reframe the future.

Steve caught Tony’s hand and pulled him closer. Tony inhaled – because of the proximity, because of the spark of pain from the pressure of Steve’s thumb against the cut on his palm, because Steve’s eyes seemed greener up close.

“One hour,” Tony echoed, almost dismayed and almost outraged. One hour? Why one hour? What was the point of that hour? Why couldn’t they just –

“Tony.”

Obie’s voice came from behind. Tony pulled his hand and himself away from Steve before glancing over his shoulder. Not a good idea: he locked eyes with Obie, so there was no pretending he hadn’t heard anything. Tony returned his attention to Steve with a dramatic eye roll.

“I’m known for always being fashionably late. Wait for me,” Tony said. He smiled at Steve and he winked and he turned and he walked away and he saw Obie again and One hour, he prayed. One hour.

Keep reading

“Wait for me,” Tony said, and Steve thought maybe his heart skipped. He unabashedly watched Tony rejoin Stane until a private room swallowed them up, and then he bounded up the grand staircase three steps at a time back to the main deck. The four-man room was, mercifully empty, and he stripped out of the stifling tux and back into his earlier, considerably more comfortable outfit selection. Then he was back out the door, tux tucked over his arm, as he made a detour to the Carters’ room before eventually taking up sentry at the clock.

Steve had cut it pretty close; only a few minutes later, Tony reappeared, still dressed to the nines.

“I want to go to Coney Island the second this thing docks,” Tony said. “I want to.”

Steve grinned. Tony was smiling, too.

“Are you taking me somewhere or aren’t you?”

“Apparently, to Coney Island,” Steve said. He quashed the urge to offer his hand to Tony, but he did take a step closer.

“But first – you wanna go to a real party?”

As Steve led Tony out of the gilded sanctum of the rich and down into steerage, he briefly considered asking Tony if he wanted a minute to change clothes, but – hell, Tony had had an hour, and for Steve’s part, he couldn’t deny that he was a little too antsy to get downstairs to risk running into Stane again.

Oh, plus the look on Bucky’s face when Steve actually showed up with Tony Stark was gonna be rich.

Steve paused at the top of a flight of stairs. Banjo music and raucous voices spilled from the stairway, and Steve, now well out of sight of anyone Tony could possibly know, offered Tony his hand.

“It’s gonna be loud, hot, and humid.,” Steve said unnecessarily. “You ready?”

Turned out Bucky gave exactly zero rats’ asses about who Steve had brought to the party, because he was already too toasted and too busy wooing a Russian redhead to bust Steve’s balls. That suited Steve fine, as he was working on his third pint of beer and watching Tony dance with a young Polish girl who’d taken a shine to Tony as soon as she’d caught sight of him. They were a sight to see, especially during a ballad when Tony had let her stand on his undoubtedly expensive shoes as they swayed together, and Steve smiled into his beer even as his heart seemed to somersault in his chest. 

Maybe he was in a little deeper than he’d anticipated.

He finished his pint just as the current jig ended and knelt next to Mari.

“Mind if I cut in?” he asked her, or hoped he did, in rusty Polish. She must have gotten the gist because she pouted and turned her doleful eyes up to Tony.

“I’ll give him back,” Steve promised with a warm laugh. Mari’s mother waved for Mari to join her at the table as Steve stood, and he leaned in toward Tony.

”I had an excellent partner,” Tony said, offering young Mari a final bow of his head before she skipped away to join her mother. He then returned his attention to Steve, proudly inching his chin upward. “But, yes. Thank you.”

In all fairness, if he seemed like a “natural” it was only after years learning from professionals. His awareness of fencing footwork may be the only thing that really set his dancing apart. Still, he allowed himself a smug half-smile as he took Steve’s hand and waist and took the lead of the dance. Steve had had plenty of opportunities to charm Tony, and if this was Tony’s opportunity to pay him back in kind, then he was going to make the most of it.

Steve knew enough to keep up with Tony, at least enough to allow Tony to look at Steve’s face rather than their feet. His eyes seemed even bluer somehow, under the bright and hot yellow lights. His skin was flushed red from the heat and humidity. Tony had gotten rid of his jacket and gloves earlier, as well as folded his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, but he still felt his hands sweating against Steve’s. He wasn’t entirely sure the heat was entirely to blame for that.

Tony eventually blinked his gaze away from Steve’s eyes. It dropped to Steve’s lips, and then back to his eyes, and then he hesitated long enough to ask himself what on Earth he thought he was doing. He swallowed back an enticing thought he had, hoping that his skin had already been sufficiently flushed from sweat to keep him from blushing too noticeably now.

Tony didn’t need any of JARVIS’ sensors to tell him that if he didn’t get his breathing and his heart rate back under control soon, his own body and mind might end up betraying him. Worrying about Steve’s physical state wasn’t doing him or Steve any good, but it was impossible for him not to notice how much of Steve’s weight he seemed to be carrying. Lung damage, secondary drowning, and an endless variety of possible internal injuries were all things that could claim Steve’s life unannounced if he didn’t get medical attention soon.

It was a good thing that Steve was there now, at least, because the very physical weight of this responsibility was probably the only thing keeping Tony from melting into a tight, shapeless bubble of sweat, shallow breathing, and Oh God, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?

Steve faltered by half a step and for a split second Tony feared the worst without even fully conceptualizing what “the worst” could be at the moment. What he found instead was Steve’s steady gaze, which he followed until he was looking at the secure access panel of a particularly sophisticated door.

”I had totally seen that,” Tony said as he knelt down by the door. He meant to sound proud and snarky but would have to settle for the wobbly, nervous playfulness that came out instead. “I was just testing how sharp you are. Bust this thing open with the shield,” he nodded to the electrical control panel, which was bolted shut. “And when you’re covering me, remember our legs are of at least some value as well.”

Steve laughed roughly as he pressed the button on his wrist that brought the hard light shield to bare. Tony was such a shithead, and all Steve had the higher-level cognition to think was God I love him. Felt almost right.

“Did I pass?”

Then he pulled back and dropped the shield as hard as he could on the control panel only for it to get stuck there. He swallowed a grunt as the shock of the impact rocketed up his arm and into his skull – effectively shoving all non-essential thought aside – turned the shield off to free it, and then switched it back on to give it another go.

“Mmngh. Don’t answer that.”

He went in for another swing, and this time he got half of the panel peeled back. From here, he’d have to pry it off manually unless Tony gave him the go-ahead to smash the circuitry inside, lest he lock them both out with a stray blow from the shield – so took hold of the twisted metal and started to slowly (and a little painfully without his gloves) pull it down and away from the important shit underneath.

“When we get home,” Steve started to say, then was cut short by an unsettling uproar down the corridor. He was pretty sure he knew what he’d see if he looked, so he doubled-down on his efforts and looked to Tony instead.

“I got your gams, Tony.”

Steve’s shield got stuck halfway down the panel. Tony scrunched up his face with an internal ouch, then tilted his head lightly to the side, narrowing his eyes in mock criticism.

”Meh. Depends on how you score on your finals —”

”Mmmnngh. Don’t answer that.”

