#but now gauntlet is done (not really but i don't feel like going further)

[books-are-my-life-stuff]

Sorry, forgot to post my clear last week. I did clear 10k weekly CSMM right away, I just forgot to post it here. Here's last week and this week's clears, pretty standard.

Some highlights:

- Sidney doesn't give a damn about Sentry Entry x2.

- I don't have Raihan, so SS Steven to handle Steel-weak Glacia last week. This is the reason why I pulled for him.

- Did Ice-weak Drake have Wise Entry x2? If yes I must've missed it, because SS Hilbert didn't hit as much as I hoped. Granted I didn't spend time to use Metal Sound, but still. In the end, SS N is the MVP once again. Seems like Drake is vulnerable to offensive debuffs, which was probably why he hit like nothing to the team after SS N debuffed with B Noble Roar. SS N also negated any gauge consumption, letting Hilbert went ham. SS N stays winning.

- ... After I finished candying Winter Leon, next up will be OG Emmet. He's okay, it's just I have way too many strikers that could hit more than him lately...you know? I don't want Emmet to be left out, even though he's already great at 1/5.

- I still remember very clearly that Fairy-weak Sidney gave me A LOT of trouble. It's a stage designed for Bede (vulnerable to Sp. Atk debuffs and confusion), and I don't have him. But you know what other Fairy-type unit that can confuse and debuff? SS Wally. Summer Marnie also can debuff Sp. Atk. Suddenly, Fairy-weak Sidney became much, much easier. Managed to dodge Thunder Wave too from a lucky confusion. SS Wally is truly the glue that holds Fairy team together.

- ...I was considering to 3/5 SST Red someday but I guess he doesn't need it. SST Red+Classic Elesa is still one of my most favorite combos.

- Halloween Caitlin became one of those supports that I always went to when I had no idea what other support that I would use, similar to SS Morty. Everyone generally appreciates defensive buffs, after all. I cheated and used permanent field effect here so SS Erika didn't spend too much time setting up Sun.

[game-boy-pocket]

I was going to wait until I was done with the game to mention this but I am so impressed I feel like I need to let people know about this as soon as possible but i'm playing a new Ocarina of Time romhack called the Ultimate Trial, and it's incredibly interesting so far.

Link and Navi actually get lost navigating the Lost Woods, and end up cursed, losing all their equipment, most of their vitality, and even some of their memories. This seems to be taking place just before Link sets off to confront Ganondorf, so it's, I guess you'd call it a mid-quel or a side story. They come across a stronghold protected by a man named Shiba, full of refugees from Ganondorf's attack on Hyrule Town, it kind of accounts for several residents that went missing, but it also adds a lot of NPCs as well, even some familiar faces from Termina. In this stronghold, you can't die, you just get sent back to the lobby with all the rupees you have, and you can spend your rupees to power up and try to make it further on your next run. It's pretty addictive.

The gameplay loop is focused, so if you don't enjoy that aspect of Zelda games, it might not be for you, but there's some light puzzle elements. But essentially it's a game where you go through several gauntlets of enemies with nothing but your sword and shield, and three hearts at the start, but you buy and earn more goods. The bean seller returns selling hearts at increasingly more increased prices. There's a trade quest, mini games, lots of shops, collectibles, and there are even new items, abilities, and new enemies and bosses as well.

Some of the gauntlets will have different rules. There's the main ones that are just "make it to the final room", there's a boss rush, an endless mode, and a timed challenge. There may even be more I have yet to find, as the strong hold has lots of secrets to explore, and NPCs show up gradually as you play the game.

Also there's some visual upgrades to, Link's model has been updated, and several monsters now look a lot closer to the artwork than their in game counterparts. Redeads are downright freaky.

It runs nearly perfect on my N64, there is some slowdown if there's a lot of enemies on the screen, which only really happens in endless mode. If you like Ocarina of Time I would suggest you do not miss this hack. You can get the patch here: https://www.romhacking.net/hacks/8640/

[frigigly]

I do indeed want to eat glass anytime someone criticises the latter parts of Steven Universe without the context that it was rushed as hell by the network literally because of homophobic reasons.

Also the show is just good actually. Any arguments I've heard so far about the moral aspects of the show being weird seem just wrong to me lol.

I think the show does a very good job of separating characters' actions from the characters themselves? Like pearl tricking garnet to fuse with her was deeply fucked up and will never be ok, garnet makes a point to tell her she doesn't forgive her for it. And rightly so. But also the response to that isn't just pearl should die or something, its that she just moves on and learns to improve herself because that makes her happier and her friends happier, and this is applied to almost every other character too.

Like rose has done a lot of fucked up things, but she's not just supposed to be a villain 'worse than the diamonds' (insane that some people think that). She's the story of someone trying to remove themself from abusive familial dynamics and trying to improve themself despite that history. It makes sense that she takes on more of a negative/ sinister hue, considering the series takes place from Steven's perspective, and out of anybody, he's definitely allowed to hate her a little bit lol. But his own valid biases and feelings don't have to undo all the good that is inside her.

See also Bismuth, see also Spinel, see also Lapis, etc etc.

So when the diamonds do fucked up things, like corrupt gems, like indefinitely bubble the real roses, like maintain a fascist conquering regime, and then aren't killed as some kind of 'punishment', it doesn't bother me because I know this show, and I know it hasn't forgotten everything it's said up to this point. Just because they aren't actively being killed by Steven doesn't have to mean they're '''''redeemed'''''. They really were just not an active threat anymore.

It's ok to hate them! In fact I'm fairly sure the show expects you to. Even the fact that they were undoing the damage they had done in future doesn't just magically absolve them of how fucked up what they did was.

Like I really love the episode homeworld bound cause it's this almost mocking display to steven how everything is fine now, (throwing him right back into the princess gauntlet!) and the diamonds are sooooo perfect and cool now, and they have absolutely no problems, even though steven is in one of his lowest mental states to date. And the whole time steven is like "What the hell! You can't just magically make me feel better after everything you've done to me!" and they literally say to him "Lol yeah we can :D whats wrong lol why are you so mad, if you dont think you deserve to be happy thats your problem lol!" Like it's really giving pretentious ass self help yoga instructors, ESPECIALLY white like christ. Their egos are all still definitely there, they're just trying to make up for what they've done, because it should absolutely be on them to do so. It does not absolve them of their crimes and the show doesn't want you to think it does! And of course they can't help steven because they aren't fully respecting how much they've hurt him by that point, and all they do is send him further into his meltdown.

I really think you'd have to be blind to not see that even if Steven isn't fighting them anymore, he HATES the diamonds, and doesn't want anything to do with them now that he doesn't have to stop them from ruining his life. He literally does try to kill white but somehow people will still try to argue that he ''''''''forgave them too easily''''''''. I'm sorry but that argument really doesn't make any sense.

I know this show covers some very heavy topics, so it is going to be divisive. The horrors of how deeply your own family can hurt you is a reality many people are unfortunately very intimate with, so I do understand if people just don't like what the show tried to do, or if it just makes people uncomfortable, that's completely fair. I really do think though that the show is trying to stick up for people like that who have been hurt, and how you still deserve a chance to grow past it, it's surely not trying to dismiss or lessen anyone's trauma associated with their own past.

I'm sure in a better world we would have gotten a longer diamond days arc that didn't feel so rushed. Personally I think even future could have used another season, and the parts of season 5 exploring the fallout of the rose/ pink diamond reveal could have used some more episodes too. Unfortunately CN was very unfair to Rebecca and the crewniverse throughout the entirety of SUs airing.

Anyway I don't even know if I coherently made the point I was trying to, but tl;dr Steven universe is good actually, it should be looked at as a historic show for lgbt media and television, and it could have been even better if it wasn't being brought down every step of the way by a homophobic system, please support queer artists, love u bye

[0perfectimperfections0]

CTA: Lou

Personality: Architect - INTJ-T

66% Introverted

70% Intuitive

78% Thinking

99% Judging

63% Turbulent

Introduction | Architect (INTJ) Personality | 16Personalities

So, I've done this with a few characters from my "A Bug's Life" blog. And it's essentially where I go to the website 16Personalities and answer the questions according to how I best believe the characters would. I base my responses off of how they are portrayed in the movie. Responses do vary as I do have to take some creative liberty with questions that don't have an apparent answer in the movie.

Now, this isn't a bullet-point list of Lou's traits. The link above will direct you to the website with the results and further information about this archetype. Do with it what you will. What I'll be doing for this post (and others like it) is explaining why Lou received the answers he did. I'll be using contextual evidence from the movie to defend my reasonings and will give fair warning on parts where I took creative liberty.

Because let's be honest, the movie doesn't exactly do good with character development. I don't think any of the characters actually changed in a self-reflective way throughout the movie.

<><><><>

Introverted

Okay, I somewhat feel like this one is self-explanatory. But, Lou does seem to have this self-destructive mindset that leads him to be only 66% introverted.

We obviously see in the movie that Lou is almost always seen with other dolls. Aside from when everyone goes home at the end of the day. The "alone" part is more of a mentality than anything else. The fact that he doesn't confide in the other dolls or feels unsafe to disclose information with them.

-> He doesn't previously tell the Spy Girls his relationship with Ox. They are surprised to find that the bunny already knows Lou after they've kidnapped him.

-> This one's no surprise: He has kept the secret of him being a prototype for God knows how many years

There's a destructive path he stays on throughout his life and during the movie where he craves attention and being around people, but at the same time, he's constantly lying and pretending to be this other person. It's like, so badly wanting people to like you enough to be around you (or in Lou's case, stay) but also so terrified that they won't like the real you.

Coupled with that is Lou's tendency to keep dolls longer than he knows is allowed. They'll leave at some point. Based on the movie, it seems like dolls usually stay for maybe three or four months before the Gauntlet takes place. Still, Lou forms groups with some of them. The Spy Girls, are my main example for this. He knows that they'll leave, but it's almost like he's trying to eventually gaslight them or persuade them into staying. He's this line in the latter portion of the movie when he reaches his downfall.

"Are you really going to let them take over? After everything I've done for you?"

It doesn't work, obviously, but I can't help but wonder if he would have said similar words when the time came for them to leave through the portal. If his actions toward them were merely a compilation of reasons for them to feel obligated to stay.

Intuitive

This is a fun one that kind of veers away from the depressing backstory of our little blond. It involves imagination and thinking beyond just the present time.

Despite the fact that Lou is in the position he's in, it seems like he learns to make the most of it during times. I think back mainly to his training and when classes are held. The factory doesn't have any reign over him as far as how he specifically teaches.

He jumps into figment possibilities and theoretical situations. He has fireworks shooting off into the sky. The man has whole songs that he's most likely written and orchestrated himself. There are flames shooting up from the catwalk and at the top of the stairs. The platform glows with multicolored squares.

There's no doubt that he's creative. If he were to give Uglyville and its inhabitants a chance, he would surely flourish. Because Lou is essentially doing the same thing that the Uglies do at the end of the movie. He's bringing color and life into such a drab Institute. All the greyscale buildings and scenery are dull. But Lou is trying to spice things up with everything he adds to it.

And, regardless if this is another tactic of his to get dolls to stay, I think he enjoys it himself and still has to have a lot of imagination to pull this stuff off.

A counterargument to this would be: "But what about how he doesn't like the Uglies playing with the glue? Or when UglyDog dances to distract the metal dog? Or when they use their own imagination to get past all the hurdles he puts up for them?"

My answer: He really has to shut them down.

Like, the factory is still there. There's an invisible line that Lou can't cross that's between what he can do to make things his own and what he can't do because the factory still has rules in place for him.

A note right quick: Anytime I mention the factory's control over Lou, it should be noted that I'm taking creative liberty with the statements. Because the movie never specifies how much influence (if any) the factory has with the dolls or Lou.

Thinking

I love this one. I love it mainly because it seems like this is a forced trait Lou has trained himself to have. I was earnestly surprised when he got "thinking" over "feeling" because it would make more sense if he was guided more by his emotions, right? I mean, so many of his mistakes have been traced to his lack of control to hide or quickly amend his emotions.

But that's where thinking comes in.

A creative liberty I've taken on the movie is that Lou sent Ox to the recycling pipes in a blinded heat of emotion. In my prequel (it's not finished so don't get excited) I have it leading to the point where the two brothers eventually split. Ox and Lou have this whole plan that if Ox can prove he's perfect enough then the robots and the factory will allow him to stay with Lou. However, Ox can't quite shake the desire to go to the Big World.

To make things short: Ox runs Gauntlet, Ox almost goes through portal, Lou is devastated by the potential betrayal and abandonment, Lou's emotions take over.

I say all that to say this: Lou has conditioned himself to push his emotions back for the sake of not getting too attached or losing control again.

Maybe he feels remorse for leading Ox to his potential death. Maybe he doesn't want to seem sporadic to the other dolls by the influx of different emotions.

As I and my best friend Natalie also theorize, Lou was not made with emotions. Therefore, he has limited to no knowledge of how to handle them and thus finds it easier to simply push them away altogether.

I came back from a coffee break in the library and forgot my previous thoughts for this section SO I'M MOVING ON.

Judging

Now, I should probably explain that judging in this sense is not the "wow, you're ugly" kind of judging. This is the opposite of prospecting. Essentially, it deals with how people prefer to tackle goals.

People with the Judging trait prefer to have backup plans, strict deadlines, and explicit ideas for how to execute their plans. So on and so forth. This is the opposite of people with prospecting who prefer to "cross that bridge when they get there."

Lou shows this a lot with the fact that he teaches. Teachers have to plan out their lessons and are working with a timeline. Lou also seems to have this plan set in place early on in the movie on how to deal with the Uglies. I believe the only time he changes plans is when he meets the Spy Girls in the pipe after Mandy and Moxy's abduction. As well as when he (most likely) made the minute decision to run the Gauntlet with them.

Not much needs to be said for this one, so I'm jumping on to our last point.

Turbulent

Ya'll are gonna be surprised by this one. The two options Lou could have gotten for this one are turbulent and assertive. Assertive is self-explanatory, but to add more depth, it regards their self-reflections.

Turbulent essentially means that Lou lacks self-confidence. That may come as a surprise because the movie portrays him as an arrogant, self-righteous person. On the contrary, most people that are like that are actually insecure.

Let's be reminded of the fact that Lou keeps his true nature of being a prototype a secret. It's kind of the main thing about him that isn't revealed. He also says this during the scene in the pipes:

"Everyone says: Oh Lou, you're so nice! You're the best! Do you know how long I've worked for that adulation?"

How long he worked for the adulation. He had essentially been trying to improve his reputation with the other dolls. He's tried proving himself to them. Now, the movie sets it up where the other dolls are working on their appearances and behavior to gain rapport with Lou.

So, why would Lou feel the need to have a good reputation with them? He's the leader.

This is also taking creative liberty, but maybe it's to convince himself that he can be a prototype and still be loved. He was so insecure -- and still is -- about his true nature that he was doing everything in his power to gain their love and adoration in case there came a day when they found out he was a prototype.

Now, this begs the question as to what he's been told about himself to believe that being a prototype is a bad thing and that others believe the same. But I won't dive into that for this post.

And imagine his surprise (which is scene during the scene where they toss around his fate with different options) when all that work he put toward gaining their adoration was still for nothing. The fact that despite all he did to show himself as a nice, genuine person (regardless if it turned fake, it had to be real at some point) was in vain. And the only thing they cared about was the fact that he wasn't a real doll.

But there's my long rant on that. Again, if you'd like to read more on this personality type, which includes: romantic relationships, friendships, workplace habits, and more then feel free to click the link at the beginning of this post.

And here's the tentative list for the next CTA's I'll be doing, unless I get an ask for a character prior to me writing it.

Mandy

Ox

Moxy

Nolan

LuckyBat

Wage

Babo

Tuesday

Kitty

UglyDog

Some characters that are given some limelight (like Lydia) are being excluded from this list because they are not given enough screentime/dialogue in order to fill out the personality test accurately.

[king-star]

hii! can you please make a natasha x reader fic where they both have been dating for a while and it's natasha's birthday and the reader surprises her with a brand new suit that she made herself and nat cries bc she never got a meaningful gift and the reader also surprises her with cake and more romantic gifts. you could make the reader tony's sister so it would make more sense that she's good at making suits but you don't have to!! thank you sm i need sum cute natty 😫

Birthday Suit

Warning: Use of the pet name Sunflower,

Match: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Genre: Fluff

A/N: So this one was fun. I hate my birthday but this actually was cute. I’m trying a new way of presenting the dialogue. aesthetically it looks better but I’m not sure how it reads. I've seen other authors do the dialogue on completely seperate lines so just lmk if this is good.

Word Count: ~2.5 k

Summary: It’s Natasha's birthday, and despite her acting like she hates it you shower her with love.

The smell of cooking cake fills the compound. Even from the workshop, where you are, the sweet scent permeates the air. You have been baking for long enough to know what that smell means, the cake is almost done.

You check the clock on the wall. 2:44. Nat would be home at 5.

“Shit. I need to get this done,”

You shake your head and set down your wire cutters. The list of everything you need to get done before she arrives rolls through your mind.

It was her birthday. She didn’t know her actual birthday so years ago she made one up. The chosen date was a closely guarded secret she only shared with those she trusted most. For the most part the assassin didn’t even celebrate. When you had asked a week prior what she wanted to do she had brushed you off claiming,

“I don’t really care. As long as I get to be with my love.”

She had kissed you, hoping the kiss would fog your mind from any further planning. Unfortunately for her you were a big schemer, always going as big as you could for your friend’s birthdays.

You walked out of the workshop, making one last longing look at her unfinished gift on your messy work table. No one was around today. The one Saturday everyone had off a month. Natasha had gone shopping with Wanda, a plan conncocted to give you plenty of time to get everything ready.

“Friday do you mind turing the oven off?”

you asked the A.I. as you headed down the hallway.

“Of course Agent Y/L/N,”

entering the kitchen you picked up a discarded list of everything that needed to be done. Two items were crossed off “Bake the cake, movie fort.” The unmarked items looked at you teasingly and you felt anxiety rise in your chest. What if you didn’t get everything done and this birthday made Natasha hate birthdays even more? You shook your head trying to chase off the thoughts and went to the oven.

“One perfectly baked chocolate cake coming up,”

grabbing an oven mitt you pulled the cake out of the oven and placed it on the counter. Carefully you coerced the cake from the pan and set it on the cooling rack.

Back when Wanda and you ventured into the baking realm you had begged Tony to put in a floor to ceiling blast chiller. The kind that was always on baking competitions. He reluctantly agreed, with the price of always having to give him a taste of your creations. The freezer was immensely helpful in tight circumstances. You were more than grateful for it now.

You set your cake into the freezer and went to the pantry to pull out all the ingredients you needed for icing. You poured the powdered sugar and placed the butter into the bowl. When you turned on the mixer a cloud of sugary powder exploded in the kitchen. You blinked and licked your lips. Bringing a hand up to wipe your face, you laughed hard. Sugar covered the entire counter and floor beneath you, not to mention your already grease stained clothes.

“Wow, is my little sibling doing coke in here? And without me!”

a snarky voice sounded from across the room. You opened your eyes and squinted at your older brother with a scrunched nose.

“Can it Tony,”

You growled, grabbing a towel and wiping yourself off the counter. Tony laughed at you and opened the freezer to look at what sweet treats awaited him tonight.

“A cake? Are we celebrating?”

He laughed and made a teasing face. You rolled your eyes and called out to Friday.

“Can you order me four containers of icing from the store to be delivered?”

“You got it!”

her chipper accented voice came over the audio. You threw the towel in the sink and landed a punch in Tony’s arm as you left to go change.

“You better not eat any of that cake until Nat has had at least one slice. I know where you keep those rare magic cards you think no one knows about and I will not hesitate to cut them all in half,”

He looked at you in shock. Whether it was because you knew about the secret stash or because you would dare cut them you weren’t sure. The only way to get Tony mad was to go for something he couldn’t replace with money.

“YOU WOULDN'T FUCKING DARE,”

You run away as he climbs out of his chair and chases after you. You run into your room and lay on the door to push back a Tony who was only a few steps behind you. When you finally force the door into the frame you turn the lock and fall to the floor laughing.

Angry mumbling came from the other side. Tony pounded on the door twice before, defeated. walking away. After catching your breath you pulled your sugar stained clothes off and changed into the outfit you’d set aside that morning.

“Y/N the man just arrived with the icing,”

Friday called out to your room and you nodded.

“Thank you Friday. Have him set the bags in the kitchen,”

Friday hummed in agreement. You stood up and looked in the mirror checking yourself out. When you were satisfied with the look you unlocked the door and turned to the right. You really needed to finish Natasha’s present. You wouldn’t even have time to test it properly. You really hoped the phrase “it’s the thought that counts,” was true. Her gift could be something that got you endless kisses or a real crash and burn.

Making it to the lab you set your hand on your head and groaned. You really hoped it worked. It was so pretty. You grabbed the wrapping paper and box and set it in with a kiss.

“Natty, I hope you like it,”

The gift finished the fort built, and cake baked, there was only one thing left to do, ice the damn cake. You could bake sure, but only Wanda ever mastered the art of making it look beautiful.

When you made it to the kitchen Tony was nowhere in sight and a plastic bag with what you assumed was icing was set on the counter. You pulled out a butter knife and dug in, hoping this looked somewhat edible. Wanda was the one who was skilled at decorating. You could make the elaborate pastry chef treats, but you could never handle the finer details of making it look pretty.

~

You were in the workshop when Friday alerted you that Wanda and Natasha were home. A feeling similar to anxiety or excitement fluttered in your chest. This was the first time you’d celebrated her birthday with your girlfriend. You wanted her to like birthdays again. To feel as special and loved as you can pour out for her.

“Thank you Friday. Please tell them I’m in the workshop and will be heading to the game room shortly,”

You set down the gauntlet you’d been fixing while waiting for them and brushed off your outfit. Your eyes searched over the shirt for stains, and when you were satisfied you were clean you headed to your “party”.

Wanda was the first to come in. She threw her hands to her face and “oood” and “aweeed” over the spread you had out.

“Y/N your cake! it’s…. adorable,”

you punched her in the shoulder with a frown. She fell over laughing.

“I TRIED! and I’m sure it tastes amazing.”

you crossed your arms and pouted. She sat back up still laughing and patted your back.

“She’ll love it Y/N. Even if it had ‘fuck you Nat’ written on top she’d love it,”

you smiled at the complement and stopped pouting. You were explaining the technology behind Nat’s present when the woman of the hour finally walked in.

“What is all this? Are y’all having a party? and didn’t invite me,”

she sat down next to you intertwining your fingers with hers and kissing your shoulder. You smiled as the excitement anxiety mix returned.

“Actually…. it’s for you,”

You smiled and kissed her hands. She looked genuinely surprised. You really hoped the feeling was happy excitement.

“oh- Y/N y-you remembered? and you didn’t have to do any of this. I thought I told you i didn’t care to celebrate,”

you felt Wanda stand up to leave with a pat on your shoulder. You smiled up at her and turned back to Natasha.

