#aven.writing

And then his arms are full of a trembling teenager, a trembling teenager that was once his, and his shirt is slowly growing damp from the silent tears Tony cries against his chest.

It’s easier than breathing to hold Tony closer.

He starts carding a hand through Tony’s soft hair, the usual gel that Jim’s become accustomed to absent, and rubs his back with the other hand, humming just soft enough for Tony to pick up the melody and tap it out on his shoulder with light brushes of his fingers.

Rogers stares at them.

Jim doesn’t care, because Tony’s not shaking anymore.

-

He takes Tony to the lab first, because the lab is where his Tony feels safe.

But this Tony looks around with an unreadable expression–almost unreadable, except to Jim.

It’s disbelief. And fear.

“I did this? Not–not Howard?”

It breaks Jim’s heart.

“Yeah, Tones. It was you.”

“Oh,” Tony whispers. “Wicked.”

-

Jim tells him about the future, and Tony listens with wide eyes.

Jim tells him about Tony’s place in the future, and Tony understands with wider ones.

-

It’s not hard to tell Tony about his parents’ death.

It’s the hardest thing in the world to tell Tony about Edwin Jarvis’s.

Tony tries to make JARVIS again, for the first time in his lifetime, and Jim has to stop him, for the fifth time in his lifetime.

Jim holds him while he cries.

-

Tony doesn’t ask about Rogers until two days in, after two days of not leaving Jim’s side, after two days spent in the lab with the bots, his creations, his children.

They’re on the couch in the common living room, watching Star Wars Episode VII, because after Tony had heard there were more than just the original trilogy, he’d begged for a marathon and Jim’s never been able to resist his puppy eyes. Tony’s head is pillowed on his chest, Jim’s nose is resting against the crown of his head, and their arms are around each other. Tony’s watching the movie. Jim’s watching him.

Rogers walks into the room right as Finn and Poe reunite on screen.

Tony tenses. Jim holds him tighter.

“Oh–I didn’t realize you were in here–“ Rogers says. Jim taps a calming pattern against Tony’s back.

“It’s all good, man.”

There’s a beat, a moment of silence as sharp as glass where Rogers’s eyes stay on Tony, and Tony’s eyes don’t leave the screen.

Jim clears his throat and shatters it. Rogers blinks, nods, looks at Tony one more time, and leaves the room.

There’s an explosion on screen.

“How did he find him?” Tony asks, barely a whisper.  

Jim frowns into Tony’s hair. “How did who find him?”

“Howard.”

“No,” Jim says sharply, before he can stop himself. “It wasn’t Howard.”

“Oh.”

“He’s gone, Tones. Rogers wasn’t his find. And Rogers–he’s–“ Jim sighs. “He’s okay.”  

Tony relaxes against his chest.

“Okay, platypus.”

-

The overwhelming feeling of relief, and then guilt, creeps its way into Jim’s heart when Tony still refuses to leave his side, even with his newfound trust in Rogers, and to an extent, the rest of the team.

It takes them a week to figure out how to reverse it, a week for the flowers of relief and weeds of guilt to continue to grow, along with the coiling, painful root of longing, longing for his Tony.  

Tony’s always been perceptive, so when he picks up on it, Jim isn’t surprised.

“You miss him. Me. The other me. Your me.”

“Every you is mine,” Jim says immediately, and means it.

Tony will always be his, and he will always be Tony’s. It’s the way the universe works.

Tony just rolls his eyes. “No shit, Sherlock. But you still miss him. I mean…it’s weird to be in love with a seventeen-year-old when you’re like…fifty.”

Jim drops the casserole dish and spills Momma Robbie’s famous peach cobbler across the kitchen tiles, staining white with yellows and oranges.

“Shit,” he says, because Tony flinched, even if he tried to hide it. “C’mere, Tones.”

“Did I guess wrong?” Tony asks weakly, tucked into Jim’s chest, head under his chin.

They fit together like pieces of a puzzle; or, two puzzles with matching pieces.

