Equivalence

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/7312558.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Captain America (Movies), The Avengers
(Marvel Movies), Iron Man (Movies)
Relationship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Character: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Natasha
Romanov, Thor (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Established Relationship
Stats: Published: 2016-06-26 Words: 28352

Equivalence
by thegraytigress

Summary

When Tony wakes up, he wakes up to a nightmare.

Notes

This work was created purely for enjoyment. No money was made, and no infringement
was intended. Please don't repost this story to other archives or websites.

RATING: T (for language, adult situations)

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I came up with this idea a year ago, and it has taken me this long to
finally write it. It's probably the most technically difficult story I have ever done. This fic
takes place in happy land and happy times, before CA:TWS and AoU and CA:CW, when
we just had six Avengers and they weren't trying to kill each other. I'm kinda ignoring all
that angsty stuff in Phase 2 of the MCU to make my own angsty stuff. So Superhusbands
for the win!

Many, many thanks to the awesome Winterstar for helping me out with beta-ing this, and
special thanks to faith2nyc for giving it a much-needed read. I hope you enjoy it, and
thanks for reading!

“Iron Man, look out!”

Steve’s desperate cry blasted through Tony’s helmet, and he whirled in midair. He wasn’t fast
enough, and something – a chunk of building? – smashed into his suit. Down he went, colliding
violently with the street, pain racing up his side. The HUD flashed with dizzying warnings as he
rolled. He gasped and tried to push the crumbling cement off and turn and get up because holy shit
the aliens were coming at him–

“Tony!”

There was a blur of blue, the flash of a familiar silver star, and Steve landed right in front of him.
He’d obviously jumped down from the building these bastards were currently attempting to
dismember, and he caught what would have probably been a killing blow of their energy weapons
on his shield. Steve pushed back, the thick muscles of his thighs and back flexing as he threw all
his strength into it. Tony growled in irritation. Ignoring the throbbing along, well, everywhere, he
pushed the debris off and took this gift of a few seconds to get back to his feet. Iron Man whirred
and compensated for the damage, and JARVIS powered up the palm repulsor cannons in a flash.
And, in a flash, he was standing at Steve’s side and blasting the hell out of the bad guys. It felt
more than a little rewarding. “Yeah, take that, assholes!”

Steve laughed and pivoted, reflecting another red bolt from these things’ guns (Tony couldn’t lie –
he was looking forward to getting one of the weapons back to the lab and pulling it apart to play
with it). “I guess you’re okay then?” Steve asked. There wasn’t hiding the actual concern in his
voice.

Nor was there any denying the fact that, despite the fact that the HUD was trying to get him to pay
attention to his own bumps and bruises, Tony was scanning Steve for injuries instead. None.
“Fine, Cap. Never better!”

There wasn’t much time to say anything else, not with these aliens (some sort of lobster things?
Tony had no freaking clue. Lobster things with claws and laser guns. He still wondered
sometimes how this was his life) bearing down on them. Steve threw his shield, and Tony
unleashed another salvo of repulsor blasts. They moved in perfect concert, Steve snatching his
shield on its return and pushing into the line of bad guys coming at them while Tony stood back
and guarded him. He let loose a wide repulsor beam from his right gauntlet, sweeping over the
group and knocking quite a few back into a smoldering mess. He watched Steve fight a second,
watched how strong and quick he was, and couldn’t help but scan him one more time. “He is fine,
sir,” JARVIS reminded with a touch of fond humor in his tone.

“Screw you, J,” Tony retorted, trying not to smile. “Check in, guys! Where’re we at?”

“I’ve got the rest of the civilians out,” Natasha declared over the comm link. “Taking the final
group down Park now!”

“The last wave is heading toward you guys!” Clint shouted. Tony turned and scanned the tops of
the surrounding buildings. It was a tad difficult to see through the smoke, but he spotted Hawkeye
all the same, perched aloft and loosing arrows in a frenzy and keeping an eye on the alien ship
thing where it had landed in Madison Square Park. At least this time the aliens of the week had
decided to invade close to home, which was nice because he had work to do (a lot of work) and
other activities required his attention (like finally spending some time with Steve because holy hell
their schedules hadn’t lined up in the slightest over the last couple days). When the call had come
in for the Avengers to assemble, it had interrupted one of said activities (needless to say since it
had come while Steve was half naked on their bed underneath him and in the middle of the feverish
kisses of a mid-afternoon rendezvous, well, Tony had almost ignored it. Almost. But he was
married to Captain America, and Captain America with his “gotta save the world – we’re the
Avengers and it’s our duty” crap had forced them out the door with matching cases of raging blue
balls). So the sooner they got done with this nonsense, the better.

Clint’s next shout got his head back in the game. “I count about a dozen!”

“I see them,” Thor declared. Tony saw the demigod take flight down the way a bit, his hammer
whirling as he jetted toward the incoming enemies.

Tony shot at another lobster thing when it shrieked and charged at him. He sidestepped a swipe of
its massive claw, returning a blow of his own. Damn, these things were tough. They had some
sort of chitin exo-skeleton, and his weapons could blast through it, but it was getting to be
draining. Brute force seemed to be the way to go. “Hulk, you think you could–”

There was a roar and a flash of green and the alien tormenting him disappeared in a squish of
shattered body parts and goo against the building front across the way as the Hulk stampeded down
the street. The beast gave another excited howl and leapt high to go help Thor with the next
attack. “Okay,” Tony said with a laugh. “Off you go.”

Steve landed next to him, smashing through the another lobster. He rammed the edge of his shield
into its thorax with a grunt (and a ridiculous amount of force), and it punched right through the
alien’s protective armor. More slime splattered his already grime-covered uniform. Tony drove
the staggering alien back and put it out of its misery before returning to Steve’s side. “This stuff is
disgusting,” Steve said with a wince, lifting his shield and watching the glop fall to the shattered
asphalt beneath them.

“Save some for Bruce to look at,” Natasha ordered.

“Let Egon get his own slime,” Clint joked. Another roar shook the buildings, and an explosion of
lobster innards burst up into the air from down the way. “When he’s done smashing.”

Tony winced at the hideous spray. “Gross.”

Natasha’s voice turned sly. “Come on, you babies. It can’t be all that bad.”

“Says she who isn’t currently covered in it,” Steve quipped, and he whipped his shield to the side
to sling some more of the goo off only to fling it at Tony’s chestplate instead. He winced.
“Sorry.”

“I’m not the one who assigned me to evacuation detail,” Natasha teased.

Tony couldn’t resist himself. He really couldn’t. He didn’t even try. “Hey, Steve, the plus about
you getting absolutely coated in this revolting alien guts is that when we’re done here, you can take
a long, hot shower.” He grinned even though no one could see it. He knew Steve would be able to
hear it just from the tone of his voice. “And I can help you wash it off. Because, you know, you
need help. And for reasons.”

Steve blushed. It was almost unbelievable, just how Tony could still make him do that. “Oh, for
God’s sake,” Clint moaned, long-suffering. “Can we get through one battle without you freaking
hitting on each other? Just one! You two have been together, what, like two years?”

“Three,” Steve corrected with a smile.

“Whatever. Get a goddamn room.”

“That’s what we were trying to do,” Tony returned cheekily. “Our room in fact.” Without even a
word, Steve whirled and dropped to a crouch, protecting Tony from the whipping, spiked lobster
tail screaming at them. As the massive limb clanked against vibranium, Tony forced their attacker
back with a series of fast, hard repulsor blasts. Steve was on his feet again, too, punching and
kicking right beside him before finally slamming the thing in the chest and sending it tumbling.
Tony finished it off with a missile from his wrist compartment that was perfectly aimed right at the
thing’s soft spots. It exploded. Christ, what a mess. “These things need to be taught a lesson for
cockblocking us.”

Clint groaned. “And there we go. It always gets worse.”

“I agree, friend Stark,” Thor declared. He sounded a tad breathless but more exhilarated than
anything else. The sky was dark above them and crackling with lightning, and Tony could picture
the Asgardian summoning the bolts to his hammer a few blocks down. “Such inconsiderate
behavior warrants extermination with extreme prejudice!”

Tony couldn’t help but laugh, and Steve was still red in the face but grinning like a loon and
shaking his head. Tony stared at him and wondered sometimes how it was possible to be this in
love with someone even after three years (or however long it had been).

They’d certainly had their share of tough times, though. At first they hadn’t hit it off at all, and
trying to work together as teammates in the wake of the Avengers forming had been a serious
headache. Tony had to admit that he was a handful, with all his myriad issues and insecurities and
obsessions, and he’d seen Steve as irritating at best or an enemy at worst. Steve, with his no-
nonsense morality and his straight-laced opinions and his quiet disposition, was just about as far
from someone Tony could tolerate (and trust) as possible. But Steve had been calm and patient
and not intrusive but just the right amount of tough. He’d made them work, first as colleagues and
then as friends, coaxing Tony into an environment where he wasn’t alone, wasn’t left to suffer with
his demons without help, and wasn’t allowed to sink down into his troubles. So when Tony had
realized he’d wanted more from their relationship, it had come surprisingly easy. It had been a
funny thing, a sweet thing, realizing he’d fallen in love without all the difficulty he normally
associated with that. Steve had just been there, been there every time he’d needed him after New
York, so admitting how he felt to the other man had seemed so strangely natural that Tony had
never doubted doing for a second, and that was saying something.

At any rate, here they were, married and leading the Avengers together, so connected and close
with each other that sometimes Tony swore they were sharing the same thoughts. Thinking with
one brain almost. They’d gotten so good at that on the battlefield that Tony couldn’t remember a
time where they’d been at odds or where Steve hadn’t been in his life. Captain America and Iron
Man together. It felt so damn good, like despite all the difficulties and traumas they’d both
suffered, despite the Ten Rings and the war seventy years ago, despite the fact that Steve was from
past and Tony thrived in the future… It was stupid and trite but it seemed like this was meant to
be. Tony had never been so at peace with himself, so… happy.

They were even talking about a family. About adopting or exploring surrogacy. Tony was
surprisingly unashamed to admit he’d been the one to bring it up.

“Sir, the building in front of you has been seriously damaged, and I am still detecting life signs on
the lower floors. Scanners indicate it is stable at the moment.” A schematic of the apartment
building appeared on the HUD with the red outlines of a few people brightly flashing. Its middle
floors were the most damaged, and some key support structures were floundering. It was
dangerous, but JARVIS was right; collapse wasn’t imminent.

So Tony turned to Steve. “Cap, there are people inside there. Third floor.”

Steve gave a curt nod, all business again. “On it. Get this secured?”
“Definitely.”

With that, Steve was sprinting across the street. Tony watched him disappear inside the smoking
building, gaze lingering just a moment, before another lobster monster decided to attack. The
HUD started to flash with impact warnings again as the thing blasted Tony with its guns. Tony
gritted his teeth, growled, and took to the sky, unleashing his own much larger and cooler arsenal.
Another one of them jumped at him from the side of a building, and JARVIS’ warning was lost
under its awful shriek and the pain of him hitting the pavement again. “Clingy bastard,” Tony
growled, kicking and batting at the alien clawing at him. “Get off!”

An arrow suddenly punched through the lobster’s back, and it reared in pain. That gave Tony the
opportunity to fry the damn thing. He fired the thrusters in his boots and zoomed upward.
“Thanks, feathers.”

“Anytime, Stark. Looks like the last wave is at its end.”

Tony turned and saw Thor and the Hulk fairly well pulverizing the remaining aliens. Extreme
prejudice. He grinned. “Gravy. I’m ready to call this one a success.”

“You’re always ready for that, Tony,” Natasha chided. He caught sight of her a couple blocks
away from the combat zone, and she was escorting civilians to safety. All the lobster things around
them lay in smoldering ruin. A few were retreating. Once they cleaned those stragglers up and
cleared this building, the fight would be over, and they could go home.

Thank God.

“Getting the rest of these losers,” he announced, “and then–”

The ground rumbled. People screamed in the distance, and the buildings shook. The very air
seemed to vibrate. Tony’s heart leapt in horror, and he spun in the smoky air, looking around
frantically for the cause. It was hard to see anything in the chaos. “What the hell’s happening?”

JARVIS shouted, “Sir! They’re–”

“The goddamn ship’s taking off!” Clint yelled. His voice was desperate, and Tony spotted him
running, getting away from the huge alien spacecraft where it was rising from the park. “Anyone
copy? The ship’s taking off!”

Shit. “JARVIS–”

There was no time to do anything. The brown hull of the ship levitated up through the smoke, ugly
and awful like a giant roach or something, and Tony fired the thrusters in his boots up to go
higher. “Jesus,” he whispered. “JARVIS, can I–”

“The hull is too thick for you to penetrate with your weapons,” JARVIS tensely declared. “Sir,
Hawkeye!”

Tony spotted him. Clint was running like mad, jumping from roof to roof as the buildings around
the area shook and tremored. Wasting not a second, Tony jetted across the way to grab Clint when
the roof beneath him pretty much disintegrated. He snatched Clint from the air, nearly yanking the
archer’s arm from its socket before Tony hauled him up and blasted away. Clint howled and clung
to Iron Man as Tony carried him to safety on the ground. “Thanks for the save,” he groaned,
doubling over as Tony let him go.

There wasn’t time to do more than nod. The ship was rising higher and rotating as it did, turning as
if these bastards had realized their invasion was doomed and they needed to retreat like yesterday.
Its massive rear end was knocking into the buildings around the street. “Thor, we need to bring
this thing down!” Tony cried, watching helplessly as it unceremoniously laid the city street and
surrounding area to waste. Thankfully the civilians were already clear, save for those few in that
one damaged building. Unfortunately, this thing was swinging dangerously close to the building
with Steve in it. The HUD was tracking Steve’s biosigns and comm signal. He was nearly to the
few trapped people. He needed to hurry. “Thor! Banner! Get this thing back down!”

As dramatic as ever, Thor’s arrival was heralded by a battle cry and crackle and flash of lightning
and the thunder of his feet slamming into the top of the ship. The whole damn thing twisted, spun,
and sped up in an attempt to get away. Sped up and rammed its bulk right into the side of the
building where Steve was.

Tony felt like he was trapped in some odd stupor, unable to move or breathe or think. The whole
thing happened in horrific slow motion. He spent a seeming eternity watching it all transpire,
watching the ship crash into the side of the building and rip away a massive chunk, watching Iron
Man’s HUD fill with catastrophic warnings. The already floundering internal supports were now
completely demolished, the middle of the building reduced to rubble, and everything on top was
crashing down.

Crashing down onto Steve and civilians below.

“Steve!” he screamed. Panic tore at his heart. He raced to the side of the building, flying under
the alien spacecraft Thor was busily dismantling and barely squeezing between it and the street.
“Steve! Come in! Do you hear me? Steve!” He honed in on those blinking life signs on the
building schematic. Third floor. Second apartment from the right. “Steve!”

What if he’s already dead?

“Steve!”

“Tony!” Tony’s relief at the sound of Steve’s voice was so strong it nearly dropped him from the
sky. A breath later he saw Steve at the window. Steve kicked the glass out with a crash. “Tony,
get them!”

This wasn’t what he wanted to do. He wanted Steve safe. But he didn’t argue, didn’t hesitate, as
he hovered by the window and accepted the survivors Steve was handing out. The guy, an older
gentleman, Tony instructed to hang on via his neck. There were two girls too, one maybe fourteen
and the other younger. “Get them out of here!” Steve cried over the din. The building shuddered,
and he nearly slipped as he handed the smaller child out.

Terror left Tony gasping in the suit. “Get out of there!” he yelled. He held the screaming, crying
folks tighter, a girl in either arm, and rushed away, heading to Clint. “Hurry!”

Before Steve could jump, the building tipped and tremored fiercely, and he lost his footing,
tumbling back. He took a second to steady himself.

That second proved incredibly costly.

The alien ship twisted, cracking as Thor pounded it again, and its wing bashed the building. The
whole thing tipped, its front caving and collapsing backward, inward, and then everything
practically imploded as the central supports gave.

“No!”
A wall of dust and smoke blasted Tony. He shielded the innocents and Clint as well almost
automatically because his brain had locked up and his heart was still in his chest. The roar of the
building collapsing was deafening, and when the blast of it faded, Tony could hardly stand to look.

Steve.

“Take them,” Tony gasped to Clint. Clint was frozen, horrified. “Take them!”

“Jesus, Tony…”

“Thor, Steve’s buried! He’s buried! I need – I – I–” Tony didn’t know what he needed. His brain
quit and his voice died and he was already flying toward the shell of a building and blasting his
way inside. The outer walls were mostly still standing, but inside there was a monstrous pile of
rubble. Steve’s in that. Under that. Iron Man’s sensors were frantically scanning the debris.
“JARVIS, JARVIS, where is he, find him, find him, find him–”

JARVIS did. Steve’s biosigns weren’t easy to track with all of the concrete and wreckage, but his
comm signal was still active and functioning. Whether he could hear or answer, though…
“Steve! Steve, it’s Tony!” Iron Man hovered above the building just a moment, looking and
scanning anew, before rushing inside, before pulling at the huge slabs of concrete and fallen beams
and crushed debris. The HUD was showing him where to focus, and he did, moving as fast as he
could. “Steve! Can you hear me? Steve, please!”

