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Chapter Text

Tony woke up to a fire extinguisher blast to the face.

This situation would ordinarily call for a long string of colorful expletives, but when Tony inhaled to start shouting them he got a lungful of CO2 and immediately started coughing. He sat up abruptly from the workbench his face had been planted on and tried to bat the extinguisher out of his face, but he didn’t account for the stool he’d been sitting on, which promptly tipped backward, taking him down to the floor with it.

“Fuck!” spluttered Tony as he rubbed the back of his head. He was about to start cursing out Dummy for having fun with the fire extinguisher again when his hand felt smoothness on the side of his head.

“Jarvis, was my hair just on fire?” Tony asked.

“Yes, Sir,” said Jarvis coolly.

“Ok... let’s go with why. Why was my hair just on fire?”

“It would appear that the widow-bite chemical compound you were improving yesterday has contaminated the hair on the left side of your head due to an absent-minded gesture with your left hand. This compound is known to be combustible when combined with the—”

“The knockout dust I was stuffing in Clint’s arrows when I fell asleep at the workbench and just rolled my head in it, yeah. Ok. Wait, is that why I fell asleep at the workbench?”

“While that is certainly a likely scenario, Sir had also neglected to sleep for forty-eight hours prior to last night. Just as he neglected to practice basic hygiene over the past seventy-two hours and therefore did not remove the widow-bite compound,” said Jarvis.

Tony squinted at the speaker in the ceiling. Usually he made fun of anyone in the tower who associated the ceiling with Jarvis, but from his current vantage point (still on his back on the floor), it was helpful to have something to scowl at.

“Where’s this mother-henning coming from? Have you been talking to Steve?” Tony asked.

“I regularly converse with all members of the tower household, Sir,” said Jarvis pleasantly.

“Playing dumb doesn’t look good on you, J.”

“I’m a disembodied voice with no visible appearance, Sir. Nothing looks good on me, because there is nothing to see.”

“Yep, playing dumb again. And you only do that when you’re avoiding my questions.”

“I apologize, I shall alter my subroutines to be more direct: You set yourself on fire because you have not showered or slept in far too long, and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

And wow, the tone was downright frosty.

“Nope, gonna need you to go back to the original conversation subroutines, Jarvis,” said Tony as he got to his feet.

“Of course, Sir,” said Jarvis, but his tone was still ice-cold. Damn, Jarvis was bitchy today.

Tony made his way over to the lab’s bathroom to see how bad the damage was. The second the light turned on and Tony saw himself in the mirror, he yelped. The bald patch covered roughly the entire left side of his head. Fortunately, the fire had been contained before his skin could suffer anything worse than what felt like a sunburn, but there was no way around it: he was going to be partially bald for a while. No hairdresser on earth would be able to hide it.

“Ok, this is fine. I just… can’t leave the lab for the next month. I can do that,” muttered Tony to himself.

“Sir’s presence is required at Stark Industries’ major client’s meeting in twenty minutes,” said Jarvis.

“Sir’s presence is absolutely not required. Sir’s presence is gonna have to be done without this time.”

“Sir’s presence is also required at movie night.”

Tony groaned. The last time he’d tried to skip movie night, Natasha had literally hog-tied him and carried him to the common room. If he left now, he might be able to get far enough away to avoid her, but he’d be out of town if the team got a call, and Natasha would find a way to make him pay for it later.

“Route all calls to my cell phone for the next month or so, J. I don’t need anybody getting an eyeful of this in a video call. And please tell me I own at least one hat.”

Jarvis hesitated, then said, “There is one hat available in Sir’s wardrobe. However—”

“Have it sent down to the lab in the dumbwaiter.”

“But Sir—”

“Jarvis, I don’t care if it’s a giant foam cowboy hat, I am not leaving the lab like this. Send it down.”

Chapter Text

“Is that Clint’s gag gift from last Christmas?” asked Bruce.

“Yep!” said Tony in a way he hoped would cut off the discussion. He hadn’t eaten in 2 days and needed something more substantial than a green smoothie, but he was bitterly regretting not ordering something and having it sent up in the dumbwaiter instead of coming to the communal kitchen. Stupid body and its stupid, stupid hunger.

“And you’re wearing it now because…” said Bruce, who obviously did not get the hint.

“I’m a hat guy now. A guy who wears hats. That’s me.”

“And you’re starting the hat phase of your life with a baseball cap that says ‘Ask me about my fuck machines’,” said Bruce.

“Just until the delivery guy gets here with a better one,” muttered Tony. He tried to shovel his eggs down faster, but he was startled by Bruce’s hand covering his.

“Male pattern baldness happens to pretty much everyone with a Y chromosome, Tony. You don’t have to resign yourself to hats for the rest of your life,” said Bruce gently.

Tony yanked his hand away.

“Bruce, honey, first of all, male pattern baldness does not happen to sufficiently rich people unless they want it to. And second of all… I am having a bad hair day, and I don’t want to talk about it.”

“How bad?” asked Clint, who’d just sauntered into the kitchen.

Fuck.

“Hey, Clint,” said Tony as he tipped the rest of his eggs into the garbage, “Sorry, got to go.”

But before Tony could even stand up, his hat was no longer on his head. Tony whipped around and watched Natasha read the wording on the front, as though that had been her intention. When she heard Clint laughing, she looked up, saw Tony’s hair, and her lips twitched.

“Accident in the lab, Stark?” asked Natasha, open amusement in her tone.

Tony snatched the hat back from her and said, “I am never making any gear for you ever again.”

“Say ‘viral!’,” said Clint. Tony turned and—

Click

Clint grinned broadly and immediately got to work writing something out on his phone. Tony lunged for it.

“Don’t you dare, Clint, don’t you dare,” Tony seethed.

“And… done!” Clint grinned.

Tony jammed the hat back on his head and said, “I am filling all of your arrowheads with glitter.”

“That… would be amazing,” said Clint. “Seriously, can I have some glitter arrows? There’s so many pranks I could—”

Clint’s eyes flicked up to Tony’s hat and read the words on it. Then his face lit up like the goddamn fourth of July.

“You said you’d never wear it!” Clint practically squealed. And before Tony could say anything else, there was another click and Clint had another picture of him in the hat.

Tony was about to tell Clint exactly where he could stick his phone when he felt someone grabbing his elbow and forcefully hauling him out of the kitchen.

“No more pictures, Clint, Tony’s late enough already,” said Pepper.

“No need, he’s already trending!” laughed Clint as Tony was dragged away from the kitchen.

Tony wasn’t sure if he was pissed off at that news, relieved to escape the kitchen, or terrified at the deadly tone of Pepper’s voice.

“Pepper—” said Tony carefully.

“Are you screening my calls again?” hissed Pepper as she continued to drag him to the elevator.

“What? No! I—” Tony reached into his pocket, felt spider-webbed glass, and froze.

“I think I broke my phone in the lab,” Tony muttered.

“I stopped believing that less than a week into being your PA, Tony,” said Pepper even more irritably.

“No really! Look—”

“Save it. I only had Marsha on hand to stall the client, and the only way she knows how to stall is by telling people what it was like going through labor with triplets, so save your bullshit for someone who cares, Tony, we need to go.”

“Wait, I have to—”

“Tony, if you’re about to say anything other than, ‘I have to listen to you and go with you down this elevator that’s just arriving’, then I am kicking you in the balls, and these shoes are pointy.”

Fuck. Tony did some quick mental calculus on whether it was better to have this meeting with half of his head bald or a baseball cap that said ‘Ask me about my fuck machines’. Luckily he didn’t need to make that call; a second later, the elevator doors opened and there was Steve, carrying a bag of groceries in each arm and wearing a Dodgers baseball hat. And Steve was always a sight for sore eyes but today, Tony almost gave into several years of pent-up sexual frustration and kissed him out of sheer relief.

“Tony—” started Steve.

“Trade ya!” said Tony as he swapped hats with Steve before Steve could read what his new hat said.

“Hey!” said Steve indignantly.

“See you at movie night!” said Tony cheerfully as the doors closed.

Chapter Text

“Get Mr. Stark a suit jacket,” said Pepper to her PA, who scurried off through one of the aisles in the row of cubicles Pepper was frog-marching him through. Tony looked down and noticed what he was wearing for the first time today: an Iron Maiden tee-shirt and ripped jeans, both of which were covered in oil and dust and God knew what else.

“Should I—

“Nope! Too late to change, we’re writing your appearance off as ‘eccentric genius’ today,” said Pepper, not even breaking her stride.

“Ok just… don’t touch my shirt, there might still be knock-out dust on it. Hey, did you see that?”

“See what?” asked Pepper irritably.

“That guy in the pinstripe tie. That is the fifth person who’s given me the stink-eye since we walked onto this floor.”

“Probably because you’re wearing a Dodgers hat, and the Dodgers knocked the Yankees out of the playoffs last night,” said Pepper, as she dug her nails in sharply to turn them around a corner. “Speaking of which, General Murphy is a Giants fan, which means the hat needs to go.”

“No,” said Tony loudly, tamping down the hat with his free hand for emphasis.

“Yes,” Pepper hissed.

“Pepper—”

“I will not have you tank this deal because—”

“Pepper, half of my hair has been burned off thanks to an accident in the lab this morning. Do you really think that image is going to inspire a lot of confidence with potential clients?”

Pepper blinked, then turned to the PA who’d just handed her a blazer and said, “Find a hat. Any hat. Go.”

“Wait,” said Tony as he watched the PA scurry off again, “General?”

Pepper’s hand on his arm tensed for a moment, then she said, “SI has been trying for years to get back in the military’s good books with our non-weapons products. I have finally managed to secure a meeting, and you will not blow this up in my face.”

“Pep, I’ve been briefed on SI’s work on MREs and med-kits and body armor. That’s great stuff and I get it. What I don’t get is why you want this meeting headed by someone who has, on several occasions in recent history, told the entire United States military to go fuck themselves.”

“Not my choice,” said Pepper through gritted teeth.

“You’re the CEO, who else’s choice would it be?”

“His. He wants to talk to you.”

“Not Rhodey?”

“Rhodey is out of the country on War Machine business. And even if he weren’t, the General wants you to give the presentation. God knows why, but he insisted.”