“No. No, you really didn’t. You picked up on something my Tony’s been missing for years, though.”

“He doesn’t know you love him?”

“No, he doesn’t know I’m in love with him.”

“Maybe he just doesn’t want to believe it,” Tony whispers softly.

Jim doesn’t know what to say in response.

-

It takes them a week to figure out how to reverse it.

When they do, Tony, Jim’s Tony, stands in front of them, gray at his temples and in his goatee, a lifetime clouding his eyes, but still drowning in Jim’s old MIT hoodie.

“Tones?” he asks weakly.

“Hey, platypus. I think you’ve got something to tell me.”

“I hate you.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was the opposite,” Tony says, a smirk that looks more like a smile on his face.

And then he’s in Jim’s arms.

His Tony is in his arms.

Jim smiles.

Bruce only sees an equal in him; their minds attract each other like magnets. But magnets can repel each other, can become polar opposites so very easily, and as Tony starts pushing, Bruce lets himself be repelled, because it’s easier than answering Tony’s questions that strike too close. Bruce doesn’t know how he does it, how he can find someone’s heart in minutes, especially because Tony acts like he doesn’t understand people at all. It’s fascinating, and confusing, and not a magnet Bruce wants to draw in.

Clint thinks it’s all a show; Tony acts like the people he grew up around, performers who used flashy tricks to distract the audience from their real movements. Tony is a magician, Clint realizes, after he reviews the footage of the days he missed, and sees things no one else caught, sees the bugs he plants and the seeds he sows, because Tony was too busy distracting them all with his words.

He’s a myriad of things, a collection of lies and half-truths, and the Avengers don’t know what to do with him.

-

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do with you,” Tony hears, and he knows he’s covered in engine grease and that there’s probably some in his hair, but that’s not really the point. Then there’s arms wrapping around him, a chest pressing to his back, lips against his temple, the smell of jasmine lotion surrounding him, Rhodey slotting into place behind him.

It’s embarrassing how long it takes Tony’s brain to register the facts, and he turns around so quickly he gets whiplash.

“You’re home!”

“Clearly I’m less interesting than that engine that you’re working on.”

“I haven’t slept in two days,” Tony says, just to watch Rhodey get that crinkle in his brow. He kisses it. “I missed you.”

“Missed you too, genius.” Rhodey’s lips trail across the exposed skin of his shoulder. “You’re wearing my sweatshirt.”

“When am I not wearing your sweatshirt, honey bear?”

“When I’m taking it off of you,” Rhodey says, punctuating it with a bite.

“Oh, yeah, fair point–“

Rhodey cuts him off with a kiss.

-

Steve walks in on them first, in the kitchen, where Tony’s sitting on the counter with his legs crossed under him, drowning in clothes that are too big for him and mismatched socks, wearing a smile that’s as blinding as the sun.

He feels like it’s a moment that needs to be captured in time, but only for the two men in front of him, a moment that he wasn’t meant to see.

Tony doesn’t look anything like Howard as he draws Jim Rhodes into a kiss.

Steve leaves, and if he draws the smile on Tony’s face and gives the picture to Jim later, that’s between them.

-

Natasha finds them during movie night, when Tony’s sleeping on top of Jim Rhodes, head pillowed on his chest and arms wrapped around his waist, bare feet hanging out at the end of the blanket that covers them both. The movie plays as background noise; even Natasha can see that Jim’s only got eyes for Tony.

When she comes closer to pull the blanket over Tony’s feet and Jim mouths a silent thanks to her, she sees Tony’s face, half-pressed into Jim’s neck.

He looks content. No mirror to reflect what she wants to see, only glass to show her what Jim Rhodes always sees.

Jim’s gaze shifts to meet hers.

“Wanna watch?” he asks softly, motioning towards the T.V. with a brush of his hand across Tony’s back.

The offer is surprising, but what’s more surprising is when she sits down, and Jim lets her put Tony’s feet in her lap to keep the blanket from slipping off of them again.

