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Chapter Text

This was a hot mess, and it was all Cap’s fault. 

Tony had called it, had literally warned him that they were not equipped to handle a time-and-space-bending sorceress with seven eyes and all cosmic power. 

But hey. No one listens to him anyway. He’s just the guy who pays for everything and has to talk to the press when they screw up and fight the government to keep Avengers going. Practically a nobody. 

Tony had only asked that they regroup, that they take some time to gather their strength and reload their arsenal. But of course, America’s Ass was off to say the world, yelling, “I could do this all day.” 

Spoiler: he could not do it all day. 

In fact, when the sorceress sent an entire building crashing down over Cap’s head, it was pretty much over. 

The sorceress had laughed. “Strong, foolish man!” 

Her voice boomed and fragmented with the sound of magic cascading through it. 

“Without your abilities, you are nothing! Nothing but an ant beneath my shoe!” 

She said something else, but it was lost to the rest of the team before she disappeared in a shriek of purple light. 

Tony had not been there of course. He had been stubbornly upgrading his damaged suit in the Avengers tower, mumbling to JARVIS about how unprepared his team was. He was miles away from the scene of the disaster, trying and failing not to think about how unfair it was that they wouldn’t take him seriously - like he wasn’t an Avenger. Or even worse, that he was the weakest Avenger. Didn’t they know they couldn’t run headfirst into a fight without consequences? 

No, this little tale was told to him by the team after they dragged an unconscious figure covered in dust and debris off the helipad. They were all raving and arguing, and ballistic. 

“What happened?” Tony yelled, but it was drowned out by the thousand arguments the team was having. No one even regarded him as they swarmed around the figure Thor was carrying. Another terrifying thought crossed Tony’s mind when he saw Falcon carrying Cap’s shield. Where was he? He expected Cap to run out of the jet a little disheveled but still with a spring in his step. 

Where was he?

“We got our asses kicked!” Natasha answered him among the sea of noise. “And Steve-” 

“She’s strong, that’s no question!” Banner huffed, his clothes torn to shreds. “Bring him to the medical wing!” 

“What is happening?” Tony asked, hoping his fear wasn’t too sharp in his voice. “Where’s Cap?” 

“He got the worst of it,” Hawkeye said, running to fetch a gurney. 

The arguing and the chaos were simply too much, and the desperate air that choked out all sane thought worsened the situation. Something had happened to Cap - where was he? 

“Gurney!” Hawkeye came running back onto the helipad with one of Tony’s newest projects - motorised anti-grav gurneys. 

Thor set the dishevelled, ashen figure on the gurney, and it was only then that Tony realized who it was. 

Small was a word he’d never thought he’d attach to Captain America. 

~<>~ 

The silence in the hall spoke volumes. It had settled in his stomach and weighed down his shoulders until he felt like the pressure would kill him. There was noise from within the room, but that only served to make matters worse. Tony should be in there, helping, doing something other than waiting. 

The entire team was in various states of activity, from Clint’s lounging position on the couch to Nat’s determined pacing. Tony had settled for something in between that - sitting, but fidgeting with some useless design on a pad. Thor had, of course, gotten bored and went to Asgard. Bruce had gone down to the lab to work off some steam.

Now there was just him, Nat, Clint, Bucky - who was hovering sinisterly in the corner - and Falcon who was still holding Cap’s shield like it was all they had left of him.

~<>~ 

It turns out, he was just fine. Somehow, miraculously. He was bruised and sore no doubt, but resting. Tony would later find out, half listening to the explanation that barely drowned out the white noise rattling in his brain, that the sorceress had cursed him. Yes, that was Steve. What he looked like before your father experimented on him. Haven’t you ever read his file, Tony? We contacted Doctor Strange, but he’s offworld. He said he should be home in about a week. 

Does he remember? Tony remembered asking as he stared at the little figure, all cleaned up and lying completely still in bed. It might’ve looked like he was sleeping if not for the chorus of machinery surrounding him. 

Once he was stabilised, they brought him to Tony’s room, at his own insistence, and there he laid in the bed, a snowy, flickering star against obsidian silk sheets. Tony didn’t know why he asked that Steve be brought here. Cap had his own room down the hall, but Tony’s was closer and bigger. One entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows with a lovely view of the Hudson. At twilight, the sun glittered off the water and made the buildings sparkle. Maybe Cap needed it more than he did. Besides, it’s not like he was going to sleep anyway. 

No this was definitely one of those work-until-your-hands-bleed nights. In the middle of the night, after sweating through an entire shirt and staining his hands with engine oil and other nonspecific oils, he decided he needed to clean up and get a drink. A drink would help his mind relax, would help him drift away from the stone that had lodged itself in his mind.

Was Steve okay? 

It was a stupid question. Of course he was. He was going to be just fine. But when Cap wakes up tomorrow to find himself stripped of all powers and godlike ability, his heart will break in a permanent way. And Tony may be a master of invention and fixing things, but even he couldn’t begin to mend that kind of fracture. 

Though he would try, no doubt. 

He hoped that Steve would see that he was so much more important than a name or a brand or a body. 

If Tony were in his shoes, having lost everything, he would definitely need a drink. And then a building to jump off of. 

