Archive of Our Own ^beta

The lobby of Avengers Tower was nearly silent at 4:17 AM. Silent, but not still; Manhattan didn’t do still. Even at this hour, headlights slid like ghosts across the marble floors, and a siren wailed through the sleepless dark just a few blocks over.

Robert stood just off to the side of the reception desk, hair rumpled from sleep stolen at altitude, coat unbuttoned, scarf looped once and left to sag across his chest. He looked like he hadn’t stopped moving since Dane had called him a little over three hours ago, voice broken but trying to feign composure.

“The mission’s all finished. I’m back in New York. They’re watching me for a bit, like always, but once they’re satisfied... I’ll be home. Promise.”

That was all it took. Robert had called Peter the second the line went dead, barely coherent, and within the hour he was taking off from Boston Logan. It was the kind of favor Peter didn’t hesitate to offer.

It was also the kind Robert would never ask for unless it truly mattered.

Now, phone in hand, Robert quickly typed a message: Someone’s waiting for you in the lobby. He hit send and slipped the device back into his coat pocket, eyes flicking toward the elevator shaft as if willing time to move faster. Four in the morning, and his schedule was already thrown off for the day. He swam every morning at exactly 5:00 AM, a ritual he followed without fail, even when he traveled. He wondered if the Tower had a pool. Maybe he could still get his laps in–

The soft click of elevator doors opening pulled him from his thoughts.

Dane looked like hell – the kind worn like a second skin, too familiar to feel anymore. His sleeves were rolled unevenly, eyes rimmed with fatigue, dark curls still damp from a rushed post-mission shower and cold sweat from nightmares he couldn’t shake.

He stepped out slowly, gaze sweeping the room without much urgency… until it landed on Robert.

And with that, everything shifted.

The tension in Dane’s shoulders loosened. His breath caught. That blank, glazed-over stare cracked open with something raw. Shock first, then relief, then something strangled, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

The knight crossed the room in a few long strides, wordless, and brought both trembling hands up to cradle Robert’s face.

“Gods. You’re really here,” Dane breathed, voice catching halfway through. He blinked hard, jaw tightening as if trying not to fall apart. “How on Earth did you get here so fast?”

“I called in a favor with Peter,” Robert answered, his voice convincingly even. As if it hadn’t shaken him to hear Dane’s voice like that over the phone.

Something flickered in Dane’s expression. Surprise, almost disbelief, like the idea of Robert going to his mentor for help because of him didn’t quite compute. “Really? How is he?”

Robert’s features softened. His mouth tugged into something almost like a smile. “He sounded alright, albeit tired. A little surprised I called him at one in the morning.”

Even now, with the curse pressing in on his mind and his body running on little more than muscle memory, Dane had asked. That quiet thoughtfulness stirred something deep in the symbologist’s chest.

It stayed with him as they walked, warm and persistent, intertwined in the space between them. Dane reached out and pressed the elevator button without a word, the soft glow of it illuminating the panel. Robert’s body tensed, the muscles along his spine tightening like a drawn wire. His eyes widened for a brief flicker, pupils sharpening as realization set in.

“Avengers Tower’s really tall,” Dane muttered under his breath. “I’m sorry; you know I wouldn’t make you do this otherwise. Hope that’s alright.”

It wasn’t. Not by a long shot, but Robert shoved the panic down and answered measuredly, “It’s fine.”

The doors slid open with a soft chime, and they stepped inside.

The moment the metal sealed shut behind them, tightness stirred at the back of Robert’s throat, rising like the elevator itself. He shifted his weight, fingers reflexively curling around the railing behind him in a futile attempt to steady himself. The hum beneath their feet was smooth and near-silent, but the walls felt impossibly closer than they had just a moment ago.

Dane was beside him, close enough that their sleeves brushed, so he kept still. His gaze flicked to the panel, watching the numbers climb.

Floor 26.

Floor 27.

Floor–

The carriage jolted sharply then, flickering lights overhead casting fractured shadows across the cold metal walls. A high mechanical shudder rattled through the cabin before silence filled the air, thick as fog.

Robert’s breath caught in his throat.

“Oh, no.”

A creeping haze seeped into his vision, blurring edges and softening shapes until the walls seemed to bow inward, closing the distance like they intended to swallow him whole. He resisted the urge to claw at his collar, to tear it off like something clinging and wet, foreign and suffocating and wrong. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough to drown thought, to blot out everything but the crushing need to get out.

Get out, get out, get out.

Dane’s hand moved with quiet certainty to the emergency panel, pressing the button. A muted beep pierced the stillness, sharp and fragile. Robert stared ahead, eyes fixed on the wall across from him until metal gave way to stone.