“Sir, cut that,” JARVIS ordered, and Tony activated the lasers in his gauntlet to slice through the
thick chunk of concrete blocking his way. Gritting his teeth, Tony grabbed half the massive piece
and threw it to get down lower. Iron Man’s lights shone in the shadows. There were small spaces
in the wreckage, small spaces that would likely close up just like that because nothing was stable.
The remains of the building groaned and grumbled and threatened to give in at any second. “The
wreckage is precarious. I recommend you–”

“I’m not leaving him in here!”

“Find him quickly,” JARVIS finished. “Go. The comm signal is located approximately five
meters below you and to the left!”

He dug. The rest of the team was shouting. “Stark! Where is he?”

“You have him, Tony? Is he okay? Is he okay?”

“Cap, answer us!”

If Steve did, Tony couldn’t hear it. Tony couldn’t hear anything over the sound of the building
falling down and JARVIS nattering and the team yelling their panic. “Guys, quiet! Quiet!” They
obeyed, but now he couldn’t hear over the pounding of his own heart and the rush of air in and out
of his mouth. He forced himself to take a slow breath to calm down. “Steve,” he called again after
a precious second or two was wasted trying to listen and think and get a goddamn hold of himself.
Where? Where? “Steve, God, please answer me…”

Silence. The rubble moaned and whimpered and fell above Tony. Debris clattered off the back of
his armor, and the HUD of course registered the impacts. He ignored them, ignored the warnings
JARVIS was flashing all over about how dangerous this was. He wasn’t leaving Steve here. He
wasn’t. “Steve, baby…” His voice broke. “Please say something!”

“Tony?”
It was a quiet call from the shadows below. Tony didn’t spare another breath, wildly pushing
through the wreckage. It wasn’t safe or smart to be randomly disrupting things and he knew it, but
he couldn’t do anything to hold himself back, to wait to dig his husband out because he wasn’t
losing Steve like this–

“Steve! I’m here! Say something else! Steve!”

“Tony…”

Tony surged down. Above him there was a horrendous crack, and everything shook like an
earthquake. He felt things crushing down behind him, but he didn’t stop, not now, not when he
saw a silver star catch the light from the suit’s arc reactor, not when he saw blue eyes and a blue
suit and– “Steve!”

Tony moved without thinking, dropping down right on top of Steve’s body where it was partially
buried. It wasn’t a moment too soon. Steve had his hands up protect his face from the debris
descending, but Tony was right there, covering him completely so that the wreckage struck the
armor instead. Tony gritted his teeth against the pain; even with Iron Man taking the brunt of it,
the force of the concrete banging into his back was serious. He didn’t buckle though, not even as
the wreckage piled around them.

And when it was over, he opened eyes he’d squeezed shut and looked down on his husband.
“Steve?” Iron Man’s sensors swept over the body beneath him. A few broken ribs. A
concussion. A broken right ankle. But his vitals were in good shape. “Steve?”

“Tony,” Steve gasped. He grimaced, squirming in the mess. There was a bloody welt on his face
and red dribbling from a split lip. He grabbed Tony’s face through the faceplate, cupping and
pulling it close in relief. “Tony–”

Even though he could see Steve was okay, he had to hear it, had to know it. “Are you hurt? Are
you?”

“It’s not bad,” Steve ground out around gritted teeth, “but my damn leg is stuck. I can’t–”

Tony turned, and the HUD immediately filled with information about the state of the wreckage, the
mess pinning Steve’s leg, the disaster bearing down on them. They had to get out of there. He had
to get Steve out. He had to–

There was a thunderous boom, one that shook everything around them. He thought he heard Steve
scream over the roar, but he could only hold him as close as possible as the rest of the building
came down on top of them.

“Tony? Tony, can you hear me?”

Steve. He felt Steve’s warm, familiar hands caress his jaw, felt him breathe into his neck. Felt his
lips press into his skin. Felt his strong body close. Felt his heartbeat, a steady, lulling sound that
echoed through his head like distant thunder. “Tony… I’m here. I’m right here. I love you,
Tony.”

I love you, too.

Tony was pretty sure he smiled. Why not smile? This was pretty nice. Nice and comfortable and
safe. Warm and white and clean. Steve was here, and the two of them were together, so there was
nothing to worry about. Nothing that hurt. Nothing to fear. There was nothing more than this,
than Steve’s voice and Steve’s hands and Steve’s heartbeat and Steve right at his side. So he could
stay right here wherever here was, because waking up was too much work.

But Steve was a persistent person. He was as stubborn as anyone Tony knew, even more stubborn
than himself. So he kept at it. “Tony, come on.” Nope. “You need to wake up. Right now.” Not
happening. “Come on, Tony!”

“Alright, already. Alright!” Tony smiled still, even as he half-heartedly tried to open eyes that
were gummy and seemingly fused shut. “Anything for you, babe.” Anything. I love you.

But there was no answer. He heard something beeping, something else swishing, and together
they were forming a steady, slightly disturbing rhythm that matched Steve’s heartbeat. There
didn’t seem to be much space around him either, like he was trapped somehow. He couldn’t
move. That was passing strange, so he tried a little harder to wake up.

And he did to a nightmare.

Steve wasn’t cuddled up close to him. No, he was lying next to Steve. And Steve… “Oh, God,”
Tony moaned. He sat up, panicked and stricken with horror, and practically fell to the floor
because he was trying to get away so mindlessly and gracelessly. “Oh, God, no. Steve…”

Steve was deeply unconscious, eyes tightly closed, long lashes pressed to the pale skin of his
cheeks. His face was lax, empty, and he was still. So still. A tube was in his mouth, down his
throat, taped into place around his lips, and it was forcing air into his chest. That was the only
thing moving. Steve’s chest slowly, minutely, going up and down as a machine breathed for him
because he wasn’t doing it for himself. And the beeping was another machine monitoring Steve’s
sluggish heartbeat. Slow and sluggish, labored and depressed, because Steve was hurt. Steve’s
hurt.

Tony stared for what felt like forever because time had slowed to a crawl that was punctuated by
only that beeping and swishing and the strained pounding of his own heart. He couldn’t
understand. What had happened? Try as he might (and he tried fiercely), he couldn’t make his
memory work. There were splinters of things, shards of images. A battle in the city. The
Avengers. Monsters from outer space. A building collapsing? Choking dust and crushing rubble
and darkness.

Steve screaming.

“No, no, no,” Tony moaned. His knees gave out and he went down, hitting the floor hard. The
impact jarred his bones, and breathing was all he could do to fight against the pressing hysteria.
The world winked in and out, feeling wrong and strange, and everything spun. This couldn’t be
real. It couldn’t be. He was back under that building, trapped with Steve as the hulking mass of it
came down and buried them both. He’d been hit in the head or something. That had to be it. Or,
better yet, he was back in the penthouse, trapped up in a night terror of some sort. He was
sleeping, having a really vivid, really awful dream. Worst fears come to life. That was what this
was. His overactive, overly paranoid imagination conjuring up the most terrible thing it could
because even after a happy year of marriage and settling down and putting his dark and damaged
past behind him his subconscious couldn’t get with the goddamn program. He and Steve were safe
in bed, tangled up together with Steve wrapped around him like the human octopus he was with all
those muscles and long limbs and all that heat and this was just a dream and he’d wake up and
Steve would be there to tell him that he was having some sort of twisted nightmare and kiss away
his tears and make sure he knew everything was alright and this couldn’t be real–

Tony choked on the knot constricting his throat, forcing open eyes he’d squeezed shut against tears
because he had to abide by all that the irrational hope thrumming through his veins and look again.

But nothing had changed. Nothing. Why would it? Steve was hurt. Steve was in this bed,
lifeless. This wasn’t a dream. This was real.

Tony collapsed, grabbing the side of the hospital bed and opening his mouth in a soundless
scream. He felt like his body was being ripped apart and turned inside out. The pain was
unimaginable. He sucked in a breath, tears bleeding from his eyes, and managed to function
enough to look up again and reach for Steve’s hand. It was there at his side, a pulse oximeter on
his middle finger, a hospital ID band around his wrist. His wedding ring, a simple silver band,
right where it should be. Tony blinked away burning tears, staring at that for what felt like forever
before finding the strength to take Steve’s hand. It was limp and felt cold to Tony, devoid of its
normal strength and purpose. Nothing about that felt right, and he almost jerked his hand away
from the shock of it. But he didn’t.

No, he drew another breath, making his lungs stop seizing and start functioning. He pushed
himself up more. Blinked away the haze of tears and the dizzy hell the room had become. Forced
himself to calm down. And he held Steve’s hand tighter, weaving their fingers together. “Steve?”

Steve didn’t answer. His eyes were still closed, hiding those vibrant baby blues that had taken
Tony’s heart pretty much from the beginning, long, long before he’d been brave enough to admit it
to himself, let alone to Steve. And his voice was silent, that voice that could bark orders with the
best of them and intimidate bad guys (or misbehaving Avengers) with only a stern word and bring
Tony to his knees with desire and offer care and compassion so selflessly. Tony stared and listened
very hard, waiting and waiting for something, some sign that Steve was alright. Desperation
compounded on pain and that back-fed on fear and all of that circled into anguish and anger, and
he could barely hold himself together with the onslaught of it. “Steve… Open your eyes, honey.
Come on.”

Steve didn’t. Steve didn’t answer and didn’t move and didn’t do anything. Tony swallowed down
his nausea and squeezed the lifeless fingers between his hands. “Steve…”

“Hey. You’re awake.”

Painfully startled, Tony ripped around. There in the door of the room, this bland hospital room
with gray walls and a white tiled floor and a big window letting in daylight, stood Bruce. He was
dressed in jeans and a red shirt, and he looked like haggard, like he hadn’t slept in a while. He
frowned. “Did you get any rest?”

Rest? Tony couldn’t make heads or tails of that as Bruce stepped into the room. Something didn’t
feel quite right about it. But, then, what did feel right? The fact that he honestly had no
recollection of how they’d gotten here? The fact that everything hurt and his brain wasn’t
cooperating with him? The fact that his husband was apparently on goddamn life support? His
mouth fell open, but his mind was for once completely empty of anything remotely cognizant.

Bruce came over and checked the monitors next to the bed. His shoulders were slumped with
defeat and his eyes were dark. He glanced at Steve, and the misery in his gaze got deeper. Then
he turned his gaze on Tony. “You okay?”

Tony shook his head. “I… What happened?”

Bruce was concerned. “You still don’t remember?”

Tony winced, trying to think, but his head ached too fiercely and everything was cloudy save for
those splashes of sensation. It was more than a little disconcerting that things were so jumbled and
unclear. And that obviously this had been explained to him before (if the furrow of worry in
Bruce’s forehead was any indication) and he couldn’t remember that, either. “The fight… And
the building came down. I… I went in…” To save Steve. I went in to save him.

Bruce nodded sadly, adjusting a couple things on Steve’s monitors. “You guys were crushed. It
took the rescue crews and Thor and me… Thor and the Other Guy almost two hours to dig you
out.” Tony looked away, his gaze invariably returning to Steve’s face. He seemed… peaceful.
Not at all like the last time Tony had seen him, trapped down in that pit with the wreckage looming
and breaking and falling. Peaceful? came the bitter, angry thought. Bullshit. His anger was
slowly winning out over anything else. “He took the brunt of it.” Steve did. I was right there and
I did nothing to protect him. Nothing. Tony felt sick, felt the burn of bile in the back of his throat,
and the hazy room spun anew. Bruce sighed. “You really don’t remember me telling you all this a
couple days ago?”

“What’s wrong with him?”

That furrow of worry in Bruce’s forehead got deeper. “You don’t remember me telling you that,
either?”

Tony didn’t care. The hysteria was building and building. “What’s wrong with him, Bruce?”

“You really need a CT scan. I don’t care if you think you’re okay. You took a bad hit, and you’ve
got a nasty concussion. The fact that your memory’s still not right this many hours after–”

Tony completely lost it. “Goddamn it, Bruce, tell me what’s wrong with him!”

Bruce’s expression loosened in sympathy rather than shock, and he looked sadly between Tony and
Steve. Then he submitted. “He suffered a severe head injury. There’s a great deal of bleeding,
enough to put dangerous amounts of pressure on his brain. He’s got other problems, too. A broken
leg and some pretty badly fractured ribs and some internal damage. But it’s the hematoma that’s
threatening his life. It’s impacting the brain stem.” Bruce shook his head, and his look was
nothing short of grim. “It’s not good. At the moment there’s not much… There’s very little brain
activity that we can detect. He’s… He’s in a coma.”

Coma. It was pretty damn obvious, Tony realized as he stared at Steve now, but actually hearing
it… It was like a death knell. His heart shuddered and there was not a breath to be had. His brain
kept right on thinking, though. Denying. He’d always been mighty proficient at that. “How long’s
he going to be like this?”

Bruce hesitated again, dropping his gaze as though it was physically difficult to look at either of
them. That should have been evidence enough that this was even more serious than he’d feared.
Bruce was a pessimistic jerk sometimes, but he was also smart beyond measure and he didn’t
delude people. Years of working with him had taught Tony that. He said things like they were.
So if he wasn’t talking, then it was because it was bad and he couldn’t lie.

That only stoked Tony’s terror and impatience. “How long?” he demanded again, his voice
cracking and his vision swimming and his hands tighter and tighter around Steve’s.

Bruce shook his head. “With the absence of higher order brain function, the doctors doubt…” He
paled and stumbled over his words. “The doctors don’t think he’ll wake up.”

He’s not going to wake up.

Had he heard this before and forgotten it? Maybe he had. Maybe Bruce had told him before and
the concussion he had hadn’t permitted the facts to sink in and the new memories to form. Or
maybe he’d repressed it because it was too terrible to even consider. Or maybe this just wasn’t
real. That had to be it. He went right back to that desperate hope. This is a bad dream. I’m at
home in bed, and Steve’s right there, and I’m going to work up and see him and it’ll be over. I
have to wake myself up.

He was awake, though. And he could see Steve. Steve was in a coma, hooked up to a ventilator
and countless other machines with IVs dripping medications into his veins. Steve was dying
because Tony had sent him into that damn building and hadn’t been able to save him.

Bruce was talking now, droning on about things, and Tony knew he should be listening. He was
mentioning Steve’s CT scan, the areas where the bleeding was the worst and how the swelling was
making it difficult to assess the true extent of the damage. He was going on about what the doctors
thought, how deep the coma was, how that compounded with the other physical injuries painted a
very poor prognosis. About the serum maybe. Tony wasn’t listening, simply unable to parse the
words, and his brain was sort of filling in the blanks for him. The serum was not able to overcome
the damage. He supposed it made sense, given how broad and bad the damage was. Then Bruce
said something about there not being much chance or hope, about how enough days had passed
since the attack that they were all hoping to see some improvement by now. There was no
improvement to be had, as if that wasn’t starkly obvious. Steve was still, and every time Tony
found it within himself to open his eyes and look at him, the gray room darkened and the pain
throbbed through his head and he felt sick and dizzy.

“We’re doing everything we can,” Bruce promised. His friend’s soft voice made Tony lift his head
from Steve’s hand where he’d apparently buried it while his world had teetered and twisted. Bruce
swallowed hard enough that his Adam’s apple bobbed, and there seemed to be tears in his eyes as
he stared at Steve’s body. “We are. And we will keep doing that. Everything we can. I know it’s
weird for me to say this, but… Scientific certainty isn’t always the end of it.” Tony squeezed his
eyes shut. “No one’s giving up. We’ll figure something out. And he’s a fighter. God, we all
know that. You know that. He’s not going to quit.”

The words came unbidden. “No. No, he doesn’t quit.” Steve fights. He never gives up on
anyone. He won’t give up on himself. “You’re right. I know he’s going to keep fighting.” His
voice broke. He shuddered through a breath, but he didn’t cry. His eyes burned and stung until he
could hardly stand it and Steve’s body was a blur of pale skin and white blankets and lusterless
blond hair, but he didn’t cry. “And if he’s fighting, I’m fighting right with him. I’m not leaving
him.”

“You need rest in a real bed. You need–”

Tony shook his head stubbornly. “Not leaving him.”

Bruce roughly wiped at his cheeks. “You shouldn’t–”

Tony stood, firm and unyielding, and sat in the chair that wasn’t far from the bed. His scattered
brain immediately supplied random images again, long hours he’d spent there… yesterday? The
day before, too? He couldn’t remember exactly. It didn’t matter. He was sitting here however
long he needed to sit here. He wasn’t going to let Steve spend a second like this alone. Not one
second. “This is where I’m staying,” he said, taking up Steve’s hand again. “Right here. Right
with him.” Where I belong.

Bruce lingered a moment more, watching as Tony resolutely stared at Steve. Tony refused to look
away. That was perhaps stupid or childish or petulant or he didn’t know what, but he didn’t care.
He wasn’t going to acknowledge anything other than Steve and the fact the Steve was going to get
better. Steve’s going to get better.

Bruce turned. His footsteps echoed in the silence, louder than the beeping and the swishing, as he
walked away. But he paused at the door. “Listen,” he said. Tony closed his eyes and released a
long breath. It took a great deal of effort to turn around. Bruce didn’t wait for him to, going on
with whatever he wanted to say. “You’re not alone in this. We’re all here. We’ll stand by you, no
matter what happens. You don’t have to take it on yourself.”