Neither of them watch the movie much, and Natasha realizes, as Tony starts to stir, and is greeted with a soft kiss from Jim, that the mirror doesn’t need breaking to show her the real Tony Stark.

-

Bruce comes across them in Tony’s workshop, where Tony’s lying on his stomach across a workbench, focused on a holographic blueprint of the War Machine armor, arms and legs dangling off the edge of the bench like he’s a little kid. Jim Rhodes’ fingers are loosely entwined with Tony’s from where he sits on stool, looking at the same hologram but in a smaller size.

Before Bruce can say anything, Tony rolls off the bench with no verbal warning; Jim catches him anyway.

They stand up together, and then suddenly they’re working together in a seamless dance of passing parts and trading kisses, the moon orbiting the earth, or the earth orbiting the sun, and Bruce thinks that maybe he does want to draw in the magnet that is Tony Stark.

-

Clint’s the last person in the Tower to see them, and when he does, they find him, rather than the other way around.

He’s sitting on the roof, because open air clears the clutter in his mind, and he hears the door open behind him.

They don’t even notice him, too wrapped up in each other, Tony tugging Jim outside, his quips and tricks and words turned soft, and they’re met with a smile that’s just as soft. None of it is a show, not for Jim Rhodes.

Clint clears his throat.

“You two should get a room.”

“Christ, birdbrain, warn a guy!” Tony yelps. His hand doesn’t leave Jim’s, and his face doesn’t change, and Clint thinks that maybe the curtains have closed for real, and the show is over for the Avengers, too.

-

Tony Stark is still an enigma.

But now, the Avengers understand him a bit better.

They understand that he belongs to Jim, and that Jim belongs to him, and that they are each other’s. They understand that if they don’t try to learn who Tony is, it won’t work, because the only person who can know him without any effort is Jim Rhodes. They understand that Tony will be what they want to see, that he will be abrasive and sharp, that he will be polarizing, that he will put on a show, unless he is with Jim Rhodes. They understand that Tony is not what they thought.

It’s still terrifying.

But it’s terrifying because Tony’s love is terrifying, all-encompassing, and they’ve only experienced a fragment of it.

It’s a miracle, they think, that Jim Rhodes hasn’t burned up yet.

Stark is 16, and he already has a reputation, one that scares Jim.

“Oh my God, did you see how much he drank last night?” a girl says, eyes wide in a mockery of surprise.

“He never seems like he’s drunk, though,” her friend says.

Jim frowns.

“Maybe it runs in the family,” the first girl teases, and then they’re both laughing, walking in the other direction.

Jim frowns harder.

-

He goes to a party the next chance he gets.

Stark is there, in the center of it all, holding court like a prince standing on the backs of his adoring subjects. He’s sprawled across a sofa, legs draped across the lap of a girl whose hand is resting on the inside of his thigh, head in the lap of another girl whose lips are staining marks of red across his jaw.

Stark’s eyes are glazed, the smile he wears is taped on, and Jim realizes with a sinking feeling that it’s all a mask. A mask hastily built, a mask with cracks that Stark uses alcohol to fill, so that no one can see the emotions behind it.

Jim doesn’t know how, or why, but he can.

“A toast,” Stark slurs, raising the plastic cup in his hand, “To dear ol’ dad, who sent me to this lovely institution.”

A cheer goes up around the room.

Stark drinks.

Jim’s moving before he realizes, shoving his way past people, fighting to get to Stark, snapping sharply, “C’mon, Tony, let’s go.”

To his surprise, and fear, Stark gets up and takes his hand without second thought. Jim tries not to think about why.

When he takes Stark outside, the kid–because God, he’s just a kid–looks up at him with a raised brow and a smirk made of plaster. “We’re gonna do it outside? You’re into exhibitionist shit, huh?”

And then he’s on his knees in front of Jim, and Jim’s trying not to throw up.

“No–shit, no, please stand up, Stark–“

“What?”