“Oh, you know what?” said Tony as he started scoping out escape routes, “I need to—”

“Don’t you dare,” breathed Pepper as they stopped outside of the conference room door. She bodily forced Tony into the blazer.

“Pepper—”

“Ten minutes, Tony!” said Pepper, her eyes flashing with anger as she straightened his hat. “Ten minutes on how much we’ve improved our offering of MREs and then I will swoop in and rescue you. All you have to do is choke down some samples to sell how good they are and not punch anybody or blow anything up. Can you do that for ten minutes, Tony? For me? Can you do that for ten minutes for me?”

Now that Tony was facing Pepper directly, he got a good look at her for the first time that day. On top of being angry, she was stressed out. Anxious. Clearly a lot was riding on this deal, and she needed him to come through here.

“Yeah, I can do it,” said Tony, because at the end of the day they may not be dating, but he really would do anything for this woman.

“Great,” said Pepper as she opened the door and shoved Tony inside.

“Now as for the afterbirth—” said a portly woman in a green jumper.

“Mr. Stark! So kind of you to finally join us,” said the only other person in the room.

Tony sized him up. General Murphy was broadly built, with salt and pepper hair, and he looked equal parts relieved to be out of the conversation with Marsha and revolted with his presence. Tony couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen this guy before, but Tony had had a long and illustrious life in weapons manufacturing, so he’d almost certainly run into him at a party somewhere. Then Murphy’s eyes flicked up to Tony’s hat and all traces of relief that Tony was finally there disappeared into a scowl. Tony had hoped Pepper had been exaggerating his commitment to the baseball stuff but apparently not.

“Marsha, thanks for staying to chat, but I can take it from here. Good morning, General. Let’s talk MREs.”

What followed was an extremely tense, extremely awkward meeting. Tony turned the charm up to eleven and even choked down something that might’ve passed for chicken tikka masala to someone who’d never heard of the subcontinent of India or its cuisine, but he was mentally counting down the seconds until his rescue. He had 478 of them to go when General Murphy interrupted him to say, “My first gun was a Stark.”

“Oh?” said Tony.

“Handgun. Reliable, shot straight, easy to clean. I must’ve put in thousands of hours on the range with it. Thanks to that gun, I won enough shooting tournaments to pay for my mother’s medical bills. Saved her damn life.”

“Ok,” said Tony warily. He wasn’t sure where this was going but his asshole-senses told him it was nowhere good.

“I still have that gun. I’d very much like to upgrade it, but it turns out my second amendment rights are less important than your high and mighty principles.”

Ah, fuck. A second amendment asshole. Tony looked at the clock. Three minutes left. He could stall for three minutes.

“Why don’t we try the chicken parmesan,” said Tony cheerfully.

“Why don’t we shove every one of these MRE’s straight up your ass,” said the General, his eyes as hard as flint.

Tony grit his teeth and said, “General Murphy—”

“Get my damn name out of your mouth, Anthony. Stark Industries made the weapons that kept our boys safe, and you really want us to be happy about a couple of MREs?”

“Yes? That’s why you’re here?”

“The only reason I’m here is because I want to tell you personally that you’re a shitstain and a disgrace.”

Tony rolled his eyes and said, “Great, now I don’t have to keep pretending I like you. Now if you’ll excuse me—”

“I knew Howard Stark. He was a great man who served his country with distinction. You are nothing compared to him.”

“Oh please , we both know I’m much hotter,” said Tony flippantly, his hand on the doorknob. There was nothing this asshole could say that Howard himself hadn’t alrady told him personally, and every additional second he spent in this room was just more time wasted in this shitty, shitty day.

“That bitch he married really did a fucking number on the Stark line, you are a—”

“You know what?” said Tony, suddenly turning back towards the room, “I remember you now. General George Murphy? Didn’t you run for Senate last year?”

Murphy’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed.

“God, you came so close to winning, didn’t you? Real fuckin’ shame your son gave that tell-all interview to Barbara Walters about you kicking him out on his ass when he came out. You might’ve weathered that storm 20 years ago, but the times they are a-changin’, aren’t they dipshit?”

“You are—” started Murphy.

“What’s it like, knowing you’ll never be half the man your son is? Knowing he’s gonna be on a Pride float somewhere this June, both him and his husband bearing your last name while you—”

A split second later, Murphy’s left hand was yanking on the front of Tony’s tee shirt and his right hand winding up for a punch. Tony was positioning his feet to sweep Murphy’s leg when suddenly his vision got very fuzzy.

“Oh fuck,” Tony slurred as he and Murphy both fell to the floor, “Knock-out dust.”

Chapter Text

For the second time that day, Tony woke up to a fire extinguisher blast to the face.

“What did you do!?” shouted Pepper as she put the fire extinguisher down.

“Pepper—”

“I said don’t punch anyone and don’t blow anything up. That was it, Tony, that was the bar you had to clear. And now General Murphy is unconscious, your hat is on fire  and—”

“What!?” said Tony, immediately removing the Dodgers hat. There must’ve been some widow-bite compound left on his head to react to the knock-out dust the General had kicked up when he’d grabbed Tony’s shirt.

I’m so sorry, Steve, thought Tony as he ran his hands tenderly over the well-worn, well-loved and now well-done baseball cap.

“Do you have any idea how much trouble we are in, Anthony?” Pepper seethed and wow , she’d pulled out the full name. “Not only are we not getting this deal but we are potentially criminally liable for whatever bullshit you just pulled!”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I don’t care what you meant to do, Tony, I care what you did!”

“There was knock-out dust on my shirt, ok!?” said Tony, anger starting to bubble in his gut in spite of himself, “He’ll be fine in five minutes. And if you’d just let me change like I said—”

“Maybe if you weren’t an hour late to a meeting I put on your calendar two months ago— ”

“The military was never going to buy from us, Pepper!” shouted Tony.

“Well now they definitely fucking won’t!” Pepper shouted right back.

“I’ll come back later,” said a small voice at the door.

Tony turned and saw Pepper’s PA trying to shrink into the door frame. Because there is a God, she had a new hat in her hand. Because God is a dick, it was a neon green fedora with a peacock feather in the band.

“Thanks, you’re a peach,” grumbled Tony as he shoved Steve’s ruined hat in his pocket and snatched the fedora out of the PA’s hand. “I’m getting the fuck out of here.”

“No, Tony, you are going to wait with me until he wakes up and then you are going to grovel with me so we don’t get sued.”

“Watch the security footage and then tell me who’s suing who,” Tony spat over his shoulder, and he slammed the door behind him on his way out.

He wasted no time getting back to his floor on the tower, but he had a hunch a few SI employees had snapped pictures of him on his way to the elevator. He confirmed that hunch when he made the mistake of checking Twitter and saw that #TonysHats was trending. And half the tweets were asking if Tony had shit his pants. Thanks a lot, Clint.

“Jarvis, make a note: knock-out dust is much shorter lasting upon the second application. Add to it the possibility Widow and Hawkeye might accidentally hit the same guy and I think we can call it a failure,” Tony muttered as he scrubbed himself clean in the lab’s decontamination shower. His clothes were a lost cause, but at the very least he could make sure he wouldn’t be catching fire again today. When he was satisfied that all traces of widow-bite venom and knock-out dust were safely contained in the shower’s drainage system, he reached for the back-up clothes he kept in the lab and noticed the shirt had a hole in the center. What was once a questionable fashion choice meant to show off the part of Iron Man that was embedded next to his very heart was now a man-boob window and a painful reminder of the time he’d tried to change who he was to make someone else happy to save a failing relationship. Lovely.

“Jarvis, how much whiskey is in the liquor cabinet?”

“None. And Sir has requested me to remind him that if he decides to partake in that particular vice, he will lose his bet with Captain Rogers.”

Tony groaned and thunked the back of his head against the wall, then winced when he hit the bump that had grown from falling backwards onto the floor this morning. If he had a drink now, he’d have to spend the next month not only without alcohol, but without fast food or music above a dull roar, and with a regular, enforceable bedtime. Steve had proven way more resilient against saying “golly”, “gee”, “swell”, “dame”, and “fella” than Tony had anticipated and the result was a sobriety spell that was going way, way longer than Tony had ever intended.

He plodded over to the lab’s bathroom and re-examined the damage to his hair. The second fire had taken out another patch of hair, plus a noticeable chunk of his left eyebrow. Perfect. He glanced at the drawer that contained his body hair clippers and briefly considered just shaving the rest off off. He squinted at the now bald half of his head to try and get an idea of what it would look like, and realized with revulsion that he’d look like Obie. Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m taking a nap, J. No one’s allowed in the lab unless it’s an emergency,” said Tony as he walked over to the couch. Maybe this day from hell would go by faster if he slept through a chunk of it. But of course, the second he got comfortable and felt himself drifting off, the tower sirens started to blare, which caused Tony to start so violently he tangled in the blankets and fell onto the floor, landing painfully on his funny bone.

“What’ve we got?” asked Tony as he scrambled away from the heap of blankets on the floor and toward the armor assembler.

“Unidentified energy signatures being emitted from an unknown person in Central Park,” said Jarvis.

Tony bit back a scream of fury and frustration. “Unidentified energy signatures” was code for “magic”, which meant he was about to face down some goddamn woo-woo crap that made no fucking sense within the laws of physics or nature or anything else. Of course it’d be fucking magic on a day like this. Of fucking course.

“Jarvis, where are we at on operation figure-out-what-science-powers-magic-and-shut-it-the-fuck-down?”

“I’m afraid that project has not advanced past the naming stage, Sir,” said Jarvis.

“Good, it’s a terrible name. Let’s figure out a better one for it and then put some serious work into it, because if I get turned into a ferret, Clint’s gonna start an Instagram page for ferret-me and I will never get laid again. How far away is Steve?”

“Captain Rogers is already in the park. He called in the assembly remotely.”

Tony tried not to dwell on the twinge of disappointment that he wouldn’t be carrying Steve to the fight. Because being so desperate for bodily contact with someone that you’d take being their courier service was pathetic, and very much not on brand for Tony Stark.

“Where’s Steve’s shield?” asked Tony as the armor finished assembling around him.

