Tony jolts awake, gasping, heart pounding against his ribs as he yanks off the blankets on top of him, releasing the glow of his arc reactor into the darkness.
Just a nightmare, he thinks, fingers digging into the metal on his chest. It’s a nightmare, not real. It’s fine. Any second now, Steve will say something, or ask to hug him, or sing, if he’s not too groggy. Steve is always awake, he’ll—he’ll—
Tony throws his legs to the side and grips the edge of the bed, willing his racing heart to calm. The cool, marble floor against his bare feet helps, at least, and he curls his toes, squeezing his eyes shut.
One, he counts in his head.
He exhales, trying to push through the whirling, panicked thoughts in his mind, then musters the energy to turn around, because why isn’t Steve—
The other side of the bed is empty.
“Captain Rogers is out on the balcony, Sir,” JARVIS says before he finishes. Tony jumps at the interruption, then realizes that… it’s not right. Why is Steve outside? At—Tony glances at the alarm clock on the nightstand—three in the morning?
He pushes off the bed, legs still shaking, and makes his way to the balcony. Almost immediately, he spots Steve, having wedged himself into a corner, knees pulled to his chest, and that sets off alarm bells in Tony’s head.
“Steve? Oh my—” Tony rushes forward and crouches down beside him, worry squeezing at his chest. “Steve, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”
Steve has his head lowered, so the last thing Tony expects to hear is a low, choked sob, followed by many frantic attempts at apologizing.
“I’m sorry,” Steve gasps, rocking back and forth. “I’m—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—I couldn’t—I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Tony, I swear I didn’t—I’m—”
“Hey, hey, no,” Tony weaves his fingers through Steve’s hand and grips it tightly. “Shh, you need to calm down first, sweetheart. Calm down.”
Steve shakes his head, and Tony’s heart clenches when he catches his red-rimmed eyes in the moonlight.
“You,” Steve swallows, “you were having a nightmare, and—I couldn’t—I’d just woken up from my own and in it you were—” he chokes off, swallows again, and continues, “It doesn’t matter. I swear they’ve never been this bad before. Usually—usually I can just push it all down and convince myself it’s okay.”
Tony squeezes his hand. “You don’t have to,” he murmurs. “You know that, right?”
Steve shakes his head harder and pulls his hand away from Tony’s, burying it in his own messy, sweat-drenched hair instead. “You were shaking—I could feel you, Tony. And I know I wasn’t supposed to wake you up because we-we talked about it but I wanted to.”
Tony reaches out and slowly drags a thumb across Steve’s collarbone, soothing, but the latter is too worked up to notice.
“I knew I had to do something, comfort you, but I couldn’t and—and I was stuck. I couldn’t think or move and I didn’t know what to do so I panicked.” The desperation and exhaustion he must be feeling leaks into his voice, and Tony lets his hand slide down to Steve’s chest, spreading his palm. Steve is scared and panicking, and he knows all about what that feels like.
“I was just,” Steve plows on, “I was just lying there like a useless, helpless… I should’ve been better, more in control, I know I wouldn’t have—I wouldn’t—I shouldn’t have let some stupid, stupid bad dream get to me, I—” he hiccups and pulls at his hair in frustration, air caught in his throat, and Tony shushes him.
“Okay—hey, listen to me, okay?” Tony lets his hand stay spread over Steve’s chest and reaches up with the other, gently pulling Steve’s tight-wound fingers from his hair.
“Just because you had one completely justified reaction to one completely normal occurrence does not make you weak, or useless. Steve, you’ve been through so damn much, far more than the average person could even hope to comprehend. You need to let yourself breathe, yeah? We’ve talked about this. You don’t need to shove it all away and pretend you’re okay when you’re not.”
Steve’s face twists at his words, and Tony brushes his knuckles against his cheek as tears drip down Steve’s chin and onto his shirt.
“You can let me be the one to take care of you sometimes,” Tony continues. “No one’s asking you to be perfect. Not the world, not the team, and especially not me; and if they do, that’s on them.”
Steve nods jerkily and looks up at him, and, god, only Steve will say this in the midst of his own anxiety attack. “Are you okay?” he asks, voice small. “You were having a nightmare too and I was—”
Tony takes his hand and squeezes it. “I’m okay, I promise,” he says firmly. His heart is still beating too fast, his hands a little shaky. But tonight, Steve needs him, and Tony knows he can be strong—not so he can put up a front, but because Steve is the one who hasn’t let himself fall apart in a long time. “I’m okay because I see you here and I know everyone I care about is safe, that I’m safe. Sweetheart, the question is,” he says, “are you okay?”
Steve hesitates at the question, and Tony sees the moment he finally decides to be honest, slowly shaking his head. “No,” he croaks.
“That’s all right,” Tony says, as gently as he can, and pulls Steve into his arms. Steve goes to him willingly, clinging to Tony as if tonight, his life depends on it.
And it’s not easy at all, having to be the one to hold Steve as his body wracks with anguished sobs, to know so intimately the shame and guilt he’s feeling simply for being human. It’s not easy to be the anchor, but Tony knows being someone who has to maintain an image put on a pedestal too high can’t be any easier. It’s not easy for either of them, as superheroes, to live the life they really want to live.
Tony has been on the other end of this scenario too many times to count, thickness clogging his throat and chest heaving as his nails dug into Steve’s back, the feeling of dust and dirt in his eyes refusing to go away. Steve has never complained, never said or done anything to make him feel more pathetic than he did. Tony has to do the same for him, now. He’s determined to.
“Shh,” he murmurs, lips against Steve’s hair, hand stroking his back soothingly, the other smoothing down his damp hair as he rocks the two of them lightly.
Steve’s hands clutch at the back of his shirt, violently shaking, choking on desperate noises, nose running, and it hurts, it hurts Tony to see him like this, to feel Steve shuddering against him, so thoroughly stripped of the walls he still puts up every day.
“I’m here,” Tony says, kissing Steve’s forehead over and over again, repeating soothing nothings into his ear until he feels the tremors against his skin cease, until Steve’s loud gasping lessens, leaving soft, uneven breaths in their place.
“That’s it.” Tony runs his fingers through Steve’s hair. “That’s it. Breathe.”
Steve obliges, breathing through the remainder of his sobs, and Tony holds him patiently until he feels Steve finally press a small kiss to his neck in return.
Steve doesn’t reply, but Tony doesn’t hold it against him. He doubts he’s in the state to say anything at the moment.
“I love you, I’m here.” Tony squeezes Steve’s torso reassuringly. It helps, the intimacy. He’d just woken up from his own nightmare, after all, and knowing Steve is real and safe, although hurting, is comforting.
They stay tangled in each other’s arms for a long, long time, until Tony’s limbs start to feel stiff from being in the same position for too long and his legs start to go numb. He tugs Steve back to bed, tucking Steve’s legs above his and leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Steve is silent for the rest of the night, but Tony understands. He feels like that too, sometimes, like the world is gripping his throat and refusing to let him breathe, like the air itself is closing in on him until all he can is stay mute for hours upon hours until the pressure leaves his chest and he can finally open his mouth again.
“I love you,” he says, and the words hang quietly in the air.
Steve doesn’t speak, but the small squeeze Tony feels on his hand says enough.
