Army Dreamers

The first night in what he had come to learn was Stark Tower was bittersweet. The accommodations were some of the nicest Steve had ever experienced, if not the nicest. But to him, it felt jarringly wrong. He’d been sleeping in barracks and on cold dirt just days ago—or so it seemed. To everyone else, it might have been 70 years, but to Steve, it was as if he’d blinked and been thrust into this new world.

He showered, relishing the endless supply of hot water and the high-dollar soaps that felt indulgent against his skin. Even the towel and sweats Tony had provided were of the highest quality, soft and comforting in a way that was almost foreign to him. Tony’s thoughtfulness seemed boundless, but Steve was struggling to truly appreciate it. Everything felt off, as if the world had been tilted just slightly out of alignment, leaving him teetering on the wrong side of anxious energy.

He was on his third round of sleep-inducing thought tactics when the computer butler chimed in, breaking the tense silence that had settled over him.

“Steve, if I may, I could attempt to provide some assistance if you’re finding difficulty sleeping.”

Steve startled, quickly glancing around the room, half-expecting to see someone there. Letting out a breath, he nodded, “Yes, yeah, that’d be real helpful if you could.”

“Of course. I’d recommend attempting to replicate your most recent sleeping environment. From my research, that might include darkening the room or closing the shades to block out the city lights. I can also play some background noise lowly, or find some guided meditation to help you relax.

I can assure you, Steve, you are safe and protected within these walls. Tony is currently one room away, settling down for the evening, and you are the only two on this floor. The lower floors have a few security personnel, all in their expected perimeters where they shall remain through the night. No one is expected to be entering the building until work begins tomorrow, and there are no scheduled visits to the tower for Tony until next Tuesday. There are strict protocols to limit access to this floor and those around it. Nobody can get in without me and Tony approving it first.”

Steve didn’t know exactly when it happened, but somewhere in JARVIS’s speech, it was like a knot in his chest had eased, and the tension in his body began to drain away. The exhaustion he had been fighting off seemed to deepen, seeping into his bones, muscles, and finally his eyelids, which closed without his input. A small grunt of approval was all he managed before the low lull of the sound JARVIS had selected began to pull him toward sleep.

As he lay there, on the edge of consciousness, a thought flitted through his mind: Did he deserve this? This care, this kindness that Tony and even his AI seemed so eager to provide? It was overwhelming, and part of him wondered if he was worthy of it after everything that had happened, after so much had been lost. But even as the doubt surfaced, it was quickly drowned by the bone-deep weariness that had taken hold of him.

He vaguely remembered hearing a “Goodnight, Steve,” but couldn’t say if it was real or a dream as he finally drifted off.

Steve blinked awake, groggy but well-rested. He stared at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented, until the events of the previous day came flooding back. Stark Tower. Tony Stark. The man had given him a room that felt like a five-star hotel. It was quiet, too quiet compared to the barracks or the battlefield. No low hum of soldiers getting ready for the day, no rustling of canvas, no cold dirt beneath him. Just soft sheets and the faint sound of the city outside.

Steve sat up slowly, his muscles aching in that familiar way they always did after too much strain. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he hesitated for a moment, studying the sleek, unfamiliar technology scattered around the room. A screen that wasn’t quite a television sat across from the bed, its smooth, black surface a mystery to him. A digital clock with numbers that seemed to float in the air sat beside it. All of it was alien, yet oddly reassuring. He knew Tony had arranged it all.

He ran a hand over his face, unsure how to express the growing gratitude building in his chest. Tony had done so much already—more than anyone else since he’d woken up. How did you thank someone for being that... thoughtful?

A light knock interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey, you awake in there?" Tony's voice came from the other side of the door, casual yet tinged with an unusual nervousness.

"Yeah," Steve replied, his voice hoarse from sleep. "Come in."

The door slid open smoothly, revealing Tony standing there in jeans and a t-shirt, looking more like the man Steve had seen in the news than the armored hero who had burst into that SHIELD facility. He was holding a tray.

"I brought breakfast. Don’t get too excited, though. JARVIS did most of the work," Tony said with a grin, stepping into the room and setting the tray on a small table by the window.

