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jewishclarkkent · 1 year

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Fic: On the Run to Nowhere (Steve/Tony, 616 CW)

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Shards of glass crunched under the weight of Steve’s boots as he entered the remains of Avengers Mansion. The structure looked worse, somehow, than the last time he had been here — worse even than how it looked on that fatal night it was destroyed. It seemed evident, now, that it had been the exact moment their team fell apart.

When he reached the grand staircase leading up to the private quarters, Steve’s body froze in place, trapped by memories like he had been trapped in the block of ice that brought him to this century. What would he find on the second floor? Ruin and debris, in all likelihood; wreckage was all that remained of his old room and life with the Avengers. It’s not your home anymore , a cruel voice reminded him, a familiar pang of loss situating itself in his chest. Steve clenched his jaw and fists and kept walking. This was not the time for sentimental, childish thoughts.

Coming here had been stupid and careless — two things he couldn’t afford to be, especially at this critical juncture. It was only the latest in a string of poor decisions he’d made in recent weeks, but perhaps the most reckless. He had not informed any of his allies about this meeting — not even Sam — and he did not allow himself to consider how he would handle the situation should it go awry. Steve had already been impetuous enough to lead his team into a trap once, and Bill Foster was dead as a result.

Still, part of him desperately clung to hope that it wasn’t too late to make things right. Tony was a friend. They had been able to resolve differences in the past, their friendship stronger for having done so. There had to be a way for Steve to remind him of that, to make him see reason. For all his bravado, Tony Stark was a good man — always had been. Steve knew that better than most.

They’d agreed to meet in the area that once served as the public conference room. Despite being half an hour early, Steve was not the first one there. Even more surprising was the fact Tony Stark sat behind the oak desk, looking immaculate in a designer suit rather than his armour. Of course, with the help of Extremis, Iron Man could appear at Tony’s whim. Still, it was not what Steve had been expecting; for a moment, ill-prepared and at a tactical disadvantage, he allowed the surprise to register on his face. When their eyes met, Steve nearly stumbled under the wave of emotion he was not willing to name. It was harder to smother this particular weakness when faced with familiar blue eyes rather than shiny metal plates.

“Hello, Steve,” said Tony in the voice he reserved for business meetings and press conferences. The expression on his face was impassive and carefully controlled; a skill he had had a lifetime of mastering. Steve hated and envied it in equal measure. In comparison, Steve’s anger and betrayal rattled inside him like a pressurized canister ready to ignite. “I’m glad you could make it. I was afraid you might think this is a trap.”

“No. You wouldn’t. Not here,” Steve insisted, failing to mention that very thought had occurred to him. He curled his fingers around his shield, finding comfort in the bite of the cold vibranium against his skin. “And if I’m wrong — I’ll deal with it.”

Tony’s lips twitched, dangerously close to a show of displeasure, but he quickly regained control and squared his jaw. Steve felt childish, smug satisfaction at having elicited some sort of emotion out of him. “You’re not,” Tony said slowly, voice measured. “I haven’t told anyone about this meeting. I just… I thought we should talk.”

The sincerity in his voice surprised Steve a second time, something he hoped his expression was able to mask. Tony stood up from his seat, walking over to the eastern wall of the room. An old photograph of the Avengers hung crooked and precarious on the plaster, the glass shattered. Tony reached to fix it with trembling hands, tracing the cracked wood of the frame with his fingers. “All these years… everything we’ve been through together… we owe it to each other to try and work it out, one last time…”

“All right,” Steve acquiesced, lowering his shield as Tony turned to face him. It was the reason he’d agreed to meet, after all. “Let’s talk.”

“Listen, about Bill…” Tony said. Steve’s shoulders tensed. “You have to know I never—”

“Not about that,” Steve interrupted, heart thundering in his chest. “Not a good idea. Start with something else.”

Tony stood frozen, seemingly at a loss. No longer the futurist always ten steps ahead, no solutions to offer. He looked around the room as if in search of answers. “That wall. That’s the one I came through, remember?”

“How could I forget?” was Steve’s immediate response, the memory surging to the forefront with hardly any effort. “The first time we fought. You came crashing through the wall like a bull, convinced I was someone named Chameleon, an imposter. I had no idea what you were talking about.”