Suddenly, he was seven years old all over again. Running away from home without a plan, no bag packed – just the overwhelming need to get away, to hide.

The woods wrapped around him like they’d been waiting. They were… quiet. The kind of quiet that made you feel like the world had forgotten you. Robert didn’t mind; that was the point.

He found the old well deep in the trees, sun-dappled and half-swallowed by ivy, like something out of a storybook. He leaned over the edge, mesmerized by the water far below. Light scattered across the surface, bending and breaking into ripples he didn’t yet have the words to name.

It shimmered. Shifted. Moved.

He needed to get closer.

Grasping the rim with both hands, he began to lower himself down, feet searching for a hold along the damp stone wall. Halfway down, he realised there wasn’t one. The stone was slick, too smooth for climbing. His hands strained, knuckles white, muscles aching as they fought to keep him suspended.

And then his grip gave out.

The cold hit like a blow. Water closed over his head, swallowing him whole, tearing the air from his lungs before he could even scream.

He kicked hard, wild with panic, and broke the surface with a ragged gasp. “Help me! I’m stuck!” He tried to climb, scrambling at the walls, but they were too wet.

His voice bounced off the stone walls, so fragile it barely reached the surface. “Help!”

Water slapped at his chest as he treaded, legs burning, teeth chattering. “Help!”

Night fell before help ever came. The darkness set in slowly, draping itself over the edges of the well, seeping into the water like ink. His arms protested every new movement. His legs were numb. Every breath felt thinner than the last. He kept treading, barely, but his body was slipping out from under him.

His thoughts drifted, slow and strange, flickering in and out like dreams half-remembered. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been there, only that he was tired – so tired – and the water was pulling at him gently now, like it understood.

He was going to let go. Sink beneath the surface. Let it all fade to quiet.

And then–

A voice. It was clear, close enough to feel like it was right there with him in the dark.

“Keep going,” it said. “They’re coming. They’ll find you.”

Somehow, he did.

And every second of it stayed with him.

Robert shuddered, his breath hitching as the memory cracked across the surface of now. He struggled through the haze to make out his boyfriend’s voice. The words faded in and out, slipping just beyond his grasp, pulling him deeper into that suffocating blur.

“Banner? It’s Dane… stalled near 27… Robert’s with me, please…”

A crackling response followed, static laced through every word. “Got it… reroute the power… few minutes, hang in there.”

Dane’s voice softened now, barely above a whisper, fraught with worry. “Robert?”

No answer.

He swallowed the knot in his throat and tried again, firmer but just as tender.

“Robert.”

The second call cut through the fog in Robert’s mind and tugged him back from the edge. His lashes fluttered, and a tear slipped free, trailing warm down one cheek as he blinked back to a world that was just a little clearer. The symbologist was a notorious talker, so much so that Nuñez had teased him repeatedly about it. Now, he found himself struggling for the right words, his mind stumbling over half-formed thoughts.

“I’m fine,” he said, voice brittle, reassurance forced into every syllable. He knew the mission – and the curse – were still weighing heavily on Dane. The last thing he needed was Robert becoming another burden. “It’s a sealed environment. Controlled. There’s airflow. We’re not even—"

“You’re not blinking,” Dane interrupted, honey-sweet cadence leaving no room for argument.

Robert blinked.

Dane stepped closer, cradling Robert’s face gently in his hands and swiping away the tear trailing down his cheek with the pad of his thumb. His gaze was reverent, an act of worship and devotion, holding every fragile piece of Robert as if he were something sacred.

“Do you need me to talk, or shut up?”

“Talk. Please.”

So Dane did. Pointless things, to start with – how the ancient Greeks used the same word for “breath” and “spirit.” That he’d seen a chipped owl on a lintel during his mission and thought it looked just like the one on Robert’s bookshelf, the one that never sat quite straight no matter how many times he fixed it. Something about how Floor 24 had art so ugly it looped back around to beautiful.

“Do you know how long I’ve been trying to get them to take down that one painting?” Dane said, voice easy and warm. “The aggressively orange one that could be used as nightmare fuel?”

Robert let out a weak breath. A laugh, maybe.

“Francis Bacon. Three Studies for Figures at the Base of a Crucifixion. 1944.”

Dane grinned, shaking his head. “See? You know your nightmares.”

Robert let out a quiet breath, some of the tension easing from his shoulders.

“I can’t stand how the air feels in here,” he murmured. “Like it’s pressing in.”

“Yeah?” Dane’s voice softened, the shift almost instinctive when he realized Robert was letting him in.