Steve eyed the tray—a stack of pancakes, bacon, eggs, and coffee that smelled better than anything he’d had in years. The simple domesticity of the gesture caught him off guard. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from Tony Stark, but it wasn’t this.

"You, uh, didn’t have to do that," Steve said, sitting up straighter, feeling suddenly out of place in the cozy setting.

Tony waved a dismissive hand. "It’s just breakfast. No strings attached. I promise the bacon’s not trying to recruit you back into action."

Despite himself, Steve let out a soft chuckle. Tony’s humor was... disarming. He watched as Tony sat down on a chair across from him, folding his arms casually but never quite losing the intensity behind his eyes.

Steve hesitated before finally admitting, "It’s a lot to take in."

Tony raised an eyebrow. "The food?"

"Everything," Steve said, gesturing around the room. "This place... it’s so different. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I woke up 70 years in the future. Everything feels... off."

Tony’s expression softened, and for a moment, the playful mask dropped. "Yeah, I can imagine. Must be like landing on an alien planet."

Steve didn’t respond immediately, his eyes tracing the unfamiliar lines of the furniture, the gadgets, the smooth walls. "It’s not just that. It’s..." He trailed off, struggling to find the right words. "I’m not sure I belong here."

Tony leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, Steve, no one expects you to just snap back into being Captain America. Not me, not JARVIS, and certainly not you."

"But Fury does," Steve replied, the tension creeping back into his voice. "SHIELD... they’ll want me back in action, won’t they?"

Tony’s gaze darkened for a split second before he plastered on a reassuring smile. "Yeah, well, screw Fury. You’re not a soldier for SHIELD, and you’re not a puppet for the government. You’re Steve Rogers, and you deserve a chance to figure things out at your own pace. Let me deal with Fury and SHIELD. That’s the least I can do."

Steve looked at Tony, taken aback by the conviction in his voice. He’d seen glimpses of Tony’s serious side when they first met, but now it was fully on display.

"You don’t have to do that," Steve said quietly, though a part of him felt immense relief at the idea.

“I know, but I want to,” Tony shrugged, though his tone remained firm. "I’m not letting them push you around, Steve. You’ve already given them everything. Let me handle the suits. You, on the other hand... should focus on figuring out what you want. For once."

Steve turned to him, a faint smile playing on his lips. “It’s... a lot to take in.”

“I can imagine.” Tony hesitated before continuing, unsure how to broach the topic. “Look, I’ve been talking to some people. Lawyers, mostly.”

“Lawyers?” Steve frowned.

“Yeah. About getting you what you’re owed. Back pay, benefits, that kind of stuff.” Tony shrugged as if it were no big deal, but Steve could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“Thank you for doing that,” Steve said, touched by the gesture.

“I wanted to,” Tony replied. “You deserve more than just being Captain America. You deserve a life—a real one. College, hobbies, whatever you want.”

Steve looked at him, surprised. “I don’t even know what I want.”

“Then take the time to figure it out,” Tony said, his voice gentle. “You don’t have to be what everyone expects you to be. You can be whoever you want.”

Steve looked down at the tray of food, his stomach growling despite the weight of the conversation. "I don’t even know where to start," he admitted.

Tony smiled again, this time more genuine, and stood up. "Start by eating. Then we’ll go on a tour. I’ll show you the rest of the tower, maybe explain some of the gadgets, give you a feel for the place. Baby steps."

Steve nodded, appreciating the offer. "Yeah, okay. Thanks."

Tony’s expression softened as he headed for the door. "Anytime. And Steve?"

Steve glanced up at him.

"You’re not alone in this. You’ve got me—and JARVIS—whether you like it or not."

Tony dragged himself up the stairs toward the penthouse, exhaustion pulling at his every step. His body was practically begging for sleep after another long day of lab work, repairs, and overseeing Stark Industries’ endless meetings. He’d just finished recalibrating one of the boot repulsors when he decided to finally call it a night.

But as he entered the penthouse, the dim lighting didn’t hide the figure sitting at the kitchen counter. Steve was there, slouched forward, staring at the floor like he was lost in his own world. He looked… haunted, like someone who’d seen a ghost and couldn’t shake the feeling of cold terror clinging to his skin.

