Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
It’s cold at night, in the cave. Water runs along the craggy walls, slipping through crevices and dripping in the corners. Tony shivers in his tank top as he shuffles through the sketches of his design. The cold...it’s almost more bearable than the heat in the day.
Tony doesn’t sleep, doesn’t dare sleep, because the night is too quiet yet too loud; it’s too dangerous. Unpredictable. Instead, he picks out the flaws in his sketch, redraws, and builds. No one is inside the tunnels at night, all of his kidnappers are outside the cave, probably sleeping soundly in their tents and looking forward to another day of torturing Tony Stark, the genius billionaire who’s supposedly untouchable. They won’t hear him and the thundering clang of metal against metal. His chest hurts. Yinsen sleeps in one of the corners that aren’t dripping, not stirring at the volume of sound Tony’s making. Tony exhales, lifts the hammer, and brings it down on the metal.
Clang. Clang. Clang.
It’s almost soothing, the sound. Rhythmic. Tony can fall asleep to it, pretend it’s a lullaby. He reaches up and unconsciously brushes his fingers against the arc reactor. His chest is starting to throb more insistently, but he doesn’t dare rub it too hard, because it might damage his fragile, fragile heart.
One, he counts in his head, bringing the hammer down again. Two. Three. Four. Five. He’s sure someone’s looking for him (they won’t find him), but he wonders whether it’s really worth it, his attempt to escape. He wonders if this horrible, stale place will become his grave.
His chest is burning.
Tony would say he’s used to it, but he’s not. It hurts and it hurts and it aches, his skin searing around the edges of the reactor, his heart beating too irregularly, too weakly, for it to be healthy.
Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Te-
Tony drops the hammer with a thunderous crash, and Yinsen startles awake. His chest is flaming with pain and heat, it’s scorching his heart, consuming him, and Tony chokes on the pain, suddenly too much to bear. Nothing has ever, ever hurt so much in his life. He can’t breathe, can’t make his lungs work, he can’t-if he-
Tony can imagine blisters forming on his skin from the way his heart is burning its way through his chest, like it wants to escape. Yinsen is talking to him, lips moving, but his face warps as Tony’s vision fails him, and black crowds into the corners of his eyes. Tony chokes on another breath that he’s not taking, and not for the first time, terror consumes him, even more so than the pain of the non-existent flames burning a black, black hole in his body. He can’t die, he still has so much to live for, so much he hasn’t done. He can’t die but the pain and the heat and the darkness-he can’t die-
Tony doesn’t jerk awake, doesn’t startle like he usually does. He flails, a full-body judder before he thuds to the ground with the movement, clawing at his throat and chest and god, where’s the air. His chest, it’s ignited with fire, curling, broiling with fury. It’s painful beyond measure, beyond any pain he’s ever felt, and that says so much more than even he himself could ever understand.
It hurts, it hurts like hell, and he can’t stop the agonized cry that bubbles out of his throat, can’t stop the tears stinging in his eyes from falling. Tony hears a crack, and he looks down, vision blurry, to see the stitches at the bottom of his tank top straining dangerously in his panicked grip.
Fuck.
Tony tightens his grip, chest heaving too fast, throat too tight, lungs stuck and unmoving, lips open in an attempt to-to gulp in oxygen that didn’t seem to exist-
“Tony!”
Tony looks up and cowers at the same time, shrinking into himself while unsuccessfully trying to scramble backward, eyes wide and unfocused.
“Tony! Oh god, what do I do-Tony, sweetheart, it’s okay,” the-who’s this again? Big guy, blond hair. He’s huge. He takes a few steps forward, and when Tony scrabbles backward immediately, chest burning, the big guy stops moving.
It takes another few moments for his panicked mind to click.
Steve.
Not a threat, his heart supplies.
He could hurt you, his mind argues.
“Tony? Tony, hey, it’s me, Steve. You know me, yeah? It’s Steve. Your-your boyfriend. I won’t hurt you, I promise.”
Tony realizes he’s backed himself into a corner and lets slip an involuntary whimper. Steve’s eyelids flutter, and Tony’s surprised when he remembers it’s the Steve version of flinching.
His heart continues to burn a path through his chest.