It’s the confusion in his voice that finally does it, and Jim’s retching into the bushes that line the house behind them, coughing up bile.

He hears the clumsy motions of Stark getting to his feet, feels a small but calloused hand on his back, sees Stark’s face–eyes wide, lips parted in a small o, the face of a kid–and then throws up more bile onto the leaves.

“I’m sorry?” Stark offers quietly, and it’s so different from the brassy, loud, slurred voice of the prince Jim saw only minutes ago.

“How old are you?” Jim asks. It’s not what he meant to say, but as Stark’s eyes go a little wider, he knows he needs to know the answer, because it’s not 16.

“I’m almost 15.”

Jim tries not to throw up again.

-

He takes Stark back to his dorm, with its single bed and tiny cork board with pictures of Momma Robbie and Jeanie tacked up, with the single poster of a galaxy taped to his wall and the precarious stack of textbooks on his desk.

Stark drowns in his clothes, the knitted sweatshirt hanging off his shoulder, revealing a collarbone littered with hickeys, the sweatpants hanging low on his hips, showing bruises the shape of fingers pressed into tan skin.

“Why?”

The question rings out in the silent room.

“Why what?”

“Why are you being…like this?”

“Because you need this,” Jim says.

Stark just looks at him, his chest rising and falling with exaggerated slow breaths, his eyes blinking slowly, his hands clenched in fists at his sides.

“C’mon, get in bed.”

When Stark doesn’t move, Jim freezes.

“No, Stark–not like that. I’m not gonna do anything with you–to you. We’re not doing anything. You deserve a safe place to sleep. I’m gonna do homework, okay?”

“Okay,” Stark says quietly.

When he falls asleep, curled around the only pillow in Jim’s bed, he looks even younger.

Jim makes himself a promise.

A promise to protect Stark.

-

The next day, when he wakes up with his face pressed to the pages of his physics textbook, and his bed rumpled but empty, he realizes protection is not what Stark wants.

Too bad, Jim thinks. Too fucking bad.

-

It’s harder than he thinks to find Stark; even if the kid doesn’t attend classes, there aren’t parties during the day.

The whispers don’t tell him anything, and today, they’re about him.

“He went home with him, just like that–“

“Have you see him around before?”

“Stark just listened to him–“

Jim ignores them.

He goes to his classes, he takes notes, he tries to focus.

He also thinks about where Stark might be hiding.

-

He doesn’t have to think too hard; Stark’s sitting in his dorm when he gets back after his 5:00 lecture.

The door was locked, but Stark didn’t seem to have any difficulty with that.

“Hi,” Stark says.

“What the fuck,” Jim says back.

Stark shrugs. “You were nice to me. What do you want for it? Money? A reputation boost? We can pretend to fuck, if you don’t want to for real, just so that people think you got some.”

“What do I want for it?” Jim repeats.

“Yeah, payment.”

“I don’t want anything.”

“C’mon, everyone wants something,” Stark says, and the way his eyes avoid Jim’s, despite his casual pose and even more casual tone, tells Jim that he’s scared.

“I don’t want anything, Stark.”

It’s a lie; he wants to know who hurt Stark, he wants to give Stark a hug, he wants to protect Stark.

He also wants Stark to let him out of choice, rather than obligation.

“Okay,” Stark says.

Okay, Jim thinks.

What he says is, “You can stay while I do my homework, if you want.”

“I talk a lot,” Stark tells him. “I’ll bother you.”

“I have a little sister, you can’t be worse than her.”

“Oh.”

So Stark stays.

-

“What’s your name?”

“Jim.”

“Oh, that won’t do at all. What’s the rest of it?”

“James Rupert Rhodes?”

“Rupert?”

“Don’t start with me, Stark–“

“Tony. My name’s Tony.”

“And my name’s Jim.”

“Not anymore, it’s not. You’re Rhodey now.”

-

“What are you doing?”

“Physics.”

“No shit, Sherlock, I meant the equation. You calculated wrong.”

“I did not.”