“I’ve got it,” said a voice behind him. Tony turned and clenched his jaw.

“Clinton,” he said tersely.

“Clinton? What’d I do?” said Clint.

“Hashtag Tony’s Hats ringing any bells?” said Tony.

“You mean hashtag Tony shats?” Clint grinned, “Yeah, you should see the hats they’re photoshopping onto you too. It’s a goddamn meme now.”

“You made me a meme?” said Tony as he stepped out to the lab’s launch pad.

“You voluntarily wore a hat with a catchphrase about fuck machines and followed it up with a lime green fedora, Tony, what did you think was going to happen?” asked Clint as he stepped up on Tony’s boot, Cap’s shield tied securely to his back.

Tony rolled his eyes but said nothing because yeah, that was fair.

“Try not to scream this time,” said Tony as he started the repulsors.

“For the last time, that was a war whoop,” said Clint as they took off.

“War whoop this,” muttered Tony as he kicked the propulsors into high gear and did a little aerial spin on the way to the park. To Tony’s consternation, Clint just clung a little tighter. The bastard.

So Tony did another spin.

And then a dive.

And then another spin.

And then Clint vomited all over the left arm of the suit.

“Fucking hell, Clint!” shouted Tony, trying very hard not to breathe through his nose as the acrid smell started to filter in through the suit’s air filters.

“There’s a reason I was an archer in the circus and not an acrobat, Tony,” said Clint, wiping his mouth and sounding embarrassed, “Also, I’m not sorry; that’s what you get for spinning me, you douchebag, and now we’re even.”

Tony would’ve pointed out that they absolutely were not even, not even a little bit, but Clint looked equal parts green with nausea and red from embarrassment, and Tony decided to drop it.

“Jarvis, prep Dummy with the hose. Outside on the launch pad this time, I don’t want him hosing down my electronics again. And the second we’re done here I’m bricking myself into the lab with a cask of Amontillado,” he grumbled.

“The whole point of that story is there is no cask, Tony,” said Clint.

“Then why the hell is it called The Cask of Amontillado?”

“One, nobody’s bricking anyone in anywhere until movie night is over,” came Nat’s voice through the comms, the faint roar of a motorcycle just audible under her words, “Two, don’t you ever read any of the books the Maria Stark Foundation donates?”

“Nope. All I’m reading these days is the fanfiction people write about us. Did you know my eyes are chocolate orbs? Do you think they mean like Lindt truffles?”

“Can we not talk about food right now?” said Clint queasily.

“Yeah, let’s skip the trip to the uncanny valley until this is over. I’m closing in on Cap, what’s your ETA?”

“45 seconds,” said Tony with a grin. Today might be horrible, but he was about to kick some ass with the team, and the adrenaline was starting to ratchet up in Tony’s veins. Boy could he go for punching some bad guys right now.

“Heads up, hostile magic user appears to be a 15-year-old girl,” said Natasha.

And just like that the pre-battle buzz was gone, because no, Tony was not punching teenage girls if he could help it, today or any other day.

“Let’s get this over with,” he muttered bitterly.

Chapter Text

The fight wasn’t hard to spot from the air. There were pink energy beams of some kind shooting out around where the John Lennon memorial was. Magic users sure knew how to put on a light show.

“Does Cap have a comm link yet?” asked Tony.

“He does,” came a male voice through the comms that did not make Tony’s heart swell. “He would very much prefer to have his shield, though.”

“Aww, Cap, don’t you want to hear my quips and innuendos?” Tony pouted.

Tony could see Steve now, taking shelter behind an oak tree. A teenager with tomato-red and purple–highlighted hair and a black patent leather coat (why did the magic users always look like fanfiction Mary Sues?) was surrounded by a shield of blue light that emitted blast after blast at him and Natasha, who was darting from tree to tree, trying to draw fire away from the civilians still running from the scene.

“If your dirty jokes can repel these damn magic beams, you can make as many as you want, Tony. Until then, I’ll take my shield,” said Steve, but Tony could hear the grin under his words.

Tony was about to say “Yeah, and what else will you take, hot shot?” Instead he said, “Y— ugh!” as an energy beam hit him in the side, just barely missing Clint.

They were falling. Clint fired a grappling hook at one of the taller trees and that gave him the chance to swing towards Steve and throw him his shield, but all Tony could do was hit the ground face-down with a sickening thud. It hadn’t been a very high fall and the suit had shock absorbers, but it still hurt like a bitch.

“I’m alright! Jarvis, talk to me, tell me what’s going on,” said Tony as he tried and failed to lift his arms, leg, head. The motor control mechanisms were clearly busted, but if he could just access Jarvis, he could probably get them rerouted and get back into the fight. But of course, he couldn’t reach Jarvis at all. Which was just fucking fantastic. Two seconds into the fight and the suit was completely offline.

Tony knew he couldn’t personally lift himself up in the 600 pounds of dead hardware he was carrying, but he was about to try again anyway when he felt his arm being pulled back as strong hands turned him face-up.

“Tony? Tony, are you ok?” said Steve, sounding a bit frantic.

A beam of magic shot towards them, and Steve barely managed to block it in time with his shield.

“Jesus Christ!” Tony yelled.

Steve looked slightly relieved to hear him, but he was nonetheless starting to dig his fingers into the joints on the helmet, trying to pry it off him.

“Stop! I’m FINE!” shouted Tony, “Go take care of Ebony Dark’ness, I’m fine!”

Steve hesitated, but he must’ve heard someone in his earpiece because he went quiet, then said, “Stay inside the suit,” before he ran off back to the fight.

Tony couldn’t even if he wanted to; the mud he’d slammed into was blocking the air vents into the helmet and he was already starting to feel light-headed. So instead he made a mental note that the next version of the suit needed more redundant air vents more evenly distributed around the helmet and clicked his fingers together in the manual release sequence, causing the front of the suit to open like a baked clam. When he was sure GerardWayLover69 was appropriately occupied, he sat up and confirmed his suspicion about the suit: completely bricked. It was 600 pounds of scrap now. Wonderful.

Tony ducked behind a bush and surveyed the scene. Miss Hot Topic 2009 was doing a good job keeping Nat, Steve and Clint at a distance with the frequency and intensity of the blasts her shield was emitting. Clint’s arrows, Nat’s bullets and Steve’s shield weren’t having any luck getting through. Bruce was nowhere to be found. It looked like Steve didn’t want to call in the Hulk for this one.

Tony was still scanning the scene when he felt his elbow tug forward like it was being pulled by an invisible string. Then there was a tug on his knee. Then his other knee.

“Fucking! Magic!” spat Tony as he walked forward into the fight against his will, completely at the mercy of whatever kind of puppet magic emo Ariel had fired at him. Steve turned at Tony’s outburst and didn’t quite stifle a groan of frustration.

“Hi, Steve,” said Tony brightly as he walked over to him and felt his body start to wind up a left hook.

“I told you to stay in the suit,” Steve hissed as he blocked Tony’s punch.

“Yeah, I think we both knew that wasn’t going to happen,” said Tony as he tried to sweep Steve’s leg.

From his new position, Tony could see a group of civilians all tied up with what looked like dog leashes, every one of them desperately struggling against their bindings. Clearly, Tony wasn’t the first puppet Steve had fought today, although Tony must’ve been the first that had the strength, agility and flexibility to actually execute the martial arts his puppet master knew, because he was giving Steve a real run for his money. Between blocking Tony and blocking the magic blasts with his shield, Steve was having a hard time keeping up.

“If you had just listened to me—”

“You can’t just tell me not to fight the bad guy without giving me a reason, Steve,” Tony retorted as he dodged a kick, “How the hell was I supposed to know we were fighting My Chemical Necromancer?”

“It doesn’t matter! I’m the team leader! What the hell is the point of having a team leader if you’re not going to follow their lead?”

“We have been fighting together for three years now, Steve, you know how I operate!” said Tony a little too loudly, trying hard not to let any shame seep into his voice.

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s time to change things up, Tony,” Steve retorted as he blocked a blast of magic.

Tony felt the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“Change things how?” asked Tony quietly.

Steve’s face went from annoyed to contrite in an instant.

“No, Tony, I didn’t mean—”

Tony landed a solid kick to Steve’s stomach.

“Fuck, sorry,” said Tony as Steve went down.

“Damn it!” said Steve as he scrambled to his feet and managed to block another magic blast. “We’re wasting time here.”

“Tell me what we know,” said Tony almost pleadingly.

Steve blocked another kick and gave him a look Tony couldn’t read, before he said, “I was running by when she just showed up and started firing. Nothing is getting through her shield. No indication she can hear or see us except the energy bolts. Clint’s setting up the perimeter and getting the last of the civilians to safety, Nat’s drawing fire to give Clint time, but right now we could use some ideas on how to take her down.”

“I could call another suit, see if a repulsor gets through,” said Tony as he gave a left uppercut.

“Can’t risk her puppeting you into the suit when it gets here,” said Steve.

“We could try… fire? I dunno, magic really isn’t my— oof!” said Tony as Steve caught him in the gut with the shield and knocked him back.

“I know. That’s another reason why I wanted you to stay in the suit,” said Steve irritably, before he said, “Clint, do we have a perimeter?”

“Not my specialty doesn’t mean completely useless, Steve,” said Tony, trying not to sound hurt.

“Yeah, you’re real helpful right now, Tony,” said Steve as he blocked another left hook.

“First of all, fuck you. Second of all, doesn’t something seem off about all this?”

“Tony, if you’re about to rant about magic—”

“No, Steve. It’s a really big show here, and for what? No agenda, no demands, no monologue. And she’s off too. If you asked me to draw a stereotype of what magic users look like, she is exactly what I’d draw. If I didn’t know any better I’d say—”

“Distraction,” gritted Steve as he swept Tony’s legs successfully, “Jarvis, is there anything else going on in the city she could be distracting us from?”

Tony’s protesting muscles had no effect on his puppet master’s desire to get him up off the ground and back into the fight as quickly as possible. Neither did the gravel digging painfully into his left hand as he pushed himself up. He used the opportunity to get another look at the girl in the shield bubble. She seemed utterly unconcerned with anything going on around her. She looked almost sad? Then Tony saw her wrist.