Tony recognized that look instantly. He’d seen it in the mirror more times than he cared to admit.

"Hey, Steve," Tony greeted softly, careful not to startle him. “Trouble sleeping?"

Steve didn’t answer right away. He blinked, slowly pulling himself out of whatever nightmare had its grip on him. "Yeah… something like that." His voice was rough, like he’d been running for miles but hadn’t actually gone anywhere.

Tony took a seat next to him, not pushing, just being there, his usual bravado muted. He glanced at the dark circles under Steve’s eyes and the way his shoulders were tense. "Nightmares?"

Steve nodded, looking almost ashamed of it. “It’s… they never stop. No matter what I do.”

"Yeah, I get that. Trust me." Tony’s tone softened even more. He looked around the kitchen and made a decision. Standing up, he moved to the stove and pulled out a small pot. "You know, when I was a kid, Jarvis’s wife, Ana, used to make this stuff. Warm milk with honey, cinnamon, and a bit of vanilla. Said it was magic for calming nerves. I think you could use some of that right now."

Steve watched as Tony moved around the kitchen, curious but still shaken. "Warm milk?"

Tony gave him a lopsided smile. "It’s an old trick, but it works. Besides, you’re too exhausted to go back to bed without something to settle you down."

While the milk heated up, Tony leaned against the counter, studying Steve without making it obvious. "You know… what you’re feeling, the nightmares, the restlessness… it’s normal. Hell, it’s practically part of the job description at this point."

Steve let out a shaky breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Back in my time… you didn’t talk about this kind of stuff. Nightmares. Feeling… broken."

Tony nodded, stirring the milk. "Yeah, I figured. Different era, different mindset. But here, we talk about it. Or at least, we should. I had to learn the hard way that bottling it all up isn’t the answer." He poured the milk into a mug and handed it to Steve. "Try this. It’ll help."

Steve took the mug, the warmth of it seeping into his hands, grounding him. He took a tentative sip, the subtle sweetness of honey and cinnamon relaxing something tight in his chest.

"Thanks," Steve murmured, glancing at Tony. "Do… do they ever stop? The nightmares?"

Tony sighed, leaning his elbows on the counter. "Honestly? Not completely. But there are ways to deal with them. Therapy helps." He caught Steve’s skeptical look. "Yeah, I know, therapy wasn’t exactly a thing back in your day. But it’s different now. Talking to someone? It’s not a weakness. It’s a step toward getting better."

Steve’s gaze dropped back to the mug, his hesitation clear. "It’s just… not what I’m used to."

Tony gave a small, understanding smile. "Doesn’t have to be. But it can make a difference. And you deserve to feel better. You’re not alone in this, Steve."

Steve looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, he saw past Tony’s armor—the bravado, the quips, all the deflections. He saw the man who fought his own demons every night and still kept moving forward.

"I’ll think about it," Steve finally said, his voice soft but sincere.

"Good. That’s all I’m asking." Tony clapped him gently on the shoulder before pushing off the counter. "Now, since you’re up and I’m not quite ready to crash either… how about a movie?"

"A movie?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, movie night. It’s part of your cultural education, remember? I gotta catch you up on about seventy years of cinema. Might as well start tonight."

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle at Tony’s enthusiasm. "Alright. But you’re picking."

Tony smirked. "You’re damn right I am. Let’s start with something classic. Something that'll take your mind off everything for a bit."

And for the first time that night, Steve felt a little lighter, the weight of his nightmares easing, even if just for a moment.

Steve sat on the edge of the plush sofa in Tony's living room, shoulders stiff as his eyes scanned the modern space. It was sleek, all sharp edges and glass, nothing like the places he’d known. The world had moved on without him—faster, louder, and more complicated—and it left him feeling like an outsider in his own time. The weight of it settled heavy on his chest.

Tony appeared in the doorway, holding a large, worn leather case under one arm and something else in his other hand. He ambled over, setting both items on the coffee table in front of Steve before sitting across from him. There was a softness to Tony’s expression, something that tugged at the usual flippancy, as he patted the case.