“Well, don’t you look peachy,” Nat grinned over her glass before downing the last of her vodka soda. She glanced at his soaked dry-fit shirt, eyeing him up and down. “Go for a swim?” 

“I told you,” Tony walked behind the bar, pouring himself a drink and offering her another. 

He always found it cathartic, the method of making the perfect drink with the perfect proportions. The time and detail paired with the reward of a beautiful drink made it a passion of his. In another life, he would’ve been an amazing bartender. 

“I told all of you to watch your six. Did any of you listen?” 

“Hey, don’t take it out on me. I agreed with you.” She eyed him curiously over the rim of her glass. “But something tells me you’re not angry about the mission.” 

“None of you listened to me. How many times do I have to prove I’m right before you believe it?” He shook up his drink before pouring it into a martini glass. “Now we’ve only got a scrap of what used to be America’s ass.” 

“Don’t say that, that’s mean,” Nat laughed despite herself. “I think he’s cute. A pocketful of sunshine.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow at her. “Now who’s being mean?” 

“Haven’t you seen old pictures of him? It’s not that surprising.” Nat slid her glass across the bar expectantly. Tony flashed her a glare but uncorked the vodka bottle anyway. “It’s not like he’s ever hidden how he looked before. He’s still, you know, Steve. Our Steve.” 

Tony didn’t say anything and instead threw back the last of his martini, ignoring the shake in his hand. Nat audibly gasped as Tony poured himself another drink. 

“You knew what he looked like before the serum, right?” When Tony didn’t answer, Nat emitted a noise somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. “Tony, he’s your best friend! Your father was the one who invented the serum! You never read his file?”

”Why would I?” Tony raised his hand defensively. “I trusted in his ability and left it at that.” 

“Well, you’d better get used to it. He’s stuck like this for the rest of the week - at least. The last thing he needs is you making fun of him.” 

Nat had always been protective of Steve, almost annoyingly so. And though Steve never needed protecting, Nat was never afraid to issue a threat here and there on his behalf. 

“I’m serious, Tony. You know he’ll already be upset. If you’re going to be around him at all, keep your jokes to a minimum.” 

Tony scoffed. “Do you really think I care about looks that much? That I’m that shallow?” 

“Oh please,” Nat shook her head. “Have you met you? Pretty hair? Perfect, pressed suits? Skinny blonde cover models with squeaky laughs?” 

“You think my hair is pretty?” 

“You’re the last person he’ll want to be around, Tony. You may be the brains of this team, but Steve’s the heart.” 

She set her empty glass down and stood up.

“And change your shirt. You stink.” 

She left him alone at the bar, in the dark, crisp room that reeked of pressed bills. 

“Always a pleasure, Nat.” 

His voice echoed, and he downed the last of his martini. Admittedly, he did stink, and he headed to his room to take a shower. The room was all dark, and he didn’t bother with any lights, knowing his way around blind. He grabbed some clothes from his walk-in and bee-lined for the bathroom. 

After a long, much-needed shower, he changed into some comfy clothes and enjoyed the last of the warm, steamy bathroom. 

When he unlocked the door and it slid open, he wasn’t expecting a light to be on. 

A lamp, to be precise. 

Nor was he expecting Steve to be sitting up in bed, staring at him with a bewildered, slightly horrified, expression. 

“Morning, Cap - how was your nap?” Tony nodded, hovering in the bathroom doorway. “I know you’re probably freaked out over-” He was going to be blunt, but them remembered Natasha’s threat “- the incident, but it’s reversible. And hey, maybe next time, listen to the man who pays for all the incidents.” Ok, well, he couldn’t help being snarky, besides, Nat wasn’t here to bully him out of doing it.

Tony had meant to ease some of the tension from Steve’s lost expression, but he only made it worse. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said in a hushed voice. His eyes darted around the room frantically before once again focusing on Tony. “Who are you?” 

Tony had actually been impaled, had felt pains like none other, fallen from indescribable heights, but that empty, indifferent, and frankly scared expression on Steve’s face felt worse than all of those combined. 

He felt like a ghost, withering to dust right before Steve’s unrecognizing eyes. 

~<>~

“So he doesn’t remember anything?” 

Tony paced the conference room like he was on fire. The entire team was gathered in various states, and no one was sitting in a chair correctly. 

“His memory’s scattered,” Bruce shook his head. “Almost as if his mind reverted back to 1940, before he ever joined the war or experimented with the serum.” 

“He doesn’t know me, he doesn’t know you- he doesn’t know us-!” 

“Tony, will you sit down?” Nat asked (but more so demanded) after a moment. She looked equally devastated by this lovely nugget of information. This kink in the plan was worsening before them. “This isn’t some random guy, this is our friend and teammate.” 

Tony flopped down in his seat at the head of the table, gesturing uselessly. “So - so - so what? What are we supposed to tell him?” 

He was so angry, he couldn’t even speak correctly.

“We could start with the truth,” Clint offered, and Tony shot him a glare. 

“Oh yes, let’s traumatize him again with the knowledge that everything and everyone he knows is dead!”

“Why do you care so much, Tony?” Falcon shrugged, relaxing against the back of his chair. “He’ll be himself in a week. This isn’t a world-ending situation.” 

“And until then? Are we just going to keep him locked up in my bedroom?” 