A healthy Steve wouldn’t have needed to put so much effort into this task.

”I was kidding. You’re fine.” Tony swallowed. Whatever sound his reply had made got lost as Steve dropped his shield onto metal again. He didn’t try to make himself heard.

You just need, like, a dozen fruit smoothies. You’re fine.

You’re fine—

Tony’s eyes could barely keep up when Steve yanked the panel out of the wall and sent it flying to an incoming Raft guard. “Solid C+,” he conceded, even though Steve probably wouldn’t hear that either. With one last lingering look at Steve over his shoulder, Tony lowered himself to one knee so he could work on the circuitry at eye-level.

He didn’t have any way at hand to remotely connect with Raft electronics, no projected maps or countdowns. Just his head and his hands and Steve behind him, and for a moment, he felt like himself again.

A loud bang next to Tony startled him to a loud gasp. A dent on the wall, and blood on his right arm — he’d just been grazed by a bullet that ricocheted off the wall. He looked over his shoulder. There was more gun fire. Tony fell back, stood up, and faced the direction opposite to Steve’s. Guards were coming from that side too. Armed. They hadn’t gone so hard with their fire until now.

Had any kill orders been issued?

Despite whatever fight Tony could put up, he and Steve were soon back against back and surrounded. Tony pulled hard on the hem of Steve’s shirt, to get his attention and make sure he’d realize that there were about twelve more guns around them than they could handle alone on a good day, so the time for brusque movements was over.

The guards started to bark their orders - “surrender” and “hands in the air” and things like that, probably. Tony couldn’t properly make out any sounds beyond his own heartbeat. He hadn’t let go of Steve’s shirt. He’d assumed that the wetness on it was sweat, but now it felt thicker and slimier and warmer. It was blood. It was a lot of blood, maybe from a bullet wound somewhere.

“You see, I don’t want to fight.”

Stephen’s eyes nearly rolled out of his head. “Mhm, Clearly,” he scoffed, gesturing lazily towards Tony from over on his cot.  “And I suppose the armed soldiers you had with you in Atlantic City were just the welcoming committee?”

Talking this much was rapidly becoming a difficult and unpleasant task, but it would be worth it if he didn’t have to hear any more of Stark’s false martyr bullshit. Clearly he did want to fight, otherwise Stephen wouldn’t be sitting in prison right now with an eight inch scar on his stomach and staples holding his intestines together.

If he believed in the SRA strongly enough that he was willing to throw Avengers in prison, then he needed to accept the consequences of those actions. Because the only thing more infuriating than Tony Stark working with General Ross was listening to him whine because the people he threw in prison were angry with him.

He couldn’t have his cake and eat it too, and he definitely couldn’t nearly kill Stephen and expect to be friends afterwards.

“Clea and Wong know. Thanks for pretending there’s even a question there.”

“Well then, excuse me for not being grateful for your charitable phone calls, ” he muttered. “I didn’t expect you to fraternize with criminals.”

God, he hated this. He hated this visit, and the shallow, meaningless performance Tony was putting on to make himself feel better.

But still, deep down, he couldn’t deny the relief that he felt knowing that Wong and Clea had been informed of what happened. They knew he was alive, and that thought alone lifted a great deal of weight  off of his chest. They wouldn’t mourn him, not yet at least…

He turned his head away so Tony wouldn’t see him smile, however briefly the moment  lasted.

“Heres a status update…”

…And that was enough to sour Stephen’s mood once again. He turned back towards Stark, if only to give him the most condescending look he could muster.

Was this supposed to make him happy? Tony wasn’t a sorcerer, and he wasn’t even close to being as powerful as one; they might as well send in a toddler to fight, for all the good he or the Iron Legion would do against interdimensional beings.  

“ Thats cute Tony, you’re going to go play Sorcerer Supreme? Let me know what happens when Shuma Gorath or The Dread Dormammu show up, I’m sure they’ll think your repulsor blasts are adorable.”

God, did he seriously think he could just stroll up all of a sudden and do Stephen’s job for him? The job he had been training for for over half a century? He really was an arrogant ass, and he was going to get himself killed on top of that.

The sorcerer sighed. “Just….stay out of it.” As much as he hated Stark and his ridiculous pseudo- friendship right now, he didn’t want him dead. Especially not at the hands of some demonic entity that would likely rip him apart.

Illyana and Clea could handle Earth while Stephen was gone, and if they couldn’t…Well, there would be far more pressing  matters to worry about than whatever Tony Stark was doing, anyway.

Shockingly enough though, Stark did manage to get one thing right; the Sanctum Sanctorum was very much alive, in a sense. Centuries of arcane rituals and the high powered ley lines running beneath its foundations could do that to a place. It was a living, breathing entity in and of itself, and that meant it developed a bit of a personality.

“No, it actually hates you.” The sorcerer  confirmed, almost gleefully.

The Sanctum was as unpredictable as magic itself, and while it didn’t always feel like listening to Stephen, it was fiercely loyal to him. It took his opinion into account when it came to who was or wasn’t welcome in the building, so no, it REALLY didn’t like Tony as of recently.

And for a very good reason; as innocuous as Stark’s comment had seemed, the truth was that he had never once visited Stephen at the Sanctum Sanctorum for any reason. So the only possible way for him to know about the building’s hatred of him. ..

….would be if he had gone there after the sorcerer’s arrest.

The thought alone made him clench his jaw painfully.

He didn’t want Tony and his government goons anywhere near the Sanctum, not with Clea, Wong and Illyana still there. The last thing Stephen needed was for them to get arrested and brought to this hell place too; or worse, killed by one of Stark’s incompetent soldiers, just like he almost was. They were the only family he had left, and he wouldn’t be able to live with himself if anything happened to them…

Stephen pulled himself into a sitting position, doing his best to stifle the agony filled groans he so desperately wanted to release. He was panting by the time he was done, but it was worth it to be able to glare at Tony properly from across his cell.

“Stay away from my house Stark.” He growled. His voice was still scratchy,  and using it for this long made him realize just how dry his throat was. “Stay away from my wife, and stay away from Wong. Because if I find out that something happened to them, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Stephen leaned back against the wall to keep himself upright, taking a moment to close his eyes and catch his breath. God, he looked so pathetic, threatening a man when he could barely stay conscious long enough to do so.

“And I suppose the armed soldiers you had with you in Atlantic City were just the welcoming committee?”

Stark scoffed, rolling his eyes. This thing where people thought he had a wealth of pleasant choices and he kept picking the most violent options? That was getting old. The only choice he had was whether or not he would be there to keep one bullet from turning into a thousand. This constant clamoring from everyone had to be some sort of karmic justice for all the time Tony had spent thinking that the world revolved around him and that he could bend planetary orbits at will and shit.

“Yeah. The welcoming committee was coming anyway; it would’ve been interesting to see how they’d react to Saruman if I just stayed at home answering fanmail. The bullet in your gut is clearly begging for some company.”