“I’ve got something for you,” Tony said, leaning back in his seat.

Steve glanced at the case, brow furrowed in curiosity. “What’s this?”

With deliberate care, Tony opened the case, revealing a collection of old, weathered sketchbooks, the pages yellowed and brittle from age. “These are yours,” Tony explained, his tone quiet but firm. “Howard saved them after you… went missing. He kept a lot of things, but I figured these were important.”

Steve’s breath caught in his throat as he reached for the nearest sketchbook, his fingers brushing against the worn cover. The familiar texture brought a rush of memories with it. He opened it slowly, eyes scanning the pages filled with rough sketches of Brooklyn’s streets, faces of his fellow soldiers, and half-formed ideas for Captain America’s costume. The simple pencil lines, smudged with time, pulled at something deep inside him.

“I didn’t think any of these survived,” Steve murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He turned the pages slowly, each one a reminder of a life that now seemed like a distant dream. “I haven’t drawn in… I don’t even know how long.”

Tony leaned forward; his usual energy replaced by something gentler. “Well, now’s as good a time as any to get back into it,” he said, sincerity woven into his words. “You were an artist before you were a soldier, Steve. You’re still that guy. And you deserve to be that guy again.”

Steve hesitated, closing the sketchbook as though he might disturb the fragile past if he lingered too long. “I don’t know,” he said, voice quiet. “It’s been so long, and everything’s different now.”

Tony nodded, understanding the unspoken weight behind Steve’s words. He reached for the second item he’d brought—a brand-new sketchbook, its cover a sleek, deep blue—and handed it to Steve. “Not everything,” Tony said, his voice firm but kind. “The world’s changed, yeah. But you? You’re still you. And you don’t have to be Captain America all the time.”

Steve stared at the new sketchbook, fingers brushing over its pristine surface as he turned it over in his hands. The gesture wasn’t lost on him—this was Tony’s way of telling him it was okay to be more than the symbol, more than the shield. That he was allowed to be Steve, too.

Tony smiled, a touch of his usual bravado creeping back in. “I mean, hell, you could even take up painting if you want. I’ll set you up with a studio—whatever you need. The point is, you can be whoever you want to be, not just the guy on the posters.”

Steve met Tony’s eyes, the sincerity there catching him off guard. “You really believe that, huh?”

“I do,” Tony replied without hesitation. “You don’t have to live up to anyone’s expectations but your own. The world doesn’t need Captain America 24/7. It needs Steve Rogers to figure out what he wants—and if sketching helps with that, then go for it. I’ve got your back.”

A small smile tugged at Steve’s lips, the first real one in what felt like ages. It wasn’t forced or polite; it was genuine. “Thanks, Tony. I think… I think I’d like that.”

“Good,” Tony said, standing up with a satisfied grin. “Because I already had JARVIS order you the best art supplies money can buy. They’ll be here in the morning.”

Steve chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Of course, you did.”

“Hey, I don’t do things halfway,” Tony replied with a wink. He turned to leave but paused at the door, glancing back. “Seriously, though. You’re allowed to have a life, Steve. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

As Tony walked out of the room, Steve stayed seated, holding the new sketchbook in his hands. For the first time since waking up in this new world, he felt something lift—like maybe, just maybe, he could start figuring out who he was now. And it wasn’t just Captain America.

Tony paced the length of his workshop, barely acknowledging the chirping of Dum-E behind him. The screen in front of him displayed the latest communications from SHIELD to Steve—well, Captain America. That was how they addressed him in the emails. As if Steve hadn’t been frozen for seventy years. As if Steve hadn’t lost everything and everyone he knew.

Tony’s fingers curled into fists at the edges of the workbench, knuckles going white.

“Can you believe this?” he muttered, though he didn’t need to. JARVIS was always listening.

“They act like he’s some relic,” Tony continued, voice low and dangerous. “Like they can just dust him off, hand him a shield, and everything will be fine. Like the last seventy years didn’t happen.”

"Colonel Fury seems eager to have Captain Rogers resume his duties," JARVIS replied, his tone as neutral as ever.