“Those were the days. When we could almost kill each and smooth it out with a few simple words, remember?” Tony reminisced, mouth turned up with the hint of a smile. “By the end of it you would always say something wonderfully old-fashioned, I wish I could recall—”

“'I’m glad it all came out in the wash, partner,’” Steve recited, a mirroring smile tugging on his lips as he met Tony’s eyes. For a moment, it was as if nothing had changed between them. “I remember.”

They fell silent, transfixed by the bittersweet memory, longing for what once was. Seconds ticked by and the silence stretched, poisoning the room with unbearable grief. The smile slipped from Tony’s lips, mouth flattened to a grim line. He averted his gaze and looked to the ground as if it could offer a reprieve. Frozen with shame, Steve did the same, berating himself for getting carried away by fanciful nostalgia.

“Anyway,” said Steve, unable to bear the tension, “we’re here to talk about what’s going on now.”

Tony sighed. “Can we start with why you’re so damn adamant about this? Didn’t we stand together in this very spot, not so long ago, trying to shut down the Young Avengers because they were inexperienced and untrained? And when we couldn’t stop them, didn’t we agree to train them? The Registration Act makes sure would-be heroes are fully trained in the use of their powers. For the public’s safety, and their own.”

“And what happens when the identities of these heroes are made public? You know how many of our friends have lost loved ones after their identity was compromised.”

“No one’s identity becomes public knowledge unless they choose—”

“Come on, Tony,” Steve demanded, unable to keep his exasperation buried. “We have dozens of enemies who could hack a government database without breaking a sweat. But even if they couldn’t—governments change, administrations come and go. The Registration Act takes away any freedom we have, any autonomy. You don't know who could get elected, how public sentiment might change.”

“Believe me when I tell you, Steve,” said Tony, irritation flashing in his eyes, “your way is a lot more likely to turn the public against us and jeopardize everything we’ve fought to represent.”

Steve took a deep breath, willing down the anger that simmered under his skin. “It was Stamford that changed things for you, wasn’t it?” he tried. “Before that you went to Washington and lobbied against the Act.”

“It was coming anyway,” Tony confirmed with a defeated sigh. “I always thought it was inevitable, though I did try to delay it. But after Stamford, there was no stopping it.”

“But you’re not just bowing to the tide of history, Tony,” Steve observed, wondering if he sounded as desperate as he felt. “You truly believe in this, I can tell. And I don't understand why.”

“I…” Tony tried, the words unable to escape. The expression on his face was visibly pained, and Steve ached to reach for him. “It could have been me, Steve. Instead of the Warriors, it could easily have been me.”

Steve nearly recoiled at the admission. “Ridiculous,” he blurted on instinct. “You’re a brilliant tactician. You’d never have engaged the enemy so close to a school.”

“I would have if I’d been drunk,” Tony said simply.

Steve did flinch at that, his stomach turning.

“I never told you this. Never told anyone,” Tony continued, voice trembling with shame. “When Obediah Stane was stealing my company out from under me, I fell off the wagon… I started drinking… hard.” He sighed and looked down at the floor, struggling with whatever it was he wanted to say next. “On a particularly bad day, Machine Man showed up at my office. I wanted him out, so I put on the suit to throw him out. I swung a lamppost at him and would have hit two of my employees if he hadn’t pushed them away.This close. This close and I would have been a murderer.”

“My god, Tony…” Steve said helplessly, the horror of the confession washing over him. He often wondered how the team had been so blind to Tony’s addiction when he was in the depths of it, how they had been oblivious while he struggled for so long. Unsure of how to express that, Steve took a deep breath, the exhale morphing into a resigned sigh. “I honestly don’t see how registration would have made a difference. If we didn’t know you were drinking again — your friends — if we couldn’t stop you…” he closed his eyes, overwhelmed with the memory of the night he pulled Tony out of the fire. “Once I found out, I tried…”

“I remember,” Tony said, a mix of emotions in his voice that Steve had no hope of deciphering. “And I recognize registration won’t stop every tragedy, but people in our position need accountability .”

This, at least, was a point they could agree on, even if their ideas on what that looked like differed. “Of course we do,” Steve acknowledged. “But this isn’t the way. Look, Tony, I know it’s… comforting to think there’s someone watching over you, seeing you don’t make mistakes. But consider the downside here—”

“See, that’s the problem here,” Tony interrupted, frustration clear in his voice. “It’s why you can’t see things from my perspective. Because it’s predicated on the premise that superheroes make mistakes. And you’re Captain America. You don’t make mistakes.”