“I’m sure he’d love that,” Nat murmured and laughed when Clint elbowed her in the side, shushing her through thinly veiled chuckles. 

“I could take him to Asgard,” Thor offered mightily. It was just then that Tony realized how the man was standing, with one boot on the base of the chair, like a warrior in a painting. God, he was so dramatic. “Let him enjoy the pleasures of the-” 

“No way, Pointbreak,” Tony waved that down immediately. “He stays here where I-” He cleared his throat “-where we can monitor him and his various health conditions. Bruce?” 

“7 PhDs” looked up from the paper he was scanning with a shake of his head. “There’s a lot, Tony. I didn’t even know it was possible to have this many conditions. How he survived the 1930s is astounding to me.” 

“Exactly,” Tony nodded, then looked at Thor. “Exactly. No travel.” 

“So he stays here,” Nat said with finality. “Tony will take care of him.” 

Tony started to protest when Nat cut him off again. 

“You have all the technology to take care of him. And you’re more invested in his health than the rest of us.” 

Tony felt himself go hot. “I’m no more invested than any of you. I’m just trying to keep him alive so Dr. Strange can fix him!” 

“I don’t need protection or fixing, actually.” 

Everyone turned to see Steve standing in the doorway in slacks and an oversized sweatshirt (he no doubt stole from Tony’s closet). Tony didn’t even want to begin to process that - how Steve in his old MIT hoodie looked so perfect, so natural- 

They all stared at each other and finally at him. Steve smiled, but it was colder, politer. 

“I’ve managed this far on my own. I’m not some porcelain doll with glass bones. Or some dancing monkey,” Steve shrugged. “I don’t need you to worry about me. What I do need is answers.” 

Tony was standing. He didn’t remember standing, nor why he was still standing. He opened his mouth to say something but Nat spoke first.

“You’ve been in an accident, Steve. You’ve been out of it for a couple of days.” Nat slapped a hand on Tony’s shoulder. “Tony here is going to look after your recovery, here at the tower.” 

“Where are we?” Steve asked, his eyes flicking to the windows. 

“Manhattan.” She smiled at him, knowing she was telling the truth, if not a twisted one. It wasn’t Steve’s New York - or world at all. 

“And - what exactly are you supposed to be?” Steve gestured to their suits and outfits. The only one not dressed was Tony, who had opted for a shirt over a long-sleeved sleeve and pants. Compared to them, he must’ve looked like the only normal one. “A gang? The military? The circus?” 

Sam threw Tony the most malicious look, as if expecting him to answer. 

“We’re agents.” Tony smiled. “For the government. You’re in a very discreet location.”

“Why?” 

Why what? Tony wanted to ask. Why am I here? Why is the location so discreet? Why are you, Tony, looking at me like I'm the sun that parts the clouds? 

This was going to be one long week.

~<>~ 

Everything went surprisingly back to normal after that. The team disbanded to head off on individual missions or offworld calls. It was mostly quiet in the tower again, with Bruce in his lab tinkering away and quietly showing up to dinner with a tired grin. Natasha was in and out like a stray cat, but she was always home by dinner time as well. The others came and went as they pleased with less regularity, and Tony didn’t mind the lack of chaos and silence that settled in their absence. The tower even seemed to sparkle from the shining windows to the clear floors. He never knew the floors could be so sleek. It was nice, like he was finally clearing out his mind. 

Everyone was just okay with letting Tony look after Steve so that he didn’t accidentally wander out on his own and have a heart attack in Times Square with the flashing billboards and screaming tourists. It wasn’t like Steve was a clumsy baby with no sense of self-preservation. In fact, Tony pretty much left Steve for hours by himself while designing in his workshop, and Steve seemed content enough. 

He never complained, never voiced any concerns, never said anything negative about his time in the tower. Well, he didn’t really say much to Tony in the first place. And that alone should have been worrisome. 

Still, there were…things. 

Little things that Tony was noticing that no one else seemed to notice. Little things that didn’t mean anything on their own, but all at once, they set off alerts in Tony’s mind. 

At dinner, Steve wouldn’t eat or even serve himself until everyone had the portion they wanted. He did it artfully, so it seemed just polite, natural, instead of suspicious. And it went unnoticed by Nat, Bruce, Sam, and even Clint when he stopped by. 

Steve was so good at redirecting people, at minimising the extent of his feelings so that everything he did seemed like it had no deeper meaning or purpose. Tony knew him better than to believe he was just a surface-level kind of guy. 

And even when Steve got some food, he only took a little, sometimes nothing at all. Nobody paid attention to the way he turned their heads with conversation, tricking them into believing he was full when nothing but water had passed through those lips since breakfast. 

By the third day, when Steve hadn’t eaten anything for dinner and Tony just stared at him the entire meal, he knew he had to say something. Steve had never had a problem with eating before. Not that he’d noticed. Before, would Tony have noticed if Steve skipped a meal? He’d like to think he was the kind of friend to check in on others’ needs, but what if he missed something so important before? Could he really have let down his friend like that? 

Tony’s heart twisted and cracked. It was the jagged broken thing that it was, figuratively of course, and every time he thought of Steve, his heart just shattered and cracked some more. 