And then in came Strange’s mockery, and for a second Tony’s lips peeled back to show his gritted teeth. He was well aware that he wasn’t equipped to deal with Sorcerer Supreme-type hullabaloo, especially now that the Avengers were just a treasured memory of his that Tony wasn’t even sure had ever corresponded to solid, objective reality anymore. The Avengers surely wouldn’t have spat at and scorned each other so easily if they were as much as half the team Tony had once thought they were. It was hard enough to contend with the pain of those anxieties without the addendums of Strange’s derision.

He wouldn’t dignify that with a response, though. At least one person in that room would be an adult, at least one person would spare the ad hominem and stick to business. Tony had shared business dinners with Norman Osborn, for Christ’s sake. He’d be able to go through this one conversation without calling Stephen Strange an ignorant, reckless idiot with the foresight of a myopic five-year-old –

“… Because if I find out that something happened to them, I will hold you personally responsible.”

Tony nodded, and let off a mirthless laugh.

“All right, Busted Merlin.” He stepped closer to the bars, as close as he dared. “Taking up the responsibilities you’ve turned your back on is exactly what I’m trying to do.”

He fixed his posture.

(A lot of people wanted to hold him responsible for a great deal of things. He was taking on the weight but his palms were sweaty and he needed a drink and if – when – if he cracked under pressure, he hoped it was only going to be his problem.)

He rolled his eyes at the nose flick and the comment.  “Geeze Dad you act like I play with garbage before I eat food.”   Regardless he dragged himself away from the table making his way to the sink after token complaint.   Okay maybe the guy had a point because of his habit of occasionally salvaging electronics and machines to pull apart for fun.  Peter liked figuring out how things worked and repairing them.  Or in some cases creating new things.

“School was mostly fine.”   He didn’t look in his Dad’s direction with that statement.  Instead very intently focused on making sure his hands were very clean.   “Presentation went okay.  Everyone did their part nobody slacked off, no one threw rotten tomatoes so I’m going to call it good.”   Interjecting his own brand of humor into things.”

Ever so carefully drying his hands off he moved back towards the table.   Eventually he would have to give the note to his Dad.  But not being sure how he would react he wanted to try and delay it a bit longer.   He did leave his backpack zipped up right?   “Anything cool come in?   Do I get to work on it?”   One thing Peter always loved, working on a project with his Dad.

“Geeze Dad you act like I play with garbage before I eat food.”

Tony raised an eyebrow at Peter’s complaint. The unspoken question was simply, Seriously? Because they both knew Peter often came home carrying the skeleton of some outdated hardware that he’d fished out of a dumpster, so technically, yeah, there was always the possibility that he’d been playing with garbage before eating.

In any case, what was really of note here was that Peter was getting really good at deadpanning his jokes. He did it again as he described his “mostly fine” school day, though some of the content of his comments actually worried Tony this time. No one threw rotten tomatoes so I’m going to call it good. That was a bit of a low bar and any playful exaggerations aside, every now and then Peter did have a problem with bullies, especially now that he’d started high school. It was sadly unsurprising – Tony guessed some kids and teens and bad parenting hadn’t changed that much since his own time as an advanced student – and it was why Tony disliked the idea of Peter skipping even more grades despite the fact that sometimes he seemed a little bored at school, intellectually speaking. He needed more time to play and make friends and have a childhood.

Tony stopped walking and turned to Steve the second Steve started pulling himself away, already attempting to tune in to his surroundings and looking for the nearest fight. This was going to happen sooner or later, of course, but Tony had hoped for later, or more specifically, “when they were already close enough to the exits for this to seem even more unreasonable.”

“If the team’s here, we need to help.”

“The team is not here.” By the end of the sentence, Tony’s voice was just an urgent whisper and he’d taken a step closer to Steve. His arms were still poised to catch Steve if he should lose his balance. “I came alone with the Iron Legion.”

… Come to think of it, he wouldn’t know if the team was really there now, would he?

Christ, he should have coordinated this way better.

“The suit is dead. None of what I was packing seems to work down here, nothing besides that,” Tony nodded to the bracelet he had put on Steve’s wrist. “And that includes me. So we’re… we’re in a bit of a pickle here. But it’s cool.”

The déjà vu of this entire situation was really starting to hit him now. Tony looked at either end of the corridor – both clear now, but certainly not for long – and then back at Steve. “Look, even if the team is here, then it’s to get you out. Let’s not make this harder for them, all right?” And damn if an edge of impatience didn’t creep up on his voice. It seemed like he was always begging Steve not to make things harder. “I’ll handle everything else as soon as you’re out of here. I’m not losing you again so you’re going to listen to me. Okay?”

It was then that Tony realized that he had grabbed both of Steve’s arms again, and he had stepped as close to him as he could without their chests really touching and while still being able to maintain eye contact. It struck him again that impulsive “plans” such as this were fine, but only until the point where he found himself holding something dear.

“If it becomes too much to handle you’re going to bolt for whatever exit you can find, promise me.”

“If it becomes too much to handle you’re going to bolt for whatever exit you can find, promise me.”

Steve couldn’t promise that, and he trusted Tony knew that as well as Steve did – but Steve also knew the more time they spent talking about escaping, the slimmer their chances of actually pulling it off became. Steve cradled his hands under Tony’s elbows and nodded along as Tony spoke.

“We’ll handle it,” he said with a half-smile, even as his throat seemed to grind against itself.

He tightened his right hand around Tony’s left arm and started moving again, away from where it sounded like the Iron Legion was most heavily engaged with Raft security. He had only a vague idea of how he’d ended up down there in the first place, and his gut was telling him that they stood a better chance of getting out from the basement level than they did fighting their way up every single floor back to the hanger. There had to be a secure way out when the prison was submerged, unless Ross was willing to cut his losses and drown everyone in here in case something went horribly wrong –

Steve’s stride faltered for half a step, putting him a half-pace behind Tony before he was back abreast with him. If that had been a contingency plan, it surely would have been enacted by now, but they were still clear, still walking, still breathing.

“Hey.” 

Steve nodded toward a door with a conspicuous security array next to it, then looked to Tony. All of the other doors they’d passed had had RFID access control pads, but this one looked like it went above and beyond just swiping a card.

It was a good thing that Steve was there now, at least, because the very physical weight of this responsibility was probably the only thing keeping Tony from melting into a tight, shapeless bubble of sweat, shallow breathing, and Oh God, what am I gonna do? What am I gonna do?

Steve faltered by half a step and for a split second Tony feared the worst without even fully conceptualizing what “the worst” could be at the moment. What he found instead was Steve’s steady gaze, which he followed until he was looking at the secure access panel of a particularly sophisticated door.

spiderscience:

stephenstrange-sorcerersupreme:

“Dr. Strange? Dr. Ross is requesting you down in the ER.”

Stephen looked up from the paperwork he’d been filling out to see Erin, one of the residents that Betty supervised over in pediatrics, standing in his doorway. He closed the folder he’d been working from and pushed it over to the side of his desk.

“Ah, thanks Erin. Does she need a consult, or an extra pair of hands…?” He was a neurology specialist, so he worked over in the ER more than he did the pediatric unit, but he and Betty were close enough friends that they often asked eachother for assistance with certain patients. Sometimes he just went over there to help out when he had nothing else to do, he liked working with the kids.