“Put it in the calculator, it’s not 6.78, it’s 6.57.”

“You did that in your head?”

“I’m not just a pretty face.”

-

“How old’s your sister?”

“She’s 10, but she’s 7 in that picture.”

“That’s your mom?”

“Yeah, I took that picture of them at the lake near our house.”

“She…she looks nice.”

“She’d like you.”

-

“What’s your major?”

“Aerospace Engineering, so yeah, I’m a rocket scientist.”

“Damn, how’d you know what I was gonna say?”

“You’re predictable, Tones.”

“Tones?”

“Well, if you’re allowed to give me a nickname, shouldn’t the favor be returned?”

“I…yeah.”

-

So Jim becomes Rhodey, and Stark becomes Tony, and sometimes Tones.

-

Rhodey realizes a few months in that Tony doesn’t need protection.

Tony knows how to protect himself, with a sharp quip or an even sharper smile.

What Tony needs is love.

So Rhodey makes a new promise.

-

After Rhodey has to drag Tony out of another party, after slurred words become quiet apologies, after Tony falls asleep in his bed again, Rhodey calls his momma.

She tells him to bring Tony home for Christmas break.

-

In Rhodey’s eyes, Tony’s never looked more alive than when Momma Robbie convinced him to play Scrabble with her and Jeanie.

-

“That boy needs love, James,” Momma Robbie tells him, a mug of tea cradled in her hands.

“I know, momma.”

“You gonna make sure he gets it?”

“Pretty sure I already am.”

-

When the clock strikes twelve on New Years, Tony tries to kiss him.

They’re on the roof, the stars above them reflecting in Tony’s eyes, and Tony tries to kiss him.

“No, Tones,” Rhodey says softly. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I love you.”

“Just not like that?”

Tony’s voice is broken glass, slowly tearing Rhodey’s heart to pieces.

The lie is a knife to the chest.

“Just not like that.”

Tony nods quietly.

They don’t share a bed that night.

-

When they get back from break, after a silent car ride, Tony asks suddenly, “Wanna see my workshop?”

It would’ve been simpler to ask if Rhodey wanted to see his heart.

There’s no other to answer to give than yes.

-

It’s a beautiful mess of chaos, the only description befitting the place where Tony breathes life into wires and gears and lines of numbers.

Rhodey doesn’t know what to say other than, “Thank you, Tones.”

Tony hugs him for an hour, and then spends three more showing him each idea, and then uses another two to get lost in a new project.

Rhodey realizes that this is where Tony truly comes alive.

He’s a kid in a candy store, a bird taking flight, a genius at work.

And he’s beautiful.

The knife, the lie, digs harder into Rhodey’s chest.

-

Tony has bad weeks, and worse weeks, where Rhodey doesn’t see him for days, but it’s okay.

It’s okay, because Tony always comes back.

-

Rhodey learns about Howard during a bad week, and about Jarvis on a good one.

He learns about Maria on a good week, and about Ana on a bad one.

Tony brings him pieces, and Rhodey starts to build the puzzle.

Some pieces are missing, and will probably always be missing, but it’s okay.

Rhodey will love him no matter what.

And slowly, Tony is starting to believe that. Rhodey can see it in his eyes, in the way his mask comes off, in the way the cracks become windows for Rhodey to look through.

-

The summer is long. Tony calls him some weeks, emails other weeks, doesn’t talk at all for most of them.

The worst part is not knowing if he’s okay.

But Rhodey takes what he can get, and gives as much as Tony will take.

-

When they get back to school, there are fresh bruises on Tony’s arms. Rhodey gives him a new sweater from Momma Robbie and Tony wears it like its armor.

They get a dorm together, officially, and most nights, Tony ends up in Rhodey’s bed, in Rhodey’s arms.

Watching him wake up is the best part of Rhodey’s day.

It’s hard, to keep lying, but Tony’s still just a kid, and Rhodey won’t be another person to use him.

So he loves him in the ways he can, and it’s enough, because it has to be.