“Whose moves are these?” said Tony as he punched for Steve’s face.

Steve ducked and said, “Obviously hers, you don’t fight like this.”

“They’re not hers, though.”

Steve blinked and said, “How—”

“Whoever’s puppeting me is a lefty, all left hooks and left kicks. But she’s got a watch on her left wrist, which means—”

“Righty,” finished Steve, something like a smile curling the edge of his lips, even as he dodged another punch. “She has an accomplice.”

“No. Captor. Remember what I said about stereotypes? Usually they’ve got some kind of ancient charm with actual magic in it that throws off their look. All she’s got is the entire clearance rack at Spencer’s. I think she’s a puppet too.”

“Close your eyes, Tony,” said Steve.

“Wh—”

“Just do it!” snapped Steve, blocking another magic blast as he bent backward to avoid a kick from Tony.

Tony did. His body kept moving, punching at wherever Steve happened to be.

“The one picking your moves isn’t seeing through your eyes,” gritted Steve, “Which means—”

“Line of sight,” said Tony, trying hard not to pant.

“Widow, get over here. I need you to fight Tony around the oak tree, see if you can disrupt the line of sight and get us a clue on where the accomplice is. I’m going to try to talk to the girl again. Clint, I need your eyes. There’s an accomplice with line of sight to this fight that’s controlling Tony and the girl, and we need to find them.”

Not even five seconds later, Steve had tagged out for Nat.

“Please don’t kill me,” said Tony a little pathetically as he swung at her.

“Broken bones don’t kill,” said Natasha as she kicked Tony squarely in the gut with enough force to knock him a few feet back towards the tree.

What followed was somewhere between the most brutal sparring match and most fiddly fight of Tony’s life. By the time they’d figured out the accomplice’s line of sight, Tony had a broken finger in his left hand, a broken toe on his left foot (neither of which did anything to discourage the puppet master from leading with their left), and more bruises than he could count. Add to it that Tony’s muscles were screaming at him to stop and his breath was coming in gasps, and Tony was praying he would pass out.

“Changed — m’mind,” Tony gasped, “Kill — me — please.”

“So melodramatic,” said Natasha who was only just starting to break a sweat. “If you came to sparring more often you’d be feeling much better right now.”

“Nat— please—” Tony begged, because he was now at that point.

Natasha seemed to take pity on him, because she reached behind her and pulled out some fine black cord. A fraction of a second later, Tony’s hands and feet were bound behind him and he was on the ground.

“Now don’t move,” said Nat, bending over to peck his forehead before she ran off.

Of course Tony had no choice in the matter of moving or not. Whoever was pulling his strings didn’t care if he was bound; he was still compelled to pull against his binding, which let Tony add rope burn to his list of complaints. When he finally stopped moving, Tony almost cried with relief.

“Jarvis, make a note,” said Tony, even though he knew his AI wasn’t listening. “Magic users have a permanent place at the top of my shit list.”

“Aww, don’t let Thor hear you say that when he gets back from Asgard. His Mom practices magic.”

Tony turned his head to scowl good-naturedly at Clint, who was kneeling down to cut Tony’s restraints.

“Don’t care. She’s not invited to my birthday party,” said Tony, barely finding the energy to rub his wrists.

“If you keep uninviting people to your birthday party, eventually it’s just gonna be you and Jarvis.”

“Jarvis isn’t invited either,” said Tony, making no move to get up. “He was a real bitch this morning.”

“Jarvis wants you to know he finds that deeply hurtful,” chuckled Clint.

“Tell Jarvis to suck it, then send a car directly to this spot. I am never moving again.”

“Are you alright, Tony?” came Steve’s voice.

Tony tilted his head and winced as he looked up at Steve’s outline against the sun.

“Hiya, Cap. I’m doing just fine. You should not read into the fact that I haven’t gotten up yet. Y’see, Clint and I were just playing a game.”

“Yeah, Tony’s losing,” said Clint.

“I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

Tony and Clint probably would have gone on like that for much longer than any two adults should have, but Steve cut in with, “Tony, if you’re really alright, stand up.”

“See, there’s a problem with that. If I stand up, Clint wins the game. It’s called Standy-Upsies-Liesy-Downsies. I’m submitting it to the Olympics next year. It’s gonna replace archery.”

“Good. Archery’s dumb,” said Clint.

Steve rolled his eyes and crouched down to bridal-carry Tony.

“No, please, Cap, I just need a minute.”

“You’re injured. You’re going into the ambulance.”

“Could an injured person do this?”

Tony twitched slightly, then couldn’t quite stifle a groan. His muscles were all on fire.

“Yeah, Tony, I think they could,” said Steve a little smugly as he continued to carry Tony to the ambulance.

“When did you get so sassy?”

“It’s the serum. My natural sassiness was increased by a factor of ten.”

“More like… like jackassiness.”

Steve raised an eyebrow and Tony said, “Look, I’m injured, I’m not mouthing off at 100% right now.”

“I thought you weren’t injured.”

“I am in whatever state means you’ll let me go home and sleep until tomorrow.”

“That’s what we’re doing, Tony.”

“It is?”

“Right after you get treated for your injuries.”

Tony groaned but it was around that point he realized he could tuck his head against Steve’s shoulder and appreciate the warmth and closeness of his body, so he decided to stick a pin in all attempts of sassing himself out of the situation.

“What the hell happened to your hair, by the way?” said Steve.

“Accidentally went to Dr. X’s barber,” muttered Tony.

“Tony,” said Steve in that special voice he reserved just for the kind of impatience Tony inspired.

On a normal day, Tony probably would’ve had another quip lined up. But today he was tired and sore and grouchy and just having the worst fucking day, so all he could manage was the truth.

“I don’t wanna talk about it, Steve.”

Steve paused, and said, “Are you alright?”

Before Tony could answer with either a quip or some more pathetic whining (he’d know when it came out of his mouth), a familiar voice said, “What’d you do to my Iron Man, Cap?”

Tony opened his eyes (when had he closed them?) and was relieved to see the familiar voice was paired with a familiar face in the ambulance.

“Bruce! Light of my life. My bosomest brother.”

“Wow, that bad?” said Bruce.

“My guess is bruising, overexertion and dehydration, but I want to be sure there’s nothing worse. The Puppeteer had him fighting us pretty brutally for over an hour. Tony’s built for strength, not endurance.”

“Please tell me whatever asshole did this didn’t christen themself ‘The Puppeteer’,” said Tony as Steve laid him down on the stretcher.

“Hey, naming things is hard,” said Bruce as he flashed a light in each of Tony’s eyes.

“No it’s not. Just name everything after yourself. That’s called branding.”

“You got it from here, Bruce?” said Steve.

“Yep we’re good, Cap,” said Bruce as he got to work on Tony.

Then Cap walked off back into the chaos of reporters and Puppeteer victims and police to go do what he did best. Because the world always seemed to need Steve more than Tony did, and Steve, the consummate superhero that he was, always went where he was needed most. It was why Pepper had split up with Tony, and it was a big part of why Tony loved Steve almost from the moment they’d met.

“Pepper had a point,” mumbled Tony as he watched Steve get farther away until he disappeared into the crowd. “This sucks.”

Chapter Text

Ultimately, all Tony got was a splinted finger, some extra-strength tylenol, a short stint on an IV drip, a crap-load of gatorade and a ride back to the tower.

“Nat knew what she was doing; there’s nothing wrong with you that a few days of taking it easy won’t cure. But make sure you drink that gatorade,” said Bruce as he took out Tony’s IV.

Tony sat up. He felt like he was on the other side of the most intense workout of his life, which is exactly what had happened. Everything hurt. All he wanted to do was find a hole to curl up in and sleep until this day from hell was over.

And a drink. God, he wanted a drink. Which he couldn’t have, because Steve Rogers was a sexy, vengeful, all-American demi-god, and Tony would not subject himself to a month without fast food just to appease him.

Tony went straight to the couch in his lab (which was functionally his bed these days) and passed out before he could even say anything to Jarvis. His last conscious thought was At least I won’t wake up on fire again.

“Hey Tony,” came Steve’s voice, along with a gentle touch on the shoulder.

“Mmmm,” said Tony through a grin. He was warm and sore (?) the smell of Steve was all around him (aftershave, leather, and just a touch of apples). This was his favorite dream.

“Time to get up, Tony.”

Tony opened his eyes a bit. There was Dream Steve, leaning over him on the couch, framed by the lights in the lab and looking just so fucking beautiful.

“Hey handsome,” said Tony.

Dream Steve raised his eyebrows and said, “Come on, Tony, it’s time to wake up before Natasha finds you.” (??)

“Mmm, you forgot something,” said Tony.

“What’s that?” said Dream Steve with that small smile he only gave when Tony was being a pain in the ass.

Tony reached out and grabbed the front of Steve’s tee-shirt.

“This,” said Tony as he drew Steve in for a kiss.

Steve’s lips were soft and warm. Dream Steve froze for a fraction of a second (???) and then he was kissing Tony back. He tasted like popcorn butter and Coca-Cola. (????)

Steve stopped for a breath and said, “Um.”

(?????)

(...)

(!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

Tony’s eyes snapped open and he jerked into a sitting position instinctively.

Crunch

“Ow!” said Tony, rubbing his forehead.

“FUCK!” shouted very-much-not-a-Dream Steve as he tipped his head back and put his hands over his face.

“Oh shit!” shouted Tony, “Steve! What— oh my GOD!”

“S’fine,” said Steve through gritted teeth. Blood was pouring out of his nose.

“I thought it was a dream! I thought— your nose is broken! I broke your fucking nose!” said Tony, who was very deep into a serious panic right now. It was everything he could do to not start hyperventilating. He had kissed Steve in what he thought was a dream and then he’d broken his fucking nose. This was so much worse than waking up on fire.

“Don’t— just— get me to the elevator,” said Steve.

Tony wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep back a panic attack if he had to walk Steve all the way to the hospital floor, but luckily they ran into Bruce a few steps outside the lab.

“What the—” said Bruce.

“Broken nose,” said Steve, his head still tipped back.

Bruce clearly had a thousand questions on the tip of his tongue, but one look at Tony’s face was enough to quiet them.

