Steve was not okay.
It had taken him four hours of trying not to cry or rip his room apart to figure that out.
Of course, he wasn't going to go around telling anyone that. But he was not okay.
He was sure he didn't need help. He didn't need comfort. He didn't need anyone. He was just not okay today. He would be fine tomorrow.
All he had to do was to lie in bed swarmed in his horrible, wandering thoughts for a few more hours before he could head downstairs for breakfast without raising any suspicion.
He would be fine.
Except he wouldn't.
He lied in bed and closed his eyes. Then he opened them again. His brain was a screaming, chaotic mess, and he was vaguely aware that he was shaking slightly. Maybe...maybe no one would be downstairs. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe he could head down and try to breathe a little. Stretch his limbs. Not feel so trapped in his own home-well, technically, it was Tony's, but still. Maybe he would be able to relax a little in the living room because it was at least larger than his own room, which was already large in the first place.
But he didn't want anyone to know, he didn't want to get caught roaming around even though it was a stupid worry: it was three in the morning.
The contradicting thoughts hammered back and forth in Steve's head, and the soldier sat up abruptly, his chest tightening in a whirling vortex of anxiety and scattered voices. His hands wounded their way into his hair as he dipped his head toward his chest, curling into himself tightly.
He was panicking-on the verge of running out of his room-when a distant crash sounded downstairs. Someone was up. Someone was up at three in the morning, just like him, and now Steve couldn't run downstairs, he couldn't escape, he didn't even have the strength to think about the window. He just...he couldn't.
Another crash sounded below, and Steve flinched almost instinctively, digging his fingers hard into his scalp.
"Shoot!" came a yelp.
It was Tony. Steve could recognize that voice any where. And...and that kind of made the situation so, so much worse.
And Tony was swearing, each curse word stabbing at Steve's heart as if they were directed at him. But they weren't, and it was stupid, stupid of Steve to even be feeling like this, unstable and shaky and stressed. He was-he needed to-he couldn't take it any more, he had to get out, or he would-he didn't know, he didn't know.
He had to take the chance. He had to.
Maybe Tony wouldn't notice. The building was massive, after all. What were the chances of Tony walking into the same room or corridor as Steve was?
So Steve took the chance.
He flung off the covers tangled around his feet, stumbling out of bed and across the room. His hand trembled almost uncontrollably as he very slowly eased the door open, trying to calm his breathing as he slipped into the hall, padding as quietly as he could across the carpeted floor and down the stairs, hoping his terrible shaking wasn't going to ruin everything.
It turned out that it did, indeed, ruin everything.
In his hasty panic, Steve was only aware of his own breathing, only aware that he had to stay quiet. He'd neglected the fact that he also had to be careful. Which was why he so stupidly missed a step and almost fell down the stairs.
Except he didn't. He'd caught himself, but in catching himself, he'd made a very, very loud thud.
Shit.
Shit.
Steve was frozen. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest, and he couldn't move. He was stuck. Inside himself. Inside the loud roaring of silence as he braced himself for the inevitable.
The soft padding of footsteps could be heard.
Steve was still frozen. Steve was still there. Unmoving.
"...Steve?"
No. This was going very wrongly. Tony wasn't supposed to see him. Steve was supposed to stay unnoticed.
"Hey, Steve, you all right?"
No.
Steve was aware that he looked like total crap, but he was Captain America, after all, so all he did was straighten himself-if not a little wobbly-and smoothed over his expression.
"Tony, hey," he said, relieved that his voice sounded at least decent.
"What are you doing up so late-I mean, early?" And, before Steve could open his mouth, Tony added, "And don't give me all that crap about how you could ask the same, because everyone here knows that I never sleep, which I know is unhealthy, but is also how I function. But you. You," Toby gestured pointedly in the soldier's direction. "You're never up at this time in the morning. I would know."
And Steve really had nothing to say. The determined look on Tony's face told him that whatever excuse Steve came up with, the genius sure wouldn't believe it.
"It's-it's really none of your business, Stark," Steve said, a little more harshly than he'd intended-not that Tony looked anywhere near fazed. "I just couldn't sleep, that's all."
The billionaire was quiet for a moment, and Steve was almost convinced he'd let the subject drop. But one thing Steve had learned since waking up from the ice was that nothing ever really went the way he wanted them to.
"Steve," Tony said, quietly, almost gently, and Steve didn't understand why, not until Tony continued, "You're shaking."
Shaking.
Oh.