-

The whispers are constant, always talking about them, but this time, Rhodey truly doesn’t care.

He knows better than the lies they spread.

-

“Rhodey–Rhodey, wake up,” Tony whispers against his chest.

Rhodey grunts. “‘m sleeping.”

“It’s raining.”

“So?”

“I wanna go outside.”

It’s the look in his eyes that does it, the wonder. Rhodey’s on his feet before he even realizes it. “Okay, Tones.”

They dance in the rain on the roof, and Tony laughs, and Rhodey looks at him, and sees nothing but happiness, and feels nothing but love.

-

Rhodey kisses Tony on his 18th birthday.

Maybe it’s wrong, but the way Tony laughs against his lips and twines his arms around his neck is nothing but right.

“I thought–“

“I lied, genius, I had to,” Rhodey whispers, ready to let go, but Tony just holds him tighter.

“Thank you.”

“For lying?”

-

They have to hide it, for too many reasons to count.

Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, Stark Industries, the press…

It’s easier to hide it.

That doesn’t mean it’s not hard, but when Rhodey wakes up to his husband in his arms, and when Tony comes home to his husband trying to cook, and when the world falls away when they’re together, it doesn’t feel hard.

-

And then they lose each other.

-

Rhodey loses Tony to the desert, to the unknown, and he has to grieve not as a husband, but as a friend.

He doesn’t give up his search, no matter what his C.O. tells him, no matter what Obidiah tells him.

“Jim,” they both say, “He’s gone.”

No, Rhodey’s heart tells him. He’s not.

-

Tony loses Rhodey to the same men who took him, to monsters, and he can’t grieve at all.

“No survivors,” Yinsen translates one day.

Something breaks inside Tony.

He doesn’t give up his plan, because if there’s even a chance, he has to take it.

There’s a chance, he thinks. There’s a chance.

-

“Tony!” Rhodey screams, the desert wind ripping his voice away.

Tony stumbles towards him, a bloody mess of torn clothing and bruised skin and broken bones, but oh, so very alive.

They crash into each other like colliding stars.

“Hey,” Tony mumbles.

Rhodey almost collapses with relief, but he’s too busy holding Tony up to fall. “How was the fun-vee?”

Tony laughs, and it’s weak and raw and quiet, but it’s beautiful.

“Yeah, next time you ride with me, okay?”

“Okay, platypus.”

-

They fight about the suit, because Rhodey can’t lose Tony again and Tony can’t hurt people anymore.

They come to an agreement when Tony builds a second suit.

-

“But the truth is…I am Iron Man,” Tony says, and changes everything.

Rhodey’s never been prouder of him.

-

And then it all happens too fast.

Rhodey doesn’t know Tony’s dying until after he’s cured.

“You should’ve told me,” he growls, buried deep inside his husband.

“I didn’t want to say goodbye,” Tony whispers, skin soaked with sweat and face soaked with tears.

Rhodey kisses him like it’s his last night on Earth, because it isn’t anymore.

-

Tony wants to join the Avengers, the team that Nick Fury’s putting together.

Rhodey doesn’t trust a word they say, not after Rushman says volatile, self-obsessed, doesn’t play well with others, because Tony isn’t any of those things.

But he’s never been able to stop Tony from doing anything.

He can only be there to catch him after it all, inevitably, goes to shit.

-

And it does go to shit.

Phil Coulson is the one to tell them that Captain America was found, dug out of the Arctic inside the same plane he flew into it with.

Tony doesn’t want to process it. Rhodey makes sure he does.

“It doesn’t seem real–he isn’t real. He’s never been real, Rhodey, he was always–he’s not–“

“He was the thing that kept Howard from loving you,” Rhodey says, because it’s the truth, and Tony needs the truth.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

Rhodey holds him while he cries.

-

When Norse gods attack, because that’s what their lives are now, Tony goes. Rhodey doesn’t. He regrets it, later.

-

Fighting next to Captain America is younger Tony’s dream come true.