Tony’s jaw clenched. He could practically feel Fury’s pressure, pushing Steve to step back into the role of Captain America without giving him any real time to adjust to the world he’d woken up in.

"They’re treating him like he’s some goddamn museum piece," Tony growled, pacing again. "He’s not just a soldier. He’s a person—a person who deserves better than this."

The thought of Steve being forced into SHIELD’s expectations made Tony’s stomach churn. He knew all too well what it was like to have the weight of the world pressing down on you, suffocating you with expectations you never asked for. And Steve? Steve deserved a chance to live a life outside of being Captain America.

Tony wasn’t about to let SHIELD push Steve back into a warzone just because they wanted to revive an old hero.

He stopped, glancing at the emails on the screen again. Every time Steve mentioned receiving more correspondence from Fury, Tony had done his best to intercept, reroute, and delay. He’d fought them behind the scenes, trying to buy Steve more time—more space to breathe.

Tony was deep in thought when JARVIS interrupted. "Sir, Agent Coulson is requesting entry to the tower."

Tony stilled. This was different. Coulson hadn’t shown up in person since the whole Avengers Initiative proposal had been shelved months ago. They had agreed to table the conversation indefinitely, yet here Coulson was.

“Great,” Tony muttered sarcastically, throwing the nearest tool back onto his workbench. "And here I thought I might actually get through a week without one of Fury’s minions darkening my door."

JARVIS’s calm voice filled the room. “Shall I permit Agent Coulson entry?”

Tony sighed, running a hand over his face. “Yeah, yeah, let him in.”

Despite his best efforts to keep Fury and SHIELD at arm’s length, Tony knew this wasn’t just another nudge for Steve to get back in uniform. This felt bigger—urgent. The sense of inevitability weighed on him as he made his way upstairs.

By the time he reached the penthouse, Coulson was already waiting, standing with his usual calm, polite demeanor. Tony couldn’t help but notice the tension beneath it. This wasn’t a casual visit.

“Stark,” Coulson greeted, professional as always. “We have a situation.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “Let me guess—another subtle hint that Captain America needs to play nice with SHIELD?”

Coulson’s expression barely shifted, but there was a flicker of something serious in his eyes. “This isn’t about that. It’s about the Avengers Initiative. It’s no longer just a proposal. We need you. All of you.”

Tony blinked, caught off guard. “Wait, you’re serious?”

Coulson nodded. “We can’t handle it alone. We’re going to need all hands on deck for this one.”

The words hit Tony like a punch to the gut. This wasn’t just some SHIELD play for more control. This was real. And that meant Steve was going to be dragged into it, no matter how much Tony had tried to protect him.

Tony’s thoughts raced, his mind juggling his instinct to shield Steve from this and the reality that SHIELD wasn’t asking this time. They were assembling the team for something massive, something dangerous. And Steve was going to have to fight.

“Okay,” Tony said after a beat, his voice lower. “I’m in. But don’t expect me to roll out the red carpet for Fury.”

Coulson allowed himself a small smile, but the tension never left his face. “We’re assembling everyone now. I’ll send further details to you shortly.”

As Coulson left, Tony stood there, staring at the closed door. He knew there was no fighting this one. Whatever was happening, Tony had a sinking feeling it was going to test them all in ways they hadn’t anticipated.

And as much as he wanted to protect Steve from being used by SHIELD, Tony realized that maybe this was the fight Steve was meant to face. But he’d be damned if Steve did it alone.

And that’s how Tony found himself thrust into a battle unlike any he’d faced before, alongside a team of heroes who were still learning to trust each other. The fight against Loki and his forces had indeed tested them all, but now, as they regrouped, it was clear that the real challenge had just begun.

The battle raged on, chaos surrounding the team as they fought to protect New York. The scepter, glowing with an ominous energy, had fallen into their hands, and now they needed to figure out how to shut down the portal.

Steve barked orders, his voice steady despite the frenzy around them. "We need to get that scepter to the lab. Iron Man, can you—"

But Tony was already ahead of him, flying toward the building. "On it, Cap. Just keep these guys off my back for a few more minutes."

"Iron man, wait—" Steve’s words were lost in the noise as Tony zoomed away, determination written all over his face.