Loving someone was a curse. Probably the worst thing Tony had ever known. It was a slow sort of anguish, a poison that stained and sank into every aspect of a person’s life until there was nothing but the memory of what life used to be like. And it was lonely, lonelier than sitting in a dank cave, scrambling with missile parts, just waiting to die. There was an emptiness that had corroded him and made him weak. 

Steve’s smile, his warmth, his protective nature, his unbending morality - all constantly working to disengage his defences and his barbed outward demeanour. Tony had worked so hard to perfect this playboy millionaire image of his, this shallow arrogant gentleman who ruled the world and wooed the ladies. It was good because it kept everybody at a comfortable distance, but there was Steve and his stupid need to care and love everybody in his grasp and…

Well, even Tony was not immune to his charms. ‘Charms’ was trivialising the beautiful, compassionate, extraordinary personality that drove Steve to always do the good thing every time. 

And worst of all, the thing that keeps Tony awake and staring hopelessly at his bedroom ceiling for hours in the middle of the night, Steve would let him down easily. He would insist that his feelings were okay and natural and that they could still be friends because he was a good person. Instead of squashing Tony’s feelings, he would let them grow but with that friendly distance that Tony would never be able to cross. 

And Tony couldn’t even hate him for rejecting him either, because Steve was just so good . Cap wouldn’t even let him have his anger, his rage. 

He would just be left a sad, broken-hearted puddle of nothing with no one and that would be his legacy. 

“Mr. Stark?” 

Steve looked at him curiously. That was another thing. Steve didn’t call him by his first name. Tony did remember following him out of the dining room and calling his name. Now he was just looking at Tony with more than a confused expression on his face. 

Okay, so the way to broach this topic is to be smooth, handle it with care-

“I noticed you don’t eat. Much.” The words toppled clumsily out of Tony’s mouth like a spring from a mountain after a storm. 

Surprise blanched Steve’s face. “I eat a fair amount.” 

“You don’t eat nearly enough.” Tony insists. He doesn’t know why it’s so important, so urgent but it is. It feels like an imperative. “I’ve watched you for three days now.” 

Something inexplicable flashes in Steve’s eyes. 

“Is it the food? Because I can order anything you like.” They’d had meatloaf today, usually one of Steve’s favourites. Steve had barely touched anything shy of a few bites. 

“No no!” Steve shook his head insistently. “The food is amazing. I’m just not that hungry,” Steve shrugged. “Really, I’m fine. Thank you for dinner, sir.” 

Tony doesn’t believe him, but he doesn’t know how to further this conversation without sounding like an ass. So he lets him go, even though everything tells him the opposite. 

~<>~

It does not get better, actually. Steve tries to be more clever with the way he eats, but it doesn’t hide the fact that he’s not eating all he needs. Conveniently, he makes sure that everyone else has had enough to eat. He is thorough in meeting all the needs of his team while blatantly ignoring his own. Without his memories, he’s still himself after all. Idiot. 

“He’s not eating, Nat. I don’t know what to do. Is it-” Tony looked at her sitting on the couch as he paced frantically. “Is it disordered eating? Do you think-”

“Tony, will you relax? You’re driving me a little crazy. This is my one night off.” She gestured to his pacing and with a huff, he collapsed into the sofa across from her. “Steve does not have an eating disorder.” 

“What else then? He’s already skinny enough, if he skips another meal, he might die!” 

Nat laughed. “Don’t be dramatic. You heard him. He’s taken care of himself for longer than any of us have. I trust him.”

“He. Doesn’t. Eat. Natasha!”

“Why are you so stressed about this, Tony?” Nat gave him a knowing, mischievous look. “It’s almost like you care about him.”

Tony’s face felt hot. “Please. Can you imagine my reputation after Captain America gets killed by malnutrition , under my watch? I’ll be a laughing stock.” 

“You can lie to me all you want, but you can’t lie to yourself,” Nat stated smugly, and Tony hated that she was right. Hated that she was always right when it came to deciphering his feelings. “Tony, you forget that he grew up in the 1930s. The Great Depression. Everybody was starving and dying. He’s not used to having things. He’s used to scrounging for every meal and barely holding on to the next day. And now he’s here with everything at his beck and call, but the principle remains.” 

Tony maybe should’ve thought about that. Cap had been in the present so long that he forgot this man was 105 years old. Tony’s closest connection to how Cap must have been feeling was when he was kidnapped. 

“Just let it go,” Nat said after a moment. “It’ll all work out.” 

~<>~ 

He didn’t let it go. And it did not all work out. 

The next day, Tony was in his workshop, deep into suit repairs and jamming to Black Sabbath. There was nothing that compared to the bliss of working endlessly with one focus. The whole world had been abandoned outside of the glass doors and now there was only the music’s beat that vibrated through the floor. Inventing and creating were always what he was meant to do. It was like a calling he had, a need to tinker and adjust. 

When there was nothing better to do, he found himself here, trying to replicate the past when he was just Tony Stark, billionaire playboy philanthropist. Before the Avengers. Even before the suit or the cave. 

“Mr. Stark,” JARVIS’ voice cut through the music. 

“Bud, I’m pretty busy right now,” Tony mumbled as he tried to reconfigure the wiring to his hand blasters. 