“C’mon, Cap, let’s get you to the hospital floor before it heals and we have to re-break it,” said Bruce, taking Steve’s elbow.

“Uh…” said Tony articulately.

“I’ve got it, Tony, don’t worry about it. He’s going to be fine,” said Bruce.

Tony numbly watched Bruce steer Steve toward the elevator and willed his breathing to slow down. It was like his brain was screaming. This was the worst thing that had ever happened in his entire life. He needed to get the fuck out of here.

Tony honestly did not remember making the conscious choice to get in his backup suit. It didn’t register to him as a choice he was making until it was already assembled around him and he was standing on the take-off pad just outside the lab with coordinates for far the fuck away from here. And then the only reason why it registered as a choice at all was because he was less than an inch off the ground when he felt someone latch on to the back of the suit.

“Hey, Tony,” said Natasha directly into the suit’s earpiece, “Time for movie night!”

“Wh— Nat! Get off!” shouted Tony. They were hovering a few feet above the landing pad now. Natasha was clinging to him like a limpet, but Tony knew if he took off any higher he’d have to take her with him.

“One second,” said Natasha as she reached for Tony’s gauntlet. Bastard that she was, Natasha had memorized the manual-release sequence and before Tony could stop her she’d clicked the fingers in the right order. A second later, Tony was tumbling out of the suit, landing face down on the landing pad. The suit, now unencumbered by the two people of weight it had been carrying, shot straight up and flew off along its original trajectory.

“What did I say would happen if you tried to skip movie night again without a valid excuse?” asked Natasha.

“That it was fine because you trusted me not to do it for no reason?” Tony mumbled into the ground.

“Don’t make me beat you up again.”

Tony sighed and slowly, achingly, pushed himself to his feet.

“You didn’t say. You just said I wouldn’t like it.”

“Did you like that?”

“No.”

“And there we are. Let’s go, I left a bag of popcorn in the microwave.”

Chapter Text

As Natasha steered Tony through the enclosed part of the lab, Tony said, “Jarvis, call back the suit.”

“I’m afraid Sir invoked the Kokomo protocol before leaving the suit.”

Fuck. He had, hadn’t he?

“What does that mean?” asked Natasha.

“Suit’s going to my private island off the coast of Australia. Can’t be called back from here. I’ll need to go get it myself.”

“Why were you going to your private island?”

Tony was going to say, “Because I am having the shittiest day in the history of shitty days and I cannot deal with anyone or anything right now.” Instead he said, “Clint’s gonna make us watch Groundhog Day again.”

There was a flicker of tension in the corner of Nat’s mouth, and she said, “Yes. And fleeing to a private island is a very rational and mature reaction to that fact.”

Wonderful. He’d pissed Nat off too.

“Bruce and Steve aren’t coming to movie night, I don’t know why I have to,” grumbled Tony.

“Bruce’ll be there. And Steve’ll be there once he realizes you’ve given him the slip.”

Tony didn’t say anything. Which had the opposite effect he intended — when Nat noticed he wasn’t making egregious lies about avoiding Steve, she got suspicious.

“Jarvis? Where’s Steve?”

“Captain Rogers is on the hospital floor.”

Nat blinked and when she spoke her tone was deadly.

“You did not throw a repulsor blast or a bomb at Steve just so you could get out of movie night.”

“I didn’t. I promise I didn’t,” said Tony hastily.

When Tony continued to fail to elaborate, Natasha got very suspicious. Fortunately, they’d reached the top of the stairs by then, and were now in the common room.

“Twitter thinks you should just shave your head,” said Clint, not even looking up from his phone.

“Twitter can suck it. By this time next week, people everywhere will be going to their barbers and asking for The Tony Stark,” said Tony.

“Clint, do you know what’s happened to Steve and Bruce?” asked Natasha.

“Nah. Thor sends his apologies, though. He wanted to be back from Asgard in time for movie night but there’s some extra bullshit with his brother going on.”

“When isn’t there?” said Natasha. Then she turned to Tony and said, “I’m about to go get Steve. This is your last chance to tell me your side of whatever just happened.”

That got Clint’s attention. But when Tony continued to say nothing, Natasha just sighed and stalked off to the elevator bank.

“Tony?” said Clint.

“Hey, have you set up the movie yet?” said Tony as he grabbed the remote from the common room table. Tony thanked the lord for his teenage preoccupation with escape artistry and sleight of hand, which allowed him to press the right buttons to get to the movie options for the TV while opening the secret compartment in the bottom of the remote and pressing one of the three panic buttons inside.

Immediately the lights went dim, the couch got wide enough for two people to get busy on, and Careless Whisper started blasting from the speakers. And Clint started howling with laughter.

“Is there a horny panic button on the remote? Did you just accidentally press the horny panic button?” Clint wheezed. “Where is it? Tony, where is the horny panic button, I need to know.”

“I— ok, yes, there is a horny panic button I might have accidentally pressed. And no, I am not telling you where it is,” said Tony, as he hastily re-pressed the button to cancel horny mode, pressed the one in the middle, then replaced the back plate.

“Tony—”

“Excuse me, Sir, there is an urgent private call from Director Fury ready in the study,” said Jarvis coolly.

Thank God I didn’t guess wrong again, thought Tony as he immediately jumped up, slipped the remote into his pocket, and said, “Sorry, Clint! Now you know about this one I’m getting rid of it. The good news is there’s another horny panic button somewhere else in the room. The bad news is you’ll never find it.”

Tony held his breath and prayed.

“We’ll fucking see about that, Stark,” said Clint excitedly as he immediately started pulling books off the bookshelf.

Tony turned and exhaled slowly as he left the room. Natasha would’ve known he was lying about the other button. She also would’ve known Tony didn’t actually have a call from Director Fury. Thank fucking God Clint wasn’t Natasha.

Chapter Text

The weather outside was that wonderful combination of rainy enough to soak through any coat, windy enough to make all umbrellas useless, and cold enough to make all rain-soaked garments also freeze to your damn skin. It was the kind of weather that practically screamed “Get back inside, idiot, this is what buildings are for.”

Tony kept walking. There could’ve been hailstones the size of cars and he would’ve kept walking. He was not going back to the tower. Instead he pulled the hat a little further down over his ears and marched on. It was a warm winter hat, but it was cloth, so it was just as soaked as the rest of him. It also had “Save a Target, Nail an Archer” stitched to the front, because it was just that kind of day.

Tony dug his hands deep into his pockets to try and get some warmth back into them when he felt his phone there, still completely busted. As badly as he didn’t want to see or talk to anyone right now, he knew in his heart of hearts he should probably call Rhodey. Rhodey would know what to do about this whole clusterfuck with Steve, or at the very least he’d provide acceptable commiseration about it, and right now Tony needed whatever he could get. So he ducked into a Best Buy, picked out a fairly basic Starkphone, and took it to the checkout counter.

“That’ll be two hundred and forty nine dollars,” said the bored-looking teenager with chipped yellow nail polish.

Tony reached for his wallet and suppressed the urge to roundhouse kick the Valentine’s Day gift card display.

“Ok, look. I don’t have my wallet. But. You see this phone? It literally has my name on it. So we’re good, right?” Tony almost pleaded.

The teenager looked up at him and realized for the first time she was talking to Tony Stark.

“Um,” she said anxiously, “Mr. Stark… I— I’m sorry, I can’t—”

“Sure you can!” said Tony brightly, “When they ask why you let me leave with a Starkphone, tell them I was Tony fucking Stark, and then point them to the security footage to confirm.”

The girl bit a nail. A bit of yellow nail-polish flaked onto her lip.

“No, I’m sorry, I really—”

“Can I speak to your manager?” said Tony, because the poor girl looked like she was about to cry, and Tony may be an asshole but he wasn’t the yell-at-minimum-wage-workers kind of asshole.

She left and came back with a guy who looked like the before picture in an ad for Rogaine. He told Tony the same thing she did: Tony Stark or not, he had to pay for the phone. Tony charmed. He pleaded. He begged. And then he discovered that while he was above yelling at minimum wage workers, he was not above yelling at middle management.

“Do you know who I fucking am!?” Tony snarled.

“Can I get security at the front desk?” the manager said into his walky-talky.

“No! No, no. It’s fine. Look, I’m leaving, ok?” said Tony quickly because he did not need to add “getting arrested” to his list of shitty things that had happened today. “I — I’m sorry. I’m going, ok? Goodbye.”

Tony stormed out the door, ready to punch God. The rain had let up to a light misting and the wind had died down a bit, but he was still cold and soaked and phone-less. Christ he needed a drink. At least the bar wouldn’t ask for money up front; he could start a tab and worry later about how the fuck he was going to pay it, he was that fucking desperate.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony turned. It was the teenage girl with the yellow nail polish who’d been behind the Best Buy checkout counter.

“Um,” said Tony articulately.

“I’m sorry,” she said, twisting her hands, “I— it’s company policy, and I need this job. But I know you wouldn’t be asking if it wasn’t something you needed to help people.”

Tony chose not to correct her.

“Look, I really shouldn’t be telling you this, but if all you need is something to make phone calls, we just threw out a bunch of flip phones that weren’t selling well. They’re in the dumpster out back, in the boxes with blue X’s on them. They’re not exactly Starkphones, but—”

“What’s your name?” asked Tony.

“Marissa. Marissa DeMarco,” she said.

“Thank you, Marissa. Really. Just — thank you,” said Tony, privately resolving to look her up and pay off her student loan debt later. And he’d never meant anything more sincerely in his life. In that moment he was so fucking grateful for this lifeline in the sea of shit that was today, that he was pretty sure he was going to ride this gratitude wave for the rest of the day.

Twenty minutes later, when Tony’s coat was stained with old spaghetti sauce and something else rancid as he pawed open a box with a blue X on it, the wave had diminished to a surge. Two minutes after that, when he was out of the dumpster and snapping his SIM card into a glittery, lilac Hello Kitty flip phone, the surge was a light wake. When the phone immediately started ringing, with Rhodey’s name flashing across the front, the wake became a vortex of anxiety. Why was Rhodey calling him?

“Why the fuck haven’t you been answering your phone, Tony?” Rhodey snarled on the other end.