Steve looked down to see that his left hand-which was gripping the railing so tightly his knuckles had turned white-was trembling, and when he followed the motion up his arm and to his chest and down toward his body, he realized that his entire being was shaking.
No. No. He couldn't lose it. Not in front of Tony.
But Steve found that he couldn't stop, and suddenly, he found himself shaking violently, so hard that he stumbled the rest of the way down the stairs and almost crashed onto his knees.
"Whoa, whoa, hey," Tony murmured, rushing forward, but not quite touching Steve, his hands hovering over the latter's shoulders hesitantly. "Hey, you need anything?"
"I-" Steve found himself choking on the sentence as the rest of his resolve crumbled away. He didn't know. He didn't know what he needed.
"Hey, how about we sit down, yeah?" Tony suggested, his voice soothing.
Steve nodded, a stiff, jerky movement, letting the genius lead him into the living room and guide him onto the couch.
Tony sat down beside him, still not quite touching, yet close enough that Steve felt slightly, just slightly, calmer.
"We could...y'know, talk about it," Tony offered. And something in his voice was so gentle that Steve knew the billionaire wasn't forcing this on him. He knew he didn't have to speak at all if he didn't want to, and Tony would be all right with it.
So Steve stayed silent. He stayed silent because he knew that if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to hold himself back.
He would shatter. Break. Unravel and fall apart.
And there was no way Tony deserved this kind of treatment from Steve. The stress, the anxiety, was his, and his alone to bear. It wasn't something Tony needed to know or worry about. The genius already *had* enough stress in his life as it was. Steve didn't matter. His feelings didn't matter. He could maybe head back to his room and cry himself to sleep later, but absolutely not in front of Tony.
"Hey, hey, you're shaking again," Tony said. And this time, he finally placed a hand on Steve's arm, rubbing his thumb against Steve's wrist. A reassuring, comforting touch.
Steve could feel Tony's gaze on him. He could feel Tony frowning, thinking hard, as if trying to figure out why Steve was so upset, as if he would know.
Steve glanced up, weary, jittery, still on the verge of breaking down, and only blinked-in nervousness-when a look of utter realization dawned on Tony's delicate features.
"Steve...I-tell me if I'm wrong, but...is it-is this...is this about...Bucky? I mean, today-it's...it's Bucky's anniversary...right?"
Oh god, oh god, Tony knew.
He knew.
And Steve was frozen. Frozen into the memories of Bucky falling, just a breadth away from his fingertips. Memories of a loud plane engine, rumbling deafeningly in his ears as his word's with Peggy-oh, Peggy-were cut short. Memories of the cold, merciless water, surrounding him, trapping him, forcing itself down his throat, suffocating him, drowning him in taunts of everything he could never have.
Steve realized he wasn't only shaking any more. He was shivering, and suddenly, the room seemed too cold, like the water, and it was choking him-
And then there was warmth.
Tony was hugging him, and he was hugging him tightly, rocking him, soothing him, and Steve wasn't sure whether it was real, because he was aware-vaguely so, but still, aware-that he was practically vibrating in Tony's arms, tremors rippling through his large body as broken cries fell from his lips.
Bucky-Bucky had died-died that day, and it was all his fault. He'd let his best friend down, he'd let Bucky fall, and that reminded him of how he'd left Peggy hanging on that promise for a date, too, and that reminded him of the cold, cold water-
And Steve was shivering again, his teeth chattering in his mouth, and he was shaking so hard from all the pain, grief, and guilt he was feeling that Tony had to tighten his arms around him so he didn't fall.
Steve could hear himself. He could hear his erratic breathing turning into dry sobs to real sobs and he was choking on his own tears and then he was wailing, an agonized, almost inhuman cry churning up his throat and spilling past his lips in one, uncontrollable rush.
It was too much. Everything. An overwhelming wave of all he'd gone through, and it was too much. He was so lost in his own pain he barely registered Tony's smaller figure, arms tight around his back and hands stroking his hair, mouth close to his ear, whispering soothing nothings and calming sounds Steve couldn't really comprehend.
Time seemed endless, with how Steve just shook and cried and felt after all these years of holding back, after all these years of forcing himself to push everything down.
The clock on the wall ticked, a calm, rhythmic sound, accompanied by Tony's murmuring.
Steve couldn't seem to stop himself. His body was out of his control for once, and he was shaking and sobbing and hurting so much. All he could do was sit in Tony's arms as his emotions exploded outward in uncontrollable bursts, a continuous waterfall of agonizing memories.