“How can I not?” Tony asked. I sent him in there. And I didn’t get him out. All the armor and the
technology and the strength in the world didn’t matter given that monumental failing.

It didn’t seem Bruce was ready to accept that, though. “Just… don’t. Alright? You’re with him,
and we’re with you.” Smiling felt to be impossible, but Tony forced himself to. And he forced
himself to nod, too. Bruce seemed satisfied with that. “I’ll go tell the others you’re awake.
They’ll want to come in. They didn’t want to disturb you since you were finally sleeping. That
okay?”

Of course it was. Steve was their captain, their friend. No, much more than that. Over the last
few years, the bonds between them all had grown deep and meaningful and difficult to break. It
occurred to him then that losing Steve would be devastating for the team, too, and not just him.
The Avengers. The country, to which he was a hero and a symbol of freedom and valor. To the
world. God. Tony felt stupid and selfish.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Steve would be okay. It didn’t matter how crushed his body was
or how damaged his brain was. The serum would save him, because that was what the serum did.
Tony had seen it before, seen Steve overcome horrible things. For crying out loud, the serum had
kept him alive buried in tons of arctic ice for seventy years. This was going to be no different, no
less incredible, because fate wouldn’t be so cruel to take away the one thing in Tony’s life that he
loved completely and sweetly and selflessly. That wouldn’t ever happen.

Bruce nodded again. “Okay. Be back in a bit. Lay down if you don’t feel well. Please. You
don’t do anyone any good if you pass out. And if the confusion doesn’t get better, you’re having a
CT scan. No complaints.”

Tony spared a moment to wave Bruce away. “Sure.”

The other man lingered a bit longer and then left, closing the door softly behind him.

And Tony fell apart. He hadn’t quite realized just how threadbare his control was until right now,
until he was alone with Steve and that damnable swishing and beeping. Now the tears flooded his
eyes and rolled pathetically down his cheeks as he buried his face in Steve’s hand and sobbed. His
head hurt. His chest hurt. God, it hurt. He clutched at his heart, shuddering through every
strained beat. He could almost imagine Steve’s fingers brushing through his hair, sweeping lightly
down his face. He could almost feel it.

Almost.

“No,” Tony declared. He sniffled, wiping viciously at his sodden cheeks, smearing the tears.
Then he wiped Steve’s hand, too. “Not doing this. Not gonna break down. I know you wouldn’t.
If our roles were reversed and things were switched, you wouldn’t break down. You’d sit here and
tell me it’ll be okay.” He sniffled again, nodding to his thoughts. “And not just that, right? You’d
believe it. So I’m going to believe it, too, because I love you and I know you’re going to fight
through this. You fight through it, Steve. You fight through everything. Bruce is right about that.
I know that because Bruce is right about a lot of things. Don’t ever tell him I said that, though. I
know you hate it when he and I argue about stuff, but he thinks he knows everything. And I don’t
like being wrong, especially not with Bruce, so argue we must. Being Science Bros. only goes so
far. Plus I don’t think that Betty strokes Bruce’s… ego…” He smiled despite himself. “As much
as you stroke mine.”

Steve didn’t laugh at the joke. Steve didn’t blush the way he always did, like they hadn’t been
together for years and didn’t know each other’s bodies inside and out. Steve couldn’t, because
Steve was in a coma. Coma. Tony bit his lower lip to pull himself back together, drove his teeth
down into it until he tasted blood. The pain eased again, and he sucked in a cleansing breath. “I
know you. You hear me, Steve? I know you. I know everything about you. A million and one
things. Small things and big things. I know you like your coffee black and you sing in the shower
and you draw better than anyone I’ve ever seen and you still act dumb about the future just to tease
me. I know like being the big spoon and you like to pretend you’re not following me when I
ramble about my inventions just to give me a reason to explain it all again. I know how good you
look in jeans. And out of them.” He grinned wider. “I know… I know you like chocolate and
you’d eat it on everything if you could – Christ, when this is over, we’ll have chocolate ice cream
and chocolate chips with fudge and chocolate syrup. As much as you want, even though I don’t –
it’s not my favorite.”

His voice broke at that, and he had to gather himself. It took a moment, and it was so hard. But he
breathed slower, got the tremble in his muscles under control. “I know you’re the strongest person
I’ve ever met. The bravest. The best. You’re the first one into battle and the last one off the field
and even then only when you know everyone is safe. I know you’d do anything to spare someone
else from being hurt. And for me? I know what’d you do for me.” Tony shivered. “I know how
much you love me. I don’t know what I did to deserve that, but I know I don’t deserve it. I don’t
deserve you. I never have. But… please, Steve. Please. Please come back to me now. Wake up,
sweetheart. Please. Open your eyes. Please. Please.”

There was no answer. Just the swishing and beeping. Tony sighed. He lifted Steve’s hand to his
lips, kissed his knuckles, swept his thumbs over them, over the wedding band. He nodded, more to
himself than to Steve. Patience. Hope. “Alright, baby. Sleep. You wake up when you’re ready,
when you’re better. I’ll be here when you do.”

When they got married, they wrote their own vows. It was cheesy and silly, but Tony did stuff that
was cheesy and silly when it came to Steve. Their wedding had been a small affair, only close
friends (which had become family, since neither of them had families of his own) in attendance,
which basically meant the Avengers, Pepper, and Rhodey. Frankly, Tony had been okay with
small. His life had always been too big for him: a company that was too vast to manage, a legacy
that was too daunting to adopt, a fortune that was too massive to control and a reputation that was
too huge and important to tolerate sometimes. Also they had collectively agreed at the time that
the country wasn’t ready for the revelation that Captain America was romantically involved with
Iron Man. The world still didn’t know, like Steve was the one part of Tony’s life that was secret
and pure. So small had been nice. Small had been perfect.

And small had allowed him to embrace cheesy and silly things like offering up his own vow. He
could still remember the words. It never took much to bring them right to the forefront of his
mind. God, he’d been nervous. That had been the first time in forever that he’d been truly afraid
of screwing something up. But he hadn’t. No, he’d stood there, Steve’s hands in his own, Steve’s
smile sweet and Steve’s eyes brilliantly blue and Steve’s heart open and offering. Tony had told
him that they were meant to be together. That he’d lived a life of science and mathematics and
logic, but nothing had ever been fully right in his world. Quite often now he wondered if that was
why he’d been so screwed up before, why he’d ignored his sins and partied without care or
consideration and drank and slept around. He’d never felt completely at ease in his skin.
Something had always been off-kilter, like trying to make sense of a picture that was upside down.
Nothing had seemed complete, despite all the money and smarts and technology he had at his
disposal. Nothing had ever been balanced. “Not until I realized I love you. Then I… I felt it
inside. Like the missing variable to fix the equation. Like the piece of the puzzle I couldn’t find. I
knew it then, that I belonged right with you. Right at your side. And you belonged at mine,
because we go together. We’re two halves of the same heart, the same soul.” That was where
he’d lost his courage, grinned like a fool and laughed in embarrassment and said, “That’s so
incredibly lame. I–”

“It wasn’t,” Steve said. Tony could feel Steve’s fingers stroking through his hair, feel his breath
close again. “It wasn’t lame. It wasn’t stupid. You always say that, Tony. I loved it. Loved
every word.”

In his mind, Tony smiled and snuggled closer, because in his mind, Steve was really right there.
“Sap.”

“You don’t know how much I feel the same,” Steve said. His voice was quiet, soft but tremoring
and ragged with emotion. It was so powerful a thing Tony could almost convince himself it was
real. But it wasn’t. This was a dream. He was imagining Steve talking to him. He’d been doing
that a lot, and this time was no different. Imagining, because that was infinitely better than the
goddamn awfulness of reality. “You don’t know how much I wanted to tell you that. When you
said it… I could see how much you meant it, and… I’m not good with words, Tony. Not like
you. So I couldn’t say back then that–”

There was a knock at the door, and Tony jolted. His eyes popped open, and Steve’s voice went
silent because Steve was still in the hospital bed with a tube down his throat. Still in the coma.
Tony sighed through a sob, wiping at his eyes. Apparently crying while sleeping was a thing.
“Who knew,” he grumbled. He lifted Steve’s hand where it was clasped between his clammy
palms and kissed Steve’s knuckles before setting it down. “Stay here. You’re not getting up,
right?” The monitors beeped and the respirator swished. “Didn’t think so.”

Whoever was at the door ran out of patience and cracked it open. Tony turned and met Clint’s
gaze. “Hey, man,” the archer greeted softly. “Thought I’d come stay with him for a while so you
can go.”

Tony supposed he should have been touched by the offer, but he wasn’t. He’d developed this sort
of numbness, this shield of apathy, with the world around him. The only thing that was alive and
true was his connection to Steve. Everything else was sort of hazy and distant, and again nothing
felt quite right. That was fine by him. He didn’t want things to feel right or good without Steve.
“You can come in, but I’m not leaving.”

Clint stared at him disapprovingly. “You look like shit, dude.” Tony scrubbed a hand down his
face. He probably did. Clint stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him. “When’s
the last time you slept or ate or, I dunno, went home for a minute?”

“I’ve been home,” Tony insisted. And he had been. At least, he was pretty sure of that. He
probably slept and ate and took a shower because that made sense. That would be what someone
in his position would go home to do. And then the thought of staying in their bedroom where
everything was exactly as it had been left before the battle, with Steve’s things all over – his
sketchbook on the desk and his books piled on the coffee table and his sneakers by the closet and
his jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs and his side of the bed cold and empty and
smelling so deeply of his soap and feeling so much of his warmth and his light and life that the idea
of sleeping there by himself sent Tony stumbling into the bathroom to puke and cry and ask over
and over again why this had happened – would be too repulsive and painful to handle. “And I took
a minute to myself.”

Clint wasn’t buying the bullshit he was selling. “Sure you did.” He came over and sat in the chair
on the other side of Steve’s bed. Again, Tony had some cloudy recollections of people having
been there. He couldn’t say when or who, though. Everything was this blur in his head, the blur of
being here with Steve and imagining Steve’s voice and knowing the other Avengers had been
coming and going, but he was too tired and spent and hurt to put effort into keeping track of any of
it.

The silence that came was tense. Tony took up Steve’s hand again. He’d hardly let it go since this
had started. And he stared at Steve’s face like he always did, too, the memories of Steve’s voice
warm and pleasant in his head. “Come on,” he said softly, smoothing his palm over Steve’s skin.
“Come on, Steve. Open your eyes.”

“You think he can hear you?” Clint quietly asked.

Tony swallowed through the knot in his throat. “I know he can,” he said resolutely, even if the
words were raspy.

Clint leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his thighs and hanging his head. “Well,” he said after
a beat, his own voice thick. “Then tell him he needs to get his ass in gear and wake the hell up.
The last couple weeks have been… Well, you know better than anyone how they’ve been.”

Couple weeks? Tony grimaced. Had it been that long? He couldn’t trace the path of the minutes,
not really, and that was mildly disconcerting because he normally had a very good sense of time.
He knew he’d been here, and those minutes had been one after another after another of this, of
holding Steve’s hand and talking and crying and pleading and begging. A seemingly endless
parade of them. An endless vigil. But they were an indistinct blur, and if you were to ask him
what day it was or how long he’d been sitting there in that godawful uncomfortable chair, he
couldn’t tell you. He knew that because people had asked. Frankly, he didn’t care. He probably
should have been concerned about the fact his memory was so poor and spotty; maybe it was the
concussion causing it. Some permanent brain damage. He’d almost welcome the idea, if it would
make him not have to feel any of this anymore.

No. That was wrong. Steve wouldn’t want that. Not that or any other sort of self-pitying, selfish
bullshit.

“You okay?”

He was good at lying and telling everyone he was. He wasn’t as proficient at convincing himself,
but he was trying. His capacity to delude himself had diminished over the last couple years since
he’d fallen in love because he just hadn’t needed to anymore. He needed to now. “Sure.”

Clint nodded, still not convinced, but he didn’t press. That was the nice thing about Clint. He
never pressed. He was quiet and serious, but he had a snarky side a mile wide. And that razor-
sharp eye that watched over the team and protected them from on high so often during battle was
surprisingly perceptive everywhere else, too. Tony didn’t know him that well, despite living in the
same building as him for a few years now. He knew enough, of course. He knew Clint through
what he did and what he said and how he acted, not because he knew his past or knew his secrets.
Steve had told him once that what a man did with what he was was far more important than who he
was. He got the feeling that applied a great deal to Clint, who was the most ordinary of the lot of
them but who had on countless occasions proven that he didn’t need armor or a serum or
superhuman powers to be essential to their team.

The quiet returned without Tony’s noticing. Clint wasn’t the sort to babble about useless shit just
to fill the silence (which was another thing Tony appreciated about him, considering he himself
had been running his mouth in a continual conversation with himself just so he wouldn’t have to
suffer with the fact Steve couldn’t respond). Consoled, Tony drifted a little, lulled by that ever-
present swishing and beeping. The damn swishing and beeping. At first he’d taken comfort in the
steady pace of them. It meant Steve was still breathing and his heart was still beating. It meant
Steve was still alive, so there was still hope he’d wake up. He’d made himself think of it like that
before. Now…

“Hard to see him like this.” Clint’s voice was thunderous, and Tony made his burning eyes focus.
The archer was still leaning forward, and his gaze was firmly planted on Steve’s unmoving body.
His eyes were wetly glimmering, but he was blinking it back. “He’s… He’s always got something
to do, you know?” His gaze flicked to Tony, and he smiled sadly. “’Course you do.”

Tony nodded. “Yeah.”

“Always moving. Always… You know, you really brought him out of himself. When we all
started this thing, he… You could see he was holding a lot up inside. He hid it surprisingly well,
all things considered. And you helped him work through it all. Gave him purpose with us. What
happened to him… It’s really damaging.”

“Yeah.” It was. Waking up in the future, where everyone Steve had known and loved was dead or
dying, had been a tremendous shock. Not to mention having to adapt to a strange new world
loaded with things he didn’t know and didn’t understand. At the time, Tony had been so
belligerent about the mere idea of having to work with Captain America (about whom his father
had never shut up and for whom his father had essentially traded his childhood) that he hadn’t
cared about what Steve had been going through. And Steve was a big fan of silently soldiering on
through things that hurt him. He was surprisingly adept at acting and looking like he was fine
when he wasn’t. It was noble and brave and self-sacrificing and so, so stupid. He didn’t do that
much anymore, didn’t draw all his troubles and grief inside like he used to. Didn’t lay down on
the wire so much. Tony didn’t let him.

“I poke fun, you know?” Clint sniffled and wiped at his eyes. “Back during the battle there… I’m
really sorry about it.”

That had hardly been the first time Clint (or the other team members, though Clint was probably
the leader of it) had teased them. It was almost a given every battle. “It’s alright.”

“He’s strong. Much stronger than this. Never seen him fall and not get up, so he’ll get back up.”

“I know.”

“Did the doctors come by today?” Despite the firm words a mere breath before, Clint’s voice was
timid and worried now. Tony only nodded. “What’d they say?”

At the time Tony hadn’t been listening too well, at least not beyond the initial sad proclamation
that nothing was better. He should be paying better attention. He was Steve’s next of kin, his
husband. He had medical (and every other) power of attorney. He was Steve’s legal advocate. It
was his job to oversee Steve’s care, to make the important decisions, but every time the doctors
started talking with that morose frown on their lips and that regret and sympathy bright in their
eyes, he shut down like a coward. “Not much. He’s, uh… He’s still completely unresponsive.”
Bruce had said that, hadn’t he? Yeah. Tony’s brain filled in the other details. He was pretty sure
he’d been told them all at one time or another. It wasn’t like anything was changing. “The
swelling’s better. The bleeding’s stopped, I guess. But he won’t wake up.”

The doctors (and Bruce – Bruce had been working on the problem nonstop) had no explanation for
why Steve wouldn’t regain consciousness. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. The simple explanation
was obvious. He had a devastating traumatic brain injury. But as to why the serum wasn’t taking
care of it? That was a mystery, and Tony couldn’t figure it out. Maybe the serum was too taxed.
That made sense, given the seriousness of Steve’s injuries. More scans had revealed trauma in
other areas of his brain. It was widespread, very serious, and the serum just couldn’t contend with
this amount of damage. Tony was pretty sure he’d heard something about that, that that was what
the team of doctors thought. There were a bunch of them, different faces and different voices, but
they all said the same thing. The coma’s severe. His score on the GCS is very low. No response
to painful stimuli. No eye movement. No movement at all. No evidence of higher order brain
function. Tony cleared his throat to stop himself from sobbing again. “They’re doing another CT
scan later today, I guess. They think there might be…” He swallowed around the words. “There
might be permanent brain damage.” Better than what he’d heard them say, than what Bruce had
said. There’s evidence of brain death.

Clint swore softly but vulgarly. He shook his head. Then his shoulders quivered while he raked
his fingers through his short, spiky hair. “What’re you gonna do?”