“We actually had a Peter Parker-Carbonell, aged 12, come in for an asthma attack a few minutes ago. Dr. Ross wants you to speak to the parents.”

Oooh, it was one of those cases. Betty preferred to let him talk to parents, if he was available, since he was a parent himself. They tended to be more responsive to him because of it, not that he was telling them anything Dr. Ross wouldn’t have.

He smiled at Erin as he stood up from his desk.

“I’ll be right over.”

—-

“Mr. Carbonell?” Stephen asked, looking around the waiting room. There were a few worried faces present, but it was the man who was currently pacing circles into the floor who turned to face him.

“He hasn’t died or anything, right?”

 The doctor had to admit, he was a little taken back by the bluntness of the question, and the immediate jump to ‘worst case scenario’. It was common for parents to overreact like this when it came to their children, however, especially with something as traumatic as a visit to the ER.  (Even he and Clea were guilty of it with Sofia, in all honesty).  The poor man was an anxious mess, and it showed, the way Carbonell started chattering away nervously before Stephen even had a chance to introduce himself.

The doctor reached out and put a calming hand on the man’s shoulder, trying to get him to relax. 

“Mr. Carbonell, I’m Dr. Strange. Your son is going to be absolutely fine. Asthma can have severe side effects, but attacks like this are very common, especially in children. You’ll be able to take him on his trip to the airport this weekend, I promise.”

He gestured for him to take a seat in one of the waiting room chairs, then sat down opposite him.

“Peter was transfered to pediatrics, so my collegue Dr. Ross is treating him there right now. Once he’s stable we can take you over there, but in the meantime we just need you to fill out a few forms. Is that alright?”

For some reason the ambulance ride stayed on the edge of intriguing.  Yet the rush into the hospital and into a room with beeping machines and people in scrubs and white coats really set him on edge.   He got that they were trying to make him feel better really he did.   But he couldn’t relax or get rid of the urge to panic and run away.   Either good or bad, the equipment would tangle him up.  Plus the whole not breathing thing would make it difficult.   

So for now he tried to calm down and focus on controlling his breathing.   Being tense did not help with that, at all.   His heartbeat on the fast side which concerned the doctors.   But really could they blame him?  

At least when they sent Dr. Ross in he could relax a little.    Something about her familiar and comforting, maybe she’d been his doctor before.  Not exactly his first time with a medical issue.   Being slightly accident prone and for some reason a trouble magnet.   He honestly tried not to, but sometimes it just happened.  He needed to think about her question a moment.   Which in itself a bit of an answer, difficult to think and yeah dizzy.   So he nodded letting his head rest back against the pillow.   Peter felt so tired.

That set off another spurt of worry his heart speeding up again.   Of course he promptly ignored the Doctor’s advice.   “Want - my - Dad.”    He managed to gasp the words out even though it felt like a band tightening around his chest.

One thing he knew, deep in his bones, that his Dad could always make anything better.   He fixed all problems and yeah not a medical doctor but something about being here in this room just, he couldn’t calm down, not really.    His hands balled up into a white-knuckled fists.   Though the choice to talk probably a bad one as the edges of his vision grayed out.

@dr-betty-ross​

Betty glanced up when she heard a soft thunk against the pillow. He should be a tad tired, well, at least until the steroids kicked in. Unless he had ADHD, then he should stay tired. “Take your time, no rush.” She looked back down at her notes, picking her head back up at his words. “I’m sorr-“ She froze at the unfocused look in his eyes. She moved closer to Peter, resting her hand against his neck for just a moment. She turned back from him, eyes darting to where her nurse stood. Probably to let her know that his dad was just outside with Dr. Strange.

“Erin let Dr. Strange know that I said screw the paperwork. The patient needs his guardian now.” She turned back to Peter and gently grabbed his hand to place on her chest. At least she was a bit more equipped with dealing with anxiety symptoms. Kids always had it the worse after traumatic events. They did not have the ability to internalize as well as some of the adults that she had run into could have.

“Peter, honey, I promise you, he is coming back right now, or, one of your guardians is. I just need you to breath with me.” She slowed her breathing, focusing more on taking exaggerated breaths. “Just follow along with me, focus on that. I promise you we will make sure everything I’d alright and you have what you need.”

Betty glanced at the door before keeping up the encouragement. “You are doing great buddy, just keep breathing with me, they will be here any second.” She gently counted the pulse under her fingertips. They had not hooked him up to a monitor, which probably was for the best. The screaming of it would have brought a more than a few nurses running. Especially in this unit. She frowned slightly at the speed of it. It was slowing down slightly, but not enough considering the asthma attack the boy had suffered.

Shit.

Betty opened her mouth to give more reassurances, just to have it shut at the knock. She knew that knock, it was Stephen. “Come in Stephen.” She turned back to Peter, smiling softly. “See I told ya it would only be a little bit more. My friend Dr. Strange is going to bring them in now, okay?”

“Dr. Strange?” Tony huffed a nervous laugh. “That’s a strange name. You get it? Because – it’s –”

Idiot. The guy went to medical school, of course he got it. Plus, he’d probably heard variations of that bad joke millions of times before. And it was probably an impolite joke to make to the handsome tall doctor who’s trying to calmly reassure your catastrophizing mind that your son isn’t dead, anyway. But that was Tony Carbonell, wasn’t it? Mr. Nervous Giggles During Funerals and Inappropriate Jokes Whenever Nervous.

In any case, what mattered was that Peter was okay. He’d (try to) let the fact anchor him and guide him past the nausea.

“Sorry. That was – lovely name. It must amuse children.” Hopefully that came out sounding as the compliment Tony meant it to be. “Now, forms, you said.” He nodded. “Okay, forms. Sure. Yeah, sure.”

He folded his arm across his chest, still nodding and contemplating the idea. He could do forms. Sure. He was kinda light-headed and he detested paperwork, but sure –

Steve arrived at the car show about an hour and a half after the proverbial doors opened (mostly because he’d had a hard time pulling himself from his drawing board as he was finishing a last-minute project, as usual) and found himself circling the block around the high school a few times in search of parking. Most of the high school’s parking lot had been taken over by the show cars, leaving visitors to park along the street, but Steve finally found a strip of berm along the parking lot that looked like it would fit his bike. Satisfied that he probably wouldn’t get towed or ticketed, he stuffed pulled a small portfolio out of his saddlebag and stuffed his helmet into it, then started making his way around the lot.

Truth be told, Steve didn’t know that much about cars as a science, but he could appreciate the aesthetics well enough. He stopped to sketch a dark blue fin back of some kind for a while, made small talk with some folks, and kept meandering until he finally caught sight of a familiar kid.

“Hey, Peter.” He smiled, opened the portfolio, pulled out the art boards he’d finished earlier that day, and offered them to Peter. “I have some cover ideas that I thought you could look over for me, if you have the time.”

He tucked the portfolio back under his arm and hooked his thumbs into his belt.