But gradually, the world seemed to slow down, stop, and it was silent, waiting, holding its breath.
It took so, so long. But eventually, Steve's horrible, full-scale crying turned to quiet hiccups, and his irregular, panicked breathing was reduced to a calmer-though still slightly heavy-rhythm. And by then, he was aware of his hands clinging, digging into Tony's back so hard it must've hurt, and the billionaire wasn't even complaining.
Steve tried, he tried to let go, but this small piece of comfort was all he had, and for once, selfishly, he wanted it to last longer, he wanted to feel safe, to feel protected for once instead of the other way round. He just felt that if he even loosened his grip just slightly, Tony would be done with him and push Steve away and look disgusted that the soldier had let himself go like that.
And suddenly, Steve felt embarrassed, ashamed. How could he have let this happen? How could he have just...started...crying? And screaming? How could he have let Tony feel obliged to comfort him? How? He was supposed to keep composed, impassive, not crying like a complete wreck in Iron Man's arms and feeling all the pain he hadn't let himself felt in-
"Shh, stop blaming yourself. I want you to feel better, okay? I want to comfort you. Everything's okay, you're safe, I promise," Tony said softly. Steve wondered how much of his thoughts he'd said out loud. He wondered when he'd become such an idiot.
He wondered if Tony really meant what he said.
"Hey, how about you relax a little, hmm? One muscle at a time?" the billionaire's voice was quiet even in the silent room, a whisper in the air.
Steve took a deep, shuddering breath, lifting his head from Tony's soaked shoulder, but not quite pulling back so Tony wouldn't be able to see the ugly state he was in. Not that he hadn't already seen it. Or heard it. Or felt it.
The thought made Steve feel weirdly uncomfortable inside.
"Let's start with your shoulders, yeah? Just...let them loose, a little bit."
Steve tried, and it was kind of difficult, but he managed, and little by little, with Tony's cautious, gentle instructions flowing into his ears, Steve managed to relax, slowly slumping backward, the only parts of his body he wasn't relaxing were his hands. He couldn't make himself let go.
But he had to, didn't he?
Steve forced himself to pull his hands away, feeling his heart wrench at the emptiness that immediately began seeping into his heart.
"Steve, it's all right. I'm still here. I'm not letting go as long as you don't want me to."
It really was as if Tony could read his mind.
"I-" Steve swallowed. This was the first time he'd tried to speak in, what? Two, three hours? And his throat wasn't working properly.
"I-I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a whisper, hoarse and raspy from so much crying.
"You're an idiot, really," Tony sighed. "Don't you get it? There's no fucking thing to be sorry for, so don't apologize. You're hurting. Today is a bad day, I get it, and I'm here for you, okay? No reason to apologize."
"But-" Steve finally straightened himself, still in Tony's embrace, but far enough now that Tony could see his face, which Steve was trying very hard to hide by staring at the ground-or, more specifically, their entangled legs. "But I made a mess of your shirt, and you were probably going to work here, and I wasted your time, oh god, I shouldn't have-"
"Shut up," Tony said fiercely. "Seriously, Steve, shut up. You're always so selfless and caring and protecting people, but that doesn't mean you're immune to every single bad thing in the world."
That was true. But still.
Steve didn't know what to do now. He was done crying. Tony had made it clear he didn't mind-though Steve was still doubtful-and he still felt so, so hollow inside, as if the day itself had made it its task to dig the widest hole it could in Steve's stomach just to see how far it could get. And it was very far.
"Steve, are you sure you're okay now? You're...you're shaking again."
Steve guessed that even though he'd managed to impossibly pour all his emotions out in one go and drained himself to nothing, he still hurt. It still hurt to think about Bucky. It still hurt to remember Peggy. And most of all, he was still terrified of the coldness of the water.
His eyes were already stinging and swollen from how he'd been crying, but his vision was blurring again, both from tears and exhaustion.
"Steve...is it all right-would it make you feel better if I went with you to...to his grave later today?"
Steve's heart clenched painfully at the mention of his dead best friend, but nodded, because he was so grateful Tony had offered, and he didn't think he could make it through the day without wrecking himself again.
"Th-thank you, Tony. Really, thank you."
"You're welcome," Tony said, reaching up to Steve's chin and tilting it upward until they were looking at each other in the eyes. Steve's breath left him as Tony wiped away the tear streaks on his cheeks with his thumb, caressing the skin softly.