That question pissed Tony off, and his control was already so strained that holding onto his temper
was harder than it should have been. “What am I supposed to do? Huh?” This was coming out
twisted and strained and every bit as angry and helpless as Tony felt. Denial was still far easier
than acceptance. Even though Steve had done a lot to help him learn to deal with his problems in a
more constructive way, Steve wasn’t there to help him now, so denial it was. “Bruce is still
working on things. He has some sort of plan with the serum. He told me about it. They’re
working on it now, trying it now.”

“What plan?”

Honestly, he couldn’t remember. He’d immediately latched onto to any speck of hope like a moth
drawn to the most meager flame and clung to it. His brain had shorted out on the mere prospect of
the serum saving Steve – “we can try this but it’s risky and I don’t know if it has much chance of
working because it’s never been done before. But it’s his only hope.” – that he hadn’t paid
attention to the details. At any rate, the important thing was that Bruce had a plan. “He’s fixing
Steve with the serum. I don’t know how. I just know he’s going to do it.” Clint shook his head,
squinting like he couldn’t understand, maybe not the idea of Bruce having a plan or the fact that
Tony Stark didn’t know every fact and point of data about it. Tony sighed. “Look, whatever it
takes, I’m willing to do it. I signed where they told me to sign. I don’t care about the details. And
I don’t care if it’s risky. I’ll do anything. Steve’s not going to die.”

That was a load of shit. Steve was already dead. Shut off those machines and… No.

There were a ton of things Clint could have said to that, namely about how futile it probably was.
He didn’t, though. Clint wasn’t the sort to judge. Instead he returned his gaze to Steve. “It’s my
fault,” he muttered, and Tony turned to stare at him again, surprised. Clint had his elbows braced
on his thighs, and he was leaning forward with his head lowered in shame. It seemed the weight of
everything, of their life that had suddenly and inexplicably gone wrong, was crushing him down.
“If I hadn’t gotten in trouble out there, flushed from my position… Maybe…” He couldn’t finish.

Tony had been thinking about that, too. If Clint hadn’t had to escape from the top of those
buildings collapsing. If Tony hadn’t had to save him. If he’d been able to go in after Steve right
away. If Thor hadn’t clobbered that damn ship just the way he had to cause it to turn just like it
did and hit the building just so. If Steve had moved a little faster and gotten out of there before
everything had come down. If he hadn’t been buried the exact way he had been. If if if. It didn’t
matter, and Tony knew it, but damn if it wasn’t impossible for his rational brain to convince his
irrational heart. He was still angry, if he let himself really feel it. He was so goddamn angry. This
shouldn’t have happened. It should never have happened. Accidents on the battlefield were
always a looming threat. It was bad enough facing the level of danger they did from the fight
itself. Things like this… It wasn’t fair.

“I’m sorry,” Clint whispered. “I’m so damn sorry.”

Sorry doesn’t mean anything. Sorry wasn’t going to bring Steve back. He was pretty sure
everyone had apologized at one time or another since this happened. He had heard “sorry” from so
many mouths, read it in so many eyes, felt it in so many hands. So sorry. It wasn’t fair and wasn’t
anyone’s fault. Tony knew he should say something to that effect, something to comfort Clint, to
assure him that he wasn’t to blame and that this was just one of those things. One of those awful
things that happened. An accident that had no explanation.

To hell with that.

He wanted to scream. Instead he ground his teeth together and stayed silent. Clint sighed and
wiped at his eyes again. “Mind if I stay awhile? I, uh… I know you don’t want to go. But if you
want to… I can sit with him.”

Tony sniffled. All that heat and anger was gone as quickly as it had come. “No, I’ll stay.”
Belatedly he realized that was dismissive and a bit mean. “You can stay, too. If that’s what you
want.”

Clint gave a tired, worn grin. “Think I’ll wait with you. I won’t even make fun of you for, you
know, getting lovey dovey. Or whatever.”

Tony couldn’t help but offer up a worn grin of his own. It was quiet again for a bit. The beeping
and the swishing. The silence where Steve’s voice should have been. Tony reached over and
brushed the hair off Steve’s forehead. It was an errant lock that stubbornly kept falling back no
matter how often Tony smoothed it away. He did that a few more times, trying to lose himself in
the comfort of touch.

“You… You don’t have to stop talking just ’cause I’m here,” Clint eventually said. Tony turned
to him, and the archer shrugged. “I won’t say anything. Besides…” He lifted his chin to Steve.
“I think you’re right. I think he can hear you. And he listens to you. He always has. Always
will. So keep talking.”

Tony’s grin grew wider, more genuine and more true. He turned back to his husband. “You hear
that, Steve? Clint’s actually telling me to talk. Hell hath frozen over. And he’s here when he
could be… polishing his knives or stringing his bow or… Or whatever it is he does.” Clint
chuckled, drying his eyes again. “So wake up. Enough of this now. Bruce is gonna… We’re
gonna make this better. Figure out how to fix it, right? You always tell me I’m so good at that. So
we will. Okay? You just keep fighting. Keep fighting to return to us.” Tony leaned closer,
fighting the lump in his throat, and kissed Steve’s cheek. He was careful not to jostle the respirator
tubing, even as he cradled Steve’s face and pressed his lips to his forehead, too. “Please, Steve.
Please keep fighting…”

Please wake up.

Steve didn’t wake up.

Tony had never counted himself as a terribly patient man. He liked things that came quickly,
things that were easy. Things that didn’t require waiting. Waiting was shit, and he sucked at it.
Steve gave him crap all the time about how he couldn’t sit still, couldn’t stop fidgeting or talking
or doing anything and everything to pass the time when he couldn’t buy his way into making things
happen faster. He couldn’t buy his way through this; that was for sure. And no amount of whining
or cajoling or begging was making Steve come back to him. Pretty soon, Tony was too tired to
fidget anymore, too tired to talk, too tired to rail or scream about it (which he was pretty sure he’d
done at one time or another). Pretty soon, he was sitting in silence.

Numb.

It was weird, how he felt now. Exhausted and perpetually in pain, weak, but he wasn’t hungry and
he didn’t want to sleep and nothing felt like anything. Depression, he was sure. That was an idle
thought, a fairly meaningless self-diagnosis, that was creeping around his brain. He couldn’t focus
on that, couldn’t care. As far as he was concerned, he deserved to be depressed. Deserved to
wallow in his anguish as the world grew even dimmer and he became even more disconnected. It
was too much work not to drift.

Weeks had passed since Bruce had started to try to save Steve’s life. Tony knew that much. And
he knew it wasn’t doing much yet. Patience. Hope. He was pretty sure people kept suggesting
those things with unwavering persistence, offering everything from gentle requests to harsher
reminders. Tempers were running thin, of course, and that was only reasonable. Despite Bruce’s
plan, Steve still wasn’t getting better. Despite everything, the time that had passed and whatever
good the serum could do and whatever treatment Bruce was trying and whatever begging and
pleading Tony was doing from Steve’s side… he wasn’t getting better.

And if Steve could hear him, Steve was ignoring him. Steve – well, the fake Steve in his dreams –
kept talking to him, though. That was something. Something wondrous and comforting yet all
together disturbing because it felt so real – the only thing that felt real in this screwed up world –
but Tony knew beyond any doubt that it wasn’t. Fake Steve kept begging Tony not to let go. Fake
Steve kept crying for Tony to stay strong. Fake Steve didn’t seem to understand that he had it all
backwards, though Fake Steve was part of Tony’s subconscious, so Fake Steve comforting him
made sense. And both Fake Steve and Real Steve would always offer comfort to Tony first and
foremost, put Tony first, so… Yeah, Fake Steve would definitely tell him to be strong and to hang
on because Steve was absolutely and unerringly selfless.

So Fake Steve would definitely try to shield Tony from having to accept the fact that Real Steve
might as well be dead already.

Tony stared at Steve’s face yet again with bleary eyes and a broken heart. Nothing ever changed.
He could do this for hours, had done it for days and weeks. He’d sat there diligently and willed
Steve to flinch or shift a little or try to speak. He’d stare at his eyes that were sealed so tightly shut
and will him into opening them. Tony had memorized every detail of Steve’s face. This was
hardly the first time he’d stared and studied. Steve was a work of art. People said that about other
people, and it was usually a bunch of specious bullshit, but not when it came to Steve. Steve was
that sort of handsome that was so much more than handsome. Beautiful, really, with his sun-kissed
hair and gorgeous blue eyes and full lips and flawless features. The slope of his nose and the angle
of his eyebrows and the commanding line of his jaw. Tony knew every detail, every expression
from Steve’s Captain America furrow of disapproval to his easy smile to his flow-blown, head-
thrown-back laugh to the way his eyes darkened and he chewed his lower lip when he concentrated
on drawing to the way he came apart with pleasure when they made love. Tony had never
fathomed, in those tense moments of their first meeting, that there had been so many things he
could learn about Steve’s face. All these little details to discover.

And they were all gone now. Wiped away, like they’d never existed at all. And they might never
exist again. Permanent brain damage. Even if this plan of Bruce’s worked…

Steve might never come back to him. Not the way he had been.

Tony squeezed his eyes shut against fresh tears. It was shocking to him that there could still be
tears after all this. “God, let it work,” he whispered. “Make the serum work.” It felt like this was
the first time he’d spoken in days, even though he knew that couldn’t possibly be true. And when
he took Steve’s hand anew and clasped it between his own, it seemed like this was the first
movement he’d made in forever. His body was starting to turn into its own kind of prison, it
seemed.

Tony drew a deeper breath and decided to go around the circle of futility once more. Talking.
Begging. Whining. Complaining. Praying. “Please, God…” Truth be told (and it was hardly a
surprise), he wasn’t big on praying. Never had been. He couldn’t reconcile God with his life and
this world in the slightest. But he was doing it now, despite all his doubts and misgivings and
bitterness. He’d been doing it since the beginning almost. Please, God, don’t take him from me.
Please, God, let him wake up. Please let him be alright. Please, God… “Let it work. Please. I
don’t talk to you much. I know that. And we don’t have a great relationship. I know that, too.
But I can’t… I can’t lose him. You don’t know how much I need him. He’s the only good thing
I’ve ever had, and I know I don’t deserve that, but please… Please don’t take him.”

“Oh, I thought–”

Tony turned at the sound of Natasha’s voice, flushing with embarrassment and angrily wiping his
face. She stood at the open door to Steve’s room. Black Widow was always poised, always cool,
always difficult to read and always in perfect control over herself. Not so lately. Her usual pristine
make-up was less than pristine. Her hair was gathered into a sloppy pony tail. She was dressed in
lounge clothes, the sort she sometimes wore around the Tower when she thought no one was
watching. She was pale, and her eyes were dark with fatigue. She obviously hadn’t been sleeping.
It was plain to see how much she was suffering. Had she looked this bad the last time he’d seen
her? When was the last time he’d seen her? It had to be recently, but damn if he could remember.

She hesitated a moment, eyes moving between Tony and Steve. “Bruce said you were going home
for a bit,” she declared, “so I thought I’d come sit with him.”

Squinting, Tony tried to think. Had he talked to Bruce that day? What day was it even? He had
some vague recollection of Bruce being there and going on about his plan to save Steve and how
the chances weren’t good and he shouldn’t get his hopes up (fat chance of that). He somewhat
recalled Bruce telling him to go back to the Tower and get some proper sleep in a real bed yet
again because he desperately needed it, and he’d probably given some sort of perfunctory “sure, I
will” or some such in response. That was what he kept telling everyone. Pepper and Rhodey (he
was fairly certain they’d been there at one point, and he was pretty sure he’d promised them he’d
rest, too). The team as they came and went. Endless empty promises that he’d take care of
himself, but they were really no more or less empty than the countless times he’d been told this
would be okay.

Tony was drifting again in his bitter, apathetic thoughts so he didn’t notice Natasha come in at
first. Of course, this was Natasha. He didn’t need to be half out of his mind with exhaustion and
grief not to see her move. She sat in the other chair. It was in a different position again, and it was
nighttime. No annoyingly bright daylight bleeding into this hell through the window. This was
how he’d taken to telling time now. The chair moving and the level of sun invading his world.

“How are you?” Natasha finally asked after a long period of silence.

Forcing himself to focus, Tony grunted. “Dandy. Can’t you tell?” Natasha gave him an unhappy
look. He sighed. “Banner didn’t give you today’s rundown? Still no signs of brain activity. Still
sitting on an abysmally low score on the Glasgow Scale. Still no movement, voluntary or
otherwise. A whole lot of nothing. But hope springs eternal. We’re still flooding him with the
magic potion. Nothing yet, as you can see.” Tony waved at hand at his husband’s unmoving
body. He almost lost his nerve, choking on his own voice. He had to look down and breathe,
scrabbling for his composure. Somehow he found it. “An hour ago… Maybe? Anyway, I
thought I saw his eyelids flutter. I even thought he’d squeezed my hand a little. So I watched, you
know, like a hawk for a long time. Turns out I was imagining it. Pretty pathetic, huh.”

“Don’t,” Natasha warned sympathetically. “Don’t do this. And I asked how you were. Not how
he is. I know you think you’re inseparable, but that’s not true.”

“It has to be,” Tony said sternly. “I’m whatever he is, because until he wakes up… I’m right here
with him.”

Natasha frowned that frown of hers. Tony was pretty sure that she thought it had some sort of
magic power to cause the people she cared about to do better, and she wasn’t exactly wrong about
that. It did have power. Her consternation could be mighty. He’d seen her shut down adversaries
with only an icy glare. And he’d seen that frown stop Clint from making an ass of himself and
Thor from leaving a mess in the kitchen and Bruce from holing himself up in his lab for days on
end and Steve from being too hard on himself when a mission went south. And he’d witnessed
firsthand how that frown had kept him from second-guessing that Steve would ever want him,
would ever see him more than just a friend. She’d been the one to give him, Tony Stark, the
confidence boost to take things with Steve further. In that way, he supposed he had her to thank
for what they had. Love. Stability. Happiness.

He could picture that frown from back then as clearly as he could see it now. They’d been in the
kitchen in the Tower late one evening, Tony grabbing some coffee in preparation for another long
night in his workshop trying to distract himself from his feelings, Natasha returning from a
mission. As tired as she’d been, she’d somehow seen right through his excuses. “He likes you,
Tony. You two have practically been attached at the hip since you stopped continually trying to
destroy each other.” She’d smirked at Tony’s blush. He never blushed, unless it had something to
do with Steve. “You’re practically already dating with all the stuff you guys do together. You’d
have to be blind not to see that.”

“I do see that. Hence my problem.”

“Don’t tell me that you don’t like him. He’s Captain America. It doesn’t get more perfect than–”

“I know. He’s Captain America. He’s Steve. And – and he is perfect. And I’m… Well, you know
what…” And there came the frown. “What?”

The frown had deepened into a scowl, and that had been all he’d needed to stop with that
nonsense. That he wasn’t good enough for Steve. That Steve was above him because Tony used
to sleep around and party and sell weapons to murderers and be reckless and stupid and selfish.
That he was damaged, and Steve was too pure for that. But Natasha’s frown had stopped his
bullshit from going any further. “I have an idea, genius. Why don’t you talk to him? I bet you
he’ll be the first to tell you that you’re acting like an idiot for being so damn smart.”
Well, Steve hadn’t exactly used those terms. He hadn’t said anything, in fact, when Tony had
stuttered and stammered his way through telling him he loved him. He’d just kissed him. So
Natasha’s frown? It had saved them.

And she was trying to do the same again. When the frown by itself wasn’t enough, she sighed. “I
know we’ve all been telling you this, but you’re not listening.” Nope. “You look really rundown.
Really, really rundown.” No shit. “Let me get you something to eat at least. If you’re going to sit
here and…” She bit her lip hard and shook her head. “If you’re going to give everything you have
for him, you need to eat.”

Tony shook his head. “No, no, it’s… I’m not hungry.”

Her eyes filled with uncharacteristic sympathy. And irritation. Now she wasn’t just biting her lip.
She was chewing it. “I… I wish there was something you’d let us do. Let me do. Seeing you two
like this… The world’s more screwed up and wrong than it’s ever been.”

“Natasha, please…” He didn’t think he could stand hearing this again. “I know you guys mean
well. I know that. But you have to let it go. I have to stay here.”

Natasha dropped her gaze. “I… I just…” Her eyes welled with tears. “Christ, you’re so damn
stubborn. Both of you.”

Tony couldn’t help but cock an eyebrow. “You do realize that his stubbornness is the only thing
keeping him alive.”

“No,” she said shortly, “the machines are the only thing keeping him alive!” Tony’s blood went
cold. Her eyes widened once she realized what she said. She paled and shook her head. “Sorry.
I’m so sorry!”

He tried to move on from that, but it took him a second to find his voice. “It’s alright. It’s–”

“How did this happen?”

That soft, desperate question gave him pause. Tony had asked himself that over and over again.
There was no answer. He’d asked himself, asked Steve, asked God, asked and asked and asked.
He’d turned the moment around over and over again in his head when that ship had taken off and
that building had started to fall. There was nothing anyone could have done, and logically he knew
he had to accept that. Logically Natasha probably knew the same. She wasn’t looking for an
answer either, not really. Her question was rhetorical and miserable and loaded with guilt. She
sighed through a roughly restrained sob. The sight of her so broken was disturbing. “I know
there’s no sense in wondering, but…” She shook her head in wounded and wearied defiance. “We
can’t lose him.”