“It’s Mr. Rogers, sir.” 

Tony stilled immediately.

“He has collapsed in the library.”

Chapter Text

“It’s not ever going to be the same, isn't it?” 

Tony laughed, but it was a broken kind of sound. 

The tower was quiet and dark, but haunted by all that had happened. It had been weeks since the alien invasion, where the Avengers had almost lost everything and Tony is still falling through that portal, even weeks later, if only in his mind. The press had settled down, and SHIELD had stopped fussing, so the Avengers had split up and returned to their lives on shaky, new ground. They had saved the world, but at what cost? 

Everyone had gone home except Captain America, who had no home. He’d been living at SHIELD when Tony had offered him a permanent place in the tower. As much as he hated to admit it, he needed someone in the tower to drive away the ghosts in his head. His presence had been something of a gift, though Tony would never admit it. 

It had been weeks since he moved in, and they’d fallen into an easy rhythm. Cap wasn’t disturbed by Tony’s erratic schedule - bustling in and out of the workshop, demanding JARVIS to do this and that, blasting music, and staying up all night. 

Somehow, Tony would find plates of food on his worktable that hadn’t been there ten minutes before, or a refilled glass of water that he’d meant to refill ages ago. 

For all of Tony’s crashing unstoppable recklessness, all of the wild daily adventures he pursued, Cap was a steady warmth that never flickered out. A calm, unassuming presence that Tony had grown to depend on. Not that he’d ever tell him that.

That night, they were on the roof, looking down over the river of city lights below, wind biting at fingertips and ears. 

“No,” Tony answered. “But that’s living the high life. The cost of being the world’s greatest.” 

Cap smiled. “Speak for yourself.” 

“Oh come on. Don’t act like you’re not the most well-known superhero out there. Your face is on the side of buildings for christ sake. You can’t even leave the tower without being swarmed by fans.” 

Cap shook his head. “I never wanted this, Tony.” 

Something terribly sober crossed Steve’s face. 

“I should’ve died in that ice in 1942.” Those words hit Tony like a slap in the face. 

“But you didn’t,” Tony said defensively. “That wasn’t your call to make.” 

“It should’ve been.” Cap stared off into the horizon, thinking. 

Tony hated it when Cap was thinking. That always meant trouble. 

“What if we hadn’t met through the Avengers?” Cap said suddenly. “What if we had just, you know - met.” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“What if I wasn’t Captain America and we had just met one day? If I wasn’t - this national hero for America, but just - some guy.” 

“Thankfully, you’re not some guy,” Tony patted Cap’s shoulder, but he was tense and his expression was even more grave than before. “You are Captain America. And this world needs you here, not in an ice cube.” 

Tony said goodnight to him then, but he should’ve stayed. Should’ve listened. 

~<>~ 

“It’s Mr. Rogers, sir. He has collapsed in the library.” 

As soon as Tony registered that sentence, he was leaping up from his workstation, suit be damned. His stool clattered on the ground but it was a distant sound as he was already out the door. 

He ran faster than he’d ever thought he could run without the suit on. It wasn’t even a matter of thought, his feet just moved and moved. The floors pounded beneath his feet. 

“Would you like me to alert the hospital?” JARVIS asked him, but Tony didn’t hear him. 

Is he dead? Is all Tony can think. Did he really die right under my care? What kind of a friend am I to let him? Please, please, please. He has to. He has to be alright. 

Tony’s heart was racing wildly, but it didn’t matter, nothing mattered. Only Steve. 

The corridors were stretching past him and disappearing behind him like watercolours. He turned corners and ran upstairs, and it felt like an eternity, a million miles between him and Steve. 

Why did he joke about Steve’s health? Why didn’t he take Bruce seriously about his various health conditions? How could he let this happen? How could he? How could he? How could- 

Tony reached the library, and the doors opened to him like a gateway to hell, and he was running. His artificial heart slamming against his chest like a jackhammer, and his mind screaming, please, please, please. 

Steve was draped across the ground lifelessly, a book skittered some distance away. His eyes were closed, and he looked deathly, completely still. Like a sleeping princess from a fairytale with a much darker, piercing twist. 

“JARVIS,” Tony called helplessly as he fell down next to his best friend, knees slamming into the ground. “Heartbeat?”

“Steve’s heart is at 54 beats per minute.” 

Alive, but low - too low to be a relief. He’s dying, he’s dying and it’s your fault- 

“Steve,” Tony called, pulling the man into his arms. He was light, lighter than he’d ever been. Practically weightless. No movement, no sign of life. Eyes were closed, lips slightly parted. Beautiful, still beautiful even when he was dying. “Can you hear me?” With the hand not wrapped around the captain, he shook Steve with a hand under his chin. “Wake up, wake up. Goddammit, cap! Don’t do this to me, don’t you fucking dare-” 

“Language,” Steve’s eyes fluttered open, and it’s like Tony could breathe again, air filled his lungs as Steve murmured something nebulous, too quiet to hear. 

“Oh god, you’re alive,” Tony held him so close, just a moment of weakness when he gave in and hugged Steve like the world was caving in on them. A rush of words escaped Tony all at once as he clutched his best friend, “Are you alright? What happened? Do you need a hospital?”