“I know I know, but I wanted to do something special. You love me so well and work so hard all the time. You deserve a day that’s unapologetically about you,”

You knew if Natasha didn’t have such complete control of her emotions she would be crying. The agape mouth gave that away. You smiled and leaned forward pulling her into a deep, intimate kiss. Feeling her smile against your lips you pulled away and leaned your forehead against hers.

“I love you Natashka. I will do anything to make you feel like Queen of the world,”

with that she started crying. You frowned and wiped away the tears.

“I really hope those are happy tears,”

she nodded quickly and smiled, sniffling a little.

“Very very happy tears. happy ‘I don’t know what on Earth i did to deserve you’ tears,”

“It is I who does not deserve you. The Great Black Widow. I’m just here to make you smile, it’s my life goal,”

you bowed as much as you could sitting down. Placing a peck on her lips you turned back to the presents and pointed.

“Which one should we open first?”

she pondered and then picked up a small box. Nimble fingers unwrapped the box and pulled out a Ring. You had managed to get her size weeks earlier fitting one of your own on her finger when hanging out. She looked at the little silver band with a carved sunflower at the head. A smile bloomed across her face and she hugged you.

“Oh my goodness Y/N, it’s so pretty…,”

she slid it onto her fingers, finding the one it fit best and stared at it. You hugged her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“Well, you are my sunflower. It’s just a reminder when we are away,”

Her eyes lit up at the nickname. It wasn’t as common for you to use it as baby or sweetheart, but sunflower had always been her favourite.

She looked at the other boxes realising they were also for her. You picked up the next box, a medium sized one and handed it to her. You were saving the biggest for last.

She was just in awe and set it down before unwrapping it. Her hands snaked around your waist and pulled you flush to her. Her soft lips pressed kisses to your jaw and she set her head on your shoulder.

“Thank you so much Y/N, I- no one has done something like this for me ever,”

She hugged you tight again and then let go picking back up the present. You nodded and kissed her head. Pushing some hair out of her face you stroked her hair softly. Her hands once again unwrapped the gift. She squeaked at the sight of the book underneath the paper.

Natasha never got to read much on her own accord growing up. The red room picked out books for her education but never anything she would actually enjoy. Long ago Natasha had told you the first book she read after getting out of the red room was Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland and since then she adored the book. You had found, and paid for with Tony’s credit card, a first edition of the book. The auction was rough but you needed that book for Natasha.

Natasha stared at the book once, again jaw hanging open. She wiped her hands on her pants before handingly the book with utmost care. She flipped it over and ran her fingertips over the indented letters and gold illustration on the front.

“Y-you like it? I know you said you like Alice in Wonderland. It’s uh… actually a first edition copy. Tony was about ready to kill me when he saw me pay for the bid,”

You laughed nervously. She turned the book around again and then set it on the coffee table. She tackled you and pushed you back on the couch kissing all over your face. You yelped in surprise then grabbed her hips, catching her lips and kissing her roughly. She melted into the kiss but you pulled away.

“As much as I love this Natty, let’s open your last gift and eat some cake,”

You sat up and pulled her so she was in your lap. You placed a soft kiss to the back of her neck as she reached for the last gift. It was heavy but the assassin had no trouble lifting it.

“After that we can makeout in the fort I made. yeah?”

You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her close to you, rubbing circles on her thigh. She laughed and nodded, blushing profusely.

“I like that idea Y/N,”

She opened the box and pulled out the gift you put months of effort into. This time her reaction wasn’t as instantaneous. You helped her pull all the pieces out and set it on the coffee table. She looked at it slightly perplexed.

“I’m sorry… I’m not exactly sure what it is,”

She pouted and looked at you. You smiled and nodded knowing she wouldn’t. You set it out so she could see all the parts.

“Well… uh it’s a new suit. You always say that you don’t like how tight and revealing your other ones are so I kinda beefed this one up so it focuses on functionality,”

She nodded along as you explained. A look of understanding crossed her face as she pulled at the sleeves.

“ohhhhhhhh. That makes so much sense. I- Y/N what the fuck. I can’t express it enough. You are the best, you listened to me and used it to give me the best gifts i’ve ever gotten. You are the most thoughtful partner,”

You beamed. The feeling you knew she was struggling to express, it was exactly what you’d wanted her to feel. Loved, heard, appreciated, and cared for.

“I’m glad sunflower. That’s what I wanted. To make you feel as good as you deserve. D-do you mind if I tell you a bit about the features? I didn’t have time to test some of them so I will need to do that before you take it into combat,”

She nodded and slid off your lap to look at you. You patted her legs and squeezed then held at the sleeve first.

“Well of course it wouldn’t be a suit for the Black widow without gauntlets. These can change through three different modes for different levels and types of stuns also a laser if you need that for aiming,”

You flipped on the laser and pointed it at a pot then turned it back off.

“Also I made it so the suit can suction to your body but be limp to put it on. a lot easier to slip on ya know. And there is mobile but thick padding on all major points of contact for falling. Shoulders, hips, elbows, knees, the like.”

Natasha ran her hands over the surprisingly thin padding and smiled.

“Wow baby that’s… amazing,”

You nodded and picked up the bag attached to the back.

“And uh there’s a parachute built in as well as pockets up the legs, arms and boots so you don’t have to have the belts. They are sorta magnetic so you can like open them easily but when they are closed everything stays in. OH AND THE BOOTS,”

You started to ramble on about the energy absorbing boots you worked with Shuri on that would allow Nat to drop from double the height of a normal human with no damage to her knees or feet. Nat just stared at you hungirly.

“Hey baby, I seriously appreciate the gift. It’s honestly the best thing I've ever gotten. Why don’t we try it out tomorrow and you can show me EVERYTHING. For now we can… sit in the fort like you said,”

She had a cocky smile and you blushed at her antics. You nodded quickly, cutting off your rambling. Her hands found your waist and she pulled you off the couch and into the pillow fort you had built.

“I uh- got a movie for us to watch. Do you want to?”

She nodded and smiled. A look that very much meant “Yes. That's sweet, but I doubt we will be watching it.” You pulled her into your lap, setting your hands on her waist. She draped hers over your shoulders and rubbed light circles on the back of your neck. You leaned forward and trapped her lips in a kiss. Soft but full of passion.

The rest of that night was spent watching the movie and kissing. When you finally remembered the cake a slice had been taken out of it, with

“You were busy with Romanoff so I took what I was owed. The package has been moved, try getting me now little sibling.”

On a sticky note beside it. Natasha had laughed, unsure exactly what had happened but sure it was a story she would much enjoy hearing.

She had moaned over how good the cake was after laughing at how “Adorably” it was decorated.

“So Nat… did I make this birthday worth celebrating?”

She smiled wide and nodded.

“Yes Y/N, if every birthday was like this I would never want to stop celebrating.”

Tag List:

@xburningbluex @zoeyserpentluck @iamgaiiiuwu @natasharomanoffswife @fleurlovesbucky @fayhar @ymzki-haruki @lostandsearching

Natasha Tag list:

@basiclesbianbitch @stephanieromanoff @sapphicshots @madamevirgo @choni-trimberly@wlwlovesreading @i-just-like-storage @screamsin-gay @ymzki-haruki

[anditvanisheslikemist]

Oct. 2: Seasonal Candle Allergy

From @oh-no-my-hand-slipped's list of prompts. Hindsight 'verse (AO3). Nico/Matty. Read it on AO3 or below. List of all of my October prompt fills.

"Whhh…h'TCHIU!" He sniffles, but it's pointless, his nose is already tingling painfully again, just like after the last dozen sneezes. "Why are they in the fucking grohh.. EH'chh! grocery store? And right by the…hhh…." A pause, and he gets himself back together. "… the front doors—"

Matty rubs his back and steers him even further away from the display of extremely pungent autumnal candles, but the damage is done, and Nico's breath catches yet again.

"Like— heh-tCHOO! Those stores in the mall." He fumbles in his bag for more tissues and blows his nose. "Fine. That's thehh… TSCHHH! their dadtural—" He sniffs hard— "natural hahhh… ah'TSHIEW! habitat…" He trails off, eyes streaming, mouth slightly open. Somehow, they've wound up in the aisle with the canned beans. "They shouldn't be allow…" His breath catches and hangs there for a second, and then he shakes his head and keeps going. "Shouldn't be allowed out in the wild." He shifts uncomfortably at the tightness in his chest, and pulls his inhaler out of his bag. Shakes it. Takes a hit.

"Oh, believe me, I'm going to complain." Another shopper turns their cart into the bean aisle, catches sight of them, and hesitates. Matty glowers at them and they back out of the aisle. Nico rubs at his chest and doubles over with a forceful hhhuh…. AH'DZHIU! Matty pulls a handkerchief out of his back pocket and hands it to Nico, and Nico buries his face in it, scrubbing at the itch until the motion coaxes out another TSCHHHoo! "If Customer Service wasn't next to the fucking things, I would say we should go up there together and you could just sneeze in their general direction until they throw 'em in the dumpster."

Nico waves him off. He means it in a let's just finish shopping way, but his muscles are starting to ache like they always do when an allergy attack goes on a little too long. He presses his palm to his chest and tries to dampen the next set of 'tCHu! eh'TSCHiu! hhh'ngxxt… into the cloth of the handkerchief and fails with a ringing hhhETCHIEW!

"Okay." Matty presses him toward the other entrance with a hand firmly in the small of his back. Nico just lets himself be led. His eyes are watering too badly to see where he's going anyway. "We're done."

He wants to protest, but he's coughing again, and his head is tight and woozy with congestion. "Fuck," he gets out, and Matty hums in agreement.

Someone wearing the right colors to be an employee— Nico's long since taken off his glasses to rub at his eyes, so everything's even more blurry than before— starts to ask if they're okay, and Nico feels Matty tense beside him.

"If you can just—" Nico tries, hoping to head things off, but he breaks off sneezing again, a flurry of h'IT'chiu, ITCH'hu, hETCH'shoo… that his increasingly damp handkerchief isn't doing much against.

"It's your fucking candles!" Matty gestures sharply toward the entryway, where there's a smattering of sneezes from other people running the synthetic-fall-scents gauntlet.

"Oh. I'll…" The employee looks around nervously. "Okay."

Matty takes a breath like he's going to really go off, and Nico gets a hand on his arm in a way that he hopes conveys, they're not HIS candles, come on. "Sorry," Matty says, and takes another, more calming, breath. "Just… you guys should really get those out of here."

He doesn't wait for a response, just gets Nico out into the fresh air, and then into their car.

"Okay?"

Nico nods, already pulling out handfuls of tissues from the box in the car.

"I'm boycotting them."

"We don't…" Nico stops to catch his breath, but it's thankfully coming easier now. "We don't live in that big of a town."

"There's other grocery stores. In other towns."

"I… HET'chhuh! I appreciate the thought. We'll see if it sticks once winter hits."

Matty grumbles something in return.

Nico blows his nose one more time and sniffs experimentally. "Takeout tonight, though?"

Matty leans over and kisses his temple and turns on the car. "Sounds like a plan."

[12-16-91-stark]

I know you don't have the time, but there are some docs that caught my attention: Lost to Me; Home for the Holidays and Me Before You.

You're fine, no worries!!!

Lost to Me is again part of 12.16 to Endgame, it's just the first part I had written for it and for some reason when I continued with a different scene i made it in a dif word doc? lol But here is another taste...

Howard entered the room slowly. The air was chilled and he had to suppress a shiver as he gently closed the door behind him, making sure that the privacy shade on the window was pulled down. The light was dim and he kept his sights on the pristine white tiles of the floor, unable to bring his eyes up to look at the slab in the center of the room. His heart pounded away like a freight train in his chest and he felt the the first droplets of sweat forming at his temple and around his collar despite the cool temperature.

He could do this. He owed it to his son. Right foot forward, then left, and repeat.

---

Home for the Holidays is an IronFamily Thanksgiving in a post-Endgame, Tony lives world <3

Peter spent Thanksgiving morning simultaneously with his face pushed to the glass looking out over the front of the apartment and running to the kitchen to help Aunt May with the food preparations. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade was on the tv in the living room, the announcer’s fawning over the new balloons and artists as they performed. Years and years ago Peter remembered when Aunt May and Uncle Ben had taken him to watch the parade and ended up scarring him when the Barney balloon impaled itself on a lamp post and came crashing down. He hadn’t gone to see the parade in person since then. Even if they did have a superhero section featuring Spiderman this year.

It was the first major holiday his mentor, kinda Dad (though he would NEVER admit that anywhere but the comfort of his own brain), would finally be able to attend since he had finally been released, after months in the hospital.

Life had been very touch and go, for Tony Stark after the battle against Thanos. When he should have been taking his final breaths, Dr. Strange had stepped in and helped save him. Peter didn’t know the exact details of what had occurred. One minute they had been on the battlefield and the next they were in South Korea with Helen Cho. Afterwards he hadn’t really cared what happened as long as it meant that his mentor had survived.

Tony lost an arm, the one that had snapped, and he probably wouldn’t ever hear properly again out of his right ear either. The severity of the scarring had been lessened but the damage to the skin ran deep due to the magical properties of the gauntlet, so part of Tony’s face would always be marred by the lightning shaped scars. (Thor had been quick to reassure how warrior like this made Tony.)

There had been a lot of tears in that waiting room but Peter mostly remembered Pepper’s calm determination in light of the uphill battle she and Tony would journey together. Limbs could be replaced with prosthetics and Stark Industries already held a medical patent on high tech hearing aids from where Tony had created them years earlier for Clint. The psychological healing and the rigorous physical therapy regimen would take longer, but it was a small price for Tony’s life.

---

Me Before You is a brief little scene based off the book/movie, just putting Pepperony in the shoes of the main characters. Tony was injured in an accident, paralyzing him from the neck down and wants to end his life. Pepper is the caretaker who accidentally falls in love with him and is determined to change his mind.

"There's got to be something that can be done, Tony. I can't just let you do this."

"It's not your choice to decide Pepper. I decided this a long time ago. I'm not getting any better and I won't get better. This is my life now. I'm an engineer who can't build. I can't walk, I can't go to the bathroom or get out of bed. I will never be able to make love to you the way you deserve. This is not a life that I want."

"So, that's it then? You're just going to give up like that? No one else gets a say?"

"It's my life, Pep."

"You are so incredibly selfish, you know that? How dare you bring me on here...make me fall in love with you and then only now tell me you want to kill yourself?"

"It's euthanasia, not suicide."

"It's suicide, Tony. Paint it up with all your medical terms and fly off to Switzerland but at the end of the day you're still choosing to die."

"It's not that simple…"

"Does Rhodey know? Or your mom? Do any of them know what you have planned?"

Tony swallowed harshly and turned his head away from Pepper, hair falling in front of his eyes, hiding the stinging tears that had appeared during their argument.

"They don't do they? When were you going to tell them? After you were dead? Send them a note through Jarvis?"

"Pep…"

"No, don't Pep me. You can't…" she began to falter, the hysterical edge in her voice turning to tears. "You can't do this to the people who love you, Tony. You can't. Please, don't do this."

Tony watched the sobs begin to wreck through her body wordlessly. He would give anything to be able to wrap his arms around her and hold her close to him. But he couldn't. He was a prisoner in his own body, couldn't she understand that?

How he wished he had met her before all of this, but he hadn't. He would never live a normal life again. Maybe she would stay with him now, and maybe she did love him now too, but eventually his condition would drive her away. She would tire of taking care of him, grow tired of not being able to do what normal couples do and then what? He couldn't bear to one day look into her eyes and see that resentment there. Better to cut it off now, to go forward with what he had planned from the minute he woke up from that accident.

"Pepper, please," he whispered through his own tears, begging her to understand.

Instead she moved from her position at the door and came to where he sat in his chair and collapsed into his lap, tears still falling. The scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils as she settled against him and he breathed her in, soaking up every breath, every tear.

"Please, don't do this," she whispered against his neck.

"I'm sorry." He leaned his head against her, stubble brushing against her cheek. "I'm so sorry Pep. You weren't supposed to love me."

She clung tighter to his neck and god how he relished being able to feel her there.

"I'm going to change your mind." Her tears had stopped and her voice was steady and resolute against his ear. He could almost believe her when she said that, but he knew that there was nothing that could be done.

"You can't."

"I will."

He just sighed and leaned against her further. He knew he would let her try. He didn't want to leave her yet, but he knew it was cruel to get her hopes up and lead her further along. It was only going to hurt her more in the end, but Tony Stark had always been a selfish bastard and he would take every moment he had left with her.

[ruinsofxerxes]

You gonna taunt us with your unfinished fic in the tags 😭😭

LOL SORRY BRUUHHHHH. But for real, after I wrote those tags I went searching through my laptop, and found the two chapters I wrote back in 2014ish!!! Like I said, it’s totally unfinished, and I haven’t even looked it over since I wrote it so there could be typos and I have completely forgotten what even happens in these chapters but if you wanna read it, here ya go lol.....rip to this fic.....it would have been fun......the one that got away............ . . .. ........ .. .