Suddenly Tony had energy and it warmed his perpetually cold body. “We won’t. Bruce’s plan is
going to work. He’ll wake up.”

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut. “I’m scared,” she whispered. Tony had never heard her admit
anything like that, let alone with that raw, weak tone of her voice. She was Black Widow. She
didn’t get frightened, didn’t let her emotions control her. Didn’t falter. That was what she was
doing now. Faltering. “I’m scared this will be it. I’m trying to hope, but… It’s been weeks
already. Not weeks. A month. It’ll be a month tomorrow.” Tony shuddered. A month… “I’m
scared it’s too late.”

So am I. “It’s not,” Tony said instead. “And Steve’s strong. He’ll pull through. He’s Captain
America. He doesn’t quit. That’s what you guys keep saying.” Somehow he quirked a grin.
“And you wouldn’t lie to a guy, would you?”

Natasha didn’t seem to hear him. Her eyes were focused on Steve, and Tony could see the tears
glittering in them. “You two… It’s bad enough having him like this. But I feel like if he dies,
you’ll just… You’ll go with him.” That made him feel sick. It wasn’t just what she said but the
way she said it. She said it with certainty. “Losing him is bad enough, but losing you, too? I can’t
even think about it. You’ve rubbed off on each other in so many ways. I don’t even think you see
it, how connected you are. And it’s…” She looked away from Steve finally. Her eyes were
bright and intense as they stared into Tony’s. Imploring. “Don’t lose yourself in this. Please.”

He wasn’t losing himself. He wasn’t. And maybe if they could hear Steve like he was hearing
Steve… He heard himself speaking. “I know Steve’s still there. He’s still fighting. I know it. I
can…” Christ, they’d think he was nuts if he admitted to just how much he’d been hallucinating
Steve’s voice. They already considered him to be recklessly abandoning his own care for Steve’s
sake. The fact that he was having these vivid dreams? That wouldn’t do him any favors in
convincing anyone of his sanity. Besides, they were hallucinations, right? Steve couldn’t actually
be talking to him somehow…

Yeah, that was goddamn crazy. Tony heaved a sigh, and gathered himself because he had to seem
rational and strong. “Listen, Tash, it’s gonna be okay. I know it will be. I know Steve is with us.
He’s not gone. He’s not dead. He’s going to be okay. And what Bruce is doing, what I’m doing
here… It’s going to work.” He picked up Steve’s hand. “We just have to lead him back, right?
That’s why I have to stay.”

It took a moment, but Natasha nodded. She seemed genuinely relieved, breathing easier and
blinking her eyes clear. Then she stood from the chair with only a fraction of her normal grace and
leaned over the bed, cupping Steve’s face. “You hear us?” she whispered with tenderness and love
that most would think Black Widow strictly incapable of feeling let alone expressing. She shivered
through a long breath. “We’re waiting for you. So you need to wake up. We all want you back,
and this has gone on too long.”

“You listen to her, Steve,” Tony warned, forcing a smile so stiff that his face hurt. “She’s gonna
give you the frown. You don’t want the frown.”

Natasha didn’t give him the frown. Instead she leaned down and kissed Steve’s forehead firmly.
She whispered something to him that Tony couldn’t quite hear, something about him, it seemed,
because his name came up once or twice. She pulled away, sniffling and rigid with her own
vulnerability. She crossed the end of Steve’s bed quickly and came over. She hugged Tony hard,
and Tony went stiff, too. It felt like ages since someone had touched him, as weird as that was. It
didn’t take much – a breath and a beat – for him to settle into the embrace. God, it felt good. Still
not right but good. Apparently his body and all of his senses were as screwed up as his brain was.
Maybe everyone was right, and he was pushing too hard and draining himself too much and not
eating and not drinking and not sleeping and not leaving Steve’s side. Maybe.

No.

Natasha leaned back and cupped his jaw, too. She lifted his face. “I’m bringing you food. I don’t
care what you say. And you’re eating it, every bit. And then you’re sleeping. Understood?”

Tony didn’t get a chance to argue. She was already gone, her posture still unyielding as she
quickly fled the room.

The silence returned. Tony sat there, still feeling odd and misplaced. Then he sighed. “You know
what, Steve? You’re putting everyone through the wringer. Everyone. You’re making Nat cry,
you jerk. So you need to wake up.” He looked at Steve’s face again, Steve’s face that was so still
damn lax and empty. “You’re pissing me off. You’re pissing Clint and Thor off. Bruce looked
about ready to go green the last time he saw things weren’t getting better. So wake up. Wake up,
damn it! Come on, Steve!” Nothing. Tony folded his arms over his chest and leaned back in his
chair. “Fine. Suit yourself. I’ll be here.”

And he was here, here in his chair right beside Steve’s bed with Steve’s hand clasped between his
own. Somewhere between now and later, he fell asleep. And Steve’s here. “Hey, darlin’,” Steve
said with that Brooklyn drawl he had sometimes when he was particularly swept up in the moment,
whatever the moment was. “You with me?”

Tony smiled in his sleep. “Yeah, baby. Yeah, I’m here.”

“’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“I don’t know how this happened.”

“Don’t think about that. Just–”

“Hold onto me, Tony. Hold onto me please. I can’t live without you.” Steve’s voice cracked
again, and the ghost of his breath, warm and wet with tears, caressed Tony’s cheek. “You can’t let
me go. Don’t give up. Don’t let me go.”

Tony sank deeper into the dream. I won’t.

“I can’t believe you did this to me.”

Hearing Steve say that hurt. Tony wondered for a moment if he was misunderstanding him.
Probably not. He’d long reached the point where he knew he was dreaming about Steve talking to
him as he dreamed it, so it made sense his subconscious was out to blame him. His conscious self
was doing it too, doing it en force, so of course Fake Steve in his dreams and nightmares would be
on board.

And Steve, real or fake, was suffering. “I can’t believe you’d… you’d leave me like this.”

“I’m not leaving you, Steve. I’m not leaving you. I’m staying here until you wake up.”

“You… God. Son of a bitch.”

“It’s alright.” Tony tried to smile, but it was impossible. “You can call me nasty stuff. I know it
bothers your Golden Generation sensibilities, but go ahead. I’m an asshole. I’m a freaking
bastard. I – I… It’s okay. Swear up a storm. This whole thing is my fault. My goddamn fault.”

“You’re better than this, Tony. I know you are. I know you. You wouldn’t give up on me.
Wouldn’t–” And there Steve’s voice broke. In every dream, Steve always sounded like this, worn
thin and frightened and desperate. Again, a reflection of what Tony himself was feeling. It was
like… Like looking in a mirror and seeing Steve stare back and knowing they were connected on
this fundamental level. Connected. Right. Not because Steve was awake or because they were in
love or because their souls really were two halves of the same whole like Tony had said during
those stupid vows he’d written. They were connected because Tony was projecting.
But he supposed this was better than the alternative, better than nothing. Beggars can’t be
choosers.

Steve’s voice cracked, and Tony could hear him take a breath. “I need you to stay with me.
Please, Tony… Please stay with me. I can’t…” Jesus, baby. “I can’t… You can’t leave me.
You can’t give up on me. If you let go…”

You’ll die.

“He’s v-tach! Somebody get the crash cart!”

“Hurry!”

“Do something! We’re losing him!”

There was thunder booming, lightning lashing. Pain and horror. Steve shouting, terrified and
broken and pleading and dying. And Tony was dying, too, because Steve was dying, and they
were together, so if one went the other would follow. If Steve died–

I’ll die.

Tony came awake with a gasp, lurching forward in his chair. His heart raced, and he couldn’t
breathe, and over the awful throbbing in his skull he heard a shrill ringing and the cacophony of
distant voices. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, though. It was a hum of deafening chaos.
People yelling. Something screeching and blaring. Steve screaming. Tony grimaced, grabbing his
head and squeezing his eyes shut and groaning against the pain. If he dies, I die.

God, his head hurt.

“Are you okay?”

Just like that, the hallucination was over. The world went silent save for the swishing and beeping
and the slow, meticulous thudding of Tony’s heart in his chest. He opened his eyes and saw Thor
there in the chair where Clint had been and Natasha had been – what? Days ago? Longer than
that? It had to have been a while. The chair had moved again to a place even closer to the other
side of Steve’s bed, and it was daylight out, but the light was gray with rain. Tony ran his hand
down his face and found the scruff of a beard rather than the goatee that he normally kept neatly
trimmed. Steve was clean-shaven, though. Had he done that? Once, after a bad mission last year
or the year before, Steve had broken his arm and banged up his ribs and hurt his back and his leg
and the list went on. Now that Tony thought about it, that had been the last time Steve had been
badly hurt. They’d come home from the hospital, and Tony had spent the following days taking
dutiful care of him. At first it had been a little weird; truth be told, he hadn’t been used to playing
nursemaid, partly because in his lonely life no one had much done that for him but mostly because
being that patient and giving didn’t seem like it’d be something that would come naturally to him.
With Steve it had, though. He could picture it now, the bath they’d taken together where he’d
washed the grime of battle away from Steve because Steve hadn’t been able to do it himself,
murmuring sweet nothings and little jokes to hide how deeply relieved he was that Steve was safe
and Steve was home and Steve would be okay. Shaving off the beginnings of a beard a week in
the hospital had put on Steve’s face, kissing his lips afterward and running his callused fingers
along the smoothness of Steve’s cheek and holding him close and letting himself breathe…

Am I okay? Tony opened his eyes again and forced his blurry vision to focus. Yes, Steve’s face
was clean and his hair was trimmed which meant someone had done it. It had probably been him.
And Thor – Thor’s here – was still calling to him. “’m fine,” he replied, his voice sounded like
hell. He cleared his throat. “Did you, uh… Did you hear that just now?”

Thor looked extremely concerned. It always seemed a strange thing on his face because he was so
rarely troubled. “What?”

It was stupid. Those shouts and noises before… They were probably the remnants of a
nightmare. He’d been having a lot of them, more nightmares than dreams now. He wasn’t
sleeping because he wasn’t leaving Steve’s side, and when exhaustion won out and took him down
anyway, everything in his head had turned even darker and more confusing. Steve talking to him
was still a constant, but he couldn’t always remember what Steve told him. Or what he thought
Steve told him, since Steve wasn’t really telling him anything. Steve had a goddamn tube down
his throat, and even if he hadn’t had that, Steve was still in a goddamn coma.

So there was nothing to hear. “Nothing,” Tony said bitterly. He shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

Thor didn’t seem convinced. Tony didn’t know him all that well, not like Steve did at least. Steve
and Thor were chummy. Tony supposed their friendship made sense; they were both men out of
time and place, and they’d both spent the last few years navigating the complexities of life in the
modern world. They worked out together, ran their godawful ass-crack of dawn morning run
around the city together, watched sports together, cooked together (both he and Steve were
surprisingly adept in the kitchen, and they were both interested in trying as many new foods as
possible). They were complements, Thor’s loud, gregarious nature contrasting with Steve’s quiet,
serious one. Tony could appreciate that opposite personalities often fit together; he and Steve were
a testament to that. Secretly Tony had always been glad Thor was friends with Steve. Not only did
Thor nicely assume the “buddy” duties that Tony, for all he loved Steve, didn’t care to do (like the
early morning jogging and the sparring and constantly working out and football and baseball and
the like), but he was huge and pretty much undefeatable by conventional Midgardian weapons.

Not that that had done a damn bit of good the last time the Avengers had assembled.

Thor kept frowning. “You have been talking a great deal in your sleep.” Tony winced, but there
was nothing but sympathy on Thor’s face. And he made the same attempt they all had at one time
or another. “You should leave a moment and rest–”

“No. Jesus Christ, no. No, I am not leaving. No, I am not resting. I’m not hungry. I’m not tired,
not enough that I have to sleep anywhere but here. So that’s it. Stop goddamn telling me what to
do!”

Silence came. The echo of his shout was awful. It felt like it was reverberating in his skull. With
Thor scowling, Tony let his eyes slip shut. That was a load of bullshit. He was tired. He was so
tired. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d really slept or the last time he’d left the room even.
Again, he probably had to have. It was funny (in a sick, bitter sort of way) how he could look back
now and see that his life had been condensed to Steve’s room, to this chair beside Steve’s bed, to
Steve’s hand in between his own and Steve’s chest under his cheek and Steve’s dry skin beneath
his lips. Beyond that, he was having a hard time focusing on anything else. That had been bad in
the beginning, but it was so much worse now. He’d heard this before, that when someone you
loved was very sick, life was often reduced to this cloudy, foggy state of consciousness where you
drifted because anchoring down in the real world was too painful and difficult. A self-defense
mechanism of sorts. Life was rife with those nowadays.

Thor finally spoke, and the angry rejoinder Tony expected didn’t come. Instead, Thor’s voice was
soft and timid. “Is…” Tony opened his eyes again and saw the other man shifting uncomfortably
in his chair. Fidgeting. That was another thing Thor rarely did. “Is there any sign of
improvement? Any at all?”
Tony wiped his hand down his face. “Jesus…” he whispered. He didn’t know why everyone kept
asking. They were all here, day in and day out. They came and went and came back. Tony was
pretty sure he was rarely if ever alone with Steve. It was comforting in a way, and a sure sign of
how much the others cared for Steve, cared for them both. But everyone kept asking. Didn’t they
know nothing was better, that nothing, not even Bruce’s magic elixir, was working to bring Steve
back to him? Couldn’t they see that themselves? And surely they were all talking to Bruce and to
Steve’s team of doctors. So what the hell? Why keep forcing him to say it?

Because they knew Tony knew best. The smallest twitch, the minutest flutter of eyelashes, the
tiniest change in that ever-droning beeping… Tony would know. Not that that mattered, either.
There was nothing to see, nothing to feel. Nothing to know. “No. He’s not better.” Maybe that
was why they kept pressing. To force him to see that, to say it, to acknowledge it and accept it.
Suspicious and wary, Tony gritted his teeth before forcing himself to relax. “Why?”

“It’s nothing,” the demigod said, although that was so dismissive it could only be a lie.

And Tony wasn’t going to be appeased, because something was clearly up. “Why?”

Thor sighed. That, too, was off, and Tony was reminded of another time far from here when Steve
and Thor had been on the couch in the common room, Thor laughing loudly with a bowl of
popcorn on his lap and Steve shouting at the TV after the refs had made a bad call… Thor was
silent now, silent and hesitant. His eyes settled on Steve’s limp body. Finally, he forced himself to
speak. “There was talk among the doctors this morning that he is… Bruce believes he’s…” He
couldn’t finish.

Tony lost his temper. He knew what the doctors were talking about. He’d overheard it once or
twice. But it was one of those things that was too painful to consider, so he’d blotted it from his
memories. “He’s what?” he snapped, as if daring Thor to say it.

“He is dead,” Thor admitted softly. Tony jerked. Of course that was true. He might have been out
of it from chronic lack of sleep and whatever effects of the concussion still somehow lingering
after all this time, but he knew that this was the end of it. Steve wasn’t getting better. The last
scans had revealed the extent of the damage, and there was still a significant amount of it, both to
the cerebrum and the brain stem. He had no response to pain. No cranial nerve reflexes. He
wasn’t breathing on his own, even though the damage to his chest was healing. His EEG was
goddamn flat. Tony wasn’t a moron. He knew all this, hence the anger that had been building of
late. He couldn’t even say when he’d heard it all. He just knew he’d heard it and that it was
probably true.

Thor heaved something that sounded suspiciously like a sob. But he was blunt. Viciously so. “He
is dead. That is what the doctors believe. Bruce’s plans have not succeeded.”

“The treatment needs more time–”

“It has been many weeks since Bruce started.” Tony felt the room spin again, and he felt like he
was going to puke. Many weeks. It seemed that he’d lost track of time yet again. Everything was
jumping and jerking around. Apparently it had been many weeks since Bruce had tried to
strengthen the serum. Many weeks since he’d feasted on hope and let himself believe this could
get better. That meant numerous months had passed since Steve got hurt. Months.

And Steve wasn’t better. He wasn’t getting better. Steve was clinically dead. If not for the
machines pushing air into his lungs and delivering oxygen to his tissues so his heart could beat,
he’d have physically died weeks ago. Months ago. In that building when everything had come
down on top them. Steve should have died then and there in Tony’s arms.
Tony reeled, the ache in his head coming back fiercely, and Thor went on, went on in an argument
Tony felt like he’d heard a bunch of times before. It was getting harder and harder to ignore it (and
the agony). “It pains me so to see him like this and to see you destroy yourself. You are deluding
yourself, swallowing senseless hope like poison. You must seek true reprieve, particularly given
how weak and sick you have become. Given how are you…” Thor shivered, and the indignant
frustration on his face was striking. “You should not sacrifice yourself to save him.”

“Yeah, well, he’d do the same for me,” Tony snapped, and now he needed to touch Steve again.
He grabbed his hand and held tight, anchoring himself because there seemed to be another storm
brewing. “He would never give up on me. That’s what love is. But even if we weren’t together,
he’d still sacrifice himself to save me. He’d do anything to save anyone.”