Steve frowned. “I don’t know. I was - I was looking at books, and then I just-” 

He still looked unstable, discombobulated, and exhausted, blinking against the light. 

“JARVIS,” Tony turned to the system for clarification. 

“It appears that Steve’s energy levels are at a dangerous low. This is likely due to malnutrition and lack of rest.” 

Tony felt his face turn hot with anger. “Why haven’t you been eating? Or sleeping, for that matter? If it’s a matter of comfort, just tell me and I’ll - I’ll change it, find a way to fix it-” 

“I don’t need you to fix it,” Steve said quickly, reeling away from Tony with sudden ice. He forced himself to stand and scowled when Tony raised his arms out as if to catch him. “It was just a dizzy spell, nothing serious-” 

“Nothing serious!” Tony yelled louder than he intended. “I found you on the floor!” 

 This is how it is, Mr. Stark.” The cold line cut like glass and Steve’s brushed something from his shirt. “If it’s too much of a worry, then I can leave.” 

“No,” Tony snapped. “You can’t leave-” 

“Why?” Steve drew in a breath, eyes alight with anger. “What is so dangerous that I can’t leave the tower? Are you keeping me prisoner here?” 

“What?” Tony couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Is that what you think is happening?” 

“That’s what it feels like,” Steve huffed. “I just want the truth. No more of these secrets. Everyone keeps treating me like an experiment, but I’m not stupid. I just want to know the truth, in whatever fashion it is.” 

“Okay!” Tony raised his hands in surrender. “Okay fine. I’m not a government agent.” 

“I could’ve guessed that.” 

“And the truth is-” I am trying to protect you “The truth-” is you’ll never believe me if I told you “The truth is that you’re sick.” 

Steve blanched. “I’m sick.” 

That was possibly the dumbest thing Tony could’ve said, but the truth felt like too much. The guilt pressed at the back of Tony’s skull, but he bit his cheek and kept his mouth shut. 

“I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but you’re sick,” Tony said awkwardly. “We’ve got the best doctors in the country right here, treating you. You can’t go outside - because it’s dangerous for your health.” 

“And you’re a doctor?” Steve looked at him skeptically. 

Technically, Tony was a doctor. Just not that kind of doctor. He grinned. “Yes.” 

One little lie couldn’t hurt? 

~ 

          < / > 

                            ~ 

The apartment was cramped and stuffy, but it was home. The sunlight streamed in through the cracked windows and dried the sheets draped over chipped chairs. The air smelled of cornmeal and dried newspapers, and it was wonderful. 

That July was the hottest on record, and it seemed as if even the pavement was melting. He was sitting on the fire escape stairs, hiding in the shade and hoping to catch a breeze, a slight reprieve from the blistering heat. He fumbled with the growing hole in his trousers and leaned over the railing to hear a radio in the distance. It was likely playing through an open window, and the sweet music carried on the wind. 

“Hey, Steve.” A head popped through the window, and Steve grinned. 

“Hey, Buck. What’re you doing here? I thought you were working until 4.” 

Bucky shrugged, a mischievous grin on his face. He was the boy downstairs who had always been up to something ever since they moved in. They were eleven now, and their mothers never saw them apart. He was leaning through the window on one arm while the other was tucked behind his back. 

“Boss let me off early because of the heat, and because of Independence Day or whatever.” Bucky grinned. “But I brought you something.” 

Steve stood up and leaned toward the window excitedly. “Oh yeah?” 

Bucky pulled his arm from behind his back, and there was an ice cream cone with a single scoop. It was already melting, but Steve didn’t care one bit. 

“Where did you get this?” Steve gasped with a smile. 

“Doesn’t matter. Try it, it’s a new flavor.” 

It was chocolatey and sweet, with marshmallows and nuts? Steve looked at Bucky curiously. “It’s amazing! What is it?” 

“They call it Rocky Road. Best fix for a hot summer day.” Bucky climbed through the window and they both sat next to each other on the fire escape, passing the icecream back and forth between them. 

“This is the best, Buck,” Steve laughed. It was cool and creamy and easily the best thing he had in years. 

Buck wrapped an arm around his shoulder, grinning proudly. “Happy Birthday, Steve.” 

~<>~ 

He woke up alone, in a spacious bed that didn’t seem to end when he stretched his arms out. There were no springs that dug into his back, no squeak when he shifted. The sheets felt like silk against his skin, and he blinked in the darkness, trying to assess where he was. 

Nothing looked familiar, and the room seemed to stretch endlessly. He rolled over until he found what must be the nightstand and felt for a lamp. He felt for a switch mechanism and turned on the lamp. The room was bathed in cool light, and nothing looked as it should. 

This was not his apartment. The chipped walls and cramped room were replaced with a spacious room with almost nothing in it. 

The door - that didn’t look like a door - slid open, and out came a man with an unusual haircut. Somehow, his face was familiar, and the way he held himself, the light in his eyes, were all familiar. Like something out of a dream.

“Morning, Cap,” The man said in an even tone. He seemed completely undisturbed by the situation. As if Steve belonged here among the silver sheets. How was your nap? I know you’re probably freaked out over the incident, but it’s reversible. And hey, maybe next time, listen to the man who pays for all the incidents.”