1. Chapter 1 Edward awoke, and this time it felt different. He had a vague sense that this was not his first time regaining consciousness. He could remember in memories so vague that they were nothing more than notions that there had been a long stretch of dark unconsciousness that had been punctured by short bouts of unintelligent wakefulness. This time was different; even in his unalert, half-asleep state, Edward could feel things he hadn't before. The room was quiet, wherever he was. The bed thin but soft nevertheless as was the flimsy sheet that covered him up to the chest. The word safe came to mind and, for some reason, that was more of a relief than a given. There was a small creak to Edward's left. His ears were easily able to place the sound, and Ed felt himself fill with even more relief. "Brother?" Alphonse's voice inquired far too hopefully. Ed hadn't realized he had done anything to give away that he was awake. He was still coming to himself, and his eyes still closed. Perhaps he had made a small noise upon awaking, or maybe Alphonse realized this time it was different, just as Ed had. Maybe, judging by that hopeful, almost disbelieving tone in Al's voice, he had been watching his brother sleep. When Al spoke next, his voice had drawn closer, his armor clanking further as he bent over Edward slightly. "Ed?" His voice faltered with uncertainty when Ed didn't respond. Ed was still in a daze even though it had been several minutes since he was sure he was definitely awake. He had to be on some sort of medication. Ed had been hospitalized enough in the past few years to know damn well what it felt like to be drugged up on pain killers. Which begged the question: what the hell happened to him? Ed forced his heavy eyelids open. He blinked the sluggish feeling away, and his view was overtaken by his brother's helmet staring down at him. Once Alphonse saw his brother's eyes open, his shoulders sagged visibly with relief. "Brother, are you okay?" Edward stared at his brother for a moment with growing concern. He was slightly disappointed as well but a reason for that emotion was not making itself known. "I'm fine, Al," he stated flatly. He didn't feel any pain at least. Grogginess aside, he really did feel fine, but he couldn't think of a reason why Alphonse would ask him such a question, and that worried him. Edward glanced around himself to find he and Al were at the hospital. Ed wasn't surprised considering the previous information he had gathered, but it unnerved him regardless. He looked back at Al, who was watching over him, his body language obviously on edge, as if he believed Ed could fall back into unconsciousness at any moment. Ed took in his brother's armor body and, with a start, a small snippet of memory came back to him. That's right, Ed thought. They had been chasing another lead on the philosopher's stone, hadn't they? But Al was still in his armor. He didn't seem overly eager to tell Ed whether or not they had been successful in their search either so Edward knew they had failed to find the stone. It wasn't a very promising lead anyway. It had brought them to some backwater town neither of the boys had ever heard of in the middle of the Eastern area. Ed hadn't had high hopes, but the realization was discouraging anyway. "I-I'm glad you woke up," Alphonse continued quietly, not meeting his brother's gaze. "I was getting worried that you wouldn't…" His fingers twiddled with the pages of the book sitting closed on his lap. It was a thick, old and battered book no doubt gotten from the East City library in order to pass the time that Ed's had been dead to the world. But just how long had he been gone? Ed craned his neck slightly to look at the cover; his heart leaped as he saw the title said something about comas and other similar medical conditions. How long had he been out if his brother was reading up on something so grave? "Al…what—what's wrong? How long was I unconscious? What happened? We didn't find the stone, did we?" Ed pushed himself up slightly but fell back into the pillows heavily. His balance was off and something wasn't right. Ed clutched at his right shoulder, suddenly struck with the realization. "And where's my arm? What happened to my arm?" His automail arm was completely gone, leaving nothing behind but an empty shoulder port. Without a moment's hesitation, Ed flung off the thin, white sheet covering his legs to reveal that they were both present. Ed exhaled his held in breath, his eyes sweeping over the nicks in his prosthetic and the bandages and gauze covering his flesh right leg. "Brother, stop. Calm down," Alphonse said, trying hard to stay calm himself. He reached over, gently taking his brother's shoulders in his large gauntlets and forcing Ed to lay back down. "Al, what happened?" Ed repeated. His voice was still slightly panicked but he made no move to struggle from the suit of armor's hold. After a moment, Alphonse let go and sat back in the hospital chair. "Ed, it's okay. You're going to be alright. We got you to the hospital early this morning, and you've been falling in and out of consciousness ever since. That's why…I was worried, I didn't know if you'd stay awake this time." Ed searched his brother's face but found nothing in the expressionless mask. He only felt marginally better by what Al told him. "Did something happen to me when we were looking for the stone? It was another false lead, wasn't it?" Alphonse looked up then and stared at his brother. He was quiet for a moment, and Edward shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "Ed…the stone wasn't there at all. It was all a trick, we got ambushed shortly after we arrived. You…you don't remember that?" Ed shook his head slowly from side to side, staring at his brother in disbelief. He pulled the blanket slowly off himself more gently this time and gave his body a cursory glance. His legs seemed to have gotten the worst of it if all the patches were anything to go by. Part of his left forearm was wrapped up as well. Feeling his face tentatively with his only hand, Ed found nothing more than a bandage on his cheek and one hidden under his bangs to cover his right temple. As Edward patted himself down, Alphonse had spoken up again. "The doctors said you might suffer memory loss. I was hoping you wouldn't…" He shifted in his chair. "You were showing signs of hypothermia and your body was going into shock when we found you. It's a good thing we found you when we did. I don't…I don't know what would have happened if we had come any later." Edward paused his examination at the sudden thick emotion in his brother's young voice. Alphonse had pulled his shoulders in and was staring down sullenly at the book clutched in his hands. Ed's lips pulled down in a tight frown. He had screwed up once again, and Alphonse had received the worst of it, having to sit without pause by his brother's bed, not even knowing whether or not he'd wake up. "Sorry…" The word slipped out guilty before Ed even realized he had said it. He leaned over awkwardly and patted Al's large hand, even though Ed knew he couldn't feel the gesture. "Sorry I worried you." Al shook his head. "It's okay, Brother. It wasn't your fault. And you're okay now, that's what's important, right?" He didn't seem too convinced. Ed wasn't either soothed by the words much either but he didn't say anything. Ed drew his hand back after a pause and settled into the pillows. "Was I really that bad off? Did you really think I was in a coma?" He nodded toward the book when Alphonse glanced up. Al looked down at the object in question as if he had forgotten it was there. His hands gripped at the edges in thought. "This actually wasn't for you…" Al shifted uncomfortably as if he didn't want to relay the information he obviously knew. Al seemed to be handling Ed gently now, as if the loss of his memories from whatever had happened made him fragile and one more bad thing on top of it all would make him bow and break under its weight. "Who…" Ed asked gravely. He stared Alphonse down, making it evident that he didn't want to be fed sugar-coated half-truths. "You probably don't remember," Al started, squirming, "but the colonel was there too." "What happened to him?" Ed voice had hushed considerably. "We don't know. It seems like he got hit in the head somehow and probably had a concussion…the doctors aren't sure if he'll wake up. Or if will be any time soon." Al's voice tapered off. "How do they not know what happened to him?" Ed asked, getting frustrated with this entire situation and the doctors' incompetence and his own lack of recollection. "You were there, weren't you? Don't you remember?" "I…Brother, we got separated when we were ambushed. I went and got help as soon as it happened but by the time we found both of you, you were in terrible shape. With the colonel unresponsive and unable to tell us what happened to him, it seems you're the only witness. But now, with your memory..." "This is ridiculous." Ed was struck with a sudden rush of restlessness. He hated hospitals. He hated being sick or injured. He had to get out of this confining bed and this building with its thick, anesthetic smell. His feet touched the linoleum floor before he even knew where he planned to go. He just knew he had to get out of there; he had to find the colonel at least. Ed needed to see the man with his own eyes. Surely he was somewhere stuck in this hospital along with Ed, whether he was conscious or not. Alphonse grabbed Ed's arm gently before he could make any headway for the door. "Brother, you can't. You need to rest." Ed halted and stared at his brother in slight confusion. Couldn't Al understand what he was feeling? How helpless he felt? Lying around in a hospital bed wouldn't do anyone any good. Ed tried willfully to get his gaze to convey that in a way he knew his words couldn't. "The doctors need to come check up on you first," Al said more to himself than to Ed. He knew his brother well and he knew Ed hated sitting around idly. Al almost let him go, but he kept his grip firm, knowing Ed's wellbeing should come before his restless attitude. "You just woke up. I know this is frustrating but you can't just go running off." Ed frowned but he looked at the armor, silently knowing Al was right. "Brother, please sit back down. I'll try to tell you everything I know, okay?" Ed shifted his weight from foot to foot. Finally, he relented; he was more tired and out of sorts than he would willingly admit. Besides, hearing any information he could was better than running off cluelessly. The young alchemist flopped back down on the mattress, and Alphonse helped pull the blanket up around his brother. "Can you tell me the last thing you remember?" the younger boy asked as he settled back in his chair. Ed stared down at his blanket covered feet, thinking. "We were on the train, I think. You were complaining about losing at cards once again and you called me a cheater—" "You are a cheater," Al pointed out. "That was once when I was twelve!" Ed defended. "Anyway, we were on our way to the town of Awrosut after Mustang had given us another lead on the stone. And that's all I can remember besides waking up a few times before now." Alphonse listened quietly and nodded once Edward fell silent. "You…you missed a lot," Al decided, slightly exasperated. He took a deep breath that held no air and sighed, the noise echoed inside his hollow armor. He began to tell Edward everything that had happened, and Ed felt a heavy weight begin to settle down on him and its pressure began to smother him. 2. Chapter 2 Edward's head tilted slightly to the side as he stared down in pensive thought. It had been days since he had first awoken in the hospital, but Al's words still haunted his mind. They hounded him every waking moment as Ed tried desperately to piece together an unsolvable puzzle. If only he could just will his mind to remember. Then they wouldn't be in this mess. But he couldn't. And they were. There was nothing anyone could do about that. What Al had told him hadn't helped much either. It gave Ed a general sense of what had happened but not even that story could spark back any memories that could help either himself or the colonel. According to Alphonse, it had begun early in the morning last week when the brothers had gotten off the train in the small town of Awrosut. As Al described it, Ed could vaguely see the village in his mind's eye. But that was still a blur and what Ed did remember was more of a feeling than actual images. If someone asked him to draw out a visual of the town, Ed doubted he would be able to. Regardless, Ed acknowledge that that was true and could halfheartedly agree with Al that that is what had happened. He did it more to satisfy his brother more than anything else; Al had incessantly asked throughout his story re-telling whether Ed remembered certain details or not. More often than not Ed would nod or answer with a shrug, even if it wasn't true and his memory of anything after the train ride was still swimming in an unrelenting fog. After that, they had gotten off the train and promptly run into the colonel on the platform. What dumb luck, Ed thought with an eye roll. He could only imagine what his reaction had been when he and Al had run into the old bastard out in the middle of nowhere. Mustang had been in town to catch a connecting train back to East City. Now that was something Edward actually did remember. The colonel had been out of town for most of the week prior, at some important meeting in Central he had been called upon to attend. Al then told Ed that they had been approached by a man that had heard the Elric brothers would be in town. Ed had no idea how the man knew them or how he knew of their location or their reason behind the visit. Apparently the colonel was just as confused about that development as the brothers had been. But the man was a local and he seemed to know his way around better than they did so a flimsy trust formed quickly. The man raddled on as he showed them through the small town. Apparently it was much to Ed's chagrin that Mustang followed them since the colonel's train wasn't due for a while. There had been supposed rumors concerning the warehouse district part of town which resided next to a large river on the outskirts, and that was believed to be where they would uncover the stone. Ed knew now the stone, just like the rumors, had all been a lie to get them there and catch them off-guard. They had been ambushed as soon as they entered the first warehouse. The man had turned on them without hesitation as that had been his plan all along. Ed had no doubt he must have been working with others, but Al said he was the only one the three of them had fought, and lost, against. Edward stared down at the colonel now. Idiot. If Mustang hadn't stuck his nose into their business he never would have gotten caught up in all of this; he wouldn't be lying unreachable in a hospital bed with no improvement in the last several days. He might not have been damned so easily. Ed couldn't help but feel angry at the man before him now. He had never been too fond of the colonel. He was jerk to Ed even during the best of times, but that didn't mean Ed ever wanted anything bad to happen to him. As much as he hated to admit it, he respected the colonel and in some twisted sort of way, he was fond of their bickering and silently supportive relationship. Of course he would never admit that out loud but Ed supposed it was okay to think it here in the silence of Mustang's room, where only his own thoughts gave him any real company. As Ed pondered the event that had led them both here, he couldn't help the tugging in the back of his mind. Really, it all seemed rather convenient. That he and Al had been in such a remote location and had run into the colonel of all people. Ed remembered now how bad of a feeling the whole town had given him, but it had been buried under a desperate hope that this lead would heed real results for once. He had been such an idiot. This had all been set up to hurt him. For what reason, Ed wasn't sure. It couldn't have been for ransom since they had tried to kill him, Al said. Maybe they were jealous of his status and power at such a young age; maybe his alchemic abilities threatened them. Ed wasn't sure he would ever know the reason and that unnerved him. The thought of hearing the truth somehow unnerved him even more. And if the colonel had been there, was it possible he had been set up too? No, no, that was ridiculous. He had an actual reason for being in town; it was nothing shady like Ed and Al's lead. Ed pushed the conspiratorial thoughts out of his head. He still wasn't in his right mind. He was still shaken up by the incident and still healing; none of his memory had yet to make a reappearance. It wasn't good to be jumping to conclusions, especially in such a fragile state of mind. Ed shook his head, physically trying to break up the train of thought. It was the colonel's own stupidity and his own carelessness that had gotten him jumbled up in the brothers' predicament. And now he was the one paying for it for trying to protect them. He was never supposed to be a factor. Ed still wasn't satisfied with that thought, but he dropped the subject anyway. It had been days now that Ed had been stuck in the hospital and the colonel hadn't improved at all. At least he hadn't gotten worse, Ed countered. Ed had found himself drawn to Mustang's room several times since he had awoken. Ed tried to tell himself that was only because it was the only place he could get away from the smothering doctors and nurses and Al, who was always fussing over his wellbeing. But that wasn't all of it. Ed was concerned. He'd never really worried about his superior before but now that seemed to be all he was thinking about. Ed felt guilty about the entire thing too. Maybe if it hadn't been for Ed's carelessness, the colonel wouldn't have gotten hurt. So some form of self-imposed penance made him feel obligated to stand watch in the colonel's room, watching like a hawk for any sign of improvement. Hawkeye was there a lot of the time as well. It seemed she spent all her time not spent filing paperwork at the office here in the colonel's room. Ed tried telling her early on that she didn't need to worry and watch so closely, the doctors would take care of everything and she needed to take care of herself first and stay rested. She had just smiled sadly with a deep sort of understanding in her eyes and told Edward he should take his own advice. After that they didn't talk much. At the times when they were both in the room they would sit silently, not staring directly at the colonel but not really looking at anything else. Ed still preferred the times when Hawkeye was busy with work. He preferred the silence. It was calming considering all the restless thoughts and noise that went on in his head as he struggled to fix this seemingly hopeless situation. Stepping into the colonel's room was more serene than Ed first thought it would be. But the doctors didn't come by as often as they did with Ed, and the small sounds of the hospital could easily be shut out behind a closed door. The room was white and bright, it was calming and not overbearing like it seemed to be in Ed's room. Ed knew that was just his mind playing tricks on him, but he didn't really care. The sooner he got out of the hospital the better. Ed hated the feeling that came with being injured. He hated being treated like an invalid and being treated like a fragile little boy. He could see the pitying looks the staff gave him and he could only count the minutes until he escaped from their gaze. But leaving the hospital also meant leaving all this. Ed glanced around the room, reluctant to leave its calm space. He was schedule to be released today and he couldn't have been happier when he first heard that news. But something kept him rooted here. Leaving the hospital seemed to Ed like he was giving up somehow. It felt like everyone was moving on with their lives while the colonel was just left here without a care. Ed felt like he was abandoning his superior when this man had been the only one to share to some degree what he was going through. Even if the man had yet to regain consciousness, Ed felt a new connection between them since they were the only two to go through the whole dilemma. Ed could almost hear the smirk in Mustang's voice if he could hear Ed's thoughts now, smugly asking Ed where the sudden sense of loyalty had come from when he had almost never followed his orders before. "Brother?" Edward jumped out of his chair at the entrance of a new voice. He turned around swiftly, embarrassed, as if his brother could hear his thoughts. Alphonse was standing at the threshold to Mustang's room. His imposing armor barely fit in the doorway. He held Ed's suitcase in one hand and had his brother's signature red coat draped over his arm. "Are you ready to go?" he asked quietly, as if not to disrupt the room's serenity. "I…uh, yeah." With an exhale, Ed glanced at the colonel's still form one last time. He tried to act casual as he stood up straight and turned away. Of course he'd come back and visit. Even if Mustang didn't make for good company at the moment. Ed wasn't giving up on that old bastard just yet. He wasn't abandoning the colonel, Ed thought even as he headed for the door. Even if he was leaving, he would still work hard and he would save Mustang if no one else was going to do anything about it. Ed was the one who had gotten him into this mess, and he would help him get out too. Ed was never one to give up, and he wasn't about to start a streak of cowardice now, especially not when the colonel's life hung in the balance. "C'mon," he said, reveling silently at the strength in his voice, "let's go."

[malcyon]

Leap, Fall, Fly

Summary: He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” 

Tim looks at him, amused.“Dude, I have, like, four.”

*****

Kon figures some stuff out. Tim helps.

Read on AO3

___________________________________________

Kon kinda wishes he hadn’t come to Gotham tonight.

The pavement below shines with reflected street light thanks to the freezing rain, because the weather in this city sucks. And there’s this creepy chill in the air that's unique only to Gotham that’s been making him shiver for the past hour. But Tim had called, asking if he wanted to patrol, and there was no way in hell Kon was turning that down or leaving halfway through the night.

Even if he can’t feel his feet anymore.

He runs a hand through his hair, ignoring the cold water that runs down his neck, and tries very hard not to look over at where his best friend is crouching on the edge of the building they’re staking out on. He seems to be trying to not look at Tim a lot these days. Trying to focus on anything else.

A few blocks away, a lady is yelling at her cat for knocking over a houseplant.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Tim roll his shoulders back smoothly.

Kon huffs out a frustrated puff of air and examines a trash can in the alley below. Part of him feels like he should say something, but he doesn't know what. He doesn't know what to say to Tim most of the time these days.

Despite that, he’s been stealing moments with the other boy outside of the team whenever he could since he’d gotten back from being dead, or comatose, or whatever it was he had been. What Kon hadn’t been, was there to see the results of his death (and Stephanie's, and Bart's, and Bruce's, and Tim's dad's, and so, so many more) on his best friend. Hadn’t been there to see Tim fall apart and then forge himself into something stronger than what he’d been as Robin.

A rat skitters over the garbage lid. He watches it blankly.

He knows that Tim had shattered while he was dead, had put himself back together piece by piece until he was almost whole again. And even now he acts fine, enough so that no one gets too close to see where he's falling apart at the edges.

But sometimes Kon will catch Tim staring at him like he’s about to disappear. Will catch the too fast, scared heartbeat of his best friend.

And it makes Kon want to scream or punch something, blame someone for not helping—It makes him want to hold onto Tim and tell him he’s not going away ever, ever again; because who else is gonna stay up with him to binge-watch Wendy movies and eat junk food until two in the morning? Hell, they don’t even have to do that; Kon would be down with anything that would get rid of the sad look in Tim’s eyes.

And this isn’t even counting all the bullshit with the assassins and Bruce dying and coming back and how strained things still are between Tim and Dick and how there’s a new Robin along with a new Superboy and—

Kon glares at the brick wall across the alley. He’d be lying if he said that he didn’t care that Jon had donned the costume. Yeah, his little brother has done more than earned it, but it hurts knowing that he’d missed that too.

Plus now he has to come up with a new hero name.

He shivers again and scuffs his foot against the ground. Carefully, he glances over at Tim, whose masked eyes are still examining the dark corners below their building. Kon sorta hopes that something happens so he could at least move around a bit.

He wonders if that’s unethical then decides that he’s too cold to do any further introspection about himself.

Kon whines instead, “Hey, Red Robin.”

There’s no answer from the other boy—not even a twitch.

“Red. Robbie. Rob. R—”

Tim lets out a long sigh and Kon grins at him. “What?”

“I’m bored.”

“And?”

“And I’m cold.”

“And?”

“And I’m hungry, dude. I want some of Agent A’s cookies.”

Tim looks over at him, and Kon floats a few inches off the ground, giving his best puppy-dog eyes. He’s pretty sure Tim raises an eyebrow under the mask, but Kon tilts his head anyway, mimicking the face Jon gives Lois when he has to go to bed but the movie will be done in ten minutes, come on, pleeeeease.

Tim sighs again, in either amusement or exasperation Kon’s not sure. But he does stand up, so Kon gives himself a mental high five.

“Not like anything’s going on anyway.”

Kon doesn’t even bother to hide his beaming smile as he asks, “Fly back?”

Tim shrugs in agreement and jumps down from his brooding perch, steps light on the rooftop. Kon lowers himself to the ground, carefully picks up the other boy, and is suddenly very much aware of how Tim smells like rain and some sort of really nice body wash. He probably takes off a little too quickly, but he blames it on wanting to get out of the cold.

Tim makes a startled noise and throws an arm around Kon’s shoulders, and Kon curses at himself briefly before wrapping Tim up in his TTK, stabilizing him. The other boy relaxes but doesn’t seem to find it necessary to remove his grip, and Kon decides that focusing on flying is a really great idea. At the very least, it’s better than running into a street lamp.

He’s been in Gotham enough now to know how to get to the Manor from anywhere in the city, and the lights blur together as he goes faster and faster, raindrops splashing against his face.

To be honest, Kon has no idea if he's even allowed to be in the Bat's territory; he certainly wasn't given an invitation. But Tim's been dragging him here more and more lately, and since he hasn't been stabbed with a kryptonite batarang yet, Kon's not going to ask any questions. Maybe Tim had just worn Bruce down, or maybe Dick had changed the man's mind. Whatever it was, Kon got to hang out more with Tim and that’s what mattered.

Tim's laugh draws him out of his head, the sound vibrating through Kon’s chest and he lets out a whoop as they dodge buildings all the way to the Manor.

The rain has thoroughly soaked both of them by the time they enter the tunneled entrance to the Cave, but Kon can’t find it in him to care as he lands, still snickering, on the floor. Tim is grinning wildly as he steps out of Kon’s arms and takes off the Red Robin mask, his wet hair dripping down into his face until he runs a gauntleted hand through it. It sticks up in a bunch of spikes and Kon bursts into laughter.

Tim scowls at him and shakes his head, water droplets flying everywhere and making it even worse.

Kon bites his lip, barely toning down his sniggers, and steps forward. “Dude, stop; that’s not helping.” Tim glares. Kon rolls his eyes and, before he lets himself think about it too much, drags his hands through Tim’s hair, managing to calm it down enough to look presentable.

Tim’s skin is warmer than he thought it’d be, and his hair is thick with water and getting long. Kon likes it; his friend looks older, different in a way that makes Kon wanna stare at him. He wonders if anyone else notices like Kon does. Girls on the street certainly do whenever they go out as civilians, their stares catching on Tim's form, his sharp eyes. The thought makes his stomach sour.

Tim blinks, surprised with the contact maybe, but only gives Kon a quiet grin and doesn’t say anything.

Kon wants to beat his forehead against a wall.

The other boy unexpectedly takes a step back and surveys him with narrowed eyes. “You’re soaked.”

“So are you,” he points out, but Tim waves the observation aside.

“Yeah, but I’m taking this off—” Part of Kon’s brain is suddenly filled with some very exciting images—“and changing into something else. But you don’t really have any extra clothes.”

Kon tries to ignore the pictures in his head, but the tips of his ears still feel hot when he manages, “Am I staying the night?”

The atmosphere changes and Kon suddenly feels like he’s blundering through something that should be handled by someone who understands their own feelings. Tim opens his mouth, then pauses before continuing, “You don’t have to, I mean, if you have things you need to do then you should go, but the storm is gonna get really bad so—”

“No!” Kon definitely did not yelp. He clears his throat. “No, I’ll call Ma, but I should be in the clear. It’s a Friday so, you know, I can do the important chores later this weekend.”

Tim slowly nods. “Yeah, yeah, tell her I said hi. I’m going to get out of this suit; I’ll be right back.”

Kon isn't sure if he imagines the sudden stiffness to Tim’s shoulders as he walks away to some other part of the cave to change or not. He watches for a second, wanting to say something else even if he doesn't know what. But he only pulls out his burner phone and taps out Ma’s number, pointedly ignoring the unexpected awkwardness in the air. She picks up by the second ring.

“Hello?” There’s the sound of crickets and Krypto’s barking behind her voice, and Kon smiles a little bit for no particular reason.

“Hey, Ma. There’s a storm passing through Gotham, so it’s cool if I stay the night at the Manor, right?”

“Of course, Conner. I’m guessing that you’re with Tim?”

“Yeah, he says ‘Hi’ by the way. I promise I’ll try to go to sleep at a decent time tonight.”

She hums at him over the phone, amused. “I’m sure you will.” Kon hears her take in a breath, then hesitate.

“Ma?”

“How . . . are things with Tim?”

He straightens up even though she can’t see him.

“I—What?”

“How is he?”

“Uh, he’s okay. Busy. I think he’s running himself a little ragged.”

“I’m not surprised. You'll need to bring him over for dinner.”

“For dinner?” Kon's pretty sure he's missing something that should be obvious.

“The last time he came over feels like ages ago, and things between you two have seemed rather . . . tense.”

“What—How?”

She hesitates again. “It just feels like you both have something to say to each other.”

His heart stumbles, breath catching in his throat.

"I don't—"

"I've seen the way you look at him, dear."

His brain scratches to a stop.

She continues thoughtfully, "You're always talking about him, you did even while you were dating that Cassie girl. And I know how much time you've been spending with him lately, with the team and all." She's quiet for a moment. "You're sweet on him, aren't you?"

The question hangs in the air, and Kon struggles to breathe.

"I . . . “ He swallows weakly. “Maybe. Just a little. You know.”

”Really? I was so sure you two—"

"We're not together!" The words come out strangled as his ears burn from the teasing in her tone. Ma sighs over the phone.

"Well, I know that. If you were you'd have brought him over for dinner."

Oh.

He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. "You think I should . . . "

"Talk to him? Yes, I think you should."

"But what if he doesn't—"

"He does. Trust me, dear, he does." Kon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He thinks of the way Tim’s hair felt against his hands and the haunted look in his eyes that sometimes appears when nobody is paying attention. Ma continues softly, “He’s a good boy and I know what he means to you, Conner. Talk to him.”

He nods at the ground. “Yeah . . . Yeah, I will. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Oh, and tell Alfred I want him to send me his recipe for snickerdoodles, and in return, I’ll finally give him my instructions for blueberry pie.”

A weak laugh comes out of his chest. “Okay, Ma.”

“Don’t stay up all night,” she chuckles and then says gently, "I love you."

"Love you, too."

She hangs up.

He puts his phone away and stares at the chittering bats on the ceiling high above.

Kon knows that he and Tim have been dancing around having a real talk for months. And it's weird because they used to be able to say anything to each other. But now it’s like they’re walking on a tightrope, carefully balancing so they don’t fall into a chasm of complicated feelings beneath them.

The truth is that Tim and Kon don’t click the way they had before. Like some piece of their puzzle has been flipped, and an entirely new picture created. And Kon has no idea what to do about it. 'Cause they’ve always been close. Before Kon had died, they’d been the best of friends, trusted one another with their secrets, their goddamn lives. Tim had covered his back and he had covered Tim’s. Even when the team was together, they were the ones who had stuck to each other’s sides like glue.

But then Kon had gone and gotten himself killed.

He knows that after he died the team had lost it. Cassie had joined a cult, Bart had died, and Tim had—

Kon’s throat suddenly feels way too tight.

He looks down at the ground.

But then Kon came back. And, yeah, they’re still best friends, but now there’s something else there. Something that both of them have been dutifully ignoring for months now and that Kon isn’t too keen on bringing up, messing with their delicate balance.

Though if Ma had noticed the tension between them . . . They really had to talk.

“Just to let you know, the house is gonna be basically empty tonight, it’s only us, Alfred, and Damian.” Tim’s voice comes from behind him, and Kon nearly jumps. He spins around to see his friend in some old work out clothes, rubbing his head on a towel.

Kon stares at him in disbelief.

“You’re telling me that your entire family all had things to do tonight except for the Bat Brat?” Tim grins at him from underneath the towel and something in Kon’s chest grows warm.

