was the man inside it. Tony Stark.
There was something about him—an intensity in his eyes, a mix of defiance and concern—that reminded Steve so much of Howard, yet there was a warmth too, something Howard had never quite shown. Steve didn’t know what to make of this man, but the way Tony’s gaze never wavered from him, the way he seemed to see Steve, not just the uniform, was something Steve hadn’t felt since before the ice. It was confusing, overwhelming even, to see this blend of Howard’s ambition and a strange, unspoken care. What did this man see in him that he couldn’t?
Fury watched the exchange, his expression tightening. “He’s been through a lot,” Fury said, his voice edged with defensiveness. “He needs time.”
“No,” Tony snapped, his eyes never leaving Steve. “What he needs is someone who gives a damn about him, not just Captain America.”
Fury’s eye narrowed. “Stark, the world needs Captain America.”
“You can’t just expect him to pick up where he left off!” Tony’s voice was sharp, cutting through the air. “He’s been through enough. He deserves more than to be paraded around like a goddamn museum piece!”
Fury's voice was cold. “You think the threats we face will wait for him to catch up? We need him now.”
“And dragging him into another fight before he's ready is going to help? All you'll do is break him further,” Tony retorted. “He’s been frozen for seventy years, Fury. He’s lost everyone he ever knew, everything he ever had. Give him a damn chance to breathe.”
Fury leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “And what would you have him do? Knit sweaters? Take up painting?”
“If that’s what he wants, then yeah,” Tony said, his voice low and intense. “He’s earned it. Let him have a shot at a real life—college, hobbies, whatever he wants. He’s more than your weapon, and it's about time someone treated him like it.”
Fury studied him for a long moment before speaking. “You really believe that?”
Tony met his gaze without flinching. “Damn right, I do.”
Fury opened his mouth to argue, but Tony wasn’t listening. He took another step closer to Steve, careful to move slowly, not wanting to startle him. “Steve, it’s okay. You’re safe now. Let me take you out of here. SHIELD has their own agenda, but I’m here for you.”
Steve’s eyes finally seemed to focus on Tony, the confusion and fear slowly giving way to something else— maybe even a glimmer of hope. In that moment, Tony swore he would do whatever it took to help Steve adjust to this new world. He wouldn’t let SHIELD, or anyone else, turn Steve into just a symbol again. Steve deserved more than that—he deserved a life. And Tony was going to make sure he got it.
Tony offered him a small, reassuring smile. “I know this is a lot to take in,” Tony continued, taking another slow step forward. He raised his hands in a gesture of peace. “But I’m here to help. We’ll figure this out, together.”
Steve’s gaze remained wary, but the outright fear seemed to ease. Tony could see the battle going on in Steve’s mind—this world was unfamiliar, terrifying even, but the name Stark meant something to him, maybe enough to trust, just a little. Steve hesitated, his eyes searching Tony’s, looking for any sign of deceit. Finding none, he finally gave a small nod, the movement almost imperceptible, but it was enough.
Tony offered him a small, reassuring smile. “Come with me, I’ll find you some pants that fit and get you some good food. We’ll get you out of this place, and then we’ll figure out the rest.”
Now while Tony would absolutely attest that JARVIS was a technological marvel, he was not, in fact, a miracle worker. So, there wasn’t a bedroom set up to house a (technically) 100-year-old super soldier, nor were there clothes to fit him or enough food to feed him. JARVIS did, however, have a car waiting for them outside of SHIELD and had been courteous enough to place a rush order of all the essentials necessary for Steve to at least make it through the night and had phoned the housekeeper to freshen up the guestroom.
When Tony had first seen Steve in Fury’s office, he’d been preparing for an uphill battle. Steve had been silent since they left SHIELD, eyes wide with the shock of waking up in a world that had moved on without him. They had arrived a few hours later, the quiet of the evening matching the awkwardness between them. Tony had cobbled together some sandwiches and poured Steve a glass of milk—something JARVIS insisted was good for bone density.
The elevator ride had been tense, Tony avoiding many of his usual shortcuts through JARVIS to give Steve some sense of normalcy. They had sat in silence at the table while Steve ate, the city lights casting soft shadows around them.
Tony had tried to find the right words, eventually settling on what he knew Steve needed to hear most. “You deserve more than just being Captain America, Steve. You deserve a life.” He sighed, seeing uncertainty cross Steve’s face. “Don’t let anybody ever convince you otherwise.”
Steve watched Tony with a mix of wonder and confusion, the way a man might study a foreign map, searching for a familiar landmark. In the short time since he’d woken up, it had been the shield, the uniform that people saw first. They called him Captain, never Steve. But Tony—Tony looked at him differently, like he was trying to find the man beneath the legend. And that look, that relentless curiosity mixed with concern, made Steve’s chest tighten with something he couldn’t quite name. It was unnerving, having someone see him for who he was, not who he was supposed to be.
Tony had been in the kitchen, cleaning up after Steve's late-night snack when the elevator doors slid open with a quiet ding. He barely noticed, too engrossed in scrubbing at a particularly stubborn stain, but Steve’s shoulders tensed slightly. The next thing Tony knew, Steve jolted back, eyes wide as Dum-E rolled toward him, shopping bags clutched tightly in his claw.