Now, it feels more like a nightmare.

-

Tony knows Rhodey doesn’t trust SHIELD.

So, he lets JARVIS take care of it, an easy quip sliding off his tongue and the hacking implant finding its place on the underside of a monitor.  

-

“When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?” an agent asks.

“Last night,” Tony says, shrugging.

Captain America’s eyes, Steve’s eyes, slide to him.

-

Tony likes to play with fire, or that’s what he’ll let them think, as he pushes Bruce over and over again.

What he really knows is what it’s like to have something that steals away his freedom living inside him.

“Hey!” Steve snaps. “Are you nuts?”

Possibly, Tony thinks, but instead of saying it, he keeps pushing Bruce.

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“Funny things are.”

Steve stares at him.

Tony banters with him, because Rhodey isn’t there to stop him.

-

“Big man in a suit of armor,” Steve spits, eyes blue as glass and twice as sharp. “Take that off, what are you?”

A husband. A mechanic. A man.  

“Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist,” Tony bites back, the words slipping from his tongue far too easy for half of them to be lies.

Steve scoffs. “I know guys with none of that worth ten of you.”

The worst part of it is that it’s true, despite what Rhodey says.

“And I’ve seen the footage. The only thing you really fight for is yourself.”

And doesn’t that just cut, because no, Tony fights for Yinsen, for Rhodey, for the people his weapons killed.

“You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on the wire and let the other guy crawl over you–“

“I think I would just cut the wire.”

Because it’s easier to find a solution where he doesn’t have to die, where he doesn’t have to leave Rhodey alone.

“Always a way out. You know, you may not be a threat, but you better stop pretending to be a hero.”

“A hero? Like you?” And it’s from years of Howard, years of you’ll never be like him, years of he was my best creation and you’re nothing but a boy, that give him the courage, or the resentment, to speak. “You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came out of a bottle.”

A bottle with a serum that Howard helped stabilize.

Steve doesn’t look away, so Tony doesn’t either, because Rhodey isn’t there to change his gaze.

-

It hurts, when they lose Coulson, but not as much as it hurts when Fury tries to use it to manipulate them.

Tony leaves before he finishes talking.

-

Steve finds him.

Tony lets him talk, says what he wants to hear, until Steve asks, “Is this the first time you’ve lost a soldier?”

It hits too close to home, and Tony aches for Rhodey.

-

Fury’s manipulation works. The Avengers assemble, a colorful team of people more broken than anything else.

Tony talks to Loki; showman to showman.

The entire time, his mind is on Rhodey.

Tony doesn’t know whether to be grateful he isn’t there, or fear that he doesn’t know where he is.  

-

And then it all happens too fast again.

Tony’s flying into the wormhole before he knows it, because what he does know is that Rhodey’s already on his way to New York, knows that the second aliens appeared in the sky, Rhodey was in his suit, and this is the only choice to make. No more cutting the wire.

“Calling Colonel Rhodes,” JARVIS says.

Tony doesn’t take his eyes off the icon of Rhodey’s face as it rings, and rings, and goes silent.

And then everything goes silent.

-

Rhodey sees Tony falling, sees his husband falling, and then he catches him, like he knew he’d have to.

Tony wakes up with his head in Rhodey’s lap.

“Hey,” he says, trying to keep his voice from breaking.

“You idiot,” Rhodey says, and his voice does break.

“Did we win?”

“You almost died.”

“Yeah, but did we win?”

“I’m gonna kill you so bad, you promised–“

“I love you too, honey bear.”

He turns the corner into the Gas-N-Sip, his grip on the wheel tight enough that he feels the rubber indents forming marks against his palm, red lines that will still be there when he lets go. He tries to stop himself from grasping harder.

“You fill the tank, I’ll get somethin’ to eat?” 

Sam nods, and Dean doesn’t have to turn to look at him to know that his brother’s brow is furrowed, lips pursed, like he’s trying not to say anything, head tilted slightly to the side—

Dean gets out of the car. 