“Yeah, Dick’s in Bludhaven, Jason’s blowing some buildings up, the girls decided to go on a weekend trip to Japan, and Bruce is in Italy for sudden business stuff.”

“And the reason Damian hasn’t included himself in any of these activities is?”

“He’s sick.”

Kon nearly snickers.

“You’re shitting me. There’s no way he’d let getting sick stop him from doing any of that.”

Tim laughs and shakes his head. “Both Bruce and Dick threatened him with being benched if he went anywhere this weekend.”

Kon whistles. Direct orders from the Bat weren’t to be taken lightly. “I’m guessing that went well.”

Tim shrugs and puts the towel around his neck. “Not as bad as you would think. I mean, he was definitely in a pissy mood, but I think Jon is rubbing off on him. There wasn’t as much yelling as there could have been. But he was also totally out of it, so I’m giving credit to his cold and not development of character.” Tim throws the towel on a nearby table and starts walking up the stairs to go into the house, Kon floating after him.

Tim leads him through several hallways filled with family pictures that Kon knows his friend probably took when none of his said family was paying attention. One snags his eye and he pauses to get a better look. It's of Tim and Cassandra throwing pillows at each other inside one of the Manor’s many guest rooms. Whoever took the photo had good timing; they had caught Tim mid-laugh, eyes bright as they watched Cass bring a pillow down on his head.

Kon examines it for a second longer before the sound of Tim’s footsteps brings him back to the present.

He doesn’t look at any more pictures.

The kitchen is one of Kon’s favorite places in the house; it’s cozy despite its size, painted with pale yellows and creamy whites, and usually contains some kind of treat Alfred's whipped up. He hovers in the doorway, breathing in the warmth as Tim opens up one of the many cupboards and grabs a tin of what Kon hopes has cookies in it. He resists the urge to do a mid-air flip when he’s proven correct and Tim hands him the container while he starts to make tea.

The awkwardness from earlier has transformed into something comfortable and familiar, and Kon floats cross-legged and watches as Tim pours water into a pot and sets it to boil.

He takes a sweet from the tin and bites into it, the cookie melting on his tongue. He moans quietly because food and glances back up at his friend. Tim is facing the stove, shoulders suddenly rigid and Kon's eyes snag on the bright pink color his ears are turning.

Then he notices that Tim didn’t manage to dry his hair all the way, and Kon watches as a drop of water rolls down the back of his neck.

He swallows his cookie.

“Hey, so, I—I need some advice.” Kon isn't sure what to do with his hands, and he ends up lightly tapping the box with his fingers. Tim turns around, his brow furrowed in slight concern, the pink quickly fading from his ears.

“With what?”

Kon stares at the granite island below where he’s floating. He brings himself down until he sits on it with his legs hanging over the side, towards Tim but not quite looking him in the eyes. “I need to come up with a new hero identity.”

Tim’s gaze widens a tiny bit with realization before a smirk spreads on his face. “Does this mean a new outfit? Because you need a new outfit.”

Kon drops his mouth open, only to shut it and scowl. “What’s wrong with this?” He gestures to his damp t-shirt and jeans.

Tim gives him a look.

“Do you know how many shirts you go through?”

“They’re easily replaceable!”

“So many. I can’t begin to tell you how many shirts I’ve seen you lose on missions. And in the tower. And on the farm. And—why do you even wear them at this point?”

Kon huffs and glares at him. “At least help me come up with a new name.”

There’s the sound of dog nails on wood and a subdued sneeze, and Tim’s gaze locks on something behind him. Kon twists around and Damian meets his stare coolly, even though Kon can see the circles under the kid’s eyes and his raw nose. Shit.

“A new name for exactly what, clone?”

Tim sighs and goes to grab another mug as Titus weaves around his legs. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Damian scrunches his nose with distaste. “I’ve been in bed all day, Drake.”

“The more you rest up, the sooner you get back to patrolling with Superboy,” Kon points out and Damian shoots him a half-hearted glower. Since becoming friends with Jon and more tolerant of Tim, Damian had grown used to Kon’s presence and quips. Kon's pretty sure that Damian isn't pleased about this at all.

“Is that what you’re doing? Finally moving on from Superboy and creating a new identity?” Damian plops down on one of the counter’s stools and sniffles. Kon offers him the tin of sweets. The kid sighs and takes it without a snarky comment.

No wonder Bruce had made him stay home.

“Yeah, trying to at least.”

Tim hums in thought, “You going to keep ‘Super’ in the name, or not?”

“It would be moronic if you didn’t,” Damian states, but doesn’t look up from where he’s feeding Titus a cookie. Kon cocks his head and resists the urge to swing his legs back and forth like a kid deciding what kind of ice cream he wants.

“It’d be weird if I don’t, but considering how both Superman and Superboy are taken, well . . .”

Tim considers him for a moment. “Superdude.”

“No.”

“Superguy?”

“I don’t care how bad that storm is out there; I will fly home if I have to.”

“Superlad.”

“Drake, I will set Titus on you.”

“Eat your cookie, Demon Brat.”

Damian ignores the order and glances at Kon like he wants to say something but doesn’t know how to make the words come out the right way. He nibbles on his lip before speaking, “Jon’s been thinking about your predicament.” He rubs Titus’s head gently. “I . . . believe he feels guilty about taking the Superboy mantle away from you.”

Kon sits up straighter, about to do what, he doesn’t know; but then a hand on his shoulder makes him stop and glance up. Tim is looking at Damian, focused, eyes intent. It takes Kon a moment to go back at the kid, who’s frowning at the cookie in his hand. He thinks for a second.

“He shouldn’t; he’s doing a great job, better than I ever did, really.” Damian glances up, still chewing on his lip, and Kon continues, “But I’ll talk to him about it.” He grins. “Thanks.”

The kid blinks and nods slowly. Tim squeezes his shoulder gently, and if Kon leans into it a bit, Tim doesn’t say anything. Damian, despite the haze of the cold in his eyes, picks up on it though and gives Kon a miniscule eyebrow raise when Tim turns around to shut off the boiling water.

Kon goes very still as Damian’s gaze flickers between him and Tim, his brain coming up with all sorts of images that involve kryptonite and swords and he's already died once, he doesn't feel like doing it again, thanks. Damian gives him a narrow-eyed appraising look, and Kon gets a hollowing feeling that a pros and cons list is forming about his existence and all he can do is watch as it's debated over.

Then Damian dips his head the tiniest bit and goes back to feeding Titus his cookie.

His chest relaxes. Damian looks up at him again, the sharp, calculating stare gone, replaced with something almost contemplative.

“Jon also came up with a few names you could use.”

Oh, Kon is going to absolutely smother his little brother with hugs the next time he sees him.

Damian gives Kon a thoughtful glance before continuing, “Though he did have a favorite.”

Tim sets down two mugs of tea in front of them, and leans forward on the counter with his forearms, hands clasped around his own cup. Kon can see the outline of his shoulder blades through his threadbare shirt. “What is it?”

Damian reaches for his mug. “I believe it was called ‘Supernova.’”

Huh.

Tim looks up at Kon with a smile and a shrug. “I mean, I’m personally still a fan of Superdude, but that’s pretty good too, I guess.”

Kon snorts into his drink and Titus whines for another treat. Damian scoffs and hops down from the stool, cookie and tea in hand, and starts walking back to the hallway. Tim rolls his eyes and picks up the cookie tin to put it away. When his back is turned, Damian shoots Kon a puzzled look and glances between him and Tim again before muttering something in Arabic and turning out of the room.

“Go to sleep.” Tim calls after him, and Kon hears a disgruntled ‘tt’ and a sneeze as Titus follows the boy into the hall. Tim leans back on the counter next to the stove and takes a sip of his tea. “That went much better than I expected.”

Kon grins at him and lets his head drop back. The mug is cooling in his hands, and he wouldn’t mind taking a nap right now.

“I’m still calling you Superdude.” Kon’s not sure if he’d rather kick his best friend out the door or fly through the nearest window. Tim laughs at whatever expression is on Kon’s face. “Seriously though, you need a new outfit. Or at least one that’s waterproof.”

Right. 'Cause Kon’s still in his damp costume that smells like Gotham’s streets which is not the greatest thing ever, and warm clothes sound like a really nice idea. Tim takes Kon’s mug and puts the cups in the dishwasher. “Come on, I think I might have something that you can wear after all.”

Kon slides off the island and follows Tim out of the warm kitchen and up the huge flight of stairs that lead to the second floor and Tim’s bedroom.

He tries not to examine the pictures on the walls, but as they walk his gaze flickers to them anyway. The photos are authentic; bright moments captured by Tim’s camera and hung in the open halls of the Manor with pride.

Kon doesn’t know a lot about photography, but he does know that Tim is good. Really good. Able to snap little snippets of life and set them in frames in a way that's real. He could probably go professional if he wanted to, instead of the current CEO thing. Though Tim seems more than gleefull in torturing greasy businessmen, including Lex which still makes Kon nearly cackle, in the boardroom.

Then he spots several photos that contain other people than just the Waynes.

There’s one of Clark, Diana, and Bruce in a city park, though Bruce’s smile seems a little strained since the other two had basically forced him into a hug. Another that shows Wally graduating from Stanford, arms wrapped around Dick’s and Donna’s shoulders, laughing at some inside joke. Roy dozing on a couch in the library with Jason on the floor next to him, nose buried in a book.

There’s even one with Krypto, the dog nearly buried under Titus with Alfred the cat snoozing at his paws.

He can’t help but stare at that picture and wonder how the hell Tim managed to creep up on the superdog without waking him. Maybe Krypto had heard him but hadn’t been concerned. Besides, the dog likes Tim.

Kon’s eyes glance over the photos again, before looking at where Tim is walking up ahead. He pauses for a second.

Are there any pictures of him?

He shakes his head slightly and goes down the hall.

Tim opens his door and Kon can’t help but let out a little breath of air like he always does when he sees Tim’s room. It’s big, and Tim has his own bathroom, den, living area, balcony, and, most importantly, a giant flat-screen TV to play video games on. But Tim ignores all that and goes over to a dresser, Kon in tow, and begins rifling through the drawers, looking for something. Kon floats a bit, hands in his pockets.  

Then Tim holds up an article of clothing triumphantly and Kon’s brain stops working.

“Told you that you lose your shirts.” Tim grins at him, but Kon only manages a blink in return.

Because that is a Superboy shirt. One of his Superboy shirts. Tim has one of his shirts. Tim could have been wearing his shirt. Kon barely manages to catch the reason for his inner meltdown when Tim tosses the stupid thing at him.

He tries to use his voice, “You have one of my shirts?” Tim looks at him, amused.

“Dude, I have, like, four.”

Kon is fucked. He is so irrevocably fucked.

“How did I not notice—”

“So many shirts, Kon. You go through. So. Many. Shirts.”

“But how did you even get them?”

Tim shrugs almost sheepishly. “I don’t know. They just kinda appeared in my closet.” Kon nods dazedly and Tim frowns. “Don’t have any pants that will fit you though.”

“I’ll wear my boxers.”

Tim looks at him for a moment and stands up, stretching lazily. “So, whatcha wanna do?”

Kon stares at him and Tim grins and walks over to the TV console. Kon kicks off his shoes and begins to unbuckle his belt as Tim looks over his collection of games.

It kinda feels like they’re replaying a memory from before Kon died. Putting in a disc, hands wrapping around a controller; he’s pretty sure the night will play out with the same old bickering and arguments. Just like they’re sixteen again and everyone they care about is alive and only a phone call away.

But now there’s the tension from earlier creeping back into the air. Also, Kon is taking off his pants.

He snickers to himself.

Tim is calling out game suggestions, and Kon is really only half paying attention to the names. He pulls off his damp t-shirt and folds his clothes before putting them on the dresser because Ma’s tidiness habits seem to be wearing off on him.  

He wonders if there’ll be pancakes by the time he’s up. Hopefully, there will be because Alfred’s cooking is to die for. Healthier than Ma’s, sure, and not quite as hearty, but still mouthwatering.

It takes him a second to realize that Tim is no longer talking.

Kon glances up and freezes.

Tim is staring at him, eyes roaming over his body with an expression that Kon can’t quite place and hasn’t ever seen before on the other boy. His gaze dips over Kon’s collar bone and down to the muscles on his chest and stomach, lingering. He meets Kon’s stare, and Kon can barely breathe because Tim’s eyes are sorta dark and intense and they’re pinning him to the ground.

He holds Kon's gaze evenly, and though Kon's aware of the fact that he shouldn’t be listening, Tim’s heartbeat fills his ears, fast and steady.

Tim looks down at his hands, and Kon knows he’s not imagining the slight flush on Tim���s face as he lifts up one particular game they haven’t played in years.

“MarioKart?”

Kon’s mouth is dry.

“Sure.”

He pulls on the Superboy shirt; it’s old and tight around his chest and shoulders. He ignores it and makes his way to sit down next to Tim.

They don’t say anything as Tim slides in the disc and the intro music begins to play. Kon fiddles with his controller as they select their usual characters. The colored light flashes across Tim’s face, highlighting his cheekbones and pooling shadow at the column of his throat. He has a freckle under his left ear.

Kon keeps wrecking on the screen in front of them, but Tim doesn’t seem to care too much because it’s not brought up.

Tim shoves him off of Rainbow Road, and this is the part where Kon is supposed to attack the other boy with a pillow in retaliation, but he only spawns again and keeps playing. Tim doesn’t look at him.

It’s too quiet to be anything like when they were sixteen.

He can almost feel the tightrope they’ve been balancing on straining.

Eventually, Kon stretches his neck back and closes his eyes. There’s the sound of a car crash in the game and he knows it isn't his. Cautiously, Kon peeks one of his eyelids open and sees Tim staring at the ceiling like it owes him an explanation for why his life is going the way it is.

Kon hits the pause button and lies onto his back. He takes an unsteady breath. Another. Ma’s words bounce around in his head.

“We need to talk.”

Tim lies down next to him but doesn’t glance over. “Yeah.” His voice is very quiet.

Kon rolls over on his side to look at him. Tim’s eyes are determinedly fixed upwards and Kon lets out a small sigh. “Hey, look at me, please.”

Slowly, Tim’s gaze moves to him. His eyes are steely blue with grey around the pupils, and they look a little lost. There are faded smudges of purple beneath them and Kon wonders how he didn’t notice that earlier. His lips twitch down.

“When was the last time you slept?” Tim opens his mouth and Kon restates his question, “I mean really slept, Tim.”

Tim closes his mouth slowly and stares at the rug underneath them. “Not for a while.”

“Why not?”

A bitter laugh leaves the other boy’s throat, “Nightmares.”

Something cold squeezes Kon’s insides. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Their tightrope sways and Kon breathes and braces himself in case it snaps.

“What are they about?”

Tim’s breathing hitches and his steel eyes close tightly. “People I care about dying. You dying. What . . . What I did after.”

After. Because before and after Kon’s death is all that seems to exist these days. And what happened after had not been pretty. Not at all.

“Tim—”

Tim jumps to his feet, hands running through his slightly damp hair and eyes looking at anything other than him. Kon sits up and watches his friend walk frantically back and forth in front of the TV.

“Look, you don’t have to do this, Kon. You don’t—I’m—I’m fucked up. And I know I’m back with the team and we’ve been working together, but you don’t have to do this—” Tim gestures at the space between them vaguely—“if it freaks you out. If I freak you out. I did some messed up shit, Kon, you don’t have to stay.”

Tim doesn’t stop pacing as Kon slowly stands, the thick rug soft under his feet.

“And I get it. Really, I get it. I went—I went crazy without you. I mean, I fucking tried to clone you and now—” Tim's eyes are a little red, and he shakes his head at the ceiling—“It’s like we’re playing pretend, like everything is okay when it’s not. It’s not. I’m not. And you know that so why are you even still here?” Tim whirls around, hands splayed to the room.

Kon takes a small step towards him, palms open, like he's approaching a scared animal. The tightrope wobbles. “Because you’ve always been there for me; because you’re my friend.”

Another step and Tim’s staring at him almost in pain. “I’m not the same person I was, Kon. I—” Tim looks away, closes his eyes hard—“I can’t be the same kind of friend that you want.”

And that makes Kon pause because there could be something to unpack with that.

Tim’s cheekbones might be flushing, it’s hard to tell with the only light coming from their abandoned game, and Kon hopes they are. He really fucking hopes Tim’s implying what he thinks he’s implying. Carefully, he murmurs, “Do you think I’m the same too? Do you really think that after all the shit I’ve been through, I’d even want to be the same?” He moves closer. “That I’d want us to be the same?”

Tim goes very still like he’s never thought of this before. The tightrope swings dangerously above the chasm of complicated feelings and Kon feels like it’s rushing up to meet them with all the grace and speed of a runaway train.

The multicolored lights from the game play across Tim’s face. He watches them for a moment.

“Tim, listen, I’m still here whether you think I should be or not. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, okay? You haven’t scared me away, Rob. You’re not getting rid of me. I’m not leaving—not again.” Tim’s eyes are wide and Kon takes another tiny step towards him.

Tim is giving him a look, like what Kon’s saying makes a bit of sense before he sighs and shuts his eyes. “How are you so . . . ”

They’re really close now, and Kon can see the flickering of Tim’s eyelashes. His gaze drops down a little bit to Tim’s parted lips. “So?” Tim’s eyes open and he shakes his head slightly and doesn’t continue. He’s staring at Kon’s mouth, and Kon sees his tongue flash across his bottom lip, making it wet.

Fuck it, Kon thinks, and he leaps off the tightrope.

Tim tastes like peppermint tea, and he doesn’t move when Kon threads one of his hands through his hair and kisses him fiercely.

And Kon sorta hates himself a little bit, because there’s no way they’d still be able to be best friends after this if he misread everything. Sure, they could try, but Kon knows that it’ll all be forced and even more awkward than this entire evening has been, and one of the greatest friendships in his life is now lying possibly ruined on Tim’s bedroom floor.

He pulls away, a billion apologies already thundering through his head but they all stick in his throat, and he looks at the ground. Tim stares at him, eyes round.

“Shit, I’m so—”

Tim hauls him forward by his too-tight shirt and kisses him.

Oh.

Kon’s hands seem to understand what’s going on much faster than his brain because they’re quickly sliding back into Tim’s hair and along Tim’s neck and are tracing his jaw, and Tim is groaning, or maybe that’s Kon, it’s kinda hard to tell. Tim’s fingers grasp the Superboy logo at his chest, and his other hand presses against the side of Kon’s face. His thumb brushes Kon’s cheekbone and Kon makes another noise.

One of Kon’s hands slides down to grip Tim’s waist, pulling him closer until Tim is fully up against him; his muscles truly relaxed for the first time since God knows how long. Tim nips at Kon’s bottom lip then Kon’s mouth parts open and Tim’s tongue is in his mouth, and somebody taught Tim how to kiss because he’s really good at it.

Kon sends that somebody a silent thank you as the other boy’s lips suddenly escape Kon’s and move to his throat. Leaving him to pant against Tim's ear, more than slightly disoriented.

He's never wanted like this before, not with Cassie, not with Tana. Never wanted to touch and feel and know like he wants right now. Maybe it's because of all the built-up tension, but there's something so amazingly right about this. About the way Tim’s tongue traces down his neck, ending the trail with a small bite that Kon is sure would bruise if he was human, but only makes him drop his head back and groan.

He feels Tim grin against neck and Kon drags a palm up Tim’s back, under his shirt. Tim shivers, and now Kon’s the one who’s grinning as he brings his head back down to nip at Tim’s ear. He’s granted another shudder when he soothes the sting with his tongue, and Kon files away that interesting information for later.

Tim’s back is littered with scars, and even though Kon has seen them in the showers, he’s never gotten to touch them, and his fingers begin to map out where old battle wounds have healed over. He plays with the hem of Tim’s shirt, tugging lightly, and wonders if Tim’s even okay with going that far. Cause Kon’s totally fine with what they’re doing right now if Tim isn’t cool with losing clothes yet—

Tim takes a step back and for a second Kon’s about to apologize, but Tim only rips off his t-shirt, gaze hot blue steel and completely fixed on him.

Jesus.

The sound that leaves Kon’s throat might be a whimper as the other boy immediately goes back to kissing his nape. And there’s bare skin now, and Tim’s rolling his hips, and Kon wouldn’t mind moving to a horizontal surface. Or a wall.

Honestly, he’s pretty sure he could pull off something in the air if he wanted to.

He’s also definitely hard now. Definitely.

Their mouths meet and Tim is laughing into him before pulling back just enough so that Kon can look at his eyes. They’re amused and full of something that Kon can’t put into the right words at the moment.

Tim laughs again before murmuring against his jaw, “You’re floating.”

Kon blinks.

He looks at his feet and, yeah, he’s an inch or two off the ground, hovering from excitement. He lowers himself down, and his ears feel hot, but Tim’s still grinning at him so he’s not too embarrassed.

Kon kisses him again and then one of Tim’s hands interlocks with his and tugs him in the direction of the bedroom.

They end up falling against a wall just outside of the doorway, Kon’s shoulders pressing into the drywall while Tim’s hands play with the edge of his boxers. Tim pulls away suddenly, brows making a little crease as he brings them together.

“Is this okay?”

Kon bobs his head up and down, breathless and giddy. “This is very much okay. Trust me, I am so, so okay with this.”

Tim grins, and it’s so goddamn real, and hauls him into his room.

He barely notices the paper-covered desk on one side and the big skylights on the ceiling. There’s only Tim, smiling warmly in the dark with the pitter-patter of the rain above as they stumble their way to the bed.

Kon’s back hits the mattress, Tim’s knees on either side of his waist, and he’s pressing Kon into the sheets, mouth hot and wet. One of Kon’s hand drops to Tim’s ass and tugs the other boy down so that the space between them disappears, and fuck Tim’s just as hard as he is and a startled moan comes out of one of them.

The kiss breaks when Tim leans back, and all of his weight is right on Kon’s dick, and Kon couldn’t keep his hips from bucking up even if he wanted to. Tim’s reaching for the bottom of his Superboy shirt, pulling it off so it lands on the floor and thank God for Kon’s TTK; because when Tim leans up on his knees, Kon’s able to slip his shorts off without having to move his hands from Tim’s hair.

For a second, all Kon can do is stare.

Tim is skin and scars above him, and there’s a slash of healing red on his thigh, like he’d been cut there at some recent point. His cock is slender and long and flushed a darker pink than the blush on his cheeks. Kon distantly wonders what it might taste like.

Tim raises an eyebrow and snaps the elastic of Kon’s boxers.

Kon shivers and then laughs when he flips them over and Tim yelps as he hits the bed.

It barely takes a second for Tim to recover and scowl up at Kon who grins in response. Then Tim’s hands are dragging down Kon’s ass, taking his underwear with them. Kon kicks the clothes off the bed and turns back to see Tim’s eyes moving over his body until they meet Kon’s gaze.

The hunger from earlier fades a bit.