Instead he liked to play with a little drone toy.   It had a wireless camera attached to it and he would record the car show.   Once he caught someone fooling with the cars that way.   So it kept him occupied and helped his Dad.  Also gave him an excuse for getting out of conversations with people he didn’t want to talk to.  Plus it playing with the drone all kinds of fun.   

A familar voice caught his attention and he turned towards it. “Steve!  You came!”  Peter brightened giving him a big smile.   He brought the drone in so he could pay attention to his new friend.  “Pretty good.  Lots of people came out to see the cars.  Nobody’s tried to do anything stupid or thrown up and most people seem to be having a good time.

Anyway. No one had complained yet.

And... speak of the devil. The toy zoomed by his field of vision, and Tony turned his head to face it directly. He made a funny face for the camera then watched as the drone flew away, only to land... by Peter. Who was talking to someone -- an adult, a stranger -- that was handing him something.

Okay. Tony didn't care about what the kid's gradebook said, he was too young for military or college recruiters, or people wanting to sell him some cool expensive thing, or those weird town preachers who randomly stopped you and asked to pray together or whatever. Tony at least hoped the guy was one of such annoyances and not something worse. Either way, Tony was quick to head in their direction.

"Heeey, tesoro," Tony addressed Peter as he approached. He caught one of the kid's hands before he could take the boards that the man was offering him. "We're not interested, thank you. If I see you harassing anyone, you're out." He smiled a plastic smile at the guy -- who didn't look bad at all, which, of course, only made him more dangerous if he was out there randomly offering stuff to unaccompanied twelve-year-olds -- then pulled Peter closer to him, turned his back and started stepping away.

flylikeafalcon:

By unspoken agreement, Rachel took the helm of the jet, leaving Sharon and Sam to themselves by the loading ramp as it folded into the jet’s belly. Neither of them bothered to take a seat as the jet rose through the hatch at the top of the Raft; instead, Sam folded his arms and looked to Sharon.

“This is bullshit. You know it’s bullshit.”

Sharon smiled sadly.

“Yeah. But Rhodes knows the game better than any of us…”

“Uh-uh,” Sam said, stepping in close. “You saw him, Sharon. You saw the shape he’s in. I’m not saying Rhodes is on it, but there’s probably more going on then he knows about. Could be a SHIELD-HYDRA thing all over again.”

They fell into a tense silence for a moment as the rest of Sam’s statement went loudly unspoken: and if he does know what’s going on – if he is in on it – I’ll get it out of him.

Then Sharon lowered her gaze and shook her head.

“We have to trust Rhodes. And Hill. The whole reason they were brought in was to keep things above board, wasn’t it?”

“Seriously? You’re siding with them now?”

“I’m not siding with anybody, Sam!”

“Bullshit! You gave Steve that intel, you knew he would act on it, you didn’t tell any of us – do you know what they’re doing to him in there? Huh? You know anything I don’t?”

Sam stood his ground as Sharon stepped back, though he did feel a pang of guilt as she glared at him with wounded eyes. But he was sick and fucking tired of signing up for causes only to learn they were a farce, and he had to know how real this one was.

“He made his choice, Sam,” she finally said. “You don’t get to pin that on me. He wouldn’t.”

Sam sighed, dropped his chin, nodded.

“Yeah. Okay. All right. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m…yeah.”

He sighed again, and this time he actually felt himself deflate a little. He was still looking toward his feet when Sharon stepped back toward him and lay her hands on his still-crossed arms. After a moment, he unfurled his arms and raised his hands palm-to-palm with hers. She laced her fingers through his, and he nodded again.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“I know,” she said. “Me, too.”

He shook his head. “Don’t be. We’ll figure this out.”

This time, Sharon sighed. “I need to drop Rachel off at HQ.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Do you need to head back, too?”

“I should. But if you need me to go with you…”

Sam shrugged. “Nah. We’re just gonna talk.”

Sharon raised an eyebrow.

“I promise,” Sam added sincerely. “Call me when you clock out.”

“Okay,” Jim said. “You’re being paranoid. He might be on hunger strike or some shit, but he’s not being starved.”

Jim turned his eye warily to the guards lining the room, then nodded to Tony and flipped his face plate back down. When he responded, it was through their internal comms.

“Prisons aren’t designed to keep people comfortable, Tones,” Jim said, solemn and serious. “But we can touch base with Hill. As far as I know, she’s still involved in Raft operations. Either way, he does kinda look like shit.”

Behind the face plate, Jim closed his eyes and sighed, then took off for the Avengers facility. The Raft was already sinking back into the Atlantic almost as soon as they cleared the hanger doors, and Jim couldn’t ignore that some of his certainty in the Raft’s inner workings was going down with it. He was still sure that signing the SHRA, building the Raft, and even bringing Steve in (both times) were all the right play, but maybe he’d gotten complacent. He’d trusted Maria to keep him in the loop with the day-to-day, but had he really had reason enough to?

“This is bad, man,” Jim said. “We have one HYDRA guy who can still talk, and if it’s Steve’s word against his, I don’t know that Ross will give Steve the benefit of the doubt. The best thing we can do is find him a really, really good lawyer and try to get his trial to happen sooner rather than later.”

Try. Unacceptable. Tony was well past trying, and Jim knew it. Do or do not and all of that.

Hunger strike, Rhodey offered. It sounded a lot like Steve, and it didn’t. Too passive for him, or maybe suitably extreme. It certainly wouldn’t have been the most potentially self-sabotaging form of resistance Steve had put on until now. Was he resisting or was he giving up -- Tony couldn’t even really tell with him anymore, with the way he’d surrendered so easily today. (”Find another Captain America,” Steve had said.) It seemed terribly self-defeating to be so opposed to a law, and then still yield to its consequences. Then again, that was what Tony himself was doing, in his own way.

He tried to keep his attention on the numbers and coordinates and status updates on his HUD as he flew away with Rhodey, leaving the sinking prison and Steve behind. The HUD made the world look like a video game sometimes. Sometimes, Tony still uselessly wished he would wake up one day and this would all turn out to have been some feverishly drawn-out nightmare scenario he’d concocted. Or maybe Rhodey would suddenly turn off the TV and say no more games for the night. Might be just some Pollyannaism, but as Tony recalled it, everything seemed to be way easier when it was just him and Jim.

“The best thing we can do is find him a really, really good lawyer and try to get his trial to happen sooner rather than later.”

“Yeah. How many times have they hit the snooze button on this trial again?”

Tony didn’t need an answer for that. He sped off like he could somehow outfly everything about this situation, though he knew that technically they were just flying directly toward even more of a headache. He touched down on the landing pad at the Avengers facility a few seconds before Rhodey, enough to have sent his own empty armor away.

“There are escape pods on every floor. I don’t know if this one – and I don’t know, they might be all gone by now – I don’t know, there’s something weird going on, I don’t… I don’t know.” 

Steve tightened his hold on Tony’s hands. Even with the last vestiges of a sedative fog to shake off, Steve knew Tony should have known, and it sure didn’t bode well that Tony couldn’t figure it out with Extremis or from someone else via a comm. But Steve didn’t know any more than Tony did, and he’d be damned if that stopped him.