“It’s three am, very late, isn’t it? We’re in the Avengers Tower. You designed it, remember? We just had movie night, and we got smoothies together; red for Nat, green for Bruce, yellow for Thor, blue and red for me and you. I’m surprised they have so many colors of smoothie. I sketched you sleeping on the couch--you’re adorable when you fall asleep unintentionally, you know?--then I carried you back to bed. Do you want to go on another date tomorrow? We could go get cheeseburgers, you know, even though we had them just yesterday. I bet-” Steve swallows when Tony whimpers in pain.
“I bet Bruce is getting tired of-” Steve chokes on the sentence and falls silent. “...Tony?”
Tony wants to speak. He needs to tell him. He needs to tell Steve.
-Hurts. It hurts, Steve. Please, please fix my heart, it hurts too much. Hurts more than anything. I can’t-I can’t bear the pain.
All Tony does is let out another, barely audible whimper. I can’t do this.
“Shh,” Steve soothes. He’s sitting crossed legged just inside the doorway.
It’s slow, but it comes back to Tony. He loves Steve. And he knows why. It comes back to him, why Steve means safe and comfort and security. Steve will save him. Steve won’t let him burn. Steve is good and kind and selfless. Steve will protect him. He needs Steve to protect him.
“Tony?” Steve tries again, soft.
There’s a moment of silence, and Tony blinks, tears on his lashes, and looks at the way Steve gazes at him worriedly, tension lines creasing at the corner of his eyes.
“...eve,” is all Tony manages.
“Thank god, Tony. It’s okay,” Steve says, still gentle as ever, his eyes glazed with wetness.
“ ‘M in my room?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. In your room. Safe. No one can hurt you here. I promise.”
Tony’s chest still throbs, but it’s not burning as painfully. Steve doesn’t break promises.
“You come back to me?” Steve asks.
Tony nods almost meekly, still curled up sideways against the wall, shaking with the aftershocks of panic and unbearable pain.
“Can I come to you?” Steve murmurs, as if it’s a normal thing. As if Tony needing to give permission for someone to come close to him isn’t something laughable and shameful.
Tony nods again, sniffing.
“Okay.” Steve stands up slowly and walks over, crouching before he finally shuffles over to Tony, making sure he approaches from the side so Tony doesn’t feel cornered.
“I’ll hug you now, okay?” Tony nods again, knowing that Steve would never proceed without his confirmation.
It happens in only a second-Steve’s hand hovers too close to Tony’s arc reactor, and Tony jerks away violently with an incomprehensible sound, breathing turning shaky and erratic as he shuts his eyes. Don’t-don’t touch-
“Hey hey, okay, it’s okay. I’m sorry, sweetheart. Shh, it’s okay, I’m sorry. I won’t do it again,” Steve quickly soothes, his eyes full of pain despite his gentle, steady tone. He quickly gets up, and Tony makes a noise of protest, thinking Steve’s leaving him alone and feverish from nightmares on the floor. Instead, Steve comes back with Tony’s blanket and drapes it carefully over Tony’s shoulders to hide the arc reactor, and Tony is so, so infinitely grateful that Steve understands. He takes the edge of the blanket and folds it over the reactor, hiding its glow. He doesn’t even have time to feel ashamed before he’s scooped up into the warmth of Steve’s arms.
Steve pulls Tony into his lap, and Tony curls into himself, resting his cheek against Steve’s chest. It’s safe, here, in Steve’s arms; safe and quiet and warm.
Steve reaches up and buries his fingers into Tony’s sweat-drenched hair, cradling his head gently as he peppers soft, light kisses into his brown curls, then his forehead, and temples, and cheeks, and nose and jaw and neck. He presses one last, firm kiss to Tony’s dry lips when Tony finally stops trembling in his arms, caressing his lower back gently, soothingly. Tony allows himself to relax, suddenly aware of how heavy his eyelids are getting. The pain in his chest has reduced to a dull ache, a ghost of what it was just minutes ago.
“I love you, tiny-bear,” Steve murmurs against Tony’s hair. Tony’s too exhausted to pout at the nickname, instead burrowing himself farther into Steve’s embrace. “You’re safe with me, okay? I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Tony sniffs and presses his ear to Steve’s chest. He falls asleep listening to Steve’s heartbeat, present and constant and steady. A lullaby, he thinks.