Steve gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling up. Tony was brilliant, but he had a bad habit of going off on his own, thinking he could handle everything himself. Steve understood that impulse better than anyone, but it didn’t make it any less infuriating when Tony did it.

Minutes later, they regrouped as the situation intensified. The team was holding their ground, but Steve could see the toll it was taking on them. They needed to close the portal, and they needed to do it fast.

Tony’s voice crackled over the comms. "Got the scepter. Heading to the tower now."

"Be careful. We’re too close to losing control here," Steve warned, his tone edging on stern.

There was a pause, and then Tony’s voice came back, softer this time. "I know. Just... trust me, alright?"

Steve clenched his jaw, hating how much he wanted to trust Tony. "I do, but you need to stop doing everything on your own. We’re a team, remember?"

Tony didn’t respond, but Steve knew the words had hit home. They both had their issues with trust, but they were working on it. They had to if they were going to make this team thing work. And despite their differences, they were beginning to understand each other in ways neither had expected.

That’s why it cut so deep when Steve watched helplessly as Tony grabbed onto the missile, redirecting it toward the wormhole with everything the suit had left. His heart clenched, knowing what Tony was about to do.

"Iron Man, report!" Steve’s voice was tight, panic creeping in despite his best efforts to keep it at bay.

"Don’t worry, Cap. I’ve got contingency plans in place," Tony replied, his tone calm but Steve could hear the underlying strain. "JARVIS will make sure you’re alright."

"I don’t want a damn contingency plan, Tony! I want my friend to live," Steve snapped, his voice breaking slightly at the end. He didn’t care about contingencies or backup plans; he just wanted Tony to come back alive.

There was a heavy silence before Tony spoke again, his voice quieter, almost resigned. "I’m so sorry, Steve. I have no choice."

As Tony ascended into the wormhole, Steve’s breath caught in his throat. He was about to lose Tony, just like he’d lost Bucky. The fear of that loss gripped him, freezing him in place for a moment before he forced himself to move, to do something, anything.

But then he saw it—Tony was falling, plummeting back to Earth at an alarming speed.

"He’s not slowing down," Clint’s voice rang out over the comms. "Guys! He’s not slowing down!"

Steve broke into a sprint, his heart pounding as he raced toward the falling Iron Man suit, but he knew he’d never make it in time. It was happening all over again—he was going to watch his friend die, just like he’d watched Bucky fall all those years ago.

Just when it seemed all hope was lost, the Hulk leaped into action, catching Tony in his massive arms. Relief flooded Steve, but it was short-lived. Tony was still, too still.

Steve reached the Hulk in record time, dropping to his knees beside Tony’s limp form. He pulled the Iron Man suit closer, desperate to see any sign of life. His hands fumbled with the catches on the helmet, finally wrenching it free to reveal Tony’s face—pale, with a small cut on his eyebrow that trickled blood.

"Tony, c’mon Tony, don’t do this," Steve muttered, his voice thick with emotion as he cradled Tony’s head in his lap. He brushed a thumb over the cut, smearing the blood. "Please be alive, don’t leave, Tony. You can’t leave me here."

For a moment, nothing happened. Steve’s heart pounded in his ears as he stared at Tony’s face, willing him to wake up.

"Please, you have to be okay. You HAVE to," Steve’s voice cracked, tears welling up in his eyes. "Y-you told me not to do this alone, and now you—" His plea was cut off by the Hulk’s sudden roar, jarring him out of his spiral of fear and despair.

Tony’s eyes fluttered open, wide and startled. He blinked rapidly, his gaze focusing on Steve.

"Tony," Steve breathed, his relief overwhelming as he stared down at his friend, alive and breathing.

Tony coughed, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I hope nobody kissed me."

Steve let out a shaky laugh, tears still clinging to his lashes. "No, nobody kissed you, you idiot. You infuriatingly brave idiot." His tone softened, filled with all the emotion he’d been holding back. "Never do that again."

Tony’s smile grew, and he reached up weakly, patting Steve’s arm. "I’ll try to keep that in mind, Cap."

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, the tears finally spilling over. He held Tony a little tighter, grateful beyond words that his friend was still here with him.