“Let’s go, get up with me. I’ll take you home.”

Steve rose to his feet with Tony’s aid and trundled along with him to the door, even as his vision went purple with a small head rush. He wrapped his free hand around Tony’s where it lay on his waist and gripped it as tightly as he did to what Tony had said. But as they exited the lab, Steve heard what could only be combat taking place nearby, and – just as he had when he was sixteen and sickly – he felt a live wire of adrenaline rush through him. 

It had to be the rest of the team.

“We need to help,” Steve said, almost to himself. He started to pull away from Tony, as much to prove that he could stand on his own as to ready himself for a fight, and mercifully found himself at least capable of the former. But he stayed within arm’s reach of Tony, rolled his wrist and was bolstered by the presence of the bracelet Tony had placed there.

“If the team’s here, we need to help,” he said again, more strongly. And then, with the initial relief (and some disbelief) of Tony’s arrival ebbing, Steve finally recognized what had seemed most unusual about it. His throat seemed to constrict with a sudden burst of alarm and anxiety as he took hold of Tony’s shoulder again.

“Where’s the suit?”

Tony stopped walking and turned to Steve the second Steve started pulling himself away, already attempting to tune in to his surroundings and looking for the nearest fight. This was going to happen sooner or later, of course, but Tony had hoped for later, or more specifically, “when they were already close enough to the exits for this to seem even more unreasonable.”

“If the team’s here, we need to help.”

“The team is not here.” By the end of the sentence, Tony’s voice was just an urgent whisper and he’d taken a step closer to Steve. His arms were still poised to catch Steve if he should lose his balance. “I came alone with the Iron Legion.”

… Come to think of it, he wouldn’t know if the team was really there now, would he?

Christ, he should have coordinated this way better.

“The suit is dead. None of what I was packing seems to work down here, nothing besides that,” Tony nodded to the bracelet he had put on Steve’s wrist. “And that includes me. So we’re… we’re in a bit of a pickle here. But it’s cool.”

The déjà vu of this entire situation was really starting to hit him now. Tony looked at either end of the corridor – both clear now, but certainly not for long – and then back at Steve. “Look, even if the team is here, then it’s to get you out. Let’s not make this harder for them, all right?” And damn if an edge of impatience didn’t creep up on his voice. It seemed like he was always begging Steve not to make things harder. “I’ll handle everything else as soon as you’re out of here. I’m not losing you again so you’re going to listen to me. Okay?”

It was then that Tony realized that he had grabbed both of Steve’s arms again, and he had stepped as close to him as he could without their chests really touching and while still being able to maintain eye contact. It struck him again that impulsive “plans” such as this were fine, but only until the point where he found himself holding something dear.

@thefuturistknows

Peter unlocked the front door and let himself in the house.  It was Tuesday, so pretty good chance that his Dad would be home soon if he wasn’t already.   Not one of the days he had a late class.  The letter in his backpack making it feel even heavier than it normally did loaded down with books.   Sooner or later he would have to hand it over but sometimes it just seemed like life was not fair.

Trudging towards the kitchen he dumped his backpack on the table before heading towards the refrigerator.   Some juice and a snack would be a good bet.  With the added bonus of being a distraction one way or another.  Some cheese-sticks and crackers should round it out.   Fixing everything he carried the glass and plate over to the table before climbing up in the chair.   Sometimes he really hated being small for his age.   

It especially didn’t make things easy with also being young for his grade.  Skipped ahead because classes just ended up being too easy.  At the same time people fussing over him being ‘properly socialized’ at the same time.   He had a friend, one that even helped him learn a whole new language.   So everyone should just stop being so concerned about him.

Mid-afternoon, the alarm system pinged, announcing that the front door had been opened. Peter was home. The kid often arrived hungry from school, so Tony set down his tools and cleaned his hands with the rag he had previously tossed over his shoulder. He still didn’t really like the idea of Peter being by himself in the kitchen. Or anywhere, really, but the kitchen was especially dangerous according to every parenting book he (still) read.

Everything following the gunshot was a blur of white hot agony.

He remembered sending his cloak away, back to the Sanctum where it would be safe. He remembered grabbing at someone’s hands as they applied pressure to the wound, his own screams as the pain suddenly increased tenfold….He’d begged them to stop, to just let him bleed out instead, but they persisted.

His mind flashed back to the car accident, and suddenly he was inside a tomb of broken glass and twisted metal. His hands were trapped in the remains of his dashboard, and he was crying out for help in soft, gasping breaths. The desperate sounds of a dying man.

Stephen didn’t really know what happened to him, after that, or what happened to James Mandarin. They took him somewhere, he knew that much, but there was a deep abyss separating that moment and him waking up in a hospital bed. That was the worst part of it all; knowing time had passed, but not being able to account for it.

It was disorienting, at first. He panicked and tried to curl his hands against his chest protectively, but all that did was send a fresh wave of agony through every nerve ending in his body. That reminded him why he was there faster than the nurses could.

Keep reading

“I’m not going to fight with you Tony, not right now.”

Not right now. Most likely meaning that he would be willing to at some point. When all of this was “over” (whatever that may mean – plenty of scenarios, none too pleasant) would there still be any Avenger besides Rhodey not willing to fight Tony on some level? He had always known that he would have to compromise some of his relationships, considering the position he’d taken in enforcing the Act, but the payoff was supposed to be no bullets being fired at the undeserving.

Stephen being bound to a bed after hours of invasive surgery was simultaneously a kind of wake-up call and proof that Tony had been right all along. Better me at the forefront anyone else, he’d always thought, because anyone else would fire. Now he was all the more certain of it. He’d just seen it.

Someone had fired right in front of him. Orders be damned.

Being at the forefront wasn’t working.

“That works for me,” Tony shrugged in response. “You see, I don’t want to fight.”

I never wanted to. He almost said it, but somehow that was too close to both the apology and the reprimand that were stuck in his throat. In any case, right now Strange seemed to be all-business, no superfluous emotion.

(It was a different approach than the one Tony had used with Steve, despite whatever claims to the contrary. Steve was always up for an incisive and passionate argument, beneath his veneer of stoic objectivity.)

“… Does anyone know where I am? What happened?”

“Clea and Wong know. Thanks for pretending there’s even a question there.” Hundred bucks said both of them would have been able to find out anyway. Tony wasn’t an idiot, he knew “magic” or whatever could beat him through doorways he didn’t even know existed (yet). “Anyway. Here’s a status update for you: I’m allocating every security resource I can to make sure the Sanctum stays safe while you’re here. I wanted you to know. And I wanted to ask if there’s… anything. That I should know. In the interest of protecting the Sanctum from, uh, weird stuff. Your sort of weird stuff.”

Strange would probably die before he revealed anything of note, but well, Tony had to ask.

spiderscience:

Awwww man his Dad was going to flip out.  Potentially ground him and all that fun stuff.  Peter used those thoughts as a distraction as he struggled to breathe.  Now he would normally be at least a bit interested in the inside of the ambulance.  Unfortunately feeling a bit light-headed and his chest hurting interfered with most of his ability to focus on it.   Maybe he could get a tour of one later on.  