He stares at Tim for a second, at the small smile on his face, and feels warmth spread all the way down to his fingertips.

Slowly, Tim lifts his head and presses his lips against Kon’s, still tasting like tea. One of his hands reaches up to Kon’s hair, tugging it gently, and Kon lowers himself until their bodies are lined up and he can feel the slide of Tim’s cock against his own. A shaky moan falls from Tim’s open mouth, and Kon shudders against him. He forces his thoughts to line up coherently.

"Lube?" He manages, and Tim is nodding against his neck before arching back to rummage through the nightstand next to the bed. The motion gives both of them some more amazing friction and Kon's grip tightens as Tim's hips jerk against him. The other boy mutters something, too low for Kon to clearly make out as he half grabs the lube and half continues to grind up in these little, smooth movements that are going to drive Kon insane.

Finally, Tim is pressing the bottle into his hand, and Kon focuses on uncapping the stupid thing while Tim snickers at his clumsiness beneath him. And Kon would be embarrassed, except this is Tim so he's laughing too; and he moves his hand from his friend’s jaw, down to the open bottle, and then further to take Tim in his now wet palm.

“Fuck.” There’s a groan against his neck, and Tim knots his hands further into Kon’s hair.

Tim is pulsing in his hand, heavy and solid, and Kon drops the lube because he’s so caught up in the feeling. Kon lets his thumb circle the tip of the other boy’s leaking cock before beginning to stroke up and down the length of it. Tim trembles.

“We should do this again,” Kon says conversationally, and Tim lightly slaps the back of his head. Kon twists his fist in retaliation and that makes Tim’s hips stutter and his back arch again.

“Yeah, sure, why not?” Tim’s voice is wrecked, gasping out the words, and he really wouldn’t mind making Tim sound like this more often.

His hand moves faster, and Tim is pushing back, thrusting up against Kon’s fist, heels digging into the bedsheets. He brings his mouth to where Tim’s neck meets his shoulder, licking before biting down. Tim cries out, and Kon’s dick twitches in response because holy shit that’s hot.

He uncurls his grasp and runs his fingers up the underside of Tim’s cock. A string of curses streams out of Tim’s mouth, along with what Kon’s pretty sure is his name. He repeats the motion, watching the way Tim's pants are becoming more and more ragged. Kon moves his head lower, lips trailing to one nipple, and he breathes over it wetly before flicking his tongue out and tasting skin.

Tim’s hands clutch at his hair as Kon marks his way across his chest, and Kon knows he’s close, can feel the way Tim is shaking and gripping on to him harder than before. He brushes his fingers against Tim's cock again, too gentle to really grant any relief.

“Damnit, Kon, please!”  And how could he say no to that?

It takes three hard strokes to make Tim gasp and come, white spilling into Kon’s hand and onto their stomachs.

Tim slumps into the mattress, eyes closed, sprawled open, chest rising and falling with deep breaths. Kon presses his thumb over the slit of Tim’s dick and the other boy whines shakily and gives a little roll of his hips, face glazing with pleasure.

Then, Tim blinks up at him, still completely blissed out, and Kon sears that sight into his memory. Without looking away, Kon passes his fingers through the mess on his stomach and brings them to his mouth. His tongue curls around one fingertip and Tim’s eyes flicker with the motion. It doesn’t taste that bad. A bit bitter and salty, maybe, but the narrowing of Tim’s stare is totally worth it.

The ache between his legs throbs.

Tim smirks up at him.

Kon is flipped onto his back, Tim doing some crazy Bat-move to get him there, and he blinks up at the skylights, Tim nowhere in sight. Then he feels strong hands on his thighs and a breath over his hip and oh.

That’s where he went.

Tim’s mouth is hot and wet and fucking amazing, and Kon has never been so thankful that Damian’s room is nowhere near Tim’s and that the house is nearly empty. His moan is loud enough that there’s no way someone wouldn’t hear him. He manages to lift his neck to look down at where Tim’s tongue is wrapping around the head of his cock and meets Tim’s smooth gaze. There’s a smug glint in his eyes, and now Tim’s mouth is going lower, taking in more, and Kon nearly sobs.

One of his hands reaches down, palming dark hair and rubbing Tim’s head with his fingers. Tim hums, and the vibrations from that one single sound make Kon’s hips jerk and his dick slide into Tim’s throat a little further. And this is definitely something they need to do again, because it's so good and Kon wants.

He wants and fuck, fuck how is Tim fucking Drake somehow a goddamn wet dream in bed? How?

Kon’s other hand scrabbles at the pillows above him, trying to anchor himself, but that’s hard to do when Tim is doing something with his tongue that makes Kon nearly start begging when he pulls away. He looks back down where Tim's lips have left his dick and been replaced with his hand, since Tim is now biting the insides of his thighs. A small part of Kon curses at his skin's stupid invulnerability because the thought of being covered in bruises left from Tim's mouth is ridiculously hot.

Suddenly he feels intense heat in the back of his eyes, his vision turning red at the edges, and Kon screws his stare shut. He does not want to set Tim on fire during the middle of a blow job. That would be so uncool.

He hears Tim laugh at him from between his legs, so he lightly shoves at his friend's side with his foot. Tim's mouth goes back to his cock and Kon groans.

His fingers tangle in the other boy’s hair. “Tim—”

Tim only sucks harder.

Kon arches and comes with a loud curse. Distantly he feels Tim swallow, and that causes him to shiver, grind his hips up into Tim’s mouth just a bit. He rubs his eyes, the heat vision already fading away. His body feels loose, good.

Tim pulls off of his cock and sits up, wiping at the corner of his mouth, and Kon blinks at him, dazed.

His hair is messy from Kon’s hands and damp with sweat, sticking to the corners of his face. His nape, chest, and shoulders are littered with several marks that are definitely gonna bruise, and that makes Kon feel oddly pleased with himself.

Tim is watching him, rubbing his thumb in little circles over Kon’s hipbone, lips twitched upwards. Kon doesn't really want to move, so he tugs at Tim’s hand gently until the other boy leans down, grabs his shorts off the bed, and cleans up the mess on their skin. This isn’t quite what Kon wants, and he makes a dissatisfied noise and tugs again. Tim rolls his eyes and throws the clothing to a corner of the room before lying on top of Kon, muttering, “Like you’d want to be covered with that while you’re sleeping.”

Kon doesn’t bother answering, and only buries his face into Tim’s shoulder, grinning. Tim still smells a bit like rain and body wash, but now there’s a linger of sex over that, and Kon runs his hands up and down Tim’s warm back, breathing him in.

Tim exhales against his neck and plays with the slightly curly strands of hair at the base of Kon’s head.

Kon practically melts into the pillows.

Tim goes stiff in his arms.

“This—” Tim sits up, legs entangled with Kon’s, and puts a hand on Kon's bare chest—“This isn’t a one-time thing, right?” Tim’s voice is a guilty whisper, scared almost, as if Kon is already regretting what just happened. “You’re not going to leave?”

Kon stares at him for a second, disbelief and hurt curling around his heart.

Then he remembers all the funerals that Tim’s had to go to in the past year. He remembers the one time he went to Tim’s house, back when his parents were both still alive, and how empty it was. He remembers asking Tim where his folks were, and how Tim had gotten very quiet before shrugging and muttering that he didn’t know.

Slowly, Kon sits up, Tim still in his lap, and examines the other boy’s face.

“Hey, I’m not gonna go anywhere.”

Tim sags against him, like the weight of the world has slid right off his shoulders. “That was a stupid question.”

“It wasn’t.” Kon brushes back a piece of hair that fell in front of Tim’s forehead. He kisses him softly. “I get it. It wasn’t.”

He doesn’t move until Tim nods in agreement.

Kon pulls him back down and uses his TTK to slide the thick covers over them. Tim shifts around so they can meet each other’s gaze. Something snags in the back of Kon’s mind.

“Ma wants you to come over for dinner, by the way.”

Tim laughs, the sound soft in the dark.

“Sure.”

Kon reaches over and smooths his thumb across Tim’s cheek, still flushed from earlier, before kissing him again. Tim makes a pleased noise and returns the action, his hand going to Kon’s waist to tug him closer.

They break apart, dropping back onto the pillows, Kon’s fingers tracing over the scars on Tim’s arm. Tim blinks sleepily at him but raises a brow. “So, are you going with that name Jon made up?” He brushes back several strands of Kon’s hair. “Supernova?”

Kon closes his eyes and leans into Tim’s palm. “Has a nice ring to it.”

Tim nods, tapping his fingertips against Kon’s temple thoughtfully.

“Whatever you say, Superdude.”

Kon whacks him with a pillow.

*****

When he opens his eyes, he can’t speak.

He can’t speak because there are tubes in his throat, up his nose, pumping him with oxygen. The steady humming of droning machines fills his ears. He stares.

Everything’s green, but not like the green of Ma’s spring flowers, this green is sick and presses down on him from all sides. And he’s surrounded by something wet and slimy, little bubbles rising past his face like he's in a fish tank. He tries to shake his head, but everything feels heavy even though he's only suspended in the liquid around him. Blurry figures walk towards him, muffled voices fading in and out.

There’s the sound of thudded tapping on the glass. He starts to focus, but still isn’t able to blink the wet stuff out of his eyes.

He sees white coats, Cadmus printed on the pocket.

Fuck, fuck.

“Kon?”

There’s a beam of light shining in his face, causing the green to glow, almost like kryptonite but so much worse. It makes him want to throw up. Want to run.

“Kon.”

There's something else too, moving in on him from the corners of his eyes. Something creeping and peaceful, heavy and familiar in the worst way.

He remembers it, how it settled down on him as he lay surrounded by crushed metal and begging friends, his bones broken, lungs gasping with final breaths. It had been dark and calm and he hadn't wanted to go, but it had closed in on him anyway. And he can't go back, he can't.

There's a fist pounding in front of him, and the voices don't match the furious knocking, too cold and clean.

He tries to thrash away from the glass, tries to get away. But he can’t move, weighed down, and even though there’s air in his lungs, he can’t breathe.

“Conner!”

Kon's back hits the mattress and he shoots up, gulping down mouthfuls of oxygen. There are hands running over his back, his shoulders, a worried voice somewhere behind him. His eyes flit around his surroundings. No green, no waiting darkness. He can breathe. Raindrops are hitting the glass above him. Tim’s room. Safe.

This is safe.

He runs a sweaty hand through his hair, shaking. His arm brushes his cheek and he realizes that his face is wet. He hasn’t had one of those dreams in a long time; he’d forgotten what they were like.

“Hey.” Kon looks behind him. Tim is rubbing a spot between his shoulder blades, eyes alert, biting his lip. The sheets are pooled around his waist haphazardly.

Kon twists the patterned covers in his hands.

“What happened?”

He looks up through the dark. Tim’s fingers go over his shoulder. “Nightmare.” He wants to forget it. Forget the labs, and the endless experiments, and all the goddamn green. “Cadmus.”

Tim doesn’t make any sounds, but Kon can almost hear his brain whirring at full speed.

His breathing is too loud in the quiet.

“What do you need?” Tim’s voice is patient.

He fists the cloth in his grip. Opens his mouth, shuts it. Tries again. “Just—Keep doing that.” Tim’s hands run down his skin, grounding and warm, and Kon begins to relax into them.

“Does touch help?” Tim is near his ear, and Kon feels lips press lightly across his neck. He nods.

“Yeah, it—It helps me feel . . . “ He shuts his eyes. “Human. It helps me feel human.”

Tim places a kiss at the corner of his jaw. “Okay.” He presses his back against Tim’s scarred chest, and the other boy leans backward so they’re lying down again. Kon rests his head over where Tim’s heart is beating steadily. He listens to the familiar sound, to the rain, to Tim's breathing; ignores the distant honks of traffic and chattering crowds of Gotham.

He exhales slowly, lets his shoulders loosen under Tim's hands. He closes his eyes.

“Thanks.”

Fingers run through his hair.

“You’re welcome.”

Kon doesn’t move for a long time. Neither does Tim.

*****

It’s still raining when Kon wakes up the second time, but there’s a bit of grey sunlight coming through the skylights; enough for him to drowsily blink at the ceiling. He groans and rolls over, towards the warmth by his side.

Warmth.

Tim.

He’s completely awake now, lifting himself up onto his forearms. Curiously, Kon examines the boy next to him. Tim’s still asleep, heartbeat slow and calm, his back facing Kon though their legs are tangled together. The covers had slipped a bit during the night and Kon can see the pale scars his mouth had mapped out hours ago.

He touches a jagged one, curved like someone had carved it in, and smooths his fingertip down it. He moves to the next. Distantly, Kon wonders if he’d get to go over all of them, even if that could take a while because Tim has so many. He doesn’t mind. His fingers trace across an old bullet wound.

Saturday mornings can last a while.

Tim shifts, back leaving Kon’s touch, shoulders rolling into a stretch. He watches the muscles under Tim’s skin bunch together and move apart. His friend flops over to look at him.

Tim's eyelids are drooping as he yawns into his pillow. “What time is it?”

Kon lifts himself up and glances at the digital clock on the nightstand. “Eightish." Before he lies back down, his eyes catch on a little picture frame next to the clock.

It's a recent photo, he can tell from the haircut he has in it, and he can easily place the day when it was taken.

Bart had insisted on dragging them with him to go shopping for dorm furniture, which Kon didn't understand considering the extremely tiny size of Bart's room at Keystone University, but whatever. They had stopped for ice cream, sat outside and watched people stroll by.

He doesn't remember the exact moment from the picture itself, maybe Bart had said something funny or maybe one of Tim's dry quips had sent them all into laughter. Either way, it ended with a photo that Cassie must have taken; with Bart leaning inside the frame with a huge grin on his face, him with his head thrown back, smiling, and Tim laughing at both of them.

He stares at it, feels a dopey smile stretch across his face.    

Tim hums, watching Kon lazily. “I forgot that you sleepfloat.”

His eyes flick back to Tim.

“I what?”

“Sleepfloat.” Tim lifts the one brow that’s not burrowed into his pillow and gestures vaguely with his hand. “You know, you’ll start hovering sometimes, usually when you’re dreaming?” He frowns. “That’s one of the reasons I knew you were having a nightmare; you were almost half a foot off the bed. Usually, you only go up, like, barely an inch.”

Kon continues staring at him because what?

“Since when do I sleepfloat?”

Tim blinks. “Uh, since forever. It doesn't happen a lot, I thought you knew?”

He shakes his head. Tim laughs lightly, the sound muffled by fabric, and Kon sorta wants to kiss him. He also sorta wants breakfast. “Do you guys have some kind of scheduled eating time on the weekends?”

Tim ducks further under the covers. “Not really, I can ask Alfred to make something. Or we can raid the pantries.”

Kon thinks for a moment. He doesn’t know what time Alfred wakes up, but for some reason, he wants to avoid asking for anything. Wants to stay in this bubble where it’s only Tim and him for a little bit longer.

“What if we make pancakes?”

Tim’s cheeks suddenly turn red and he mumbles under his breath. Kon pokes him in the shoulder, silently asking for a repeat of the comment. The other boy sighs.

“I’m . . . currently banned from using the kitchen.”

Kon tilts his head. “We were in there last night. You made tea.”

It had been good tea. It had been especially good when he’d gotten to taste it off of Tim’s mouth.

Tim grumbles, “Fine. I’m currently banned from using the oven, stove, grill, and microwave for anything other than boiling water.”

Kon's eyes narrow. “What did you do?”

Tim hesitates. “I may have created several small, controlled explosions.”

“You what?”

“They were small.”

“Oh my God, that’s not the point.” Kon’s kinda snickering now, and Tim is too, and Kon really wants to kiss him again. So he does.

Tim’s smiling when he pulls away, and Kon presses their foreheads together. “How about I make us food, yeah?” Their noses brush and Tim’s arms wrap around his neck. His lips move against Kon’s when he nods in agreement.

“Yeah.”

Their legs intertwine even more, and the next kiss is heated, Tim’s hands dragging across Kon’s skin in a way that reminds him of last night. He resists the urge to push their hips completely together. When they break for air, Tim’s cheekbones are lightly flushed, and he’s smirking in a way that makes Kon remember the grin bad guys see right before Red Robin turns all their careful plans to shit.

Tim pushes Kon over onto his back, lips suddenly much more demanding, and straddles his waist. Kon kisses him back just as fervently, mouth following Tim’s a bit when the other boy suddenly pulls away.

Tim’s eyes are catching the cool morning light in all the right ways and Kon’s heart trips over its feet.

Then Tim isn't on his lap, sliding off the bed and walking away. And okay, that’s a bit rude, but Kon gets to stare at Tim’s ass, so he’s not going to complain just yet. But then Tim tosses him a grin over his shoulder, meeting Kon’s gaze smugly before reaching down and grabbing something off the floor. He comes back up, pulling on the piece of clothing smoothly.

Kon’s mouth drops open.

Tim gives him an amused glance, seemingly unconcerned with the Superboy logo stretching across his chest. Because apparently, Tim has filled out enough that he can now wear Kon’s old shirts without drowning in fabric. When that happened, Kon has no idea, but he certainly doesn’t mind.

Tim cocks an eyebrow. “Pancakes? You coming or not?”

Kon tries to make words leave his throat, but only manages a strangled, “Hngh.” Tim nods, like this is an answer, pivots on his foot, and leaves the room. Kon stares after him. He buries his burning face in his hands.

It’s too early for Tim to do things like this to him.

With a sigh of resignation, he gets off the bed and, after some searching, puts on his boxers. When he walks out of the doorway, he’s hit in the face with a large Gotham Knights sweatshirt and his jeans. He shoots Tim a displeased grunt and tugs the sweatshirt over his head. Tim’s wearing some flannel pajama pants now, which is rather disappointing, but the Superboy shirt is still on so Kon takes pleasure from that.

After pulling on his no-longer-wet jeans, he floats to where Tim is leaning against the wall and kisses him in a way that would make old ladies scandalized. Tim’s face has dropped its smugness when they break apart, and he seems slightly dazed.

Kon pecks his jaw for good measure. “Food?”

He gets a slow nod in return. Kon grins and walks out of Tim’s room with a little bounce in his step. He hears Tim mutter a curse and scramble after him, and he laughs.

The light filling the Manor’s halls is weak, but it’s enough to create streaking shadows on the walls as Kon runs down the corridor with Tim hot on his heels. Their feet pound down the stairs and Kon might use a tiny bit of superspeed to get to the kitchen first.

Tim enters seconds after him and slumps against the kitchen island even though he’s barely out of breath. He points an accusing finger at Kon. “Cheater.”

Kon grins and starts opening up random cabinets, hoping to find a mixing bowl. “Maybe.” He spies one and sets it on the island. “Where’s the flour?” The other boy gestures to the pantry and then lifts himself to sit on the counter.

Kon can feel Tim’s eyes on him as he moves around the room, finding and taking the ingredients he needs. Every once in a while, their gazes meet and little smiles appear.

If he's honest with himself, Kon has no idea what this new thing between them is exactly. But he thinks it’s good. Tim glances at him again as he begins to mix the batter, eyes lighter than they’ve been in a while.

It’s pretty good.

Tim slips off his perch and pads up behind him, resting his chin on Kon’s shoulder. “Last time I watched you make pancakes was at the farm. You almost caught the house on fire.” Kon shrugs.

“Ma’s made it her personal mission that I know how to move around a kitchen. She’s had me baking and cooking a lot since I came back from—” He stops himself. Memories from the nightmare surface, cool darkness waiting for him to fall. He shivers, looks down at the pancake batter, suddenly feeling like he's going to be sick. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

Tim is stiff behind him, hands fisting into his sweatshirt, and Kon could punch himself in the face. He really could.

“Dude?”

Tim unfreezes, leans his forehead against the back of Kon’s neck. Kon can feel his fingers clenching and unclenching the fabric.

They’re quiet for several beats.

“You get it, right? That I’m not okay? Not entirely?” Tim sounds so tired like this is the kind of thing he tells himself every night, and it makes Kon’s stomach twist. He turns around, strokes his thumb over Tim’s cheekbone, makes sure that Tim is looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah, man, I understand.” He thinks of the chemical green and the even darker things that crawl into his mind during the bad nights. He shudders. “I’m not either.” He tilts his head, brow furrowing. “Is that okay with you?”

Tim examines him for a long moment; his eyes probably seeing more of Kon than Kon could see in himself. And whatever Tim sees makes him lean in a bit closer.

“Yeah, it is. And this,” he taps Kon’s chest, right above his heart, “us?”

Kon brushes back several strands of Tim’s hair, thinking carefully.

“Whatever you want. I’m good with just staying friends, though, you know, the sex could be pretty awesome.” Tim snorts. “But I wouldn’t mind taking this somewhere,” he says and laces their hands together. “I really wouldn’t mind.”

Tim smiles. “Yeah?”

Kon smiles back.

“Yeah.”

Lips press against his and Kon’s hand threads through Tim’s hair, his back pushing into the counter as Tim steps closer.

Tim laughs, his fingers going around the spoon in Kon’s drooping grasp, probably to keep pancake batter from going everywhere. There’s the clatter of wood hitting ceramic as Tim drops the spoon into the bowl, and Kon distantly wonders if they’ll ever actually get around to eating breakfast.

But Tim’s mouth is lazy and open and a hell of a lot better than pancakes.

He drapes his arms around Tim's neck as the other boy's palms smooth around his waist, drawing him closer.  

So much better than pancakes.

“It seems that I will be tasked to make my own breakfast since you two seem quite intent on being occupied.”

Kon’s lips leave Tim's and his head whips to where Damian is standing in the doorway, arms crossed and mouth an unimpressed line.

Shit.

His mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He desperately looks back at Tim, who seems just as surprised since he only manages a weak, “Um.”

Damian sniffles and Alfred the cat waltzes into the room and rubs around the boy’s legs. Damian leans down and picks the cat up, managing to keep his narrowed eyes on them the whole time. Tim’s hands still haven’t moved from where they’d just begun playing with the hair at Kon’s nape, his fingers rubbing at the base of Kon’s neck. It’s a little distracting. Kon tries to think of something to say and clears his throat awkwardly.

“Uh, you want pancakes?”

Damian raises an eyebrow and pets the top of Alfred’s head. “Later, perhaps. Both of you appear . . . busy. Besides, I need to tell Pennyworth that he won our bet from last night, considering how I thought it’d take you two another week to figure yourselves out.”

Kon blinks. “You . . . made a bet on us?”

The kid nods almost regretfully. “Which I have unfortunately lost.” His sharp eyes stare at the batter pointedly. “Though you could make up for it with food. I prefer chocolate chips in my pancakes, don’t forget.”

Slowly, Kon bobs his head up and down. “Yeah, sure.”

Damian flashes him what might be a tiny smile, but then he turns on his heel and walks out of the room, footsteps and Alfred’s purrs echoing down the hall.

Tim’s gaze clears, and Kon can see his brain rebooting. Then Tim shoots him a disgruntled look. “Aren’t Supers supposed to have super hearing?”