"There's still a little over an hour left before we actually need to get up. You wanna go to bed?"
Steve was about to deny it, but then realized just how tired and worn out he was. How his muscles ached and how his hands were numb and heavy.
"Yeah," he said, his voice still a little shaky.
Tony smiled and eased himself from under Steve, and the soldier immediately missed the warmth of Tony's skin against his.
With the billionaire's help, Steve managed to get to his room, only tripping a few times on the way, and Tony tucked him in, making sure the covers were wrapped tightly around Steve so he wouldn't wake up cold.
It seemed too soon that Tony was already turning and ready to go back to his own room, leaving Steve with his loneliness and anxiety and fears. And Steve was suddenly terrified of spending the night alone in his bedroom with no one else. He was terrified that he'd lose control and destroy everything around him if the pain suddenly became too much again.
He didn't know where he got the courage from, but he could suddenly hear himself saying, pleading, "Stay."
Tony stopped in his tracks for a moment before turning around, and Steve felt stupid all over again. Why had he asked that of Tony? Hadn't his friend already done enough?
But what Steve saw in Tony's eyes...it wasn't reluctance, or disgust, or exasperation. It was...longing. As if Tony wanted this, too.
No. This was just his needy heart dreaming about things that weren't possible. He was just so-
"Yeah, sure. I'd be glad to."
Steve blinked, then he blinked again.
Oh.
Tony had said yes.
He could feel the slight dip of the bed as Tony sat down on the bed, the slight whoosh of the covers as they pulled out from under him so Tony could join him under them.
Once Tony settled and the rustling stopped, all Steve could hear was their breathing.
"Hey, Steve, you wanna turn over?"
Steve hesitated, wondering what the consequences of turning over were. This sort of intimacy-he didn't deserve it.
But he turned anyway, because he was feeling so helpless and pathetic and weak and he wanted Tony to comfort him. He wanted to feel safe.
Tony wrapped his left arm around Steve's shoulder, placing his right one between them, his hand on Steve's chest.
"You're so cold," he whispered, looking up at Steve.
Steve knew that. He hadn't stopped shivering despite the covers tucked firmly around him, and he thought he knew why.
"It's the water, isn't it?" Tony breathed, reaching up with his right hand and slipping it under Steve's head, pulling the latter closer so that Steve now had his forehead resting on Tony's shoulder.
"Yeah," the soldier whispered back, curling up, grateful that Tony was trying so hard to spoon him so he'd feel safe. Protected. Even though Steve was so much larger than the genius himself.
"It'll be okay, I've got you," Tony promised, hugging Steve even closer, the arm around Steve's shoulder moving up to stroke his hair.
Steve sighed. A deep, long, exhale of long-awaited relief.
"Tony?"
"Hmm?"
"I-really-I-thank you."
Steve could feel Tony's smile even in the dark. "No problem."
Steve was exhausted. He'd let everything out, and he had nothing more to give. He found his eyelids drooping, heavy, and he welcomed the weariness that washed over him, pulling him into a state of half-consciousness.
He buried his face into Tony's shoulder, his breathing finally evening out.
It was then that he felt something, lips, brushing along the side of his temple and trailing down his jaw. And he felt them, pressing against the corner of his mouth.
Tony was kissing him.
Maybe not a full kiss, but a kiss.
Steve could be dreaming. He had to be dreaming. But this, this was so real.
"...Tony?" He managed to slur through his exhaustion.
He could feel the genius freeze beside him. Oh. Tony must've thought he was asleep.
A beat of silence passed by.
"S'all right, I like it," he mumbled, tilting his head up and pressing it into Tony's neck.
Tony was still for a moment. Steve wanted to stay awake. He suddenly had so many questions, and so many things he wanted to say, but he was just...so...tired.
He was barely even conscious when he felt Tony's lips again, pressing onto his forehead.
Steve knew that the pain of Bucky's death wouldn't go away, that the hollowness he felt would stay with him probably until he died. But Tony dulled it. He dulled the pain. And he filled up the emptiness in Steve's heart. And that was enough.
It was more than enough.
"Thank you," Tony whispered, so softly that the soldier almost didn't catch it. He most certainly didn't understand what Tony had to thank him for. Maybe Steve wasn't the only one who needed reassurance, after all. Maybe...maybe Tony could help him survive the pain, and he could do the same for him.
Maybe they would be able to get through this. Their fears, their sufferings. Maybe...just maybe...they really would.
Together.