Steve’s heart was spiked with every word. How much had he drunk last night? What was happening? Who was this strange man who paid for everything? What incident? 

“I’m sorry,” Steve blurted, hands clenched in the sheets. “Who are you?”

The man made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a huff. “You’re joking.” 

Steve glanced away, then back at the man who had sobered up completely. The frown fixed on his face seemed permanent. His face seemed like one that belonged plastered on billboards and in newspapers. 

“Wait a minute,” Steve drew in a breath. “Are you Howard Stark?” 

The man drew in a breath, eyes widening. Yes, the hair, the beard - the rich, foreign look about him. It had to be that inventor billionaire that the world had been talking about. Clearly, the name meant something to him. 

“Me? No, not me. You don’t know who I am?” 

“Am I supposed to?” 

The man actually flinched, and Steve couldn’t help feeling guilty for provoking such a reaction. “What do you remember, exactly?” 

“The Stark Expo,” Steve said after a moment. “1942 - is this some kind of joke?” 

“You think it’s 1942?” 

That was the strangest reply yet. Steve tensed. “It is 1942. Sorry, who are you and where am I?” 

“My-” The man’s chest hitched. “My name is Tony.” 

Somehow, Steve knew that was exactly the kind of name a person like him would have. 

~<>~ 

“Tony” turned out to be a relative (though it’s not made clear specifically) of Howard Stark, hence the endless rooms with winding halls and futuristic technology everywhere. Just walking down the hallway felt like what being in a spaceship ought to be like. 

The palace was endless and this whole place is strange. He doesn’t believe the story they tell him because even they don’t seem to believe it. Everyone around him knows who he is, as if they’re friends or acquainted but he can’t recognize any of them. 

It’s eerie how they treated him, as if he were made of glass, and he hated feeling like a circus animal. Almost as much as he hated being a burden. 

Once they left, things calmed down. He had hours of quiet, left alone in a palace with a mysterious billionaire man. He explored the vast halls, read in a room with more books than he’d ever seen in his life, and talked to the automated butler called JARVIS. 

“This is a restricted area, Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS would say every time Steve tried to press the button in the elevator (which he had admired for an hour) that Mr. Stark would escape off to. 

Mr. Stark was the strangest man he had ever met. He never slept, was gone more often than not, took phone calls at odd hours, and seemed strangely paranoid at times. He was undoubtedly charming and arrogant as all billionaires are bound to be, but where did the money come from? 

Was Tony a gunslinger? War profiteer? Or worse, a mobster? 

The fact that everyone was so secretive should’ve been an answer in itself. 

~<>~ 

Going through the library, he found a book printed in 2011. He started pulling out books at random, the newest one published in 2013. But that couldn’t be possible, could it? 

~<>~ 

JARVIS kept telling him information was redacted or classified, which only made him more suspicious. Even simple questions went unanswered, things that should be answered by an all-knowing robot butler. 

“JARVIS, what year is it?” Steve asked, and JARVIS made that error sound like it always did. 

“I’m sorry, sir, that’s classified.” 

“Who’s the president of the United States?” 

“I’m sorry sir, that’s-” 

“Tell me what Tony Stark does for a living.” 

“I’m sorry sir, that’s-” 

~<>~ 

Books, however, could not lie. History books revealed that they won WWII in 1945 and that Howard Stark was a lead part of that along with some other guy named Captain America. It also mentioned how Tony Stark, Howard’s son, born in 1970, was a young prodigy following in his father’s footsteps in weapons development. 

So Mr. Stark was a liar and a bad person. Keeping Steve hostage in this palace built on the suffering of others. 

But how could that be? Sure, Tony was secretive, but never criminal. He was arrogant, but there was an eager need to help that could not be denied. He seemed genuinely concerned with Steve’s well-being. 

Was Tony just a good guy? Or was Steve someone important to him?

~<>~ 

“The truth is that you’re sick.” 

“I’m sick.” 

That was possibly the dumbest thing Stark could’ve said, because they both knew it was a lie. Something made up on the spot to ease Steve’s concerns. 

“I didn’t want to have to tell you this, but you’re sick,” Stark said. “We’ve got the best doctors in the country right here, treating you. You can’t go outside - because it’s dangerous for your health.” 

“And you’re a doctor?” 

 “Yes.” 

He needed to get to the bottom of this. Something was missing, and it was not some sickness. There was something terribly, terribly wrong, and he was going to figure it out. 

~<>~ 

Stark owned a lot of books about a guy named Captain America. He was handsome, tall, and strong, always posing under a mask and shield. There were dozens of books written. He picked one up and read it - and that was the beginning of the end. 

Stark had always been calling him “Cap", which had struck Steve as odd until this moment. 

Captain America shared his birthdate, hometown, and childhood. 

Steve Rogers was rejected for U.S. Army recruitment due to poor health and small physique. He was later recruited by Dr. Abraham Erskine for a “super-soldier” experiment, led by Colonel Chester Phillips and Howard Stark. This serum transformed Rogers into the hero we know today as Captain America. He was thought to have died in 1945, but reemerged in 2012 as a leader of the Av- 

Steve put the book down. He’d read enough. Enough to know everybody around him was lying. Enough to understand that he’d somehow traveled years into the future. He was supposed to be some super-soldier, but none of that had happened yet. 