The door to the Gas-N-Sip lets out a programmed bell sound as he walks in—artificial—and the employee at the register barely looks up, a blue vest the only thing Dean pays attention to before he heads straight towards the back, where he knows there’s another door that lets out into a parking lot. It’s all cracked pavement and shattered glass bottles, a half-empty Dumpster that’s balanced precariously on three of its four wheels, folded cardboard boxes wrinkled from the light misting of rain that Dean feels against his cheeks, messy graffiti in bright blue paint on one wall that looks almost like a sigil if he stares at it for too long—

The church is across the street. 

It feels like it takes hours to cross it. 

All three doors are locked, predictably, which he should’ve expected when he came across the boards across half the windows, and only one isn’t dead-bolted, luckily the one on the opposite side from Sam, who’s leaning against Baby and checking his phone when Dean glances over. He’s still got time. 

It’s not until it takes him four tries to pick the lock that Dean realizes his hands are shaking, the metal picks rattling against the keyhole loud enough that it’s hard for him to hear his own breathing, already so faint that the sound of the wind swallows it with one gust. A raindrop lands on his hand, and he finally hears the pins click open, the doorknob turning easily when he tries it this time. He doesn’t bother pulling out the kit from his jacket to put his pins away, barely remembers getting it out in the first place, just shoves them into the back pocket of his jeans to get them out of his mind, to get everything out of his mind but one thing—

The darkness inside the church is suffocating. A stained glass window above the pulpit is the only source of light, its colors dimmed with the gray light from outside, and Dean hears himself huff in what he’s trying to make amusement, what should be amusement, but can only be sardonic, before he realizes it. 

There’s a creaking sound when he sits down in the first pew his hand brushes, and that too gets a huff, some type of forced humor, because he has to find it somewhere, doesn’t he? 

The noises feel thunderous in the empty room. 

And when Dean starts to speak, it’s a hurricane; a torrent of words that echo louder than each raindrop on the roof, his bowed head the only shelter from the storm his voice creates. 

“Cas? You got your ears on?” 

The rain gets heavier against the roof. 

“I—I don’t know—I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I didn’t think—why would you do that? For me, why would you do that for me? You stupid son of a bitch, how could you think—how could you leave us? No—no. How could you leave me? I don’t—you can’t keep sacrificing yourself to save me, you asshole, I can only get you back so many times. Because I’m getting you back, I’m gonna get you back, man. I’m coming to get you, I always will. But you just—you have to stop pulling this shit. I need you—I want you. I can’t live without you, you fucking—“ 

His voice doesn’t just break, it shatters. Like glass, like ice, frozen water; his words have frozen up, the rain has come to an end, and he doesn’t know what to say anymore, the tears on his cheeks drying up any words he had left. 

When he licks his lips, he tastes salt. 

He raps his knuckles against the bench, clears his throat, forces a word out, any word, because he can’t just leave it there. “Yeah. Yeah. Okay. I’m coming to get you. I’ll see you soon, Cas. And I—I’ll tell you when I see you.” 

I love you. 

The words hang in the air. His promise, his declaration, his vow. 

“Wait for me, okay, Cas? I’ve got you. Uh—Castiel.” 

Adding his angel’s name feels like an old habit, like it’s ten years ago again, before the first time he lost Cas, and it almost feels wrong in his mouth; it’s not who Cas is anymore. 

You changed me. 

“Cas,” he whispers. “Cas.” 

It’s all he can say, anymore. 

When he stands up, his eyes find the window. It’s a kaleidoscope of colors, and he can’t make out the design, but he’s drawn to the blue triangles around the edge, of course he is, a geometric pattern that doesn’t hurt like the blue of every sign before; it’s a reminder of his promise, a reminder of his angel, and a reassurance, almost, as the sun breaks through the clouds, and he sees those same triangles reflected on the wall behind him, almost as bright, almost as blue, as Cas’s eyes. 

And Dean lets himself smile through his tears.