“You sell yourself short,” Thor remarked sternly. “I know you love him. I know how much you
do. I know that.” Did he? How could he? How could any of them? None of them knew that
Steve was talking to him, that Steve could reach him somehow. That they were connected. Tony
bristled and pulled tighter into himself. “But you are worth far more to all of us than this. You
should not stay locked in this… in this prison, draining yourself dry for the meager chance that he
will survive this. You give and give and give yourself until there is nothing left, and I fear it will
end senselessly!”

“Then get out,” Tony snapped. “Jesus, why the hell did you come in here if this is what you want
to say? You know I’m not going to give up on him! I don’t care what it does to me, what it costs!
I’m not leaving him!”

“I care about him a great deal, but he’s lost,” Thor insisted firmly, though not cruelly. His blue
eyes were blazing, and Tony couldn’t look away no matter how he tried. “He’s lost. It hurts so
miserably to face the truth, but I cannot in good conscience allow this to continue in silence.”
Thor’s eyes flashed. “You should have let him go this morning.”

This morning. Now those sounds came back in a rush, the yelling and the alarms wailing and God,
how could he have not made sense of this before? What, was he repressing traumatic memories as
they happened now? Was his brain shutting them out so they couldn’t hurt him, denying reality
automatically so that he wouldn’t have to face it? Was he that desperate, that screwed up? Thor’s
face softened. “He was trying to die.”

Tony shook his head emphatically, sick at the mere idea. “You don’t know that. They said he had
a bad reaction to the drugs, that they caused some kind of anaphylactic–”

“He is trying to die in peace,” Thor said again. “We are denying him that. Every day we prolong
this, we are denying him. And we should not. I…” His voice wavered, and he looked away to the
window where rain fell like tears. “It was my fault that this happened. I was not careful in
destroying the alien ship. It was my fault it flew out of control and struck the building. I didn’t
stop to think–” He stopped now. He tucked his chin to his chest and breathed through his
emotions. “My guilt weighs upon me, as it does for all of our heavy hearts. But I must be stronger
than that now. I must permit myself to see the truth. I know, were our roles reversed, I would wish
the honor of a death with dignity.”

“Get out,” Tony snarled again.

“It is over,” Thor continued as if he hadn’t heard. Or if he’d heard, he didn’t care. “It has been
over for weeks. We all believe it.”

“All of you, huh. You’re all ganging up on me? What, did you get the short straw of the bunch?
Is that why you’re here? Or are you too stupid to realize they gave you the shit job of convincing
me to pull the goddamn plug?”

Thor didn’t rise to the bait. “I am sorry, so terribly sorry, but you must see that terminating life
support is the only option! The doctors have said this for quite some time to each other, but they
have all been… afraid to approach you with the truth. Not with you destroying yourself for his
sake!”

“For Steve’s sake! Say his goddamn name!” Tony couldn’t help but rage even though it hurt. For
some reason, he hadn’t envisioned this eventuality. For some awful, stupid, inexplicable reason,
this hadn’t occurred to him, that the hope to which he’d clung would fail and his friends would
betray him. “If you want to throw him away like he means nothing, the least you could do is that!”

“You are ill and beyond reason now,” Thor insisted. “We keep his body alive, but his soul has
departed. He has gone to wherever mortals dwell in death. There is no spirit inside him.”

“No, you don’t know how wrong you are! I hear him! I–”

“Because you have not slept in weeks! Because you will not eat! Because you bleed yourself for
him, day in and day out, until there is nothing left!” Having his choices thrown in his face like this
– a reasonable explanation – was cold and cruel and undeniable. Tony squeezed his eyes shut
from the pain ratcheting through his head. It’s not real. You know that. Steve’s not really there!
“You cannot see how far you have fallen, how dangerous this is. It is madness, and you have
blinded yourself to that. Your love and devotion to him has blinded you.”

“Don’t you dare–”

“This is not what he would want.”

“You don’t know what he’d want, so don’t you tell me–”

“He languishes like this! We keep him alive for our benefit, not his! You have to see that! There
is no hope now!” Tony sank into his chair, sank down deep. The world felt like it was collapsing,
the beeping and swishing getting louder and louder, and for just a moment, that beeping matching
his own pulse was all he could hear, all he could feel. Christ, he was lost in this nonsense. He’d
gotten himself lost in it. He was exhausted beyond the pale, sick with it, demented and delusional.
Thor was right. He couldn’t see how crazy it was, how far into the illusion that Steve and he were
together he’d tumbled. Down the goddamn rabbit hole.

Thor was still talking. “There is no hope,” he murmured again, “and we dishonor him by
continuing fruitlessly. I know how difficult this is for you, and, believe me, I share your pain. I
would gladly bear this burden with you if you will let me. We all would. Please consider letting
him go. Bruce assures me he would not be in any pain and–”

Enough. Tony wasn’t going to sit here and listen to this. Not to this. Not ever. It was petty and
ridiculous, but he couldn’t stand to hear that he was wrong. “Leave,” he demanded. “Now.”

It seemed Thor would argue more, with his jaw clenched so hard and his eyes fixed into a hurt
glare. Thankfully, he didn’t. He just did as Tony asked, standing and gazing sadly upon Steve.
His footsteps seemed to echo until he was out the door.

Tony shuddered. Panic rent through him, and he couldn’t catch his breath. “Goddamn it, Steve,”
he moaned. He reached for Steve’s hand, snatched it off the bed, held it tight. Pressed it to his
cheek and closed his eyes. “Touch me. Come on. Don’t you feel me? I’m right here, baby.
Please. Please touch me.” But Steve’s hand was completely limp, and the second Tony loosened
his grip, it nearly slipped back to the bed. Tony gasped a sob. For all the crying he’d done during
this blur of hell, he hadn’t completely broken down since the beginning. He was fairly sure of
that. And he was sure he was going to fall apart now, disintegrate completely, because as much as
he fervently wanted to argue and deny, he knew Thor was right.

Denial. When faced with a reality one couldn’t accept, denial was the best option.

“Steve… You have to give me a sign or something now. I know it’s crazy, and I know I shouldn’t
believe in this kind of bullshit, but you need to tell me what to do. Tell me you can hear me.
There’s no…” He lost his nerve and whined, a low desperate thing that heralded his failing
restraint. “There’s no time anymore. So you have to find your way back. You have to show me
you can hear me. Right now. Don’t – don’t give up.” And the meager floodgates burst open.
Everything that had been building all this time poured out in a flood. “Please don’t do this to me!
Don’t give up! I’m right here! All you gotta do is open your eyes. Come on. Please! You have
to do this now! Don’t you understand? There’s no more time! I can’t keep holding on when… if
you don’t wake up. They won’t let me. And I can’t – I can’t torture us like this. So you need to
wake up now. Right now. Now, Steve, because it’s time and we’re at the end of the line and this
is – I – I don’t have anything more to give you. Understand that? There’s – there’s nothing
more.” Nothing more to offer. Nothing more to do. He’d waited. Cried. Begged. Hoped.
Prayed. Believed. Failed. “I don’t know what else there is. So come on! Come on, goddamn it!
If you don’t wake up now… You need to wake up! You hear me? You need to wake up!”

Steve didn’t wake up. He wasn’t going to wake up. He couldn’t find his way back.

Tony closed his eyes and surrendered.

“I’m going to be okay, Tony.”

He could feel Steve beside him again. In his dream. This reality, where Steve was alive and with
him. Tony kept his eyes shut, kept himself right here and basked in Steve’s life. It wasn’t hard.
He was so beaten and defeated that waking again was damn impossible. This was better. Far more
than nice and pleasant. Vital and beautiful. Perfect. Home. Where he belonged.

He could feel Steve’s heart beating, feel Steve breathing, all that warmth and strength. Here Steve
was still so warm and strong. Steve’s arm was over his chest, Steve’s lips right to his neck. “You
don’t have to worry about me. It’ll be alright.”

“How can it be?” Tony whispered. “How can anything ever be okay again?”

“It will be. I have to believe that. I have to believe you’ll be okay, too.”

“Steve…” I love you. I need you. I’ll die without you. I can’t lose you. I can’t let you go. I can’t
ever let you leave me. “Please…”

He felt something wet tickle the nape of his neck. Steve was crying. But he was smiling, too.
“You remember that time we got lost in the old subways when those Doombots trashed Uptown?
Your suit got fried. I broke my leg. And we couldn’t see a thing down there.” Tony remembered.
They hadn’t been in love then. They’d hardly been friends even. It had been early on after the
Avengers had formed, back when everything they’d done had pissed the other off. So being
trapped down in a maze of ancient, partially collapsed, spider-web encrusted subway tunnels,
dragging a broken, frustrated, snippy Captain America around… Well, it hadn’t been the best
time. “We kept arguing. We argued constantly. God, I can still hear it sometimes. You thought
you knew the way up, and I thought you were an arrogant asshole incapable of listening to anyone
else. And you kept complaining about how heavy I was.”

“I think I specifically said ‘your ass is heavy’,” Tony corrected. “Even back then, I was obsessed
with it.”

Steve chuckled. “Well, I’m not heavy. You haven’t done much complaining since.”

“No.”

They were quiet for what felt like a long time. The darkness shifted and rose around Tony, rose
like a deep, inky ocean. The waves grabbed at him, trying to pull him away. Steve anchored him.
Steve always anchored him. “I didn’t tell you then but that was where I kinda… Kinda fell for
you.”

Tony beamed. Sure, he knew his subconscious projection of Steve was buttering him up, but he
couldn’t care. It felt good, and after so much suffering and anguish. So good. “Did you?”

“You got under my skin so much. Drove me crazy. I couldn’t stand it. You were… You were so
damn arrogant. So rude and pushy and obnoxious. And so… Right. There, I admitted it. Three
years after the fact.” Steve chuckled again. “You were right about how to get out of there. You
were right that I was being a pain in the ass. You were right.”

“You can say it a few more times,” Tony teased. “Go ahead.”

“God, there’s fire in you. In your eyes. In your heart. Never met anyone like you. Never. And
I… I have to say it now. I wanted to at our wedding, but… The truth is I’m not as strong as you.
Never have been.”

“No, Steve–”

“Not as strong and not as brave. You went through so much, and you came out a better man. You
fought through it all and never let it bring you down. And after New York, I knew you were
hurting. You were hurting and we didn’t get along at all but you still took the time to show me…
everything. Not just how to use the internet and cell phones and computers. Not just how things
are now. Not even the million and one things I needed to know. You showed me who I was when
I didn’t even know myself anymore. You taught me how to be who I needed to be. Who I wanted
to be. You taught me that this is where I belong, right with you. Just like it was down in those
tunnels… You carried me.”

“Steve…”

“So…” Steve’s voice broke. He shivered, clutching Tony tighter. “So that’s why I know I’ll be
okay. I’m not scared. You love me. I know you always will.”

“I do,” Tony whispered, heart heavy and barely beating. “I do. I love you so much.”

“I’ll be okay,” Steve murmured. “We both will. I just… I can’t watch you suffer anymore. I
know you are. I can feel it. So I have to do this.”

“You can’t leave me, Steve! You can’t! Please don’t go…”

“I have to do this, Tony. I have to. It’s time. They’re here.”

Tony jolted awake because he heard the door open. He stumbled away from Steve’s bed, the
sound of Steve’s soft voice chasing him from his dreams and back to harsh hell of reality. He
blinked and blinked until the dizziness settled, until he could see again.

They were all there. Clint. Natasha. Thor. Bruce. Their eyes were wet, faces pale and forlorn.
They looked broken, shattered, submitting to something they could accept but only just. Bruce had
a clipboard in his hands that looked vaguely familiar; it was probably the same one Tony
remembered from earlier. The same one with the legal documents he’d signed without reading
from Steve’s bedside. He didn’t need to read them. He’d made the decision. He supposed he’d
been dreading it since the beginning. Even when he’d been alive with hope and determination, it
had danced around the back of his mind. Now it was here.

He was giving them permission to end Steve’s life. To terminate life support. To turn off the
ventilator breathing for him and allow him to slowly but painlessly pass away from hypoxia. The
doctors would not try to resuscitate him once that began to happen. They would let him go until
that steady beeping was nothing but a monotone moan. Until Steve was gone. There was really no
choice. No more treatment options. No hope that Steve was going to recover. He was dead in
mind and soul if not in body. And Tony had never felt more of a traitor in his life. He’d never felt
more betrayed, too, betrayed by the very people standing in front of him. Betrayed by Steve,
because Steve had vowed to be with him, to stay with him, through thick and thin and all that
nonsense, to love him. Not leave him.

But this was it, and that was what Steve was doing.

Bruce finished looking over the forms, double-checking, Tony supposed, and making sure he knew
what he needed to do. What steps were required to kill Captain America. Son of a bitch. You
goddamn bastard. How could you? How–

“You’re doing the right thing,” Bruce assured with a forced smile. “The best you can do for him
now.”

Natasha nodded, her eyes filled with restrained tears. “You held onto your hope for so long. You
really honored him with that. There’s no reason to feel ashamed or disgusted at yourself.” You
don’t know how the hell I feel.

“He wouldn’t want you to tear yourself up,” Clint added hesitantly, reluctantly, like he wasn’t quite
as sure as the others. His eyes flicked to Steve in the bed, and he shook his head and backed away.
“He wouldn’t want any of us to.” You don’t know what he wants!

“Strength, my friend,” Thor reminded in a gentle rumble. “You are not alone. We stand with you.”

No one was standing with him. Maybe they were there, in the room and offering up their useless
support, but they were nothing more than ghosts. Tony was alone, for all intents and purposes.
Alone and sinking down again. The world was that same muted gray that it always was, distant
and off-kilter and not right at all. He felt sick and tired and weak, his grief threatening with every
shivery breath. He was lost, and Steve was leaving him like this. Steve was being taken from him,
and he wasn’t coming back. How could that be happening? How was this right? How?

What nightmare was this? He’d asked that over and over again. What kind of nightmare was he
living?

At least… At least this would end it.

Bruce shuffled to the machines. Tony didn’t watch him work, couldn’t watch him start to switch
them off. He couldn’t bear to look at the monitors. To his understanding, it could take some time
for Steve to actually die now. Minutes. Maybe many minutes. So there was still time. He’d had
such an odd relationship with time from the beginning. Unable to track it, yet so acutely feeling the
push and pull and drag of it. Hating it for how slow it was, how meaningless. Now this was the
end, and these final few minutes… He had to make them meaningful, make them last.

Even realizing that, though, he was stuck where he was. Paralyzed, it seemed. Bruce shut
everything down and turned off the sound of the monitors so they wouldn’t have to listen to Steve
die. The beeping stopped. So did the swishing. Constant companions, quiet in an instant. Tony
closed his eyes. He listened as the others made their peace one at a time, coming to Steve’s side
with sobs mixed in with their words and tears streaming unabashed down their faces and hands
desperately seeking a final touch and some sort of absolution. There was no sense in being strong
anymore. No sense in hiding how much they were coming apart. He let them each have this. He
didn’t listen. It wasn’t his business anyway. All he knew was he wanted them gone now, because
they were taking these last minutes away from him, and he selfishly wished to have every one of
them to himself.

Finally, they left, Bruce with his arm around a silently weeping Natasha, Clint white and lost, Thor
with his head hung and his hands balled into helpless fists. The door shut softly behind them.
Tony still stood. His skin tingled. It was hard to breathe. His heart felt like it couldn’t beat. He
was cold, so cold. Despair battered him, and the world cracked and crumbled, falling away until
there was nothing but him and the bed and his love’s dying body.

So Tony did the only thing left to do. He pushed his aching body, with its leaden limbs and
shattering heart, up onto the bed. This was how this nightmare had started. He supposed it was
fitting that this would be how it ended. There was hardly any room, but that was okay. He pressed
close, as close as he could, and laid his arm over Steve’s chest and reached across his body to grab
his left hand and pull it to him. He kissed each of Steve’s fingers before weaving their hands
together. Then he buried his face in the cooling skin of Steve’s neck, pressing his lips to the weak
fluttering of Steve’s pulse, felt the slow, uneven beat of his heart, and closed his eyes.

There wasn’t anything to say. Nothing more, really. Nothing but this. “I love you.”

Everything was blurred together so badly, nightmares and hallucinations and whatever else he’d
lived all this time, that he heard Steve answer him. “I love you, Tony.”

Tony smiled. Steve was right. This would be okay. They’d be okay. He was so tired that he
didn’t try to fight as the gray dimmed and dimmed around him, as the world quieted and went still.
If you die, I’ll die. He knew that wouldn’t happen. They weren’t connected, not really, but even if
they were, he didn’t want to give up. Steve didn’t want him to give up. He’d said it over and over
and over again. Don’t give up. Don’t let go. So he wasn’t going to let go.

But at least if he slept, he could dream. And Steve would still be there. So he took a deep breath,
held Steve close, and went down into the darkness.

And Steve was there. He was there in his dreams, waiting like he always was. Only…

“Tony?”

Something… Something wasn’t right. The darkness was suddenly far away, replaced instead with
light. The light got brighter and brighter. Blinding. Terrified, he tried to squeeze the hand in his
own. Steve’s hand.

“Tony? Tony! Tony, can you hear me? Did you just… Bruce!”

The world exploded.