Really he knew this was his fault.   He forgot his inhaler at home.   Should have had it with him especially for gym class.  Then he didn’t really tell the gym teacher that maybe he should take it a bit easy.   A part of him wanted to prove that despite his size and age he could keep up with the other kids.   Yes his Dad would tell him he didn’t need to push so hard (and probably shouldn’t,) but still.

He blinked as the doors swung open and they started pulling his stretcher out.  Oh, they were there already.   His thoughts still a bit fuzzy as they rushed him into the ER.   Really the place did seem kinda cool.  Or would be if someone other than him happened to be the person being worked on.   Transferred over to a new bed and a new mask placed over his face.   Peter wondered if he was going to need new gym clothes after this.

@dr-betty-ross

“Dr. Ross?” Betty looked up from her latest case, shutting the file gently.

“Yes Erin?”

“Parker Cabonell was just brought in due to a severe asthma attack at school. Apparently, he left his inhaler at home and did not tell the gym teacher. “

Betty sighed heavily, pulling her coat on with ease. Honestly the gym teacher should have been alerted to begin with. There should have been a back up inhaler left with them. She should hold a seminar at the school. Just a “how to handle this” sort of thing. Obviously, the training was not up to snuff. “Has he been started on a neb and has his guardians been contacted?” At the nurse’s confirmation she headed out of her office, reading his chart as she went. It was an interesting history to say the least. Especially, for a small town like this one. Though his file screamed overprotective parent. She frowned slightly. “Can you grab Stephen and drag him over? He has more grounds with parents than I do if they go hysteric.” One of those side effects of not being a parent yet, no one seemed to want to believe you.

She knocked on Peter’s door before entering with a smile. “Hey there bud, my name is Dr. Ross though you can call me Bets or Betty if you like.” She set his chart down, picking up a pencil and notepad in the process. “Now you’ve probably had an asthma attack before, but I know how stressful things can be when they happen at school instead of at home. Not to mention the ride over here probably wasn’t that fun.” She sat down on her stool, rolling closer to him before placing the pencil and paper next to him. “Now right now it is very important that you do not talk. I need you to keep breathing in that medicine. But, I also need to check on how you are doing and your symptoms to make sure it is not anything super duper serious. So, I am going to ask you some questions, you can either write your response or shake your head. If that gets too much for you we can stop though.” Betty smiled gently.

“Now, are you dizzy?”

This kind of thing always seemed to happen only when it was his turn with Peter.

Tony first got a call from the school, shortly followed by one from the hospital. He knew exactly where Peter’s inhaler was: first drawer on his nightstand. Tony had checked it last night while the kid was asleep; he always tried to make sure that this stuff was on its proper spot in case Peter had problems at night. He should have kept one in Peter’s backpack as well. It was rather stupid that he hadn’t done that yet, because this wasn’t the first time Peter forgot his inhaler at home. Tony himself always carried one with him. He was supposed to always be there as backup, if necessary.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. It’s inevitable that he wouldn’t literally always be physically present. Peter was still only twelve but sometimes it did feel like the whole universe was conspiring to pry him out of Tony’s life too fast.

(Or maybe he was just paranoid. He’d watched Finding Nemo, he got the message.)

Upon arriving at the hospital, Tony made for the emergency ward, then claimed the attention of the first person he could find working on the nearest counter.

“I’m here for my kid,” he said. He was kind of breathless. He put his hands on the counter and leaned forward to try to catch a glimpse of the receptionist’s computer screen. “Carbonell. That’s C-A-R-B-O – yes. Okay, listen, he’s coming from Midtown Science High School, but he’s twelve. Brown hair, brown eyes, about this…” Tony used his hand to give an approximation of Peter’s height. “This tall. Or this tall, depending on the sneakers he’s wearing. Which – I don’t remember which sneakers he’s wearing…”

“Sir.”

“Chances are he’s touched something he shouldn’t have by now, like, if he’s alive, which – I hope he is -- he is, right?”

“Sir…”

“He climbs things. Furniture? You know? He’s always trying to reach all the tall weird places. May and I call him Spiderling, you know, because he’s always trying to hold thirty things at once like he has extra arms or something. He got that from me, actually –”

“Sir.”

“But he forgot his inhaler. I have one on me. He has asthma – should I list his allergies?”

“Sir!”

“Yes?”

“Try to stay calm. Mister…”

“Anthony Carbonell. I’m the dad. I’m calm -- I have insurance.”

The receptionist kept Tony’s ID and insurance card then indicated a waiting area where “a doctor would be assisting him shortly.”

Tony didn’t sit down. He kept his arms folded across his chest. First he was standing still, but after the first minute he started pacing.

Someone finally called his name. Tony turned.

“No, Rogers, it’s a freaking fire drill – yes, I’m breaking into the Raft. Don’t… don’t tell anyone.”

Steve frowned. He could hear Tony, even over the din that Steve was starting to recognize as klaxons, but everything felt like it was rattling violently between his ears like dice in a cup. At the mention of fire, Steve tried to look around – was that why everything was red? – but spots blossomed in his peripheral as he turned his head. What felt like several seconds later, Steve the rest of Tony’s sentence filtered through the brain noise, and Steve turned back to Tony.

“I’m sure no one will notice,” Steve heard himself say, seemingly a fraction of a second before he thought it. 

Then Tony got closer, and then Tony was holding him, and that felt…better. Steve brought his hands up behind Tony’s back to rest on his shoulders, which probably put more of Steve’s weight on Tony than was wholly fair when Steve dropped his forehead to Tony’s shoulder, but still Steve couldn’t parse together what that meant and what he should do about it. He just knew Tony was very warm, and Steve was apparently pretty cold, assuming that’s why he was shivering in the first place. He wasn’t sure. Maybe he was hungry?

Anyway. Tony was there, and that was good.

Slowly, Steve started becoming cognizant enough of his sluggishness to be unsettled by it, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what to do about it yet. He knew they were in a lab in the Raft, though. And he knew Tony wasn’t supposed to be here and Steve wasn’t supposed to be awake. He knew the puddle they were sitting in wasn’t blood, that it was stained red by the lights, but he also knew he could taste copper and bile and that Tony was bleeding, too.

And then, unbidden, a thought – a memory? Of a cave and fire and chains and too many men for the two of them to fight unarmed, of Tony getting taken away and then returned barely conscious, his chest smoldering – 

Tony was talking, and this time, Steve almost didn’t process his words at all as a new horror, and with it some much-needed clarity, dawned on him: this had all already happened before.

Steve looked down at Tony’s hands affixing something to Steve’s wrist, and Tony was still talking, but now Steve was stuck on “I’ll give you cover,” as though Tony intended to stay behind.

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down.”

Steve reached for Tony again and caught Tony’s now-bare wrist in his hand.

“I’m not leaving without you,” Steve said, and of that, at least, he was certain. He knew he wasn’t going to fail Tony again.

“There has to be a…” – Steve screwed his eyes shut as he searched for the word – “an evacuation contingency down here. Some way for the staff to get out even when the prison’s submerged.”

