#strkirn

STARK  HAS  DONE  ENOUGH  IN  HIS  LIFE  TO  BE  BLAMED  FOR.  mistakes  he  has  made.  situations  he’s  gotten  himself  into.  reckless  behavior  because  he  couldn’t  say  no  which  ended  in  loss  of  life  and  so  much  guilt  and  blame.  trying  to  convey  that  to  a  soldier.  to  a  superhero  and  friend,  is  hard.  tony  doesn’t  think  steve  is  really  listening  to  what  he  is  saying.  stark  has  spent  so  much  time  blaming  himself  for  the  sins  he  has  done  that  he  refuses  to  allow  himself  to  ever  blame  himself  for  things  that  were  out  of  his  control.  it’d  been  a  hard  lesson  to  learn,  but  tony  finally  had  reached  that  point.

“a  minute  doesn’t  matter,  steve.”  harsh  words.  he  should  tread  lightly.  “try  as  we  might,  we  can’t  change  the  past.”  though  the  avengers  had  tried  before.  “we  came  here  to  do  a  mission  and  that  is  the  important  part.  her  life  was  valued  but  we  can’t  change  what  happened.  you  can’t  tell  thor  to  fly  faster  or  hulk  to  smash  harder  or  you  to  punch  quicker.  we  give  everything  we  have  and  to  the  best  of  our  abilities.  we’ve  had  the  hard  lesson  that  we’re  not  perfect  and  invincible.  to  some  degree,  we’re  all  human.  humans  are  flawed.”  maybe  this  isn’t  the  best  speech  but  tony  in  unsure  of  what  else  to  say.  “don’t  blame  yourself  for  a  situation  you  had  no  control  over.”

There's a weight to the soldier that is hard to dispel. Even if they're not —— mistakes, not exactly, the perceived failure still rests heavily upon his shoulders.  He's listening, maybe, but not really HEARING.

It's not a crushing weight. It can't be, for him. He's gotta pick himself up, again and again, weight of losses heavy upon him —— and MOVE FORWARD. Because he can't stop. And he can be rattled, he can be shaken, but he has to believe that they’re making a difference.

❛ You don't know that. ❜ A flash of stubbornness, weary and frustrated, to the notion of a minute not making a difference, and he tosses the gloves down in a chair. It's a light toss, though, no anger behind it, no force. He glances upward to the lights overheard as though seeking answer, and takes a breath and lets his eyes fall after a moment, arms crossing over his chest.  

       “You know me so well.  Have we met before?”

Tony gently places markers on Stephen'a hands. Brow creases in concentration before he is pleased with his work. Satisfied, Tony moves back to start scanning and rendering a 3D model of Stephen's hands so he can start working on the gloves.

                                                   ---𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐘 𝐅𝐎𝐑 @strkirn​

❝ YOU REALLY DON'T   have to do this, Tony, ❞ he says, watching the bones and ligaments of his shattered hands appear in midair. Stephen is clearly uncomfortable even as his gaze remains trained upon the models, because how long has it been since he's exposed his hands like this ? Oh, he can hold his lover's hand just fine. In bed, on the couch, nothing mattered so long as they were alone. But this felt far too much like another surgical procedure. Another ray of hope.

Another failure.

And yet of course he stays. Because he trusts him. Because he loves him, and what was this compared to time spent together, really ? They only had so much time before their peaceful little bubble was interrupted yet again.

❛ I’M KILLING SOMEONE, HOLD PLEASE. ❜ // @strkirn .

“C'MON, STARK” --------------------------- She can feel her brows PINCH as her fingers come up on either side of the BRIDGE OF HER NOSE. It doesn’t matter that she can SEE what’s currently going on down there on the array in front of her, or that she can hear it in between the ENERGY BLASTS that pepper this more or less one - sided conversation. 

       “You’re gonna put me on hold? Really?” At least the less - than - amused SIGH into her headset can be mistaken for extra STATIC over the comm if she gets called out for it. 

Steve had come across only a few people since the world got sick. Most people “died” right away, more came later as victims of the undead. The majority of people who survived this long were enhanced in some way, like himself. There were a fair bit of un-enhanced living here and there, but they kept to themselves, hiding away for their own safety. Be good to thy neighbor hadn’t gotten much use in the apocalypse.

Still, he didn’t mind being alone. Steve was used to being alone, ever since his time as a kid too sick to go outside. And while he was a personable guy, liked to make friends, but he knew how to stick it out on his own. Every so often he felt the loneliness, got the urge to talk to someone, or even just sit close. But allies were hard to find and harder to keep, so he powered through.

Currently he was traveling through the city, searching for places that hadn’t been ransacked yet. He wasn’t having much luck, but he still had about a week’s worth of rations in his pack, so he wasn’t too worried just yet. As he was bent over searching through some boxes on the side of the road, he heard the tell-tale scrape of footsteps, the rustle of clothing and bags. Jerking back upright, hand going to his shield just in case- Steve froze when he saw who it was.

   ❛ ALMOST IS NOT DID, ❜ the Stormbringer gasps,  hissing a breath out from between clenched teeth and spitting blood.   One hand splays against the grit underfoot; around them,  ash and debris still float down, down. His intervention had been CRITICAL; a last-ditch effort as things almost fell out of their CONTROL. Even gods cannot take explosions to the face and come out entirely unharmed.

   One hand reaches, GRIPS the sleek iron of his companion's armor: a silent request to HELP HIM UP.   ❛  I will be fine. I am MOSTLY in one piece. ❜   He GRINS,  the reckless bastard.   ❛ But it WORKED, did it not? ❜