“Hey, get off him, you bolt-head,” Tony grumbled, rushing over to shoo the robot away. Dum-E, however, was undeterred, beeping insistently and waving the bags just out of Tony’s reach each time he tried to grab them.
“Get over here, you little—”
“Sir,” JARVIS interjected smoothly, “Dum-E is attempting to inform you that he cannot release the items to you.”
“And why not?” Tony asked, exasperation creeping into his voice.
“I addressed the delivery to Mr. Rogers. Dum-E is simply ensuring that the items reach their intended recipient.”
Tony stared at the robot, incredulous, before letting out a resigned sigh. “Fine, be that way.”
Turning to Steve, who looked a mix of startled and amused, Tony explained, “Steve, this is my robot, Dum-E. Yeah, he knows his name and yes, this is how he behaves. I had some things delivered for you, and it seems he’s taken his courier duties very seriously. He’ll only give them to you, so… would you mind?”
Steve, still processing this strange new world he’d been thrust into, hesitated for a moment. But then, with a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he reached out and took the bags from Dum-E’s claw. The robot chirped happily, rolling back a bit to give Steve space.
“Thanks,” Steve said, somewhat unsure of whether he was speaking to the robot or Tony.
Tony grinned, clearly pleased with the interaction. “See? He’s harmless. Mostly.” He gestured around the penthouse. “Come on, let me show you to your room. Mine is right down the hall too, so if you need anything, just holler. And I’ll give you a quick tour while we’re at it—show you where everything is, introduce you to JARVIS properly.”
Steve nodded, still feeling like he was dreaming. As Tony led him through the expansive penthouse, he couldn’t help but marvel at the sleek, modern design. Everything was so different from the world he knew, yet there was something oddly comforting about it—perhaps it was Tony’s easygoing nature, or the way he seemed so at ease with everything around him.
“This place is amazing,” Steve said as they walked, his eyes taking in every detail.
“Not bad, right?” Tony replied with a smirk. “JARVIS handles most of the day-to-day stuff—security, thermostats, entertainment systems, deliveries, you name it. He’s sorta like my digital butler. JARVIS, say hello to Steve.”
“Good evening, Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS’s voice echoed softly through the room. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
Steve blinked, taken aback by the AI’s polite tone. “Uh, thanks… JARVIS?”
“Just JARVIS is fine,” the AI responded smoothly. “If there is anything you require during your stay, please do not hesitate to ask.”
Tony grinned at Steve’s bemused expression. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. And don’t worry, he won’t tattle to me about anything you do, nor will he spy on you in your private quarters. I can revoke his access from your room entirely, but if you ever need to know how something works, just ask JARVIS. He’s got you covered. Please let me know if it’s too much.”
“Indeed, Mr. Rogers. I do not wish to cause concern and will not mind if you prefer, I not be ‘present’ in such ways that I typically am in your room.”
“Ah, no, that’s alright and just Steve is good. I appreciate the possibility for help as I get used to things here,” Steve replied, still processing the surreal situation.
They continued the tour, with Tony pointing out various features of the penthouse—ensuring Steve knew where to find everything he’d reasonably need for the next few days. Tony paid special attention to the kitchen and dining areas, knowing Steve needed far more food than he likely felt comfortable taking.
“Now, serious talk,” Tony said, leaning against the counter, his tone light but firm as Steve already looked slightly on edge. “You need to eat super soldier portions, and you’re essentially recovering from starvation. All of this food here is available to you, and I expect you to eat as you need. I know I said JARVIS doesn’t spy on you, but he will be forced to alert me if you put yourself in danger, including by not eating properly. You do not need to ration or worry about eating too much here—just eat to get yourself healthy again. Capisce?”
Steve nodded, still grappling with the strangeness of it all. The technology was one thing, but Tony’s concern—his focus on Steve as a person, not just as Captain America—was something entirely new. SHIELD had wanted the symbol, the soldier. But Tony seemed to care far more about the man behind the shield, the one who had spent decades frozen, only to wake up in a world that had moved on without him.
But why? What did Tony see in Steve Rogers that was worth caring about? Steve glanced at Tony, who had already moved on to demonstrating how the coffee machine could brew a perfect cup, his earlier seriousness melting back into a boyish enthusiasm. Steve’s chest tightened, a mix of gratitude and unease. He wasn’t used to this kind of attention, this insistence that he was more than just the uniform he wore. And he didn’t know if he could live up to the version of Steve Rogers that Tony seemed to believe in.
Finally, they reached the guest room. Tony paused at the doorway, his tone turning slightly more serious. “I know this is all a lot to take in, Steve. But you don’t have to figure it all out tonight. Just take it one step at a time. And if you need anything, I’m right down the hall.”
Steve looked around the room, feeling a sense of gratitude he couldn’t quite put into words. “Thanks, Tony. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
Tony waved off the thanks with a casual shrug. “Hey, it’s what I do. Now get some rest—you’ve had a hell of a day.”
As Tony turned to leave, Steve called after him, “Tony?”
Tony glanced back; one eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”
Steve hesitated, then smiled—a small, genuine smile that held a world of unspoken gratitude. “I think I’m going to like it here.”
Tony’s expression softened, and he nodded. “I think you will too, Steve. Good night.”
“Good night,” Steve replied, watching as Tony disappeared down the hall.
As Steve settled into bed, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope, despite everything that had happened. For the first time since waking up in this strange new world, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he was where he was meant to be.