He watched Tony and found the wherewithal to wonder if Tony could still see into his head. If he could, he’d see what Steve hoped he didn’t have to say: I can’t make it to the hanger on my own, and I’m not going to let you stay behind.

“Wait, wait, wait. Slow down.”

We can’t, Tony almost said. But then Steve reached for his wrist, and despite the danger of these ticking seconds, Tony slowed down.

“I’m not leaving without you.”

Tony swallowed in hopes of getting rid of the sudden thickness in his throat. Steve closed his eyes, and Tony put his other hand on top of Steve’s. Steve’s hand was cold and shaking and his bones and knuckles were too hard against his skin. Jesus, he was just so much smaller than Tony remembered. Even if Tony managed to take over the command room and bring the Raft back to the surface, he shouldn’t take for granted that Steve would make it to the hangar in time, or even if he could make it to the hangar at all on his own.

“There has to be a… an evacuation contingency down here. Some way for the staff to get out even when the prison’s submerged.”

Steve opened his eyes and looked at him, and Tony swallowed again and looked to the side. He was still holding on to the hand Steve had placed on his wrist.

“There are escape pods on every floor. I don’t know if this one – and I don’t know, they might be all gone by now – I don’t know, there’s something weird going on, I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something here was keeping him from harnessing Extremis, that’s what he’d wanted and maybe failed to say. He’d never been here. He didn’t have access to floor plans or their live positions or information on the number of hostiles. He didn’t know how successfully the Iron Legion was handling things, and how many more seconds it could buy them.

Tony took Steve’s hand in both of his and brought it closer to his face, so he could kiss Steve’s cold fingers then press them against his lips. He kept Steve’s hand there and closed his eyes tightly, and he didn’t want to think about what any of that could mean, he just wanted to give himself one second in the universe where Steve had told him he loved him, where he still did, and Tony had told him he loved him back, and it was okay for him to take Steve’s hand and keep it close to him in order to calm himself down.

(“I’m not leaving without you,” Steve had said, and God. Tony had left him here. He’d left Steve here all this time.)

Tony opened his eyes and brought Steve’s hand down toward his chest.

“I don’t care. I’ll find you one of them. I will. C’mon.” Tony put Steve’s arm round his shoulders and wrapped his own arm around Steve’s waist.

(He wouldn’t be leaving with Steve in an escape pod, because he couldn’t leave this place without giving it a proper once-over to look for any other victims, and Steve might disagree with that, but… he’d cross that bridge when he came to it.)

The first time Steve woke up, it felt effortless, as though he’d just had a full night of restful, dreamless sleep.

Then he opened his mouth, and water flowed through his trachea instead of air, and he was on his feet in – not in instant, exactly, because he was moving through liquid, and he only ended up half on his feet as he over-corrected for the increased friction and rocked back on his heels. His back met the back of the tank, and then he finally remembered that he wasn’t in a bed, or even on a bunk in a cell.

Outside the tank, a man in a white coat with a tablet in his hand watched Steve.

Keep Reading

Steve’s hand landed on Tony’s knee. Tony wanted to help him hold himself up, but Steve was reacting blindly and even now it was hard to keep up with his strength. Steve was coughing up blood from his internal injuries along with – everything else. Tony didn’t have immediate access to any scans or JARVIS or anything that might give him a quick and precise read on Steve’s physical status. He couldn’t stop the lights or the alarms either. Yinsen had helped him to breathe in Afghanistan, after he’d been drowned, and Tony wanted to sit Steve down and do the same for him, but his own breathing was shallow and he was on the verge of a panic himself.

Steve eventually found some footing – or stopped struggling long enough to take in his surroundings, anyway – and reached for Tony’s elbows. Tony took hold of his arms, and this was the first time he got a decent, up close look at Steve’s face, at his beard and the overgrown hair and the bruises from fresh and older beatings.

“Are you… breaking into the Raft right now?”

Tony grasped Steve’s arms tighter and grit his teeth together. Then he let out a hoarse, broken laugh. He’d been scared that Steve would have a violent gut reaction upon first seeing him.

“No, Rogers, it’s a freaking fire drill – yes, I’m breaking into the Raft. Don’t… don’t tell anyone.”

Tony pulled Steve toward him and rest his chin on Steve’s shoulder. He allowed himself to inhale and exhale as deep a breath as he could manage, while his eyes filled up again and he held on tighter to Steve. Steve. Steve was breathing. God, he was breathing.

He was breathing, and this wasn’t the first time Tony had tried to save him on his own.

Tony lifted his eyes and saw the open door through which he’d come in. He didn’t know if there was anyone coming. Shit, he didn’t have his armor in here. This whole thing had seemed way more reasonable back when he wasn’t holding Steve and he didn’t have to physically keep him safe. Being reckless and impulsive was great when it was just him.

“Yeah well, its going to take me a little bit to get back into shape anyways.   No problem on the laying low.  Spider-man face-planting on sidewalks and into buildings isn’t going to help me fix my reputation any.”   Peter’s shoulders slumped.   

He just ruined everything he put his hands too.   One foolish decision after another and the people in his life were always the ones that paid.   Tony’s simple requests the absolute minimum he could do to make things up to him.  What he really hated the most about this whole thing was letting his mentor and his Aunt down.   

“I wish I realized something was wrong sooner.   Why did I have to go so far before I could see it?”  Yeah that would feature in Peter’s thoughts for awhile.   Guilt swamped him as the highlight reel of his out of character actions filtered through his brain.   He remembered every moment of it.   All of it, him.

Funny how he hadn’t done much since waking up but he still felt exhausted.  Peter sagged in Tony’s direction.   He had too much to do, too much to make up for to be this tired.   Injury he could and had in the past ignored and pushed through.   Even low energy.   But he couldn’t really remember being quite this bad.  

“Well if you want it to stay put you would probably need to surgically implant it in some fashion.”  Peter couldn’t resist pointing that out.  “But the really big problem isn’t transmissions, but making broadcast at speed that would be of any real use.”  Nothing wrong with his brain at least.

“I wish I realized something was wrong sooner. Why did I have to go so far before I could see it?”

“Listen, I was like twice your age back when I first realized that my life could probably use a couple changes, so trust me, kid, you’re doing great.”

Peter leaned toward him, which took Tony by surprise for a moment before he wrapped his arm around Peter’s shoulder. It occurred to him that he had been the same age as Peter when he lost his parents. He knew how quickly traumatic regret could derail someone’s life, and Peter always seemed to be dealing with that on levels that Tony’s nineteen-year-old self most likely wouldn’t have been able to even survive. Jury was out on whether he could properly deal with that sort of thing even now, actually.

“Just – no more space adventures, and hit ‘pause’ on the super high-profile vigilante thing. That’s all I’m asking. You can put in some volunteer hours at the Haven if you catch yourself on a Steve Rogers do-gooder kinda mood.” The New York Haven was the homeless shelter funded by the Maria Stark Foundation in New York, and they could always use an extra hand. The good thing about Tony’s tight schedule is that it reminded him that there’s always something one could do to help without needing armor or a mask.