Kon shrugs. “I was distracted.”

Tim shakes his head at the ceiling while his hands run through Kon’s hair. Kon places a kiss on his neck.

Tim swats the back of his head. “New rule: No making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

Kon grumbles, “You have too many siblings for that to be realistic.”

“That’s true.” His lips press against Tim’s throat again, and he feels Tim breathe in a shaky laugh. “I take it back. The new rule is not to get caught making out when siblings or parents could be lurking behind corners.”

“You may wish to add butlers to that as well, Master Timothy.”

They leap apart.

Kon’s eyes dart to where Alfred is standing by the entrance to the dining room, not looking very impressed. He can feel his face quickly growing hot under the man’s unreadable stare, and he folds his hands behind his back like a six-year-old who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Tim mutters something under his breath as his hand rubs the back of his neck, and the old man��s brow lifts.

“Would you care to repeat that, Master Timothy?”

Tim straightens up, and Kon can see the tips of ears are bright red. “No?”

“That’s what I thought.” He turns to Kon calmly. “And how are you, Mr. Kent?” Kon’s eyes flicker to where Tim is looking like he wants to jump off a cliff in mortification. His lips twitch upwards just a little, he hears an impatient cough. He glances back to Alfred nervously.

When did the old butler get so scary?

“Pretty good, um,” he distantly remembers something from last night, “Ma wants to ask for your snickerdoodle recipe.” He resists the urge to smooth out the sweatshirt he’s wearing as Alfred studies him. He gives a weak smile. “She’s offered to give you her instructions for blueberry pie as an incentive.”

Alfred considers him for a moment.

“Well, then I suppose I shall have to talk to her then.” He gives them both a knowing side-eye. “And do remember that the kitchen is for food and that there are plenty of private rooms in this house for more . . . lascivious activities.”

Kon wishes he could sink into the floor.

Tim drops his face in his hands. “Thanks, Alfred,” he mumbles.

Alfred brushes an invisible speck of dust off of his sleeve. “Now, excuse me, I do believe I have a wager to collect from Master Damian.” He begins to walk out of the room but stops and gives Kon a smart glance. “And please make sure that Master Timothy doesn’t start any more fires in this kitchen than he already has, Mr. Kent.”

Tim’s head shoots up with a look of betrayal and Kon has to bite his lip to keep from sniggering.

“Yes, sir.”

Alfred’s steps are unruffled as he continues into the hall. “Considering how I’m sure you’ll be around this house much more often, you may as well as call me Alfred.”

Kon’s face grows warmer.

“Um, sure thing, Alfred.”

The butler dips his head in approval and leaves. Kon can hear him begin to whistle a cheerful tune a couple of rooms away.

It takes both of them several seconds to be able to look at each other. Tim’s cheeks puff out as he exhales slowly, his ears are still pink. Kon rubs the hardwood floor with his toe. “So, uh . . . Huh.”

“We need to work on your multitasking. Things like using your super hearing while you’re . . . being distracted.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?”

“Shut it, Superdude, and make our food.”

“That rhymed.”

“I don’t know why I like you.”

“I’ll remind you exactly why later tonight.”

Tim smacks him with a dish towel, and Kon laughs before kissing him again.

[avenging-criminal-bones]

Talking to Air

Irondad & Spiderson

Word Count: 1510

Warning: Angst, INFINITY WAR SPOLIERS

Summary: What happens on Titan during Thanos’ trip to Wakanda

Note: I absolutely hate the Marvel creators (not really, I love them bc movie GOLD) But I definitely am not one to cry at movies or books, and IW and Endgame both had me in tears. Endgame multiple times.

* * * * *

"Mr. Stark!" Peter takes off, webbing his way towards Tony. He stops though, when Tony gives a small, almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Peter stills and watches as Tony throws his arm back, a knife forming with the nanotech. Tony crosses his arm in front of him now, to try and stab Thanos, but he catches Tony's arm. Thanos breaks the knife and in the blink of an eye was stabbing it into Tony's stomach.

Quill glances at Peter, gauging his reaction. When Peter's eyes blow wide and he inhales like he's going to yell, Quill grabs him and pulls him into the shadows. He keeps one hand over Peter's mouth. 

"Peter! It's me. Its... The other Peter. It doesn't matter. If you want Stark to have any chance at living, you need to keep your trap shut." When Quill is satisfied that Peter will stay quiet, he takes his hand away from his face. When Quill lets go of Peter, the young boy tries to take off running, quickly being re-held. "You don't understand do you? You going equals Stark dying." 

Peter's eyes flash open and the realization dawns on him. Nodding, he gently works his way out of Quill's grasp. 

"Y-Yeah. Okay I get it." Peter looks over the slab of moon in front of him at Tony and shudders. 

Tony looks terrible. His face is pale and his breaths are coming out as sharp wheezes. Thanos cups Tony's head in one of his hands and the gentleness makes Peter want to scream. The image doesn't last for long though, because Thanos is backing away and then vanishing into a cloudy portal, the gauntlet clamped into a fist. 

Peter looks quickly at Quill and when the older man nods at him, he takes off running. "Mr. Stark! Are you alright?" He skids to a stop in front of his mentor, who was seemingly sealing his wound with the nanotech. 

"I'm fine, Peter." His voice comes out harsher that he had meant, but he doesn't have time to apologize. He probably wouldn't if he did. Instead, he glances around, scanning every face in the small group. He stops at Doctor Strange, who has a sort of calm sense of doom in his eyes. 

"Tony... It had to be done." His voice holds caution as Tony's-- and everyone else's faces twist into anger. "It was the only way." 

Quill's head snaps up, anger clear on his face. "The only way?! The only way to what? Die?" 

Peter winces at the loud volume of his voice and Tony notices, taking a step closer to him. "Talk quieter, bullhorn."

"What did you just call me?" Quill steps forward, bringing his face inches away from Tony's. 

"ENOUGH!" 

All heads snap to Strange, who with an air or authority, quiets the group. 

"No, Star Man-"

"Lord."

"Whatever. But no. It was the only way to win." He stands now, and paces around where Thanos had vanished. 

Nebula speaks up for the first time as she removes boulder after boulder from off of Drax. "No, you idiot. You just signed all our death sentences." She finishes digging and Drax stands up. The two of them walk up to be with the rest of the group, Mantis quickly following. 

Suddenly Drax starts laughing. Loud guffaws making Peter wince again and back up away from the group. "You don't sign sentences. You write them silly." More laughter follows until Strange sends a sharp 'knife' of magic flying and inch away from his head. 

"No the time, buddy." Quill warns quietly, shaking his head. 

Nebula glares daggers at Doctor Strange and marches up to get in his face. He doesn't flinch, even when she starts yelling. "We are ALL going to die, because you made some stupid 'selfless' decision." She continues to yell but goes to a foreign language. Periodically the name 'Gamora' comes up and Quill balls his hands into fists. 

When she's finished it's Peter's turn to speak from a few feet away. "Maybe. But we have way better odds with Mr. Stark." Tony would have said something snarky to contradict the kid, but he didn't get the chance. 

"Exactly." Strange looks at Peter and then Tony, "He's a smart one Stark." 

Peter almost squeals in excitement as he turns to beam at Mr. Stark, but the happiness isn't returned. Tony's glare sobers Peter up immediately. 

"You stupid idiot! You should have let me die!" Tony's hands fly up to his head, running through his hair anxiously. "Do you realize that Thanos only needs one more?" Shaking his head, Tony storms up to Strange and yells in his face. "One, Strange! And then we die." 

Everyone's faces rapidly fall from anger to fear. After fear, only two fall all the way to acceptance. 

Tony and Stephen. 

The morbid silence is lifted by Drax. "When he gets the last rock, we will all die." He looks around at everyone's faces for confirmation. He gets none. They're all too afraid that if they speak the words aloud one more time, reality will catch up sooner. "I'm going to take your dreary, silent vocal chords as a yes." 

Peter had ender up wandering further away since Tony's explosion. Ever since then it has been really loud. As much as Peter would like to say that it hasn't been bothering him, that would be a lie. He was sitting on a rock about fifty feet away. He didn't realize that they had been talking about him until he hear's quill saying, 'where is Spidey anyways?'. 

"I"m over here. I'm coming. Sorry, guys." He jogs back to the small circle, he shares a quick glance with Mr. Stark. Tony looks as though he's about to question Peter, but a loud rumbling in the distance pushes all thoughts from his head. 

Quill groans and pulls out his blaster, "Well that's annoying." 

"Tell me about it!" Peter looks like he's about to throw up. "I'm feeling it ten times more tan you guys." 

Mantis speaks up for the first time since she walked up as Tony takes a few steps towards Peter. "W-What is it?"

No one answers for a second, but it's a second too long. Mantis steps over to Quill and buries herself under his arm. Everyone is looking towards the rumbling noise when it happens. The only one who sees is Quill. "Guys!"

Nebula turns in time to see the last of Mantis turn to dust, everyone else turns around to find air where she stood. "He's done it. He got the last stone." Her voice is monotone, but her eyes betray her and fear is clearly seen in them. 

Peter scans everyone, but his gaze stays locked on Drax as his arms start to disintegrate. The big man's eyes blow wide in fear as he calls out for his friend. "Quill!" 

He turns at the call of his name, a knowing sadness in his eyes. "No..." By the time he take a step forward, his own body start to shudder. 

"Steady, Quill." Tony looks at him with caution. It's a hopeless effort. Within seconds there are only four of them left. Realization dawns on Tony and he snaps his head to Strange. 

The mystic was just sitting there meditating with stoic features. He meets Tony's gaze and cocks his head to the side. "This is the only way. You are the only way, Tony." Suddenly, it dawns on him. One in 14 billion. He goes to confirm with Strange, but the words would have fallen on air.

"Mr. Stark..." When Tony hears the kid's-- his kid's -- voice, he almost doesn't want to look. "I don't feel so good."

Five, simple words make Tony turn around, his eyes already burning with unshed tears. He shakes his head and looks up at Peter's scared face. Once a vibrant, bubbly kid, now reduced to tripping and scared. 

No. Not Peter Please not him. 

"I-I don't- I don't know what's happening- Mr. Stark, I don't-"

Tony shakes his kid and mutters, "You're alright..."

Peter comes plowing into him, full force as his legs start to give out underneath him. Tony is surprisingly fast to steady him and starts wrapping his arms around the boy to hold him up. 

"No! I-I don't wanna go. I don't wanna- Dad, please! I don't wanna go." The pleading breaks Tony's heart. He knows what's coming next, Peter knows what's coming next. God he's only sixteen! "Sir, I don't wanna go. Please." 

Tears fill both of their eyes when Tony gently, slowly lays Peter on the sand. The pleas stop stringing from Peter's mouth when Tony rests a hand on his chest, grounding the younger boy. Peter glances away, but a second later, his is meeting his mentor's watery eyes one final time. 

"I'm sorry." The weight of those is too much for both of them as Peter's body is reduced to ash in Tony's arms. 

Dad, I don't wanna go. 

Tony knew the minute that the boy uttered them that those words would haunt him for the rest of his life. 

Dad... 

[xxgwenstacyxx]

Endgame Spoilers

Gambit Declined (Ao3 / FFN)

Summary: Tony offers to sacrifice his life in order to defeat Thanos. Nebula refuses.

The rainbows and sunshine, everybody-lives, nobody-dies alternative for Endgame.

Chapter 2

Tony wakes to the beautiful sound of Morgan's laughter and wonders if he's dreaming.

He hasn't expected to see his daughter again. He hasn't expected to wake up at all. Perhaps this is what comes afterwards, and Tony is only fooling himself into thinking his story could have come to any sort of happy ending.

There's a hand stroking through Tony's hair, and he wants to melt into the touch and never feel anything else besides this. He'd recognize Pepper anywhere.

"You're awake," she whispers, her voice carrying hope and relief that makes Tony feel guilty about not having woken up sooner. How long has he been sleeping? How much has he missed?

"Hey Peps," he croaks, wincing at the harsh quality of his voice. He must have been out for a while. "Did we win? Did we... Did everybody..."

"Everybody's fine." Pepper takes his hand and smiles, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "You did it. You saved us."

"Not everybody," Tony mutters. He thinks of Natasha's sacrifice that made everything possible in the first place. He thinks of Vision, killed before the Snap had even happened. He thinks of everybody in the same position, killed as the result of Thanos' megalomania but not in the one event they managed to unmake.

Pepper's laugh startles Tony out of his thoughts. He stares at her, wondering if everything that happened is finally too much for her to handle.

"FRIDAY," she says, a smile tugging at her lips that feels misplaced considering their topic of conversation. "Show him.”

A screen flickers to life in front of them and Tony sets eyes on what has to be an old recording. Except it can't be. Natasha lies curled up underneath what looks like half a dozen blankets and Clint, both of them paying the running television in front of them no mind.

Sam sits nearby, lazily tapping on his phone. He can't be. Sam spent the last five year dusted, there can’t possibly be footage of him and Natasha – new hairdo and all – in the same room.

As Tony keeps watching, Vision enters the room through one of the walls. The others look up as he hovers nearby, perhaps asking some sort of question.

A lump forms in Tony's throat and he has trouble making his mouth form words. "How?" he croaks, pretending as though his voice didn't crack embarrassingly in the middle of it.

"They came back after Bruce used the Gauntlet. Not just those who died in the Snap, but everybody. Everybody who died at Thanos' hand. He did it." Pepper's smile dims. "Everybody except Natasha."

Natasha gave her life in exchange for the soul stone. It was impossible to bring back a life that had been given as a trade to receive the power in the first place.

On the screen, Natasha pushes Clint off of her and uncurls from her blanket cocoon long enough to accept one of the sandwiches Bruce carries in from the kitchen. Sam's lips move and Natasha laughs.

"But she's there," Tony mutters. "She's... she's right there. How...?" Tony's voice gives out again and he clears his throat. He winces at the motion. It feels like swallowing sandpaper.

Pepper pulls her hand out of Tony's hair and takes his hand instead. "Steve took the stones and returned them to their rightful places.” Her lips pull back into a smile. “Including the soul stone."

"He traded her back," Tony realizes, eyes widening in amazement. A soul for a soul.

Pepper's grip tightens around his hand. "It was so close, Tony." The smile slides off of Pepper's face and her eyes slip downwards. "You almost didn't make it. We came this close to losing you."

Pepper's tears spill over and drip onto the mattress. The sight of them make Tony feel like crying himself. "I'm here," he says, squeezing Pepper's hand as firmly as he manages. "I lived."

Barely so, from the sounds of it. Wielding the stones was agony beyond anything Tony ever felt before. He can't believe that he actually pulled through. He can't believe that he...

Tony shoots up in the bed. "Nebula!" Nebula was there with him. He was about to snap, and she... Nebula took part of the burden. Tony saw her lying beside him, half of her body melted away. Tony's voice becomes frantic. "Nebula. She was there. She was... her body was... Where is she? Pepper, you gotta tell me where–”

There's movement in the corner of his eye and Tony trails off.

Nebula sits on the ground at the other end of the room. Going by her wide eyed stare, she didn't realize that Tony had woken up until he raised his voice.

Next to her sits Morgan. "Dad's awake!" She leaps to her feet and, rather than run straight at Tony, grabs Nebula's hand (or rather two of her fingers) and tugs her along.

Tony grunts as she jumps into his lap and jostles his injuries. He waves off Pepper's alarmed, "Morgan! Be careful." and pulls her close with one of his arms. The other hangs limply at his side. Tony doesn’t care enough to investigate further. "Hey baby," he whispers, burying his nose in her hair and tightening his grip.

Nebula hovers close to the bed, shifting on her feet awkwardly. Tony gives her a once over and notes the basic, ugly prosthetics that now make up half of her body. They look as though somebody had thrown them together haphazardly – which, considering everything that needs to be done as cleanup after the battle, is probably the truth.

He promises himself to do something about it as soon as he's able to and pulls away from Morgan enough to grip his daughter’s shoulders and look into her eyes. He takes in the sight of her and pretends like his eyes aren't watering. "Were you two playing?"

"Nebula taught me a game," Morgan says with a dutiful nod.

"Did she?" Tony's smile widens. Considering Nebula quite possibly played a single game in all of her life, he has a pretty good idea which one it might be. "Do you think she'll teach me, too?"

Morgan considers this. "Maybe," she allows. "But later. We're not done yet."

"Don’t want your old man butting in, hmm? I’m hurt." Tony’s tone is definitely ruined by the smile he’s giving Nebula. She turns away – Tony is pretty sure he looks like he's on the verge of tears, and she never knew how to deal with something like that. It's fine. He'll take her aside later and thank her, properly.

He'll also take care of those awful prosthetics. Simply looking at them makes Tony wince in sympathy.

"Morgan," Pepper says, her voice pitched in an odd tone. "Do you want to tell him who else you’ve been playing games with?"

Tony realizes who Pepper is talking about seconds before the door barges open and Peter comes storming through.

"Mr. Stark – I mean Tony! FRIDAY told me that you woke up!"

There's a lump forming in Tony's throat and affection bubbling up in his chest. He already saw Peter alive and well, but the middle of a battle field isn't the sort of environment that allows for a heartfelt reunion.

The kid continues to talk, and Tony doesn't try to stop him. He doesn't know if he wants to stop him.

"It's been crazy around here! I still can't believe we've been gone for five years. And you have a daughter now!" He looks at Morgan with half incredulous, half starstruck eyes. Tony can relate to the sentiment. He feels the same every time he looks at her.

"She doesn't really look like you. Well, except the hair. Do children start to look more like their parents when they're older? She does kind of look like Pepper though."

"Kid," Tony says.  

"A bit. Maybe? She's definitely got her nose. Did she get your brain instead?"

"Kid," Tony tries again, and he pretends not to see Pepper badly hiding a laugh beside him. Morgan is watching Peter intently as though he's a particularly interesting jigsaw puzzle.

"I know! I know! I'm sorry, I'm just excited. It's been so long, for you that is, it's only been days for me. I guess I'm just nervous. Five years is such a long time, so what if you don't– Oh. Oh, okay. Are we hugging again? We're hugging again. This is great. This is... definitely better without the suits."

Peter falls silent as Tony tightens his grip around him. He breathes out a shaky breath and allows himself to relax as Peter returns the embrace. He feels the kid clinging onto his shirt.

Something is missing, so Tony leans back far enough to sling his arm around Morgan and pulls her close on his other side. It's made difficult by the fact that his other arm remains stubborn and useless but Tony makes it work regardless. The mattress dips low as Pepper sits down beside them and continues carding her hand through Tony's hair like she had earlier.

Rhodey completes the picture when he walks in, pauses, and softly asks FRIDAY whether she's captured the moment on footage.

(She has.)

(Tony is making it his life goal to show it to everybody he knows, or doesn’t.)

A/N: One more part to go! Hope you enjoy!

[bevioletskies]

Here's a Peter/Gamora Infinity War AU prompt. What if in Infinity War, Thanos didn't have Nebula as a captive, so takes Peter as well to make Gamora tell him where the Soul Stone is and tortures Peter who tells Gamora "Don't tell him. Don't you tell him!" So Thanos uses torture and resurrection on Peter over and over again to force Gamora to co-operate while the Guardians and Avengers plan an attack on Thanos.

Some parts of the dialogue are either directly taken from or a variation of dialogue from Infinity War. Warning for slightly graphic descriptions of torture.ao3 | word count: 2.7k

“Let her go, Grimace!”

Gamora’s heart leapt in her throat helplessly at the sound of Peter’s voice, watching him emerge from behind the rubble with his blasters held high, the tremble in his hands betraying the confidence in his stride. She felt the grip on her back tighten impossibly further, vice-like and awful and reminiscent of a long ago, but never-forgotten childhood. “Peter.”

“I told you to go right,” he said urgently, and all Gamora could do was choke out an agonized, sobbing laugh.

“Now? Really?”

“You let her go!” Peter demanded once more, narrowing his eyes.

Thanos, however, looming over her like a shadow (though he’d already been weighing on her mind and soul for what felt like eternity), merely smiled. “Ah, the boyfriend.”

“Like to think of myself more as a Titan-killing, long-term booty call. Let her go.”

Gamora let out an exasperated noise. “Peter.” His eyes met hers again, a hesitation in his step. “Not him.” Peter faltered entirely, his arms slowly inching back down, ready to fall to his sides entirely. “You promised,” she said, alarmed to find her breath catching in her throat, stuck with a cry that was desperate to climb its way out. “You promised.”

“Oh, daughter. You expect too much from him.” Another hard yank, and for a moment, it felt like all her hair was being ripped out, right down to her roots. All she could do was let out a painful exhale, pleading to herself not to let it show on her face. “You expect too much from them all, these companions of yours, these Guardians. What pleasure do you derive from protecting humanity from the inevitable, Gamora? What satisfaction do you gain out of your endeavors?”

“A purpose that belongs to me, and me alone.” Her voice shook as she spoke, her eyes still locked with Peter, frozen in the reminder of what he’d sworn to her not even an hour ago. “Responsibilities that motivate me far more than fear. And people who care more about who I am than what I can do.”

Thanos chuckled dryly. “And what would your dear Nebula have to say about that last one, daughter? What would she think if she were here?”

Gamora’s eyes widened, breaking eye contact with Peter to tilt her chin upwards in an attempt to look Thanos right in the eye, but to her dismay, it was now he who was looking at Peter, his eyes hungry for something she’d been fearing for four years, something she’d had nightmares about since the moment she realized he and the other Guardians were going to be important to her, now manifesting right in front of her. “You’ve seen her.”

“Some time ago, your sister snuck aboard my ship to kill me. And very nearly succeeded. What’s even more impressive is the fact she managed to get away before we could capture her. So…you see my dilemma.” His grip clamped around her entire midsection very suddenly; she felt the air leave her lungs, felt the crack of her ribs, leaving her gasping, burning up from the inside like the first time he’d taken her apart.

“No!” Peter broke into a sprint, his blasters aimed straight for Thanos’s head, but before Gamora could warn him - and how could she, her vision starting to fade in and out, her brain slowly shuttering down, the only sensation left in her entire body being the clench of her fists - Thanos snatched him up in his other hand, and then they were falling…falling…falling…and oh, Gamora thought weakly, this might be the end.

Gamora woke up approximately what felt like years later, finding herself laid out unceremoniously across a damp, ice-cold floor. She struggled to push herself up into a sitting position, still dizzy from asphyxiation, blinking blearily into the shadowed light. It didn’t take long for her to realize exactly where she was and what had happened, only for her field of vision to be interrupted by Thanos kneeling in front of her, holding out a bowl in a mock peace offering. “I thought you might be hungry.”

With the last ounce of strength she had left, she knocked it clean out of his hands across the room, her breath coming in short from the effort. “Of all the places to bring me…you knew I hated this room. This ship. I hated my life.”