Tony scrunched his face and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“If I told you my phone’s been broken all day—”

“Nope, I stopped falling for that one about fifteen years ago, Tony. And you know what? I don’t want to hear whatever half-baked bullshit you’re gonna come up with for why you’ve been avoiding me. Do you have any idea how much crap you’ve put me through today?”

Tony leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes, tipping his head back until it thunked painfully against the wet bricks of the building.

“Is this about the meeting with General Murphy?” Tony asked weakly.

“Of fucking course it’s about the meeting with General Murphy, asshole!” Rhodey shouted, “Do you know how much yelling I’ve taken today? How much gladhanding I had to do to convince the US military not to storm Avengers tower? Do you even care, or are you just —”

Tony closed the phone and pulled out the SIM card. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he’d call Rhodey and sort this out. Not today. Today he was going to get absolutely, unbelievably, spectacularly shit-faced, bet or no bet. Future Tony could deal with the fallout on that one, present Tony needed a drink like he needed oxygen.

He was halfway to his tenth favorite bar (Natasha could probably find him in bars 1–9, but he hadn’t visited this bar since he was barely out of MIT) when something caught his attention. He was in the area where they’d been fighting earlier. The cop cars were gone, but there was still a wide, taped-off area surrounding the John Lennon Memorial in Central Park, effectively closing it off to foot traffic and curious bystanders. There had been something niggling at the back of his mind since the fight: why here? If the Puppeteer wanted the maximum number of puppets or eyeballs, he could’ve sent the teenage puppet to Times Square or Grand Central Station or hell, any train during rush hour. The John Lennon memorial might be a tourist trap, but it wasn’t good for anything really — not for puppets, not for unobstructed sightlines, not for any reason Tony could think of. Why here? Why now? And also, why hadn’t the girl moved? The Puppeteer could’ve made it a much more difficult fight if he’d made her walk over toward the perimeter they’d set up to start puppeting cops. Tony sorely wished he could read the report with the results of her interrogation afterward, but he suspected it wouldn’t be all that useful. If she hadn’t been trying to talk to them through the bubble, she probably had a good reason not to risk opening her mouth. Maybe the Puppeteer had her family. Hopefully the police were sorting it out, now that they were both in custody.

Tony felt his feet take him over to the proverbial scene of the crime and he ducked under the police tape to have a look around. There was a small crater where his suit had landed, lots of trampled grass, and that damn oak tree he’d had to fight around. It was all the same as he remembered. There was nothing new to explain Tony’s persistent questions.

Nothing except the fact she’d apparently been standing directly over a manhole cover the entire fucking time.

On an ordinary day, Tony would’ve investigated it himself right away. He would’ve called the suit, dove down into the sewer, and thoroughly enjoyed kicking some bad guy’s ass. But Tony’s primary suit and backup suit were unavailable. His third backup was the suitcase suit, which he couldn’t call, even if he wanted to. The fourth backup was currently offline and disassembled on workbench 8, and he’d scrapped backup number 5 three weeks ago because five backup suits was getting into the obsessive zone he’d been in that necessitated blowing them all up a lifetime ago. He was suitless, sore, tired, and absolutely not up for hearing Steve yell at him for going in half-cocked, alone and defenseless. So Tony took out the flip phone, stuck in the SIM card, and started dialing Jarvis like a good little Avenger.

Of course, at that very moment, the manhole cover lifted, shifted aside, and a guy in colorful spandex and a domino mask stuck his head and shoulders out. A second later his eyes locked on Tony.

Tony turned to run, but he immediately felt a familiar blast to his back. A moment later his limbs moved of their own volition, marching him back toward the manhole and Puppeteer number two.

“Hi,” said Tony brightly, “Any chance we could have this conversation somewhere open with lots of witnesses? There’s a great Italian place maybe five blocks from here, and I haven’t eaten since this morning. My treat?”

Puppeteer number two said nothing. He just slid right back down the ladder into the sewer. A moment later, Tony was forced to follow.

As Tony’s arms moved over to the manhole cover and placed it over his head, surrounding him in the dark, horrible-smelling, dankness of the NYC sewer system, all he could think was thank God he’d put the SIM card back in his phone, so the team could track his location.

Then the phone slipped out of his pocket and landed with a splash below.  And Tony’s overwhelming desire for a drink was now superseded by an overwhelming desire for a sewer alligator to swallow him whole.

Chapter Text

Being puppeted was different the second time around.

For one thing, Tony retained control over smaller movements. He could still move slightly, although not enough to run away or throw a punch. But if he moved slowly enough, especially while the other Puppeteer was busy doing God knows what on his computer in this make-shift sewer lair, Tony could shift his posture, change the position of his fingers, inch his hands closer to his pockets. That was until his captor noticed that was what he was doing, and he felt his arms immediately jerk back to where they were.

“You’re not as strong without your accomplice, are you?” said Tony curiously.

“Strong enough,” snapped Puppeteer number 2 (or maybe Puppet prime?).

“Well, Mr. Pup— actually, your buddy’s already got a claim on that name. Do you have one of your own? Nope, changed my mind, don’t care, your supervillain name is Bob now.”

Bob turned around in his chair and scowled at Tony’s face, and Tony’s hand inched a little bit closer to his pocket again. Perfect. Now it was just a matter of misdirection 101.

“I’m gonna lay this one out for you, Bobby. It’s obvious you’re new to the whole supervillain thing, but FYI, kidnapping an Avenger is about the stupidest possible thing you can do when you’re starting out. So how about you let me go and I’ll give you a 15-minute head start before my team finds you and beats you down through the sewer floor, clear down into where the mole people live?”

“I don’t respond well to threats,” hissed Bob.

“Oh that’s not a threat, Bobert. That’s the reality of what you’ve done. One way or another, my team’s coming for me and they will find me. Either that or I’m getting out of here myself. You’d better hope it’s the team that’s coming, because that way, there’s witnesses to make us feel guilty enough not to turn you into a shish ke-Bob”

“The Avengers are pathetic and so are you,” snapped Bob. “And none of this will matter by this time tomorrow. Now that we know the amplifiers work, by tomorrow morning I’ll have all of them powered up and ready to blanket Manhattan with my magic. Then it’s only a matter of freeing my brother, and—”

“And all of New York City shall be thine, huh? Do you have any idea how many times I’ve heard this same fucking monologue, Bob-ra Ann? Christ, do you minor villain types go to conventions and workshop speeches together? I’m not the one who’s pathetic here, Bob-o. And say what you will about the Avengers, but we know how to bring the backup.”

Tony pressed the third panic button on the remote still in his pocket.

Nothing happened.

Which… was exactly what Tony expected. Halfway across the city, Avengers Tower was going into lockdown. Which any of the remaining five of them would cancel, and then get to work finding out why it had happened, and then hopefully tracking the now activated homing beacon in the remote. In hindsight, Tony probably shouldn’t’ve dropped a closing quip like that until the team got here. Whatever, he was having one of the worst days of his life, and it wasn’t like Bob was going to appreciate his wit anyway.

So they lapsed back into a tense silence for a while, with Bob typing away at his computer and Tony praying silently that the team would get here quickly, because the longer he stayed here, the longer he could feel the stench of the sewer ingraining itself in his pores. He’d need a heavy-duty spa treatment before he could feel clean after this.

Then Tony heard something. Somewhere far away down the sewer, there was a rhythmic beat. As it became less faint, Tony realized it was music. Which led to several other realizations in quick succession:

1. The third button did not send the tower into lock down. It called for the next suit on deck to be sent to his current location.
2. Contrary to what he had thought earlier, he actually did have one more suit waiting in the wings that was capable of flying out to him.
3. It was the suit he’d prepared specifically for his PR appearance in Japan to smooth things over after the Avengers had leveled not-small sections of Tokyo fighting off Dr. Doom last month. One that was only supposed to fly in and open dramatically so Tony could address a crowd of screaming Japanese fans.
4. It was literally the worst possible suit for Tony’s current situation.

“What the hell is that?” said Bob as he peered out of the opening of his workshop towards the direction of the music. The chorus of Caramelldansen was now distinct enough to hear clearly.

“Remember what I said about backup, Boberino?” said Tony weakly, “Yeah, that’s not what this is.”

A moment later, Bob threw himself on the ground as Tony’s fourth backup suit hurtled through the open passageway and encased Tony within itself before falling flat on the floor.

Mark 104. A loaf-shaped case with enough repulsors to make it fly, an adorable paint job, and nothing else.

The tsum tsuit.

“Jarvis?” said Tony quickly.

“Please enact manual override,” said Jarvis calmly, but loud enough to be audible over the non-stop loop of Caramelldansen on repeat.

“I can’t enact manual override, Jarvis, I’m stuck like this,” Tony snarled.

“Please enact manual override,” Jarvis repeated.

Suddenly there was a thunk on the top side of the suit, as if something heavy were being laid on top of it.

“I’m not sure what you were trying to accomplish here,” came Bob’s muffled voice from the other side of the casing, “But it sounds like you forgot to account for the fact that you can’t enact the manual override while you’re under the influence of my magic. I’m going to revise my earlier statement: clearly the Avengers are pathetic and stupid.”

“When I get out of here I am going to kick your ass straight back to Bikini Bottom, SpongeBob,” growled Tony.

There was another thunk on top of the casing.

“In a way, this makes things easier for me. Before, I would’ve had to take you with me to finish setting up the last of the amplifiers. Now I can simply trap you in here until my plan is complete.”

After several other heavy thunks, Tony could hear Bob dusting off his hands before he added, “You know what’s funny? My name actually is Bob.”

Then his footsteps grew fainter and fainter, and he was gone.

Tony felt the influence of the magic lessen by degrees, until finally he could reach up, grab the manual release lever, and pull. The casing shuddered but didn’t open. Whatever Bob had placed on top of it was heavy enough to keep it shut.

“Jarvis? Please tell me you’re still with me,” said Tony.

“Of course, Sir. How may I be of assistance?” said Jarvis.

Tony hesitated. He really did not want to connect directly to anyone right now. Or speak to anyone ever again. The second all of this was over, Tony was going to build a suit the size of a cave and live in it for the rest of his life.