“I…” Steve stammered, taken aback by the accusation. After everything they’d been through together, all the times they’d bled on each other, had it not been evident to Tony that Steve was made of flesh and bone, the same as anybody else? After years of friendship, years, was Tony still incapable of seeing him as anything other than a symbol, as cold and unfeeling as a statue? Steve knew he’d been disappearing into the uniform the last couple of years, but next to Tony he always felt like more than just a living legend — he felt like a man.

“I’ve made plenty of mistakes,” he finally managed to say, the words heavy on his tongue. The next moment, his mind was transported back to the night he and Bucky had been captured by Zemo and his men, ears ringing with the sound of his friend’s tortured screams. The look of horror on Bucky’s face was the last thing Steve witnessed before he plunged into the English Channel, engulfed by the nothingness that would eventually deliver him to a new century.

Steve’s muscles tensed and twitched and he only barely resisted the urge to shiver. The cold spread through his body in an instant, as if his veins were carrying ice into his heart. He bit on the inside of his cheek until the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth.

“If everyone were like you, we wouldn’t need registration,” Tony was saying. Steve’s mind felt so foggy that he could hardly concentrate on the words. He watched Tony’s mouth form sentences and heard the sounds, but there was no way to process any of it. What he noticed instead was the way Tony’s shoulders slumped. “But they’re not . Everyone feels inadequate next to you. God knows I always have.”

“You —?” Steve asked, certain he must have misunderstood. The static in his head intensified, his eardrums aching with pressure. “Tony, you’re brilliant. You’re—”

You’re you , he wanted to say. Instead, he pursed his lips to trap the truths that threatened to escape. After all these years, there wasn’t much of a chance that Tony hadn’t figured it out, but he had been kind and merciful enough to spare Steve the humiliation of confronting it.

Tony was speaking again, and Steve fought to regain focus. “—they idolize you, Steve. We all do.”

Steve gritted his teeth. There it was again, Tony speaking to him as if he had no first-hand knowledge of Steve’s humanity. “The resistance to Registration isn’t about me, Tony,” he said, trying to keep his voice measured. “It’s about our freedom.”

“You don’t like the Registration Act? Do you have any idea what the alternatives are?” Tony raised his voice, patience running thin. “I do. I saw the plans when I was Secretary of State. Have you heard of Project Wideawake? Imagine sentinels hunting us down. Inhibitor circuits in our brains, taking away our powers. Genetic testing of the entire population to keep superhumans under government control before they’re even born.”

“It would never happen,” Steve said with conviction. “We would fight it. We’d stop it.” Together .

Tony slammed his fists against the conference table, the old wood splintering under the force. “What do you think I'm trying to do?” he yelled, his voice an equal measure of exasperation and desperation. “I've been trying to keep this from getting as bad as I know it can be! And from day one, you’ve been fighting me. And now it’s come to this.”

It was Steve’s turn to raise his voice, rage burning in the pit of his stomach as he clenched his fists. “You built a super-prison in the Negative Zone to imprison our friends! Is that what you call fighting this?”

Tony’s eyes widened with surprise; clearly, he had not been aware that Steve knew about this particular development.

“What about them, Tony? The heroes who have risked their lives for years to help others, the friends you’ve fought side by side with? Men and women you know to be brave and righteous. Do you have no qualms about rounding them up and giving them up to SHIELD custody? You think that’s just ?”

Tony broke eye contact and looked down at his shoes. For a moment, Steve was certain his expression was one of contrition. “They broke the law,” he responded quietly. “That’s not on me — I can’t — I can’t bear responsibility for that.” His voice was small and desperate, like he was trying to convince himself of the words. “They’ve made their choices. They must answer for them and face the consequences.”

Anger continued to spread through Steve's body like a toxin, galvanizing him into action. It felt like he was on fire; once the flames were lit, there was no smothering it.

“Then arrest me,” he demanded hotly, closing the distance between them in two short strides. The proximity forced Tony’s back against the wall, boxed in by Steve's body. He brought his wrists together, pressing them against Tony’s chest in an offering. His shield was still strapped to his forearm, the metal cold between them.“If I’m nothing but a common criminal to you, Tony, then arrest me !”