“So I’ve been told. Every day…for twenty years,” he said bitterly, moving to sit on the steps of his throne. Gamora slowly turned herself around to face him, wincing at the way her bones ached. “The hours you spent - no, the hours you wasted - telling me I was wrong for saving you when your planet was on the brink of collapse. How do you feel now, knowing they know nothing but full bellies and clear skies?”

“I feel the same as I did before.” She inhaled, trembling. “That you’re insane.”

“This universe is finite, its resources finite. If life is left unchecked, life will cease to exist. It needs correction,” he growled.

“You don’t know that!” she shouted.

“I’m the only one who knows that. At least, I’m the only one with the will to act on it.” He got to his feet, moving closer, standing above her like he did before, casting her in darkness like he’d always done, like he always would. “For a time, you had that same will, daughter.”

“I am not your daughter,” Gamora said derisively. “Everything I hate about myself, you taught me.”

“And yet, here you are, the deadliest woman in the galaxy. The only one who I trusted to find the Soul Stone.” Thanos extended his arm, slowly rotating it around until the Infinity Gauntlet was undeniably in front of her face, obscuring her view of everything else. Every last Stone glowed blindingly, tauntingly, with the exception of one.

She glared up at him, her eyes cold. “Then I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“I am disappointed. But not because you didn’t find it.” He leaned down beside her, his breath ghosting over her ear, whistling through her hair. She shivered. “But because you did. And you lied.”

Thanos roughly grabbed her by the wrist and yanked, dragging her along behind him. She snarled, beating her fist again his ironclad grip, resulting in nothing but her own bloody knuckles and a hoarse throat. They made their way down a damp corridor to a room she unfortunately knew too well, the doors shuttering open to reveal -

“No,” Gamora gasped.

“And just think, if he had kept his Celestial genetics, if he realized that his precious power he so carelessly threw away could save him…we wouldn’t be here, daughter. He wouldn’t be here.“

Peter was suspended in the air by a series of electrified cables, a form of torture oddly ancient, raw, and sadistic, even for someone of Thanos’s intentions and means, that dug deep into his skin, searing red hot welts into his body. Beads of sweat rolled down his face, his eyes half-lidded, mouth falling open further and further with every labored breath he took. Thanos flung Gamora forward like she was a mere ragdoll, and she immediately ran to Peter, stumbling over her own feet, cupping his face in her hands. “Peter.”

“Gamora,” he said breathlessly. “Fancy…meetin’ you here.”

She let out a noise she didn’t recognize, somewhere halfway between a laugh and a sob. “You’ve got a terrible sense of humor.”

“Won…you over…didn’t it?” he chuckled, his chest heaving, rattling ominously. “Don’t…tell him.”

“What?”

“He’s gonna…but you don’t…don’t tell him. Don’t you tell him a damn thing.” He smiled almost deliriously, like he was beginning to lose oxygen, or rather, that he’d been losing oxygen for a long time now. “You got this, Gamora. I…I know you do.”

It was then that she felt a hand on her shoulder. She automatically stepped back, reluctantly withdrawing her hands from Peter’s alarmingly cold face, though she fixed her gaze on the floor, refusing to look up. “I swear to you on my life…on his life…I never found the Soul Stone.”

“Are you certain, daughter?” A hum resonated through the room, so searingly loud she felt her teeth clatter, and with a flash of red light, Peter suddenly fell limp, his last breath coming out as a subdued whimper.

Gamora let out a blood-curdling scream, something so feral she barely recognized it had come from her own throat. She turned to grasp wildly at the Gauntlet, sucking in her breath, willing herself not to let the hot tears that burned in her eyes fall. “Please.”

Another flash of light, this time a sickly green, and Peter jerked to life once more, panting heavily; he could barely lift his head by this point. “Tell me again, Gamora.” She heard the click of Thanos’s jaw as he spoke. “Say it to my face.”

“I speak the truth…Father.” Gamora swallowed down the bile that was rising in her throat, lifting her chin to meet his violet gaze. “And this time, I want my ignorance to be your downfall.”

Thanos’s lip curled; he stepped back and released her, circling her like she was his prey. “You’re strong…me. You’re generous…me. But I never taught you to lie. That’s why you’re so bad at it.” Another hum, accompanied by the red light, and all Gamora could do was inhale her own voice before she could cry out again. “Where is the Soul Stone?”

Her eyes went to Peter’s lifeless body, lacking the wit, the light, the movement she’d grown to love so much. She had to fight back the urge to go to him, take his hands in hers, search for a pulse that she knew was no longer there. “We could live in this loop for infinity, Father,” she said, her voice thin. “Or you could choose to believe me.”

“You could have redeemed yourself in my eyes, you know.” Thanos continued to pace. “Four years ago, you betrayed me. You walked away from everything you’d ever known for people you barely trusted. But the moment you learned of his immortality, his power, you could have brought him to me. I would have let him live. I would have even let you be together, if he became part of our cause.” The green light nearly blinded her, and Peter once again found himself gasping for air, every inch of his body burning from the inside.

“Your cause,” Gamora sneered. “Never mine, never Nebula’s, never those who you stole from their homes, that you ripped every last piece of their humanity from, leaving them empty, leaving us empty. Just your cause. Your sick, twisted cause.”

“Remember your life by my side, daughter?” Thanos asked like he hadn’t heard her. “I fed you, clothed you, raised you into greatness. Saved you from the fate of your planet. Do you think you would stand a chance against the galaxy if I hadn’t done so? What would your life be then?”

“My life?” Gamora finally turned on her heel to face him, her eyes darkening. “All my life, I dreamed of a day, a moment, where you would get what you deserved. And I was always so disappointed. But now, you kill, and torture, and you call it mercy. And now I stand before you, and I do know something you don’t. You’re asking me to tell you…and I’m telling you…no.”

“You defy me, daughter?” Thanos growled.

“I already have. And now, I always will, with every last day that I have left. My only hope is that my days will outlast yours.” His fist clenched once more, and she squeezed her eyes shut, not sure if she could face the red light again, but then -

All Gamora could hear was a thundering, earth-shattering crash, then a ringing that echoed in her ears, melting into a high-pitched frequency that made her cry out; it took her a moment to even realize she’d been thrown to the ground. Peter was flung down beside her, the cables having been yanked right out of their reinforcements from the sheer force of the explosion, though they were still wound about his wrists and ankles. Then, there was silence, soon broken by a violent cough that rattled around in Peter’s chest; they were both covered in a thick layer of ash.

“Are you okay?” she whispered urgently. He reached over to squeeze her hand in silent reassurance, smiling weakly. Relieved, she crawled closer to bring her forehead to his, finally allowing one single tear to fall as she squeezed her eyes shut in meditative serenity, then turned away so she could look towards the source of the sound. Gamora groaned when she realized what had happened. “Nebula always did have a taste for the dramatic.”

Nebula emerged from the pod that she’d crash-landed upon Thanos’s head, wielding her electroshock batons above her head, though it was more of a stance of anticipation than a stance of victory. Several unknown figures burst through the hole she’d created, along with, to Gamora’s elation, Drax and Mantis, both seemingly unharmed. “Gamora!” Mantis exclaimed. “Peter! Oh, it is so good to see you’re both okay!”

“Okay…is a subjective term,” Peter rasped, struggling to stand. Gamora followed, tucking herself underneath his arm to steady him. “Who the hell are these guys?”

“We’re the Avengers, man,” one of them said; he sounded worryingly young. “I’m - ”

“No time for pleasantries, he’s getting up!” Nebula snapped. The others encircled the pod, watching apprehensively, weapons drawn at the ready. Suddenly, Thanos came roaring back to life, his voice raw with anguish, throwing the metal scrap clear across the room like it weighed nothing.

“Nebula,” he snarled. “What - ”

In a flurry of activity that Gamora’s oxygen-deprived brain still had trouble comprehending, everyone sprung into action, pinning Thanos down by various means she couldn’t even begin to understand, calling out orders to each other like they’d rehearsed it a thousand times over. One particular man made a strange movement with his hands, almost like a spell of sorts, and Mantis fell right through the floor like it was nothing, only to reappear right above Thanos’s head and drop down onto his shoulders. She wound her legs tight around his neck until he was gasping, dug her fingernails into his temples until he began to bleed. His eyes rolled back, mouth falling open like he was in a trance. The young one and another who appeared to be a metal humanoid went for the Gauntlet, bickering lightly as they slowly, but surely eased it off Thanos’s forearm.

Peter limped his way over, yanking one of his gravity mines out of his utility bag and clipping it onto Thanos’s belt. It immediately and quite literally brought him to his knees, hunched over and heaving like Peter had been not five minutes ago. “He’s all yours,” Peter said lowly, taking a step back.

Speechless, Gamora turned to Nebula. “You’re here,” she breathed. “Nebula, you - ” Overwhelmed, Gamora flung her arms around her sister, and was surprised to find her returning the gesture immediately, far less stiff than the last time - the first time - they’d hugged four years ago. Less surprisingly, Nebula broke the embrace first, though there was almost a hint of a smile in her usually cold eyes. Gamora peeled back her glove to reveal the small device hidden in the palm of her hand, chuckling disbelievingly. “I always said the distress signal would be of use someday. You never believed me.”

“Are you singing your own praises, sister?” Nebula said dryly. “I should expect nothing less.”

“It’s just…it’s so good to see you. I’ve missed you, more than I thought I ever would. And here you are…you came back for me.”

“Don’t exaggerate, I’m here for him.” Then, smaller, Nebula mumbled under her breath so lowly that Gamora could barely hear her. “But also…maybe.”

Gamora looked to Peter who was clutching his sides, looking battered and worn, but mercifully alive. “Peter?”

“I’m okay,” he wheezed. “Let’s put this asshole in the ground already.”

She laughed softly, turning back to Nebula. “Are you ready?”

“I have waited too long for this moment.” Nebula paced menacingly towards Thanos, drawing one of her electroshock batons out. “Do you have any final words for our father before we strike him down?”

Gamora came to a stop in front of Thanos as well, her lip curling with disdain. She unsheathed her sword. “I’ve said all I need to say. Now…it’s your turn.”

[valdomarx]

Fic: He Don't Love You (Like I Love You)

Universe: Early 616, inspired by Iron Man #50 Relationship: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark Tags: Identity Porn, Humor, Misunderstandings, Evil Villainy, Snakes, Jealous Steve Rogers, Hopeless Tony Stark, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining Notes: For the prompt Love triangle for the cap-im alphabet challenge, and for my stony bingo square canon: 616 pre-Heroes Reborn. Also on AO3.

Summary: Misunderstandings! Heartache! Heroic escapades! The beguiling tale of a LOVE TRIANGLE between handsome industrialist Tony Stark, his valiant alter ego Iron Man, and their intrepid teammate Steve Rogers. In this issue, our favorite Avengers face their toughest foils yet: THEIR OWN HEARTS! A drama not to be missed!

60 seconds… only one minute to live! Tony steeled himself for action as he checked the power gauge on his suit and saw that it was almost completely empty. His pitched battle with the Serpent Society had drained nearly all of his power, and if he wasn’t able to recharge soon, the chestplate that kept his heart running would fail and death would finally overtake him.

He stumbled into his office, struggling to stay upright in the heavy armor. Shake it off, Shellhead! he scolded himself. You gotta keep it together! He gasped as he dropped to his knees and crawled the painful few feet to his power outlet. Now he just had to strip out of his armor and he could charge.

With the power levels dangerously low, it was exhausting to merely remove the faceplate and drop the heavy metal gauntlets that had been encasing his arms. With a last desperate effort he kicked off his repulsor boots and retracted the armoring from his legs, leaving his chestplate exposed and ready to charge.

He grabbed the power cord and connected it too fast, the force of the connection jarring his already aching chest further. The power arched into the chestplate, and finally he felt the plate humming back to life. His heart hammered brutally hard: that had been far too close a call for his liking.

He heaved in a few quick breaths from where he was slumped pathetically on the plush carpet. Just a few more minutes and he would be recharged and back to fighting fitness.

Unfortunately for Tony, his moment of relief was short lived. As he lay panting on the floor, he heard heavy footsteps in the corridor outside his office. If anyone were to walk in now, they’d be sure to learn his greatest secret: that he was both millionaire technology entrepreneur Tony Stark and the masked hero Iron Man!

He couldn’t risk being discovered. The footsteps were rapidly approaching and there was no time to hide. Tony hurriedly disconnected the charging cable and threw on a shirt to hide his chestplate from view, and he was just pulling on a pair of slacks when the door to his office swung open. He could only hope that he had disguised himself in time.

Steve had been knocking around the mansion all afternoon, having already filled his daily quota of exercise and training that morning. His mind was too scattered today to concentrate on painting, and Wanda had politely but firmly turned down his offer to cook for her. He’d been at a loose end until Jarvis has taken pity on him moping in the library and let him know that Iron Man was due back from his mission shortly.

That was just what he needed to hear, Steve thought cheerfully. His buddy Shellhead was always a blast to spend time with. Maybe they could spar together, or Iron Man would show him another of his favorite sci fi movies. That Barbarella flick had really been quite the show! Either way, Steve would sure be glad for the company of his good pal.

He sure did wish he knew more about who Iron Man was outside the suit though. They were the best of friends on the battlefield and Steve loved the time they spent together in the mansion. But to never see his face, and to know that he had a whole other life that Steve wasn’t a part of… well, it made Steve a little blue if he was honest. Steve sure would like to see his dear friend’s smile, to touch his skin, to hold his hand. Maybe someday Iron Man would trust him with his secret identity.

He headed up to the office of Iron Man’s boss Mr. Stark to see if Iron Man was there and if he wanted to go out for a milkshake. Iron Man always knew the best places to go. But as he rounded the corner of the corridor, he noted that the door of the office was closed. That was unusual - Mr. Stark typically kept his door open and encouraged the Avengers to drop in whenever they wanted.

As he pushed open the door, however, Steve suddenly realized why Mr. Stark had wanted privacy this time. He stepped into the office to see Mr. Stark frantically buttoning up his pants, his hair mussed and his shirt buttons done up incorrectly.

Steve paused in the doorway. He was clearly interrupting something.

“Cap,” Tony called, sounding somewhat short of breath. “Don’t mind me, I’m just. You know. Straightening my suit. So, uhh, what brings you here?”

Steve politely averted his eyes. “I was looking for Iron Man…” he began, but stopped when his eye was caught by pieces of distinctive shiny red and gold armor strewn across the floor of the office. What on earth was going on? “Jarvis said he was here.”

“Yes!” Tony said, a bit too quickly. “Iron Man was here. But now he has - er - left.”

“Oh,” Steve said, dumbly.

Steve looked again, and took in Tony’s breathlessness, his clothes in disarray, the pieces of the armor tossed to the floor. A realization hit him.

Oh. Oh.

It seemed obvious now - Iron Man and his boss had to be carrying on some kind of torrid affair - and they were trying to keep it a secret. And Steve had walked in at the worst possible moment.

“I’ll just…” Steve strained to think of something appropriate to say. Heat prickled up the back of his neck as he made a concerted effort not to think about Iron Man peeling off the armor, being held in Tony’s arms, gasping with pleasure…

Steve was no coward, but this was a topic he was not even slightly ready to broach with his best friend’s boss-slash-lover. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said frantically as he turned tail and fled from the office.

Tony blinked at Cap’s retreating figure. Steve hadn’t seemed to suspect that anything was amiss with Iron Man, which was a relief. He sure was acting funny though, running out like that. But hey, the upside was that Tony got to enjoy a fine view of the good Captain from behind, which was an angle not to be underestimated.

He savored the thought of Steve’s gently bobbing ass for a moment before shaking himself. What was it that he had been doing? Ahh yes, recharging. He plugged himself back in to the power and settled into his office chair.

As much as he enjoyed the view of Steve from behind, Tony mused, he sure would like to see Steve's face more often too. Though Steve and Iron Man had been inseparable since the day they met, Steve had remained considerably more reserved when it came to Tony. They’d barely exchanged more than a few sentences to each other when he was out of the armor.

And the frustrating thing was that Tony was sure that Steve would have fun spending time together. They got on so well as Iron Man and Captain America, surely they would bond just as well as Tony and Steve. It seemed only natural that they should go to dinner together, or to take a visit to the theater.

But he and Steve never seemed to have the time to get to know each other outside of work. Perhaps that was why Steve had been so jumpy earlier - he was still uncomfortable around Tony. Whether it was Tony’s money or his fame, he tried to be friendly but he knew that many people found him intimidating.

He would have to change that. He didn’t want Steve to feel uncertain around him when he was Tony Stark - he wanted them to be as comfortable together as they were when they were Winghead and Shellhead.

There was only one thing for it: he would have to befriend Steve and show him that they were just as compatible off the battlefield as they were on it.

Steve liked to think that he was a pretty open minded sort of fella. Whatever consenting adults wanted to do on their own time was their business, that had always been his motto.

But he had to admit, over the week since he walked into the office, the thought of Iron Man and Tony together had been bothering him. While he was glad that his Shellhead had someone to be with, Steve couldn’t deny the little pang of longing he felt when he imagined Iron Man trusting someone else with his identity. Steve was, perhaps, a little jealous.

It sure would be nice for him to be able to be something more to Iron Man. But even if it weren’t for the secret identity issue, it seemed like Iron Man was already involved with someone else. Steve supposed that it made sense that he would form a bond with Tony - he had protected him as his bodyguard for a long time, and they must have spent a lot of time together working on the suit over the years.

But… Tony Stark? Really? He was good looking, sure, and heavens knows he had plenty of money. But Steve couldn’t imagine Iron Man caring about that sort of thing. He had always thought that Iron Man would want someone more… simple. Homey. Someone who knew him and adored him, just as he was. Maybe even someone like Steve…

Perhaps all was not lost, Steve reasoned. After all, he didn’t know for sure what was going on between Iron Man and Tony. Perhaps their relationship was casual, or maybe it was coming to an end. That would explain why Shellhead hadn’t mentioned it to anyone. Perhaps Steve did still have a chance after all.

Only one way to find out, Steve thought gamely. The next time he and Iron Man were sparring, Steve dropped a few subtly innocuous questions.

“So… you and Mr. Stark… you two are close, huh?”

It was impossible to see Iron Man’s expression beneath the mask, but Steve knew him well enough to read the cock of his shoulder - currently expressing a blend of confusion and discomfort.

“Uh,” Iron Man sounded uncertain even through the voice modulator. “I suppose.”

“All the work you do together… you must have really bonded,” Steve pressed. “You must like him a lot, to have worked for him for so long.”

“Erm. Kind of. I’ve had worse bosses.”

“Yes, but it must be more than that, right? You risk your life for him. He must be special to you.”

A long pause. “Hrm… Look, I act as his bodyguard because someone has to. To be entirely honest with you, he’s kind of a pain in the ass. Sometimes I don’t know why the Avengers put up with him.”

That stopped Steve short. Iron Man certainly didn’t sound that keen on Tony. But then why would he be with him?

Steve reeled as a horrifying thought occurred to him. “Is he… Iron Man, is he forcing you to stay with him?”

A staticky noise that indicated Iron Man was laughing. “Nothing like that. I… Well, I guess you could say that I owe him a debt.”

A debt? What did that mean? Did Tony have some kind of financial hold over Iron Man? Steve’s head was filled with even more worries about indentured servitude, but he tried to keep calm for Iron Man’s sake.

“You know that I’ll always care about you, right, Shellhead? If Tony is important to you then I'd like to talk with him, to get to know him better.”

“You really don’t have to-” Iron Man hummed.

“No, I want to. There are a few words I want to share with Mr. Stark.”

Iron Man acquiesced and Steve began to form a plan. He would just have to see for himself what kind of man Tony was, and whether he was worthy to date someone as wonderful as Iron Man. Somehow, he doubted this assessment would reflect well on Tony.

Tony bounced excitedly on the balls of his repulsor boots as he left the gym. Steve wanted to talk with him - and as Tony Stark! He hadn’t expected his plan to befriend Steve to go so smoothly, but here Steve was wanting to spend time with him all on his own volition! It couldn’t have been better.

Now he just had to wait for Steve to come to see him.

Sure enough, Steve inquired after his schedule one morning at breakfast and they arranged a time for Steve to come to his office. Tony did, in fact, have a funding meeting at that time, but he canceled it without a second thought. After all, running a multimillion dollar company wasn’t even close to as interesting as spending half an hour chatting with Steve.

When Steve arrived, Tony was just finishing up combing his mustache and slicking his hair back. A quick glance in the mirror. Looking good, tiger, Tony thought with a smile.

“Cap! Come in. Can I offer you a coffee?”

“Thanks but no.” Steve sounded gruff, and flat.

“Suit yourself. You want a snack? I can have Jarvis bring us some muffins.”

“Not for me.”

“Okay then. How about an armor upgrade? I had a few ideas about your uniform-”

“Enough,” Steve snapped, suddenly furious. “You can’t buy me off that easily.”

Tony blinked. Perhaps he had misjudged this interaction with Steve a bit. He did tend to get effusive with the presents when he was feeling enthusiastic. “Oh. That wasn’t my intention. I had just thought that it would be nice if we could be friendly-”

“Friendly?” Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what we are?”

Tony tried to hide how much that comment hurt him. This was not how he had imagined this conversation would go. He tried to rally himself. “I - I just thought - well, here we are, two fellas living together in the same house, and we barely know each other. I thought maybe we could watch a movie together, or catch a baseball game. You know.”

Steve was still squinting at him, a look that could either have been either thoughtful consideration or poorly disguised disgust forming on his face. Tony fervently hoped it was the former. He took a breath and plunged onward, determined to make good on his resolution to befriend Steve.

“Let me take you out to dinner some time, huh? I bet we’d get on real well without the Avengers around to distract us.” Tony smiled his most winning press smile and held out a hand to Steve. “What do you say, big guy?”

Steve could barely believe his ears. A dinner offer? Was Tony seriously hitting on him? Tony was already with Iron Man, and now he was casually asking out someone else for a date like it was nothing.

“And what,” Steve ground out, “do you think Iron Man would have to say about that?”

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “I’m sure he can entertain himself and leave us in peace for an evening.”

Steve was genuinely gobsmacked. Not only was Tony willing to cheat on Iron Man, he didn’t even give a second thought to the fact that word about his straying would inevitably get around. It was like he didn’t consider Iron Man’s feelings for a second.

Steve regarded Tony cooly, with his big fake smile and his stupidly fussed over mustache, offering to buy things for Steve as if that would impress him.

He would have no part of this heartless, petty man. And now he had no doubt that Tony was not even remotely deserving of a guy like Iron Man. Steve lifted his chin and stood up straight. “I’d rather share a dinner date with MODOK than with you, Tony,” he huffed. “And I’d infinitely rather spend time with a real guy like Iron Man.”

Steve took a small, mean pleasure in seeing the way Tony’s face crumpled. He looked genuinely ashen. But Steve couldn’t find it in himself to feel guilty - after all, Tony was the person who had the heart of the best man in the world, and he was making plans to step out on him.