And yet, he was here. It didn’t make sense. 

Nothing was making sense. 

He needed answers, and he was not going to get them from anyone in this tower. 

He needed to escape. 

~<>~ 

Escaping is probably easier than it should’ve been. Or perhaps Stark thought he was too stupid to figure out a way past JARVIS. Taking the stairs is one way. He hid his face from cameras to avoid detection and tried not to get to excited when it worked. He made it to the first floor of the tower and pushed open the massive glass doors onto the street, only to be bombarded with sounds. 

New York, no matter how different, was always familiarly loud. The buildings towered over him in sleek boxes straight out of the comics, and glowing billboards obscured other buildings. They were people everywhere, dressed in every kind of fashion and he tried to blend into the crowd. They shoved past him without a second thought and he barely had a moment to take everything in. 

This was not his New York. 

He felt like he was walking through another world, and he blinked as the light reflected off of the shiny buildings. There was music playing in the street - a live guitarist singing through a microphone. People were taking pictures with men in Halloween costumes. There were lines of carts down the street full of people shouting about food. His stomach churned but he had no money, which felt like the only normal thing in this bizarro world. There were cars that looked fancier than he’d ever seen - and in so many different colors. They crowded the streets and screamed at each other in a dissonant chorus. 

He wove through people, trying not to get knocked over as they ruthlessly rushed by. Steve followed the traffic down the street, watching the billboards change like magic. There were advertisements everywhere, trying to lure him to buy this and that, but the prices were absurd. 

Seven dollars for a bottle of water? Was the water liquid gold? Why even pay that price when the hose was free? 

He wandered through the city, absorbing the stores and buildings which were so unfamiliar to him they might as well have been written in another language. 

Somehow, the sun set, and he had walked further than he’d anticipated. Not that it mattered. Stark had probably not even noticed he was gone. He didn’t know what the exact plan was, but he needed to get familiar with this New York City so that if Stark tried anything, he could get away without being completely lost. 

New York worked like a grid, so he knew how to get back to the Tower from his distance, where he had walked 16 blocks. 

He cut through an alleyway that darkened the further he walked through it, and didn’t stop when the click of heels on wet pavement echoed behind him. 

“Hey, shorty-” Someone called behind him, but he ignored them, picking up the pace. “Shorty, I’m talking to you!” 

A hand grabbed him roughly by the shoulder and reeled him around. Three men grinned at him, and he shoved the hand on his shoulder off. 

“Oh, you’ve got some nerve,” One of them laughed. “Now quit playing and give us your wallet. Then you can be on your merry way.” 

“I don’t have one,” Steve said genuinely, and they laughed again. One of them grabbed him by the collar and drew a knife from his waistband. 

“Give it up right now. Make this easy for us, okay?” 

“You’re a real comedian, you know that?” Steve huffed, and punched him as hard as he could, knocking the knife from the man’s hands. 

That small victory turned to dust when he was punched in the ribs, the force of which knocked him to the ground. The one he punched shouted out a curse, and he stumbled back up on his feet, just like Bucky taught him. He tried to punch again, but the two guys grabbed him while the third, who’s lip was bleeding (Steve tried not to smile at that), punched him in the stomach so hard he keeled over. 

They laughed again, and it ricocheted off the alleyways, dizzily swirling around him. 

“You dumbass,” One of them laughed. “Trying to be a hero. No one’s coming to save you because no one gives a shit about you . Stay down before you get killed.” 

Steve shook his head. “I could do this all day-” 

A fist exploded against his jaw, knocking him to the pavement once more. Another blinding blow to the side had him coughing, gasping for air. 

“Cry for your hero, little man! No one will-” 

Something thundered in the alleyway, rumbling the pavement. Whatever the man was going to say is lost in blinding light. Steve curled in on himself, rolling onto his back. The stars were lost in the city’s light pollution, but he tried to find them anyway. 

The sky was blurring above him, and he groaned, knuckles scraping against the cold pavement. There was shouting in the distance, and the high-pitched screech of something alien. The pavement rumbled as the shouting turned desperate, and then silent.

Steve forced himself onto his hands and knees, propping himself against the alleyway as he tried to see what had stopped the robbers from killing him. 

There in the shadows of the alleyway was the craziest thing Steve had ever since. It looked like a man, but wasn’t. A metal machine in the shape of a man who threw a guy twenty feet past Steve with ease. 

The machine’s glowing eyes fixed on him, and a shiver of terror like nothing he’d ever experienced turned his blood cold. His vision was blurred and his feet unsteady, but he was not going to die a coward. 

Not to this man-machine from hell. 

The machine stopped six feet away from him. It spoke, “Are you crazy?!” 

The voice echoing from it sounded not unlike Tony Stark. 

Steve laughed, his grip on the wall slipping. “Clearly. You’re a machine that can talk.” 

The world was skewed in bruised yellows and purples, and he stumbled forward. Gravity knocked him down, and he expected to hit the ground, but the machine caught him. 

Well, no - because warm arms caught him, and they were definitely human. 

Steve looked up, and with a smile, saw Tony Stark. The machine stood behind him, opened like a chocolate wrapper. 

“You’re an idiot,” Tony cursed. 

“Get in line,” Was his response, before his body gave out.