He opened his eyes. Sensation flooded over him in a consuming wave, and the information stream
was so chaotic and new that he couldn’t parse it. It was like his nerves were abruptly awake and
firing in complete discord. Everything hurt. His head. His eyes. Every part of his body. And he
couldn’t move. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t breathe.

“Bruce, he squeezed my hand! Hurry! Turn everything back–”

“Steve–”

“Bruce, for God’s sake, listen to me! He woke up!”

I… I woke up?

Suddenly there was air. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, but he did. He felt muscles inside him
moving. His lungs moving. His heart beating. He felt something down his throat, other things on
him and around him. More than that all of that, though, he felt life. He squirmed uncomfortably at
the raw and awesome power of that. Steve’s fingers were in his hair, soothing him. “Don’t, Tony.
Don’t fight it. It’s helping you breathe. Just stay awake, okay? Stay awake. Look at me. I’m
right here! Look at me, baby, please!” Focusing seemed impossible, everything a haze of light and
shadows, but he blinked and freed trapped tears and blinked again until he saw blue.

Steve’s eyes.

Steve let loose a ragged laugh, tears streaming down his face. “There! You got me now, Tony.
Don’t let go. Don’t look away. I’m here. I’m…” Steve’s hand was tight around his, squeezing
nearly to the point of pain, and he was peppering Tony’s cheeks and forehead with kisses. Tony
closed weary eyes, overwhelmed and reeling, and fought to do just as Steve asked. Stay awake.
“You came back,” Steve gasped around a heavy sob. He cried into Tony’s shoulder. “You came
back! Thank God you came back… Oh, God, Tony… Tony!”

There was noise behind them, a thunder of footsteps followed by a cacophony of voices. Voices
alight with shock and joy and euphoria. Familiar voices. Blurry faces assembled around the bed.
Tony’s brain was sluggish, and nothing made sense. Not the doctors reacting with shock and
alarm. Not Clint and Natasha, talking too quickly for him to follow. Not Thor and his ridiculously
huge smile and his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Not Bruce, fumbling to the side from where the
beeping and the swishing was coming. The beeping and swishing was back.

His heartbeat. His breathing.

Tony choked and squirmed, unable to process any of this – the truth, in fact, that he’d been the one
all along… He couldn’t process anything except for the fact that Steve was there. Steve was
crying and holding him and kissing his face and welcoming him home.

Strange things happened. Tony’s life was a testament to that. Being Howard Stark’s son.
Becoming Iron Man. Struggling through the dark threats he’d faced. Being an Avenger amongst
gods and monsters and super soldiers and expert assassins. Fighting aliens and evil tyrants and
demons and robots. Falling in love with and marrying the man his father had helped create seventy
years ago, the man who’d somehow found his way into the future and into Tony’s arms and heart.
That was maybe the most incredible thing of all. It was almost like it was meant to be. So strange
things occurred, and they occurred all the time. Amazing and unbelievable things. Unexplainable
things. Things that beggared belief. Things that would seem impossible if not for the fact they’d
happened.
Like, for instance, dreaming Steve was in a coma when, in fact, Tony had been the one in the coma
the whole time.

Not long after waking up from an apparently two-month long hibernation, Tony still couldn’t wrap
his mind around it. The confusion he was suffering after slowly (painfully slowly) returning to
himself was deep and fairly encompassing. Some amount of disorientation was also pretty logical,
considering what had happened to him, the long weeks in a brain-dead state and the damage he’d
sustained. That was good. That way he wouldn’t seem too weird when he tried to reconcile reality
with what he’d thought had been reality. Everything had felt so real, so vivid. God, his brain was
a crafty bastard sometimes. A rough explanation was pretty obvious. While he’d been
unconscious, he’d heard the others, Clint and Natasha and Bruce and Thor, coming and going.
He’d heard the doctors. He’d heard all of that, the diagnosis and the prognosis and the treatment
plans.

But he’d heard all that because they’d come to talk to Steve, to Steve who hadn’t left his side
hardly at all from the minute he’d been brought into the hospital. Steve had been buried with him
when the building had come down, but Tony’s mind had flipped them around and switched
everything up and gotten it backwards from the start. Tony had taken the brunt of it. Iron Man had
been completely crushed by the weight of the debris, so badly that his head had still been severely
injured by the impact even with his helmet. But he’d saved Steve. The armor had protected Steve,
shielded him. Steve had escaped with a few broken ribs, a broken ankle, and a pretty serious
concussion. Steve had been spared the worst of it.

And Steve had been right with him every moment as Tony had languished with the traumatic head
injury. Steve was the one who hadn’t left. He was the one who’d refused to go back to the Tower
and sleep and eat. He was the one who’d refused to give up hope. The others had come and gone,
but they’d been talking to Steve, not to Tony. Steve had kept a vigil over Tony. None of what he’d
remembered had actually happened the way he remembered it.

However, Steve had talked to him. When Tony had imagined Steve’s voice or thought he was
dreaming about him… He hadn’t been imagining or dreaming at all. That had been real. Steve
had been there at his side, holding his hand and kissing his face and staying as close as he could.
He’d been begging Tony to hold on, to stay strong, to wake up and not give up and not let go.
Steve had said those things, and Tony had thought he’d meant for Tony to anchor him in the living
world, to not give up on him, to not let Steve go.

So the world, the reality, Tony had lived was a lie. It had been upside down, twisted inside out,
wrong and off-kilter. Even though the explanation had come fairly easily, recognizing what it
meant was difficult. He couldn’t accept it. He’d been brain dread. How could he have heard
anything? How could he have dreamed or hallucinated anything? His brain had been dead.
Thoughts still. Senses silent. Neurons not firing in any meaningful way. He twisted the whole
insane situation around and around in his head, how this could have happened, how he could have
so vividly imagined himself in Steve’s place… There was no explanation, at least nothing that
satisfied him. Fate? Love? Magic? He didn’t believe in stupid stuff like that. He was a man of
science underneath his eccentricities, and thinking through the situation (which he did a lot at night
when he was alone in his hospital room save for Steve slumbering in the tiny and probably
extremely uncomfortable chair next to his bed) always delivered him to the same invariable
conclusion. Logic dictated that none of things he’d imagined had happened to him. So there had
to be a reason he’d dreamed what he had, a valid, legitimate reason.

But he just couldn’t figure it out, and that frustrated him to no end. All that stuff he’d thought
about strange things happening? Bullshit. That wasn’t good enough. Not for him. And
everything was so completely impossible that he just couldn’t believe things had happened as they
had, so for a few horrid days right after waking up, he wondered if he wasn’t dreaming now. He
wasn’t so miserable and distraught with letting Steve die that he was fabricating this role reversal
as a last ditch effort to spare himself.

Well, it didn’t seem that way. This new world was filled with color and sound. It wasn’t dim and
gray and he wasn’t detached from it. There was activity, a lot of it, and he was engaged in a great
deal of real interactions. Steve was always at his side, smiling like he couldn’t believe he’d been
so blessed. The other Avengers were there, too, in fits and spurts, Bruce most commonly as he
administered more of a special treatment, the last doses of what Tony needed to recover. It was
becoming increasingly obvious that the circumstances of Tony’s dream had been accurate, at least.
Tony had been dead, kept alive by only the machines breathing for him. The doctors were
positively floored that he’d recovered at all, and not just that. Coma patients usually awoke at
varying rates and in varying levels of awareness, and there was commonly lingering damage, not to
mention muscle weakness and atrophy and the effects of the other injuries he’d sustained months
ago. However, Tony was coming back to himself remarkably well. He was making very fast
progress. He was off the ventilator almost instantly and regaining control of his body at a rapid
rate. He was stronger every day. Awake longer and longer every day. More and more aware
every day, and in real, tangible ways. It was grounding and rapidly becoming more and more
convincing. He was working hard to get himself back, despite his mental insecurities. It only
seemed natural, and he had energy now. He was warm and sore, but the pain felt real, not this
ghostly thing that tormented without cause or meaning. He liked the pain. He liked the taste of air
and the touch of Bruce’s hand to his and feel of the bed and the sound of Thor’s laugh and Clint’s
wry smile as he joked about how shitty the hospital food was and Natasha’s placid expressions that
did nothing to hide how relieved she was. The feel of Steve’s lips to his and Steve’s hands still
holding him and caressing him and the sound of Steve’s voice. It was the only comfort in the
world he really needed. In this real world.

Plus, he didn’t think he’d hallucinate the pain in the ass that was physical therapy. Christ, what a
waste of time. However, he labored through that with gusto, Steve right with him to encourage
him. It was surreal how quickly he was getting better, and he didn’t think dead (or dreaming)
would be this stiff and sweaty and achy.

So his ordeal was becoming this weird memory that felt real but wasn’t real. He was forced to
convince himself more and more that all of it – the long hours he’d imagined at Steve’s side and
the one-sided conversations he’d had and the suffering he’d done with Steve withering in front of
him – hadn’t actually happened. No, Steve had lived the hell Tony had dreamed.

And Steve had been the one to save him.

Of course, one of the tenants of scientific theory was finding some evidence to substantiate his
conclusions. Simple observation only went so far, particularly with his own senses (and mind)
pretty muddled and confused. On top of that, people were being rather… indirect with him. It was
impossible to get a straight answer out of anyone as to what had happened. Tony could be
persistent (aka a pain in the ass) when it suited him, but his inquiries went annoyingly unanswered
every time he questioned someone as to how he’d woken up, what had really happened, why Steve
looked like a goddamn freight train had hit him and run him over again and again and again. Tony
hadn’t noticed that particular detail at first because he’d been so screwed up and too involved in the
overwhelming shock of everything to pay attention to anything other than himself. Now it was
pretty undeniable. And Steve was disappearing a lot. He was never gone long, maybe thirty
minutes at most, but he returned paler and dragging even more. He didn’t answer Tony when he
asked where he’d gone, at least nothing beyond a dismissive “nothing to worry about” and a peck
on his lips. Steve always had been and always would be a terrible liar.
Steve was a bit tense around him, too. Not himself. Considering what they’d just been through as
a couple, that probably made sense. Maybe Steve couldn’t let himself accept this as truth, either,
like he was beset by an irrational terror that if he did, Tony would end up back in the coma. Also,
Steve wasn’t sleeping well. Tony had to imagine, if his dream had been reality and Steve had been
the one to miraculously wake up right at the end, he would have finally succumbed to complete,
contented exhaustion and slept the best sleep of his life. But Steve hadn’t collapsed like that, not
that Tony had seen (and Steve had, once again, hardly left his side, even if they weren’t really
talking about anything more than surface stuff). Steve almost seemed ashamed and guarded, two
things he very rarely was, and that was odd. More than odd. Upsetting.

Tony had to know the truth.

Thus as Steve slept this night, his breathing slow and steady and his body relaxed despite the fact it
was crammed into that awful chair, Tony decided that staying quiet and compliant about this all
was stupid. Now that his brain was working again, he wanted answers. “I want to know what
happened.”

Bruce was there, stringing another bag of something onto Tony’s IV. He was being rather
surreptitious about what he did, carting these medicines around in a little cooler. Bruce was about
as good at being sneaky as Steve was at lying. Tony had seen the contents of the bags was some
sort of pale blue liquid. If that wasn’t a sign, he didn’t know what was. Bruce played dumb.
“What do you mean?”

Tony stared at him in the low evening light, frowning in irritation. “I mean why am I not dead.”
Bruce hesitated, but something akin to reluctance crossed his features in a wince. Tony sighed,
trying to settle more into the hospital bed. After a week now awake and aware, he was beginning
to realize it was really uncomfortable. The novelty and joy over, well, not being dead was wearing
off. “Okay, so here’s the thing. I know him.” Tony tipped his head toward Steve just as Steve
snored lightly. “And I know all the rest of you, too. And it’s pretty damn obvious you guys are all
not telling me something. News flash: of the lot of you? Tash is the only good liar, and even she
is doing a shit job right now.” Bruce said nothing to that, biting his lower lip and finishing up with
the IV. “Plus I’m not stupid. That’s another thing that seems to have magically not happened,
despite the fact that my brain was battered into mush.”

“Tony, that’s not funny.”

“What’s not funny is the fact that my husband obviously practically killed himself for my benefit,
and I’d like to know the particulars,” Tony sharply said.

Bruce sighed, glancing at Steve. He hesitated a moment that way he always did when he was
weighing his (limited) options. Then he succumbed, because Bruce was predictable like that. “I
used the serum to save you.”

“I know that.”

Bruce’s brow creased in confusion and then betrayal, and that more than anything told Tony they’d
all been working together to keep him in the dark. “How… Did one of the others tell you?”

He couldn’t be honest about how he knew (because, frankly, he didn’t know how he knew), so he
lied. “No. I figured it out. Not stupid, remember?”

Bruce sighed. He looked at Steve again, watching more carefully like he was trying to discern if
the other man would wake and catch him spilling the beans. Tony tried to be patient as he waited.
Eventually Bruce convinced himself to continue. “Look, Tony, he was hurt pretty badly when that
building came down on you guys. Not as bad as you but bad enough.”

Tony averted his gaze hotly. He’d had a feeling that everyone had lied to him about that. He
shook his head. “But that was months ago. The serum should have…” Then it occurred to him.
All those conversations with Clint and Natasha and Thor he thought he’d had… They made more
sense now. They hadn’t been worried about him. They’d been worried about Steve, because
Steve had been literally giving everything he had to save Tony. Draining himself dry. He glanced
at the bag of blue medicine. Elixir. “Christ, how much blood did you need?”

Bruce paled, looking pretty horrified and guilty even if this wasn’t his fault. “A lot,” he quietly
confessed. “You know I’ve been trying for months to find a way to isolate the serum in Steve’s
blood and extract it. Unfortunately, the best I could do was still pretty poor, and the amount of
serum we needed to save you… It was a longshot, but he kept giving and giving, Tony. We
needed so much just to get what we got, and even that wasn’t working. He just offered up more,
like that was the answer.”

“Apparently it was the answer!” Tony hissed. His eyes burned all the sudden, and he jabbed his
teeth hard into his lower lip to stop it from shaking. He was so goddamn angry, and he stared at
Steve with his heart pounding.

Bruce frowned as the monitor picked up Tony’s racing pulse and gently grabbed Tony’s shoulder.
“Hey, take it easy.”

He wasn’t going to take it easy. “How could you let him do that? If he was hurt–” He couldn’t
finish. If Steve was injured, his body had needed the serum it was producing to heal himself. And
he’d denied himself that, offered up his blood and all the gifts it proffered to save Tony. Tony felt
sick and weak and wrong all over again. “How could you let him keep doing it when there wasn’t
any hope?”

“Tony…”

“Jesus! It wasn’t working! This serum cocktail you made almost killed me!”

Bruce’s mouth fell open limply, and Tony belatedly realized he probably shouldn’t have known
about that, either, not what had happened to him or what had caused it. “I was trying not to use so
much of his blood, lowering filtering standards and… Impurities got in there, Tony. That’s what
caused the bad reaction you had. I’m so sorry.”

Bruce was misreading him, but in his defense, Tony was so freaking pissed off that it was easy to
make that mistake. “I’m not upset about that,” he seethed. “I was dead already. I’m upset that
you didn’t stop him from hurting himself!”

“What did you want us to do? We tried! We tried to talk sense into him! Shockingly he’s about as
stubborn as you are, and he didn’t listen. He wouldn’t stop giving blood, wouldn’t even leave your
room. He practically threw Thor out at the mere suggestion that he should give up! We tried,
Tony. It wasn’t until the end that Steve…” Bruce stopped himself from saying anything more.
Sighing, he shook his head. “Steve did what he did to save you. He’d do anything for you, give
anything for you. You know that.”

“And he knew that it was risky and dangerous and stupid as hell,” Tony snarled spitefully. He
knew he was being petty, but he couldn’t stop himself, and he was pretty sure he’d damned well
earned the right to be upset. “He told you not to tell me, didn’t he?”

That was pathetically obvious. Bruce sighed again. “It was his call,” he said, a defensive note in
his tone. “He didn’t want you to have to worry about him when you need to be focusing on
yourself right now. And I’m pretty sure he didn’t want you to be thinking some nonsense about
you not being worth it.”

“That’s bullshit,” Tony muttered.

“Don’t be angry with him,” Bruce returned calmly. “Come on. He has power of attorney. It was
his job to make the call, and he made it. He saved your life. And he’s going to be fine. You know
how amazing the serum is. Despite what he put himself through, his injuries are long healed. He
just needs some substantive sleep and some decent food and some time to recover. You both do.”
Bruce patted his shoulder. “This is the last treatment. If everything goes well, maybe in a couple
of days you can go home. Pretty damn remarkable. So don’t be angry. It’s stupid, and you’re not
stupid, right? You keep insisting you’re not.” That was supposed to be a joke, but Tony didn’t
think it was funny at all. Bruce smiled weakly. “Come on. You’re okay. He’s okay. There’s no
reason to be upset.”

That was probably true. But as Tony laid there staring into the night, all he could hear was the soft
beeping that mirrored his heart and the soft rhythm of Steve’s even breathing, and all he could
think about was the sight of Steve, lying where he was now with a tube down his throat. Only
when he imagined it now, he saw needles in Steve’s veins and he was as white and lifeless as a
corpse. Exsanguinated so that Tony could live. How could he not be upset?