Steve turned on his heel and stomped out of the office, thinking that he would certainly never treat Iron Man that way. He’d never dismiss his feelings, or make advances on someone else. He’d treat Iron Man like the wonderful, kind, warm person that he was.

He threw a last vindictive glance over his shoulder to see Tony slumped against the edge of his desk. Well then. If Tony felt bad, then that was the consequence for treating poor Iron Man so shamefully.

Suck it up, Stark, Tony kept repeating to himself. The weight of the armor dragged him down as he slunk around the mansion, but at least inside the suit he could hide his face. And that was necessary, because every time in the last few days that he had caught a glimpse of Steve and remembered the disgust on his face when he had asked to spend time with him, his lip started wobbling and he felt like he was going to cry.

But there was, as always, work to do. Superheroes didn’t get time off for heartache - not even when the object of their long-standing affection had expressed more interest in sharing dinner with an grotesque giant head than with them. Steve was, very obviously, not interested in being friends or anything else with Tony. That was just the way it was going to have to be.

Tony tried to take a little space, but it wasn’t easy when Steve was so delighted to see him - as long as he was hidden in his Iron Man gear.

“Shellhead!” A cheery voice carried over the kitchen. “C’mere, buddy!”

Tony gave up on his apparently ineffective attempt to sneak unnoticed past the open door of the kitchen. Damn his clanky repulsor boots. He sighed and went to sit at the kitchen table opposite a beaming Steve.

“How’s it going, old pal?”

Tony managed to choke out, “Fine,” and mercifully the audio modulator hid the crack in his voice.

“Say, there’s something I wanted to talk to you about. I know it might not be my business, but… Well, Shellhead, I’m worried about you. It’s because of Tony.”

Tony’s heart sank even lower. He was absolutely sure that he didn’t want to hear what Steve had to say about him right now.

“I know you feel connected to him, but Tony… he’s not a good man. You know you don’t have to spend time with him if you don't want to. I really think you can do better.”

Better, as in a better job? Now Steve wanted to be his career adviser too? Jesus. Why did Steve even care who employed him?

Steve reached over the table to hold his gauntlet, big warm hand wrapped around cold metal fingers. “I’m here for you,” he said, heartbreakingly earnest.

Steve certainly did seem real worried about his employment situation. Tony considered his position carefully. “I can see that you’re concerned, Cap. But listen. Tony isn’t as bad as they say. He… he actually likes you a lot.”

Steve’s lip curled. “The feeling is most certainly not mutual. I don’t like him one bit.”

And that hurt more than it should have. Tony felt his shoulders slump under the weight of armor and of misery. But Steve was still going, clutching his hand.

“The thing is, Shellhead, I don’t want you to feel like you have no other options. Because. Well. We spend a lot of time together, and I’d really like to get to know you even better. And we could, maybe, go on a date some time? And I know that you have to stay in the armor in public but I thought maybe… maybe you could trust me with your secret identity? Because I’d never tell anyone, and I’d really like… I’d really like to see your face, and hold your hand, and maybe even. Well, maybe even kiss you, if you’d like that. Because I like you a whole lot, and I know things are complicated with you and Tony, but if you’d give me a chance then I’d really like to prove how special you are to me.”

Tony’s jaw dropped open. That was… it was… Steve liked him? Steve wanted to date him? Waves of hope and spikes of panic crashed against each other inside his head and Tony could only stare while he tried to process.

The processing was immediately interrupted by the urgent beeping of his emergency communicator. Tony blinked down at it, his head spinning.

Stark Industries board meeting emergency session. Attendance essential. Final vote on the allocation of company shares.

Oh no. He couldn’t get out of this one. If he let the board sell the company shares, he’d never regain control of his company and they’d go right back to weapons manufacturing. And, most terrifying of all, his secretary Mrs. Arbogast would certainly kill him.

“Sorry, Steve, but I have to leave. It’s Mr. Stark. He has this meeting, it’s really urgent-”

Steve looked actually, literally like a kicked puppy. “Oh,” he said, sounding very small indeed. “If Tony needs you, then I guess you have to go.” He withdrew his hand from Tony’s and hung his head.

“But Steve, listen, about what you said-”

“No, forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. You should go and be with Tony.”

Tony could have just kicked himself for ever having made Steve look that sad, but the urgent and continued beeping from his communicator said that now Pepper was getting on his case too, and it was time to leave before he ruined his company for good.

As he hurried out of the kitchen, clanging towards his office as fast as he could in the bulky armor, he looked back to see Steve who was staring down at the table and playing morosely with a paper napkin.

God, Tony had really messed this one up.

Steve was not moping. He was Captain America, hero of the people, and Captain America did not mope. He was simply in need of some quiet time… on his own… in the darkness…

Because Iron Man had the right to make his own decisions, Steve knew that. Iron Man had chosen Tony over Steve, and that was his right. Steve knew that he had to accept it, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.

Still, as the weeks passed Steve didn’t feel any better. He tried to give Iron Man his space, and not to intrude on his personal life. The one bright spot in this sad situation was that at least he and Iron Man were still as effective as ever on missions together. On their way into battle, Iron Man would scoop Steve up and fly him overhead to asses the battlefield, and Steve’s heart would squeeze with fondness at being so close to his Shellhead.

But once the mission was done, Iron Man would disappear off… back to Tony, Steve thought sourly. And then Steve would see Tony swanning around the mansion like he didn’t have the best fella in the world waiting for him. Steve would never leave Iron Man hanging like that.

As if that wasn’t enough, Tony had Iron Man off on personal missions all the time - Stark Industries business was all he would say - and Steve and the rest of the Avengers were never invited on those missions. He tried not to fret, but Steve worried about Iron Man facing who knows what dangers alone.

Steve’s worries came to a head when Iron Man was sent to investigate the Serpent Society’s secret lair, and after a couple of hours he stopped checking in. There was nothing but horrible silence and sticky hisses over the communication channel.

It could be anything. Iron Man’s communicator could simply have been damaged, or he could be in a shielded room. Still, Steve couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. He resolved to go and find Tony - he didn’t much like talking to him, but he’d be glad to be able to check up on Iron Man.

But something strange was afoot. Tony wasn’t in his office, or in his workshop, and he didn’t respond to Pepper or Mrs. Arbogast’s messages either. Steve recruited Vision and the the twins to help him search the mansion, but with no success. By the time Steve had looked everywhere he could think of, both Iron Man and Tony had been missing for four hours and Steve was sliding into full blown panic.

Where was Shellhead? Was he hurt? Had Tony taken him somewhere? Why wasn’t he on his comms? Steve was approaching fully distraught when finally, a faint but familiar voice came over the comms system.

“... Avengers? Do you read? This is Tony Stark.”

“I’m here,” Steve enunciated into the comm system’s microphone, brisk and professional. “What happened? Where are you?”

Tony took a deep breath and forced his heart rate to slow. It was going to be alright now that he had Steve to help.

“I’m okay,” he said, not entirely truthfully. “I got captured by the Serpent Society. It turns out that these snakes have better hearing than most. They took my communicator and locked me in the basement, but I found an old ham radio and built a basic comms system.”

He heard Steve inhale through his nose. “And Iron Man? Is he with you?” he asked, a little pointedly. “He’s been missing for hours too.”

Shit. There was really no other way to explain where Iron Man was. “Uh - yes - Iron Man is. Uh. Right here.”

“I want to talk to him.”

“Now isn’t a great time, Cap.”

“I need to know that he’s okay.”

“I can assure you, he’s fine-”

“I want to talk to Iron Man right now, Mr. Stark.”

Tony rolled his eyes. God, Steve could be stubborn. “Fine,” he snapped, and stomped over to the corner of the room where he’d stashed his armor. He pulled on the helmet to modulate his voice and the boots to give his steps the right sound, and clanked back to the ham radio.

“Hi, Winghead.”

“Shellhead!” Steve’s voice immediately warmed. “Boy, am I glad to hear from you. Is everything okay with you?”

“We’ll be fine. I’m sure we can find our way out of here soon, but I need your help.”

“Anything you need, buddy.”

“I need you to pull out the plans of the Serpent Society’s not-so-top-secret lair that I drew up after our last encounter. It’s like a maze down here, so you’re going to have to guide us out.”

“I can do that.” Steve’s voice was firm and confident. “I’ll get the plans. Wait just a moment… and make sure Mr. Stark doesn’t do anything stupid in the mean time.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his brow, even though he couldn’t feel it through the faceplate. “Tony isn’t a total idiot, you know.”

He heard Steve huff. “If you say so. I’m going to find the plans - I’ll be right back.”

Tony heard Steve walk away, and he looked around to assess his situation once more. The basement he was in was cold and dark, deep below ground, and his captors had stripped him of his communicator and the few tools he had stashed in compartments in the armor. They had disabled the repulsors on his gauntlets and boots too… with hammers, by the look of it. Ugh, that was going to be a pain to fix. But they’d left him with the suit to wear, so at least he wasn’t naked.

It could, he thought with a wry smile, be worse.

It was going to be a challenge to find his way out though. He hadn’t been exaggerating to Steve - the compound was massive, and sprawling, and almost certainly full of whimsical snake pits should he make a wrong move. These people sure did love their snakes.

Thankfully, Tony heard Steve hurrying back to the communications desk. “I’ve got the plans,” he announced. “Now tell me everything you can remember about how you got to your current location.”

Steve frantically scribbled notes as Iron Man described the path that he and Tony had been led down when they were caught by the Serpents, and the view that they could currently see from the basement they were in. Eventually Steve managed to narrow down their location to sublevel 3B, marked on the map he was holding as an auxiliary storage area.

He identified the nearest exit that was likely to be unguarded, and plotted a route to take Iron Man and Tony safely there. There was just one small problem…

“Uh, Shellhead?”

“Yes?”

“Some of these routes you’re going to have to take - they’re pretty tight. Can you squeeze down a ventilation shaft that’s half a meter wide?”

Deep sighing from over the comms.

“Sure I can. I’ll manage.”

“And what about Tony? He’s probably not in the best shape.”

A little huff of offense. “Tony will manage just fine as well.”

Steve was distracted for a moment by the thought of Iron Man and Tony, squeezed together in a tight space, breath heaving, not an inch of air between them…

He wrenched his thoughts back to the mission at hand. Looking down at the map, he informed Iron Man where to find the grate for the ventilation system from the room he was in, and he heard a series of clanging and scraping sounds that indicated Shellhead was pulling himself up into the vents.

“Okay, I’m in. Tell me which way to go.”

“And Tony? How is he doing?” Steve might not have been a fan of the man, but it was still his job to protect civilians in danger.

More sighing over the line, and Steve heard a faint “Here you go, Mr. Stark, just take my hand,” as Iron Man banged around the ventilation shaft. When they were ready, Steve started directing them through the maze of shafts running through the compound.

They made good progress, until Steve spotted a corridor ahead that was marked on the map with jagged squiggly lines. He asked Iron Man to drop out of the vent and investigate.

“Urgh.” Iron Man sounded displeased. “There are… I’m not sure how to describe… there are giant garbage mashers in this corridor.”

“Garbage mashers?!”

“Yes, big heavy weights which slam down from the ceiling onto the floor every two seconds. You know, traditional evil lair stuff.”

Steve paused. “Ahh.” He investigated the plan of the base more carefully. “Okay!” he brightened. “Good news. There’s an override switch to turn off the mashers.”

“Phew.” Iron Man sounded relieved. Perhaps he had been worried about leading Tony through the stomping danger of the mashers.

“The override switch is near where you entered this room. It’s an ongoing switch though, so you’ll have to hold it down while Tony crosses to the other side of the room. Then there’s another override switch that he can hold down to let you pass.”

“Oh.” Iron Man sounded less than enthused about this plan. It should be easy, with Tony there to hold down the switch while Iron Man crossed the room. But Iron Man was so uncertain. Why? Was he worried about Tony freaking out? Was he feeling guilty about putting his employer in danger? Or maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to risk anything happening to his boyfriend…

It wasn’t like Iron Man to be uncertain about anything when it came to missions. His relationship with Tony must have been really affecting his judgment, and that made Steve worry more than anything else.

“... Shellhead? You got this? You just need to hold down the switch while Tony crosses. It’ll be safe and easy, I promise.”

Eventually, after a long pause, he heard Iron Man say, “Alright, Cap, let’s do this,” in a firm tone.

Tony looked down the room at the row of vicious garbage mashers, each one rising slowly to the ceiling before slamming to the floor with tremendous force. He looked longingly at the override switch by the door, but that was of no use to him on his own.

He was just going to have to toughen up and face this.

Each masher took about two seconds between rising from the floor and slamming back down. It was just about enough time for him to squeeze through, as long as he kept his head.

Deep breaths, he reminded himself.

“It’s going to be easy,” Steve’s voice soothed over the comms.

Of course it is, Tony thought with gritted teeth. No problem at all.

“Is Mr. Stark ready?” Steve inquired politely.

With a sardonic raise of his eyebrows, Tony pulled up his faceplate to speak in his natural voice. “I’m here and I’m ready, Captain.”

“Alright, then as soon as you’re ready - go!”

Tony spared one last longing look at the override switch before steadying himself. He gauged the rhythm of the first masher: SLAM, one two, SLAM, one two, SLAM; and at the right moment he threw himself under the masher, rolling to safety on the other side just before the heavy weight smashed into the floor behind him.

Great, thought Tony. One down, only seven to go.

“You’re doing great, Shellhead!” Steve’s voice called over the comms. Not that Steve could see or tell what was going on, but Tony appreciated the vote of confidence anyway. With his heart in his mouth, he threw himself beneath each of the massive crushing blocks and rolled underneath before they could drop and crush him.

By the time he made it to the other side of the room, Tony’s chest was heaving and his whole body danced and buzzed with adrenaline.

“I made it!” he announced joyously over the comms.

“Oh.” Steve’s reply seemed taken aback. “That’s good, Shellhead. And what about Tony? Is he safe too?”

God, right, shit, he was supposed to be protecting Tony. He centered himself, flipped up his faceplate, and used his natural voice. “We’re all good here, Cap! Now, where to next?”

Steve felt some of his tension unwind as they worked their way through the mission. He was leading Iron Man and Tony closer and closer to the exit - surely they’d reach safety soon.

In between, they’d had to deal with booby traps, false floors, rope swings, giant boulders rolling down tight corridors, and the inevitable snake pits. Steve guided them through each one with patience and care, and it was almost nice to know that there were some villains out there who still appreciated the classic principles of evil lair design.

There were times when Iron Man seemed distracted - Steve worried that having Tony there was messing with his ability to stay on mission - but despite the awkwardness when Steve had to talk to Tony, to his surprise he had to admit that the three of them made a pretty good team.

He still felt a pang of jealousy every time he heard Iron Man panting, short of breath as he waited with care for Tony to catch up with him. What would it be like to have Iron Man show that much worry for him? To know that wherever he went, Iron Man would be there, watching over him?

But now was not the time for that. Right now, Steve had a mission: get his teammates home safe.

(Yes, even Tony, his subconscious sense of duty helpfully reminded him. He is technically a member of the team too.)

He guided Tony and Iron Man until they were almost at the exit. Iron Man was starting to sound wheezy, like he was struggling, and Steve’s heart squeezed with guilt that he wasn’t there to help in person. But at least now they were approaching safety.

Before they reached the exit, there was just one more obstacle: the anaconda pit. Marked as an inconspicuous circle on the map, Steve had a feeling that the reality would be less benign.

“Can you see it?” he asked, trying to disguise the concern in his voice.

“The giant swampy pit full of giant slithering monsters?” Iron Man conveyed weary pragmatism even through the modulator. “Yup, I can see it.”

Tony surveyed the gaping hole in the floor before him, the exit door tantalizingly out of reach beyond it. Just this one final obstacle to clear, and he could get out of this tedious dungeon of cliches.

“It’s going to be easy,” Steve’s voice carried soothingly over the comms. “You and Tony just need to work together!”

Oh joy, thought Tony resignedly. That was sure to go swimmingly.

The pit was about five meters wide, with the sloshing sound of anacondas moving through water emanating from its depths. Tony deliberately avoided look down as he sized up the route to the other side.

“Iron Man, I want you to help Tony across first. Get him to run towards the edge, then you lift his as he jumps. Between the two of you, he’ll make it across no problem. Then he can catch you from the other side when you jump. Okay?”

Steve sounded infuriatingly chirpy. Tony gritted his teeth and did his best to sound nonchalant. “Sure, Cap, that’ll be no problem.”

He glanced behind him, but he knew that the door he had come through only lead to more underground tunnels. The way out was forward, and that meant going over the pit. With his repulsors disabled, his only hope was to jump and hope for the best.

He moved back to get as big a run up as he could, and threw himself into as much of a run as he could in the ungainly suit. With a tremendous clang, he launched himself from the edge of the pit towards the door.

There was a moment as he sailed through the air, just a moment, where he thought he was going to make it clean to the other side. But then he was falling, far too hard, far too fast, and it was all he could do to reach out and catch the far edge of the pitch with his fingertips. His feet scrabbled uselessly at the side of the pit as the anacondas slithered and hissed beneath him.

His fingers screamed with pain, but he just had to pull himself up-

“You okay there, Shellhead?” Steve sounded worried.

Tony scrabbled more and kicked desperately, trying to find purchase in the rock. “Yep, all good!” He heaved in a breath. “I’m doing just fine! Give me… just.. one second...”

With the last of his strength he managed to heave himself up onto the floor at the far side of the pit, rolling safely onto the packed earth in front of the exit door. For a moment he laid still and simply breathed, listening to the disappointed hiss of the anacondas that were going to go hungry tonight.

“Iron Man? Iron Man, respond. Shellhead!”

“I’m here,” Tony wheezed. “We made it. We’re okay.” He looked up at the door. “I think I can make it outside of the base from here. Then you’ll be able to pick up the signal from Mr. Stark’s subcutaneous tracker.”

“You put a tracker on your boyfr- on your employer? Why am I not surprised.” Steve sounded fond though. “You need a ride? I’ll ready a Quinjet to pick you up as soon as we pinpoint your location.”

Tony was dragging himself through the door and up the steps, when he looked down at the power gauge on the chestplate. Uh oh. The power level was hovering at around 1%.

Tony pushed his way outside, finally freeing himself into a frigid grassy field. The weight of the suit pulled him down, exhaustion and cold hitting him hard.

“Uhh, Winghead, about that ride? Do you think you could, uhh, hurry, maybe? That would be real nice-”

With that, he passed out face first into the grass.

Steve was out of the communications room and into a Quinjet the moment that the signal of Tony’s tracker pinged his location. Iron Man wasn’t answering the home made comms system any more, and Steve could only guess what had happened to him.

At least Tony’s signal was coming through strong and clear, which meant that he at least was alive and findable. After all the cruel things that Steve had said and thought about Tony, he sure was glad to have his tracking technology on hand. And, now he thought about it, the plane he was currently flying in had been a gift from Tony too. And so had the uniform that he was wearing, and the house that he’d made his home.

Steve chewed over the thought as he flew. He’d been selfish with his feelings for Iron Man, he could see that now. Hearing Tony and Iron Man work together, he’d realized that it wasn’t fair for him to stand in the way if they wanted to be together. And Iron Man was such a great guy, if he saw something worthwhile in Tony, then Steve really should have tried harder to see it too.

All he wanted was for Iron Man to be safe and cared for and happy. And if being with Tony was what it took to make that happen, then Steve wasn’t going to stand in the way.

Even if it broke his heart a little bit, the only thing that mattered was making sure that Iron Man was safe.

Tony heard the vague impression of movement above him, of rustling sounds and a low, familiar voice.

“I’ve got you, Shellhead. Don’t worry. I’ll take you home.”

Tony relaxed into the lull of unconsciousness again. Steve was here. Steve would look after him and everything would be okay.

When Tony’s eyes flickered open again, he found that he was lying on a sofa in the mansion’s library, armor still on and chestplate recharging. He could feel the gentle thrum of electricity feeding his chestplate and restoring his strength.

He turned his head to see that Steve was sat next to him. Steve looked absolutely wretched. He was slumped in the chair next to Tony’s sofa and he was twisting his uniform gloves in his hands, eyes downcast.

“I’m so sorry about Tony. I thought he would be there with you, but he gave his tracker to you, didn’t he? And he stayed behind. That was a very selfless thing that he did.”

Tony’s head spun. Err, what? Oh, right, the tracker… the tracker that Tony Stark had implanted… the tracker that Steve had followed to Iron Man. Oh dear.

But Steve seemed too busy berating himself to notice. “I should have been there. I thought… I thought with the two of you there together, you’d be okay. But now Tony is still in the hands of those awful villains and it’s my fault for not giving you better information.”

Tony pushed himself onto his elbows, the mesh of his armor digging in to his arms. “I have to say, I’m surprised to hear you care about his safety. I thought you couldn’t stand Mr. Stark.”

Steve looked, if possible, even more distressed. “It’s not like that! Tony is one of us, a real Avenger, and if I’ve been cold to him it was just because… well, it was because I was jealous.”

Tony flinched back in surprise. That didn’t make sense. Why would Steve, human perfection incarnate, feel jealous of a schlub like him? “What reason would you have to be jealous of him? You’re ten times the man he’ll ever be.”

Steve looked up, a flash of hope appearing on his face before it was quickly washed away by guilt. “I was jealous of you and him. Jealous that you two are together, than he had you… and I didn’t.” The last part was spoken in almost a whisper.

Tony’s mind whirred. “You think… Mr. Stark and me? Are… together? Jesus, Steve, no, it’s not like that.”

Steve perked up, suddenly more engaged. “You’re not? You mean, you’re single?” He stopped himself sharply. “But that doesn’t matter now. Tony is still in terrible danger, and it’s all my fault.”

Steve hung his head, and looking at him, Tony was hit with the realization that there was only one thing he could do. He steadied himself. “Actually, Cap, Tony’s just fine. He’s right here, in fact.”

Steve stared at him uncomprehendingly.

Do or die time, Tony thought. He unclasped the clips holding his helmet in place and carefully removed it. He looked up at Steve through eyes that weren’t hidden behind a faceplate. “Hi, Winghead,” he said softly.

Steve’s jaw dropped, and Tony could almost see the gears furiously working in his brain. “You mean.. you… Tony, it’s you? You’re Iron Man?”

Tony felt a pang of guilt for deceiving Steve for so long. It had somehow seemed like a good idea at the time. “Surprise!” he tried, weakly.

Steve opened his mouth and shut it several times. Eventually, his face settled into a lopsided smile. “Hi, Shellhead,” he said with warmth.

“So, now we’ve established that there’s no imminent danger and that I am, erm, definitely single…” He gave a shy smile. “How about we have that dinner date you mentioned?”

Steve leveled a contemplative gaze at him, and Tony’s heart hammered beneath the chestplate. After a painfully long pause, Steve raised a curious eyebrow. “How do you feel about fondue?”

Tony felt himself break into a massive, toothy grin. “Fondue sounds perfect.”