Robert nodded once, not quite looking at him. “Sometimes I still hear the water. Not real water, obviously; just the memory of it slapping against the stone. The way it echoed. It’s like my body never forgot how cold it was.”

Dane didn’t speak. His arms still rested loosely around Robert’s neck from earlier, when he’d filled the silence with easy nonsense. Light, aimless words meant to pull Robert’s thoughts away from where they didn’t need to go. It was a closeness that no longer needed an excuse. Just instinct now, worn in like a favorite watch.

One hand lifted, fingertips brushing Robert’s cheek with the kind of care that spoke more of habit than intention. Dane’s thumb settled just beneath the bone, firm and familiar – not comforting, exactly, but anchoring.

Then, slowly, the knight’s touch drifted down along the line of Robert’s jaw. Over the hollow of his throat. Across the curve of his shoulder, soft and deliberate. When his fingers reached Robert’s elbow, he let them settle there before gently tugging.

Robert followed, wordless, letting Dane guide them both down until they were sitting shoulder to shoulder against the wall. The floor was cold beneath them, but it didn’t matter. Dane’s body was warm beside him, heat radiating through their closeness and pushing back the chill.

“I didn’t even count breaths,” Robert said, eyes distant. “I was so tired, Dane. I just… I heard a voice telling me to keep treading water. That was the only thing that kept me going. That voice, in my head, over and over.”

Dane’s hand found his. Quiet, unobtrusive. He didn’t interlace their fingers, just let their palms rest together, skin to skin. After a moment, Robert’s fingers began to move, reverently tracing the lines etched into Dane’s palm as if deciphering a secret code written just for him.

Robert let out a breath that sounded like it had been waiting years to be released.

“And then I grew up and became a symbologist,” he said, voice low. “One who inconveniently ends up in tombs and tight spaces on a regular basis.” A half-laugh escaped him, dry and raw at the edges. “You ever meet someone who spends their life dodging disasters they didn’t realize they were signing up for?”

The words landed before Robert could stop them. He winced, just slightly, when he realized he’d just said something foolish. Obviously Dane knew – every key moment of his life had been one disaster after another. The murder of his parents, the cruelty of his uncle, the abduction of his friends, taking up the Ebony Blade. Robert was a fool.

Yet Dane didn’t flinch. Instead, the knight’s thumb brushed lightly across the back of his hand, lazily tracing slow circles as if lost in thought.

“I know a guy,” he finally mused.

His voice was low, but there was something deliberate in it. Robert had let him in. This was Dane choosing to do the same.

“The blade,” he said after a moment’s pause, “it’s not like the walls closing in or running out of air. It’s more like a slow poison. It seeps under your skin, twisting and corroding until you’re hollow – like the parts that make you you are slipping away, bit by bit.”

Dane gave Robert’s hand a gentle squeeze. “Sometimes I wish you’d been able to meet the old Dane. I think you would’ve liked him.”

Robert’s gaze softened. A familiar warmth bloomed behind his eyes, irises melting enough to lose yourself in.

“I don’t,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I love the one I’ve got.”

With a sudden shudder, the elevator sprang back to motion. The floor counter flickered on, and a low hum rose as it climbed upward.

Dane was already on his feet, offering his hand without a word. Robert took it, steadying himself as he rose. Once firmly on his feet, his hand slid from Dane’s to smooth over his boyfriend’s back – a touch that made Dane shiver slightly. Robert caught the reaction and smirked to himself.

“Everything alright?” Dane asked, a playful glint in his voice.

Robert nodded once.

“Yeah, just... missed you, that’s all.”

Their eyes locked, the air between them suddenly taut with urgency. Robert’s free hand came up to cradle Dane’s face, fingers splayed along his jaw. He pulled him in without hesitation, kissing him fiercely, desperately, his lips silently begging Dane to stay.

His other hand curled into a fist in Dane’s shirt, knuckles white as if holding him tight could make up for the days lost. Dane let out a low, eager mmph against Robert’s lips, his breath hitching as he pressed in, returning the kiss with equal intensity. It was all-consuming, yet a rising heat burned deep in the knight’s chest, yearning for more.

Then, as the elevator doors slid open, Robert pulled back abruptly, his chest rising a little faster. The confined space had taken its toll, and his survival instincts kicked in. Without a word, he rushed out, needing fresh air more than anything.

Dane let out a breathless laugh, shaking his head as he trailed after him, still dazed by the sudden shift.

He met Robert’s gaze, already waiting, and tipped his head toward the hallway. “Come on. My room’s this way.”

In the corridor, Robert muttered, “Next time, we’re taking the stairs.”

“You say that like I wasn’t already planning on it.”