They did go home a couple days later. It should have been a miracle as Steve pushed Tony in a
wheelchair out of the hospital where he’d nearly died – where he had died – and toward the town
car Happy had driven over to collect them. Steve and Bruce helped him into the back seat.
Everything was still pretty tender, and he didn’t have the energy to move much. Steve climbed in
beside him, carrying a duffel bag of their stuff from the hospital. He put his arm around Tony, and
despite the unspoken tension that had been mounting between them, Tony leaned wearily into his
side. After Bruce promised to be back at the Tower a bit later to check on them, the car pulled
away into the world. Tony couldn’t help a shiver of fear. This seemed unreal again, but now it
was for different reasons. I should have died. Would’ve died, if Steve hadn’t saved me. Tony
closed his eyes and let himself be held.

Coming home after so much time was weird and unsettling, to say the least. On the one hand,
spending one more second in the hospital was decidedly unappealing. Granted, he’d only been
awake for a couple weeks now, but the memories of his dream were as real to him as any other, so
it felt like a great deal longer than that. He wanted to go home, to get away from the sterility, the
people, the lack of privacy. He wanted to escape how his body had become a prison and his mind,
apparently, a glorified torture chamber. So home was nice.

On the other hand, though, home was daunting. Home was scary. It meant moving on from it all.
It meant accepting permanently that what he’d dreamed hadn’t been real. And he knew it hadn’t
been. He knew that. The evidence in favor of Steve being the one in the coma was absolutely
infinitesimal and completely contained to Tony’s mind. But logic could be a pretty poor weapon
against fear, and he was afraid. Everything that had happened was damn terrifying, of course, and
he still didn’t feel normal (it also scared him that “normal” could be a thing of the past after this).
What Steve had done for him… It was stupid in a way, because Bruce was right. They were both
okay thanks to Steve. That awful image, though… Steve, bloodless and lifeless and splayed out on
some sort of sacrificial altar for him… Well, that was his new nightmare, and this one was
somehow far more lodged in reality than the one in which he’d been trapped for months.

Tony was fairly certain going home meant addressing that. Eventually, right?
Eventually happened a lot sooner than he was hoping. Despite all this, waiting hadn’t gotten any
easier for him.

JARVIS greeted him the second he limped into the lobby of the Tower. “Welcome home, sir,” the
AI sadly said. There was relief in his tone as well, if a computer could feel such a thing. Tony had
programmed him to, and Steve had told him a couple times over the last few days how much
JARVIS had missed him. Honestly, though, how would Steve know? Steve had hardly if ever
come back here while Tony had been in the coma.

But he didn’t say any of the bitter thoughts in his head. “Thanks, J.”

“The penthouse is ready, Captain Rogers,” JARVIS explained as they hobbled to the elevator. The
doors closed behind them, and the lift immediately started taking them up. “The wheelchair is–”

“No,” Tony snapped almost reflexively. “No wheelchair.”

Right away Steve frowned his Captain America frown. Tony had to admit he’d missed the sight of
it. “Tony–”

He’d been wheeled around in a wheelchair for two weeks now. He was done with that shit. “I can
walk.”

“You can barely stand,” Steve returned, and that was pretty much true. Apparently he’d thought he
was further along with having his strength and energy back than he actually was. He was leaning
whole-heartedly into Steve, Steve’s arm around his back probably the only thing keeping him
upright. He felt gross with sweat and shivery with shock again. “You’re using the chair.”

“No.” To hell if that was childish.

Steve sighed. He knew better than to argue, so instead he just switched his tactics. “Then I’m
carrying you.”

“Double no.”

“Damn it, Tony–”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might want to walk into my home under my own power after what
happened?”

Steve flinched ever so slightly probably because he could understand that. He’d want to do the
same. But Tony could practically feel his overprotectiveness like it was a physical thing trying to
envelop him. This had been going on over the last couple weeks, too, and in the beginning Tony
hadn’t minded one bit. Like at all. Now, with all this uncertainty and guilt and anger stewing in
his heart, he didn’t think he could stand it. “You need to take it easy,” Steve finally said, ending
an uncomfortable beat of silence. “Bruce said with – with the treatment you’ll make a full
recovery, but–”

“The treatment? What, you mean you giving up every drop of blood in your body so that Bruce
could make a miracle cure using the serum?”

Steve stiffened, and even though Tony couldn’t bring himself to look his husband in the face, he
could picture it well enough. The color draining from his cheeks and his blue eyes widening and
his mouth falling open a little in shock. “Who told you?”

Tony felt like an asshole, but one of his nastier character traits was that when he went asshole, he
usually went all in. “Nobody told me. I figured it out, Steve. Genius, remember? But even if I
wasn’t half as smart as I am, it’s pretty damn obvious. I was–” He stumbled over the words a
little. It still made no sense! “I was clinically brain dead. One does not magically recover from
that, not without a magic potion.” The elevator dinged as they finally reached the penthouse.
Tony tried to take a step, but his muscles didn’t cooperate and rewarded him with a jolt of pain for
demanding they make the effort. “Damn it.”

Steve was there to steady him. “You’re… you’re mad at me for saving your life?” he asked, and
there was so much pain and fear wrapped up in that that Tony could hardly stand it. He didn’t
know why Steve was asking. Obviously he’d been worried about this very outcome, hence all the
deception (or the lies of omission, anyway). “That’s what you’re mad about?”

Tony managed another step and another, like he was trying to run away from this stupid thing he’d
just started. “No, no. Just…” He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning against the side of the
elevator. “Just carry me. Please?”

Steve seemed too surprised to move for a second, and Tony turned to look at him, really look at
him, for the first time in what felt like days. He seemed fine. A little pale, maybe, and a lot tired,
but he was physically well. That magic potion had healed them both. But his eyes were wet like
he was trying to hold back tears. He nodded, slung their bag over his shoulder, and scooped Tony
up bridal style as if he weighed nothing. Tony closed his eyes and relaxed into Steve’s arms.
Breathed in Steve’s scent, Steve’s heat. He knew this should be humiliating, being carried like
some damsel in distress through their penthouse to their bedroom, but he couldn’t bring himself to
care.

The mere sight of their bedroom brought tears to Tony’s eyes. It was just like he remembered it,
pictured it when he thought about going back there without Steve in his dream – Steve’s
sketchbook on the desk and Steve’s books piled on the coffee table and his sneakers by the closet
and his jacket draped over the back of one of the chairs. Steve’s shield, still scuffed and filthy
from the fight all those weeks ago, right by the closet door. But there were other things, too.
Tony’s things. Tony’s phone on his nightstand and a bunch of his socks dumped on the dresser
and a bottle of his cologne on the coffee table next to Steve’s books and his sunglasses on the floor
because they’d probably fallen from the pocket of his suit jacket where it hung on the closet door.
The things that would have made Steve heartsick and devastated when he’d come back here. It
made Tony heartsick now.

Steve dropped the duffel on the floor by the bed and took Tony to the bathroom. He set Tony on
the side of the ornate and ridiculously huge, tiled tub. Then he dropped to his knees in front of
him. “Let me get you cleaned up, okay?” he said. His eyes were still wet, but he was smiling.
“Bath’d be good. You smell like hospital and sweat.”

Tony managed a grin. “What, you don’t like hospital and sweat? Sounds like a killer new
fragrance. I’ll call Gucci.”

Steve chuckled and tenderly kissed his lips. “Be right back.”

Being alone even for a few seconds while Steve went out to gather up their pajamas and some
towels and washcloths was too long. Anxiety crawled over Tony, and nothing felt right again with
Steve not there. He was shivering by the time Steve got back, and he could see Steve silently
berating himself for leaving at all. Steve was quick but so careful and tender as he untied Tony’s
sneakers and pulled them off and took his socks off, too. Then he went to work on getting the
hoodie Tony was wearing unzipped and ridding him of both it and the cold, sweaty shirt
underneath. Off went his jeans as well with nary a flirtatious comment. They were both too tired
and worn for that. All the while, the bath was filling with hot water and steam and smell of clean
soap spread through the bathroom. Once Tony was in the tub (which had been a clumsy venture,
considering how quickly his body was going from somewhat to completely useless), Steve stripped
with methodical, military precision. Tony was still shivering despite the heat of the water and the
warm moisture in the air, and he continued to until Steve climbed in the bath with him and
gathered him up and held him tight.

For a long time, they didn’t move. It was too much to do anything other than that. It was quiet
aside from a drip or two, the soft sounds of the water. The beating of their hearts. Tony burrowed
into Steve’s warmth, pressing his face in the place between Steve’s shoulder and his neck and
focusing on breathing. This all seemed too unbelievable, yet again impossible save for the fact it
was happening. They were here, both of them, both alive and recovering, and they were together.
Steve’s hands were slow moving up and down Tony’s back, and his arms were strong and
immovable. “I missed you,” he finally said, his lips brushing against Tony’s temple. His voice
hitched softly, and his grip turned even tighter. “I missed you so much.”

Tony couldn’t find it within himself to answer, but that was okay. He didn’t need to, at least not
beyond pulling Steve even closer and melting even more into Steve’s embrace. I missed you, too.

It seemed to take Steve a great deal of effort to pull away, but he did. He did with a struggling
smile, wiping a wet hand through Tony’s hair before holding his face close and kissing him
gently. Tony wearily kissed back. The heat was finally getting inside him, warming his blood and
his bones, and he was getting even sleepier. Realizing that, Steve focused on washing him, wetting
a soft washcloth and lathering it up with Tony’s body wash before getting to it. Tony sank down in
the tub and let Steve work. It felt so good, Steve’s fingers capable and tender, wiping away the
sweat and the smell of sterility, soothing the many lingering aches and pains. He washed Tony’s
hair, gently massaging his scalp, kissing him as he tipped his head back. Tony closed his eyes and
drifted.

He was nodding off when he felt Steve grab the spray attachment and rinse his hair clean. “Bed?”
Steve murmured after he was done. Tony barely cracked open his eyes and saw Steve’s sweet
smile. “We should get out before you fall asleep in here.”

“Wouldn’t be so bad,” Tony murmured. “Too tired and comfy to move.”

Steve chuckled. “We’d get kinda shrively.”

“We’d be shrively together, though.”

Steve laughed again. It was like music. “Come on.”

As much as Steve had done all the work so far, he did even more now, practically lifting Tony out
of the water and putting him back on the edge of the tub before bundling him up in a couple of
warm towels. He did only a cursory job of drying himself, spending much more time getting Tony
comfortable. “You don’t need to take care of me like this,” Tony said as the quiet wore on and he
realized more and more how little he was participating.

“’Course I do,” Steve replied as he worked a pair of boxers up Tony’s legs. Tony swallowed a
lump in his throat and let Steve finish dressing him in a pair of sweat pants and an A-shirt. Steve
got himself in some pajama bottoms and an A-shirt of his own. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Tony started to stand and nearly toppled. His head was spinning with too many thoughts and
discordant memories, and his body simply withered. Steve was there to catch him, though, and he
draped Tony’s arm over his shoulders and looped his own around Tony’s waist and helped him
limp to their bed.

It took a while to get there, but Steve didn’t rush him or insist on carrying him. He was quiet and
patient as Tony limped and struggled, bearing most of Tony’s weight without making even the
slightest show of it. Tony closed his eyes and trudged. They’d make it, he knew. They’d come
this far. It seemed weird, going back to where this whole crazy thing had started. Where they’d
been, Tony straddling Steve and covering him in kisses and sweet-talking his way into Steve’s
pants when the call had come to assemble… It seemed like a lifetime ago, and the world still
wasn’t quite right. Not quite what it had been. Different and more fragile but stronger at the same
time. So he kept going and thought about that, about how things would balance out and go back to
normal as long as they stayed together.

Steve helped him gingerly settle on the edge of the bed. If Tony had been more with it, maybe he
would have noticed that Steve wasn’t moving gracefully anymore, that he was the one shivering
now, that he was struggling as he turned down their bed. Overwhelmed and shattering. As it was,
it very much took him by surprise when Steve choked out a rough sob and all but collapsed in front
of him.

Tony gasped as Steve buried his face in his lap, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist like iron.
“You should be angry with me!” Steve cried. “God, Tony, you don’t know what I did…”

Tony uselessly shook his head. He was so tired now that he could hardly even remember why he’d
been angry before. Steve, killing himself for me. That stoked his ire just a bit, but not enough to
stop him from threading his hands through Steve’s hair and whispering, “What you did?”

Steve shuddered harder. “You don’t know…”

“What?”

Steve’s fingertips dug into Tony’s back as he clung. “I – I told them not to tell you because I’m a
coward. I’m such a coward, Tony!”

“Steve–”

“I can’t hide it, though. Not what I did. I know why you’re angry. I know why! And I should
have told you before because you deserve that. I gotta tell you now.” About using the serum? He
already knew about that, so that couldn’t be it. For all his efforts to try to make things make sense
of late, it didn’t really occur to Tony that still nothing did. None of this had ever made sense. He
was too tired and stricken to recognize it anymore. And Steve was going on anyway, offering a
whispered confession. “I – I… I gave up on you.”

Tony hadn’t been expecting that at all. “What?”

Steve flinched and clung tighter. His voice shook with rough sobs. “I gave up on you! When the
serum wasn’t working and you weren’t getting better, I told them to… I told them to take you off
life support! They said it was for the best, and I knew it was, so I… I signed the papers.” I signed
the papers. There was nothing else to do. “I didn’t know what else to do! You were suffering,
and I knew it.” I knew you were suffering. I could feel it. “I don’t know how I knew, but I could
feel it. I thought – I kept dreaming you were with me, telling me–”

Shock like ice jolted over Tony. “Telling you what?”

Steve’s voice was a muffled moan against his leg. “Don’t give up. Don’t let go.”

If you die, I die.

Maybe some things just happened. Maybe somehow everything had been real in every way that
mattered and the impossible was simply possible. Maybe the unexplainable didn’t need to be
explained and the incredible was just that: incredible. He belonged with Steve. Steve belonged
with him. “We go together,” Tony whispered. “We’re two halves of the same heart, the same
soul.”

Steve shivered, sobbing. “But you told me it would be okay to let you go. That you’d be okay. So
I had to do it, and I was so wrong. So wrong. You could have died. You did die, and it was my
fault because I was weak. And I’m so sorry, Tony! I’m so sorry! I don’t know if you can forgive
me. I can’t forgive myself. I – I – please–”

Tony shook his head, tears rolling from his eyes, and smiled. He felt warm, so warm, as Steve
wept with silent sighs. “Baby,” he whispered. “Steve. Look at me.”

It took a moment, some deep, measured breaths, but Steve eventually found the courage to lift his
head. His eyes were very blue, rimmed in red and full of tears, and his face was locked in a
terrified grimace. Tony cupped his jaw, carefully wiping his cheeks. “You don’t need to apologize
for anything. You saved my life.”

Steve’s eyes welled anew and his lips quivered. “No, no, Tony, I–”

“Yes,” Tony insisted. “You saved my life. And I saved yours. We saved each other.” Tony
tugged him up more firmly, and pliantly Steve went. Tony swept his thumb over his lower lip,
staring into Steve’s eyes. Steve’s eyes that he knew so well. Steve’s face that he could see in
perfect detail with his own eyes closed. Steve’s heart that was his, and Steve’s soul that he knew
as well as his own. “Don’t you know? I would have done the same. Were our roles reversed, I
know I would have done exactly what you did.”

Steve shook his head, reaching up to take Tony’s hand. “There’s no way you could know that.”

Tony smiled. “Yeah, there is.” Steve was clearly confused, giving a small, reflexive jerk of his
head. “There is. I… I can’t explain it, but I don’t need to. I just… I just know.” Things, even
crazy things, happen for a reason.

“Tony…”

“Come here.” He tugged Steve up more so their faces were level. Leaning his forehead to Steve’s,
he closed his eyes and breathed. “We’ve spent enough time trying to hold onto each other, but
we’re both here now. Somehow, we’re both here. I’m not going to ask why. I don’t care. All I
know is I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.”

Steve drew a deep breath, sliding his hands on either side of Tony’s neck, and nodded. “No.
Never again.”

“So let’s go to bed. Okay?”

Another deep breath. Another nod. “Okay.”

It was easy then, to lay down in their bed. Steve helped him get there and then pulled the sheets
and duvet up and over him. Tony watched him as he closed the door and turned off the remaining
lights. He walked to the huge windows, and the evening glow washed over him like a halo. Tony
couldn’t help but stare, but the image faded as Steve drew the blinds. He turned around and
smiled, too. He was beautiful and he was here and he was real.

And this was okay. They’d both be okay. There was nothing more important than that, than the
connection between them. It was strong, sure, perfect and powerful. Steve slipped under the
covers beside Tony, coming close, and he slunk down to curl around Tony’s hip and lay his arm
over Tony’s middle. Steve took his left hand, kissing each of his fingers and rubbing his thumb
over Tony’s wedding ring before weaving their hands together. He nuzzled his face into Tony’s
neck. Like this, just like before, all the times before, in dreams and wakefulness and everything in
between, like this Tony could feel Steve. He could feel Steve’s warmth, the safety and splendor of
that. He could feel him breathing, slow and steady. He could feel their hearts beating together like
one. “I love you, Tony,” Steve whispered.

I love you, too.

THE END

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