“First, please kill the music, I’m about to spontaneously combust with sheer kawaii energy. Then send the following message to the team’s cell phones,” said Tony as he braced his hands on the top of the casing. “Hi, guys. Sorry I missed movie night. It turns out the Puppeteer has a brother and they were combining their powers. I ran into him in a sewer workshop below where we fought today, but he escaped and I can’t go after him. Don’t worry, I’m fine. But he’s got puppet magic amplifiers set up around the city and he’s planning to set them all off tomorrow morning. First name is Robert, about five and a half feet tall, brown hair, wearing some embarrassing-looking multi-color bad-guy spandex and a domino mask. He said the guy we caught was his brother, maybe start there? I dunno. Please don’t come after me, I really am fine, and I’m not in danger or wounded, I promise. Ok Jarvis, you can send that.”

“Sent. Is there any other way I may be of assistance?”

“Yeah,” Tony grunted as he pushed as hard as he could against the top of the unyielding casing, “I’m guessing the suit probably can’t turn upright right now, but on my mark, I need you to fire the repulsors as hard as they’ll go. Mark.”

The repulsors fired. Tony could feel the case rumble as it slid rapidly across the floor.

SLAM

“Fuck!” Tony shouted as he rubbed his head against where it had slammed into the top of the casing. The suit had crashed into the wall, not hard enough to break through it but hard enough to jostle whatever was on top of it. Tony could hear what sounded like a couple of cinder-blocks tumble onto the floor.

“Ok, kill the repulsor,” said Tony, then he pressed on the top of the casing again. This time it did give a little. So Tony marshaled his still-aching muscles and pressed as hard as he could.

By degrees, the “suit” finally opened like a clam shell, and Tony got out.

“Jarvis, hack into the computer in closest proximity to the tsum tsuit. Look for anything related to a plan to amplify puppet magic enough to spread it all over New York City, and send it to Bruce. I doubt Bob’ll get far enough to actually implement it, but the team might want it, just in case.”

“I have several messages from members of the team asking for Sir’s location. What shall I tell them?” said Jarvis’s voice emanating from both the open clam shell suit and the computer’s speakers.

Tony rubbed his face and said, “Tell them… tell them I’m fine. And that I’m not coming back to the tower tonight. Tell them I’m sitting this one out.”

Then after a moment’s hesitation, he said, “And tell Steve I’m sorry.”

Chapter Text

Tony felt his way along the damp, cold, impenetrably dark sewer. He passed a few ladders up to the surface just to be sure he was sufficiently far removed from the original manhole cover, because if by some small chance there was yet another player in this Puppeteer bullshit, Tony did not want to deal with them today. Maybe a proper Avenger like Steve would’ve used this opportunity to try and lure them out, but Tony was being held together by chewing gum and a fuck-you attitude at the moment, and he simply did not have it in him. He wanted to drink, scream, cry, eat, sleep, and have a complete mental breakdown. As soon as he got out of this damn sewer, he was going to do one of them, and it was a spin of the wheel for which one.

Once he was satisfied he was far enough removed from the original manhole, Tony picked a ladder and climbed. He still couldn’t go back to the tower, so his current plan was to make his way over to a hotel that would recognize him well enough to accept the “my wallet is in my other pants” excuse, take literally any room they had available, and sleep until the heat death of the universe. Or until Natasha showed up to haul him to the next movie night, which would probably be a lot sooner. Whatever, he could deal with that when it came, just not fucking today.

He was near the top of the ladder when he realized with a groan that the first person who’d track him down probably wouldn’t be Natasha; it would be Steve. If Tony so much as grumbled at the cereal choices in the kitchen, Steve tracked him down to ask if he was ok; there was no way he was going to let Tony hide from what had happened in the lab, or take him at his word that he was ok now. There was no avoiding it: sometime soon, Tony would have to talk about his damn feelings. It would be awkward, and Steve would be gracious, and Tony would have to wait until Steve finished the “I’m flattered but” speech until he could bust out the whiskey and drink himself to oblivion. Which would undoubtedly end with Steve finding him hungover and talking to him gently about healthy coping mechanisms because he was that kind of unfailingly decent, and sweet baby Jesus, if Tony didn’t get a drink in his hand soon he was going to bash his head against the closest, hardest object he could find.

Hotel first, then flip a coin for concussion vs. alcohol, Tony thought to himself as he listened to the other side of the manhole cover before moving it aside. It sounded like he was still in Central Park, so he wouldn’t have to be dodging any cars to get the hell out of the sewer. He was literally right in the middle of thanking God for such a tiny stroke of good luck when his arm brushed against something.

The something was white.

And it was fuzzy.

And the second he disturbed it, it completely emptied itself onto his arm with thousands of tiny baby spiders.

Tony gave the least dignified scream of his entire life and launched himself out of the manhole. The spiders, half in reality and half in his imagination, were everywhere: on his coat, down his shirt, on his pants, inside his hat, in his boxers. The second he got to his feet he was running and stripping off his clothes. By the time Tony came back to his senses, he was sitting in the bottom of a fountain, maybe two feet deep with very, very cold water. His teeth were chattering as he ran his hands compulsively over every square inch of skin to confirm again that he was not covered in spiders. And he was buck fucking naked.

“This is your final warning, Mr. Stark. I’m going to need you to stand up, put your hands over your head, and come with me.”

Tony blinked and looked around. To his right was a small crowd of whatever stragglers hadn’t left the park when it closed officially, all of whom had their phones out and were undoubtedly about to get paid handsomely by TMZ for their footage of Tony Stark’s mental breakdown. To his left was a cop with his hand on the taser at his hip.

Tony took a deep, shaky breath and stood up with his hands over his head. The group of onlookers gave an amused titter now that the view of Tony’s genitals was unobstructed by the water, and Tony couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Oh please, like none of you have seen the pictures of me streaking in Cancun.”

“Mr. Stark—” continued the cop.

“Yeah, don’t get your panties in a twist, I’m coming,” said Tony as he stepped out of the fountain. It was a testament to just how out of it he was that it wasn’t until he heard the familiar click of cuffs encircling his wrists that he thought, Pepper is going to flay me alive.

Chapter Text

Tony became vaguely aware of his shoulder being shaken lightly.

He blinked and wow his eyes were dry. He must’ve been staring at the wall for a long time.

“Tony, this isn’t a dream,” said a soft voice to his right as he was shaken again.

For the first time since the fountain, Tony took in his surroundings. He was in a prison cell, but the door was open and there was a cop standing by, keys in hand. To his left was a cell with a couple of drunks and heavily-tattooed henchman types, several of whom were glaring at him like they wanted to start something but knew better with the guard right there. Seated on the bench to his right was Steve Rogers. He had two black eyes and a worried expression on his face.

“Are you with me, Tony?” said Steve kindly, and Jesus Christ, Tony had literally broken the man’s nose maybe four hours ago and here he was acting like Tony was the one who was hurt. How was Steve even real?

“The Puppet—” Tony started.

“He’s in custody. We got your message. I’m here for you.”

Steve turned to his side as if to pick something up and added, “Um… they told me to bring some clothes and shoes for you when I came to pick you up. Unless you want to… to keep wearing what you’re wearing.

A hazy memory swam to the surface in Tony’s mind. Someone had shoved a lost-and-found box into his hands and he’d picked out the first clothes he’d touched. Looking down now, Tony could see that meant he was wearing a fringed crop top that had “Daddy’s Little Cum Slut” airbrushed on it in loopy, cursive writing, orange camo crocs, and baby blue velvet track pants Tony recognized from Avengers merchandising meetings; these would have “Property of Captain America” screen printed across the butt. Apparently catatonic Tony hadn’t bothered to read the things he was wearing, but he did remember to put on a baseball cap.

“What does my hat say?” said Tony, too afraid to look himself.

“Nothing… nothing embarrassing,” said Steve a little too carefully.

Tony took off the hat and read “Hammer Technology Incorporated.” He dropped it like it was made of fire ants.

“Jesus fucking shit goddamn cunt piss shit fucking fuck! ” Tony spat as he leapt to his feet and stalked over to the wall. He let his forearm and forehead rest against the cool, beige-painted cinder blocks and willed himself to keep it together. Steve Rogers was literally right behind him. Tony had already been catatonic in his presence and Tony was not going to compound that with a panic attack. He would not. He refused.

“Tony?” said Steve gently.

Tony whirled around and said, “Give me three seconds to get changed, then let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Thirty minutes of paperwork later, he was in the backseat of the car with Steve. Happy was driving them back to the tower instead of a hotel, at Steve’s insistence, and Tony just didn’t have it in him to fight him on it. He didn’t have anything in him at all. He was exhausted, sore, hungry, and as much as he hated to admit it, even to himself, he was overwhelmed. The camel’s back had broken several hours ago, but the straws just kept piling up. He was maybe a micrometer away from completely losing his shit. But goddammit, he would not do it here. He would not. He would not lose his shit in front of Steve.

“Tony, what happened?” asked Steve almost tenderly.

And it turned out Tony absolutely would lose his shit in front of Steve, whether he wanted to or not. Before Tony knew it he was shaking. Not long after, he was hyperventilating. It was like he was outside his own body just watching himself have a breakdown, and he was powerless to stop the shaking and the gasping and… fuck, yep, the tears streaming down his face. The universe could not fuck him over any more than this, short of throwing him back in that godforsaken cave or killing someone. At this point, if the dead person was him, it might just be an improvement on this day.

There was a sensation of warm pressure on his upper back. Tony looked to his right and saw that Steve had put his hand there, and he had apparently been talking the entire time.

“Breathe, Tony. It’s ok. Just breathe,” said Steve, when Tony was able to tune into his words.

“I— c—” Tony gasped.

Steve moved closer, wrapped his arm around Tony’s shoulders, and gently guided Tony’s head to his chest.

“Breathe with me, ok?” said Steve, and he immediately started to take big breaths in and out, his broad chest expanding and contracting rhythmically under Tony’s cheek.

Some part of Tony knew that this should be freaking him out even more, but luckily, he seemed to have already reached his freak out capacity. So instead he closed his eyes and listened to Steve’s heartbeat. And he breathed. Eventually he felt his own heart rate finally to slow down. By the time they got back to the tower garage, Tony wasn’t hyperventilating anymore. And Steve was holding him close, stroking what was left of his hair.