A long, insufferable silence followed, suffocating the room. Tony’s eyes were wide and alarmed as they studied Steve’s face. They were close enough to feel each other’s breaths, faces nearly touching. Slowly, Tony brought his hands to Steve’s forearms, fingers reaching to circle his wrists. Even through the thick leather of his gloves, the touch felt scalding. His muscles tensing, Steve held his breath in anticipation of Tony’s next move. The look in Tony’s eyes made it clear he was just as uncertain about what that might be. He pressed closer into Steve’s chest, quickly searching his face before attaching their mouths together. It was less a kiss and more of a dry press of lips, a clunking of teeth. Taken by surprise, Steve kept his eyes open, staring until Tony pulled away.

“Is this your idea of a joke?” he asked, barely willing his voice not to crack. Tony was many things, but a cruel man was not one of them; despite everything that had happened between them, Steve refused to believe he would toy with him like this.

Tony deflated against the wall, pressing his back further into it as if hoping it would make him disappear. His eyes remained closed as he slid down the length of the wall to sit on the floor. “I don’t have any jokes left in me, Steve.”

It was then that Steve really looked at Tony, noticing the drawn lines on his face, the deep shadows under his eyes. A fit of nausea hit his stomach at the realization that he had been too absorbed in his own pain to notice the evidence of Tony’s exhaustion. Steve crouched down so they were on the same level. His hand shook as he reached for Tony’s face, tracing the sharp curve of his jaw. His face was thinner than it had been only a month ago. Steve wondered if he had been drinking — if his sobriety was yet another casualty of this war, sacrificed in the same manner they’d sacrificed everything else. The question was heavy on his lips, but Steve knew he’d lost any right to ask it.

“Steve,” Tony called, his voice hoarse with desperation. The sound of it made Steve want to collapse, suddenly so tired. He was taller and bulkier, but he still felt like the same 98-pound asthmatic kid who came from nothing — ill-equipped to fight this battle, much less lead it.

It was then that he realized that even with its armour, his uniform won’t protect him — not from this. His fingers went limp, releasing their tight grip on his shield until it met the floor with a deafening clang. Slowly, he pulled off his cowl and chucked it aside, cold air creeping up his neck. He allowed his head to drop against Tony’s shoulder, nose brushing the chord of muscle in his neck.

“I don’t want to have to do this,” he confessed, speaking the words against Tony’s clavicle. This battle was not one he wanted to fight, but Steve had never been able to ignore the call of duty. The uniform on his back had never felt so cumbersome.

He expected Tony to respond with a simple ‘then don’t.’ Evidently, he knew him too well for that. Instead, Tony surprised him a second time when he reached to card his fingers through Steve’s hair, gentle and comforting. “Me neither,” he admitted. His other hand came to rest on Steve’s back, firm and grounding.

Nothing had changed between them. The circumstances remained the same. Each of their convictions remained resolute. Nothing had been accomplished in this meeting. If anything, it was more evident than ever that they were at an impasse, that each of them was a staunch advocate for the position he had taken. In truth, they hadn’t arranged this meeting to try and understand the opposing side, but instead to convince the other. A losing game neither of them was prepared to call.

The wise thing to do would be to leave. Give himself time to process and refocus on the mission. Outside the walls of this dilapidated structure that they once called home, the real world awaited. Was there really a rush to get back to it? In the course of his miserable, lonely life, had Steve not earned the luxury of claiming just a few minutes of self-indulgence?

Lifting his head, Steve searched Tony’s eyes for answers. There was a mirroring sorrow etched in his expression. Recognition. Resignation. Ironically, they had reached an understanding.

With trembling fingers, Steve reached for Tony’s face and tipped his chin. He leaned in and kissed him, pouring all the things he wished he could say into the simple gesture. Tony’s lips were warm and pliant, his tongue hurried and desperate. He fisted Steve’s uniform in his hands to draw him closer still, knowing it was the only chance they would get to share this. There was no time to mourn the what-ifs , only the fleeting opportunity of the moment.

Steve was going to fight for what he believed in. So was Tony. But here, for just a moment longer, they could be suspended in time.

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #my fic #otp: you gave me a home #otp: i miss your battle cry #otp: i'm not half as good at anything as i am doing it next to you #otp: the ultimate weapon for good #otp: you could be my rudder #marvel civil war #marvel 616

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