“Um,” said Tony, as he started to process his mental backlog of things he should be freaking out about and right at the top was “Steve is holding me and petting my hair while I have a panic attack”.

“One second, Tony,” said Steve. He leaned forward slightly, tapped on the window between the front and the back of the car, and said, “Happy? You can go. Leave the keys on the front seat, Tony and I can lock up.”

“Um,” said Tony a little more urgently, feeling his heart rate rise again as he heard Happy leave the car.

“Shhhh,” said Steve soothingly as he went back to petting his hair, “It’s alright, Tony. Please. It’s ok. This is just comfort. We don’t have to talk about what happened in the lab or anything else you don’t want to. I know you’re not hyperventilating anymore, but I’m pretty sure you’re still upset. Am I wrong?”

Tony didn’t say anything.

“The only agenda I have right now is that I want you to be ok,” said Steve earnestly.

Tony finally reconnected to the part of his brain that contained his vocabulary and said, “Steve, the only way I’m getting back in the same universe as ‘ok’ is by ingesting a ludicrous amount of alcohol and inventing something spectacular while blackout drunk. And I know that means I’m losing the bet but it’s my one and only coping mechanism for a day this shitty and I am past the point of caring.”

“You don’t ever talk about what’s bothering you?”

Tony snorted and said, “With who, a therapist?”

“Or a friend.”

“Pepper and Rhodey aren’t speaking to me right now. And even if they were they have better shit to do than listen to me whine.”

Steve’s fingers stilled in his hair for a moment, but then he said, “Did they ever tell you that?”

Tony furrowed his brow and said, “No, but why does that matter? It’s still true.”

“One of the main reasons most people have friends is so we can have people who’ll comfort us when we’re upset.”

“Not my friends.”

“Yes, your friends. And… and you know I think of you as my closest friend, right?”

Ah, shit. Tony left Steve off the list of people he considered friends because he didn’t want to assume anything about their relationship after what Tony had put him through today. Also because Tony was pathetic and could never quite shake the feeling that everyone he knew only hung out with him because he was rich and brilliant. And now he’d basically said outright that he didn’t think of Steve as a friend, because of course he had. He was in hell. Warm, comforting, beautiful Steve-hell.

More like tartarus, because this is definitely a Tantalus situation, provided Tony’s classical boarding school education unhelpfully.

But before Tony could apologize for what he said or for thinking of Steve as divine punishment, Steve said, “I’ve got nothing else going on tonight more important than you, Tony. So why don’t you tell me about your day?”

“You’re not obligated to pretend you aren’t angry with me just because I had a panic attack,” said Tony.

“Why do you think I’m angry with you?”

“You said we don’t have to talk about what happened in the lab.”

Steve clearly had something he wanted to say on the tip of his tongue but Tony could feel him pause, reconsider, and then say, “I’m not angry with you. Not at all. And this isn’t an obligation, Tony. You’re my friend. Friends tell each other about their day, and I genuinely want to hear about yours.”

Tony could’ve pointed out that most friends probably don’t hold each other and stroke each other’s hair while talking about their days, but he didn’t want to risk Steve coming to his senses and stopping.

“Start with this morning. What happened after you got out of bed?” said Steve, trying to be helpful.

Tony let out a small laugh despite himself.

“Slept face-down on a workbench last night, actually. And before you get all disappointed-in-me about it—”

“I’m not—”

“—it wasn’t my fault. Some knock-out dust I was packing into an arrowhead for Clint got out and did what knock-out dust does.”

“Oh no.”

“But that’s last night’s bullshit. I woke up this morning with my hair on fire.”

“Oh no. How’d that happen?”

And Tony told him. And once he started telling him, he couldn’t stop. He told him everything that had happened that day, the big and the small. Every single pebble in the rockslide from hell that had buried him. He glossed over the parts starring Steve but otherwise he just… let it all go. And Steve for his part knew exactly when to ask questions, when to poorly stifle a laugh (because yeah, some of it was funny in hindsight, even Tony was chuckling a bit), when to grumble or tut sympathetically, when to be quiet and listen. Tony had no idea how long they went on like that, but when he finished he felt wrung out. Still pretty crappy, but much less overwhelmed and weighed down.

“That,” said Steve, “is an astonishingly terrible day.”

“Wait ‘til you hear about the time I got blown up and imprisoned in a cave,” said Tony dully.

“Tony, having had worse days before doesn’t mean you can’t feel rotten about having a bad day now. And you did, Tony, you had a really, really bad day. Knowing what I know now, I’d be more worried if you weren’t upset.”

“Yeah well…” said Tony, gesturing vaguely with his free hand.

“I’m sorry for my part in it.”

“You’re the one who had his favorite hat stolen and set on fire, Steve.”

“I don’t give a damn about the hat.”

“Then had his nose broken.”

“Stop, Tony. It was an accident. And I’m ok right now. You’re not. What can I do to help you be ok?”

Hold me like this every day for the rest of our lives, thought Tony, but he said, “Got a time machine somewhere around your suite? Wait, I take it back. I don’t want to relive this day even to make it better. I just want to pretend none of it ever happened.”

“None of it?” asked Steve tentatively.

Yep, there it was. Tony sighed and sat up to face Steve.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” said Tony.

“We don’t have to—”

“We do. Because if we don’t, it’s going to hang over our heads until we do talk about it. And I’d rather do this on a day that couldn’t possibly get any worse already. So go ahead, Steve, lay it on me.”

Steve furrowed his brow and said, “Lay what on you?”

“Oh you know,” said Tony, waving his hand vaguely. When Steve didn’t respond, Tony sighed and mimicked, “Tony, you sure are a swell fella, but I don’t swing that way. And even if I did, you’ve got too many issues for us to make it work. And even if you didn’t, your dad was my wartime BFF and this would be too weird. And even if he weren’t, it’d be bad for the team. And even if—”

“You’ve thought about this a lot, haven’t you?”

Tony huffed and looked at his hands as he said, “I figured you could see from my behavior that it wasn’t my first Steve dream. But it’s ok, Steve, I know nothing’s ever going to happen here, and I really am ok with just being your friend.”

Well, “ok” was a bit of a lie, but it was close enough to the truth. Tony knew he wouldn’t have another panic attack when Steve finished turning him down. He’d just feel like he did now: crappy, deflated, but also a bit lighter. Because now, he and Steve were on the same page. Now he didn’t have to pretend anymore, to Steve or to himself.

After an almost interminable pause, Steve said, “Tony, if you want to be friends, I can be your friend too.”

Tony felt a potent mix of disappointment and relief wash through him, and he said, “Good—”

“I’m not finished.”

Tony turned toward Steve, who was looking at him with his brave face on. Which meant he was terrified. Why was Steve terrified?

“Tony, I can be friends with you, but… but you’re not the only one who thought he might have been dreaming, down in the lab.”

Then Steve’s hand was in his, lacing their fingers together. Tony froze, too shocked to move, his breath freezing in his chest.

“Hey, don’t be upset. Please, Tony don’t — I still don’t have an ulterior motive here,” said Steve, his other hand coming to wrap around Tony’s as he turned his body to face Tony more completely. “More than anything else, I just want you to be ok. But if you want this, Tony, if you want me, I am yours.”

Tony looked into Steve’s eyes and saw a jumble of emotions: intent, want, apprehension, nerves, doubt, and a lot of hope. Most of all he saw Steve, holding his breath, willing Tony to give him a sign. And in the end, Tony always gave Steve anything he wanted.

Tony kissed Steve gently, but with purpose. It was ginger and it was halting and it wasn’t very refined, but it was real, and that made it perfect. He tried to put a lot of things he couldn’t bring himself to say in the kiss. I’ve loved you since the day we met. I want you so badly it’s hard to breathe. Please love me. And Steve was kissing back with a lot of unsaid things of his own, enough that Tony could feel some of them. That he wanted this. That he wanted Tony to know that what had happened in the lab was worth it, if it led to this.

“This better not be another dream,” Tony mumbled as he finally pulled back.

Steve chuckled and said, “Do I usually have two black eyes when you’re dreaming?”

“Scrappy 90-pound pre-serum Steve sometimes does.”

Steve grinned and said, “You really dream about pre-serum me?”

“Occasionally. What can I say? You’ve always been hot.”

Steve put his hand up against the side of Tony’s face and caressed his cheek.

“How are you feeling?”

“On a normal day, I’d say fantastic. But um… literally every single part of me hurts.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing so hot either. But I’ll be fine by the morning.”

“I won’t. Gonna need a few days, I think.”

“Oh no a few days without sex, whatever will I do?” Steve joked.

“Who said anything about sex?” said Tony slyly.

Steve immediately turned crimson and Tony laughed, caught Steve’s wrist and kissed his palm before he brought their hands down to his knee.

“Relax, Steve, I am very much looking forward to us fucking each to pieces. But for now, I think we’re going to have to settle for falling asleep in the same bed.”

Steve’s breathing got a little uneven when Tony mentioned having sex with him, but it caught outright when he brought up sleeping in the same bed, as though the thought of it was too much to hope for. God, he was adorable.

“Yours or mine?” he asked.

“Yours,” said Tony. Steve didn’t need to see that Tony was functionally nesting on the couch in the lab these days, and the thought of going to sleep surrounded by Steve’s scent and Steve’s things and Steve’s arms wrapped around him was literally the best thing he could possibly think of.

Steve smiled warmly and said, “That sounds great.”

Tony’s fingers brushed against the band of Steve’s watch, which was when he noticed the time. He let out a chuckle. Which became a snort. Which became a guffaw. And a moment later he was absolutely hysterical.

“Tony, are you ok?” asked Steve, concern bleeding into his voice again.

“12:01!” said Tony, pointing to Steve’s watch, “It’s… I knew it. I just knew it.”

“Knew what?”

“That it couldn’t have been the same day. That… God, what’re the odds the worst day of my life would be followed by the best one?”

Steve’s smile lit up the back of the car and he said, “Are you sure about that? It’s only been a minute.”

“Yeah, but Steve?” said Tony as he smiled and brought his hand up to stroke the side of Steve’s face, “It was a really good minute.”

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

And, of course, one with them together.