#i just watched Public Enemies and like. bruh. that speaks for itself

[itsallavengers]

A bullet and a kiss

“Why’d you do it?”

The man underneath him whimpered, scrabbled uselessly at the fists pinning him up against the wall, but it was no use. The only reason Tony would be letting go right now was if a certain 5′4 angel-looking blond man told him to, and he was pretty confident that wouldn’t be happening any time soon. 

“I don’t know,” the guy wheezed, frantic, “please. It was just a routine stick-up, I had no other motive and if I’d have known he was--”

Tony punched him in the nose, unwilling to hear whatever drivel came out of this degenerate’s mouth next. The man moaned, head cracking back painfully against the concrete. Behind Tony, all of the thug’s friends watched on in terror, frozen in place by the menacing-looking gun that Tony had brandished as he’d stormed into their basement. 

It wasn’t every day that New York’s most notorious mob-boss paid the average criminal a visit, after all. 

Tony glared at the man in front of him for a second, noting the fact that the cuff of his suit was now stained with blood. He liked this suit. This suit was his above-board suit, and he hated using his above-board suits for below-board business. It made a mockery of his system. 

With a growl, Tony dropped the man’s collar from his grip and stepped back. His victim was shaking like a leaf. “Steve liked that wallet,” he said softly, placing his hands into his pockets in a way that brandished the holsters strapped to his midsection, “real leather, first good-quality thing he ever managed to buy. There’s a picture of his best friend in there-- a man who died in the Afghan war-- and his mother, who is also dead. He was pretty upset when he came home today and informed me someone had stolen it from him while he’d been walking back from work. And I’ll admit, so was I.”

“Sir, I swear, if I’d have known--”

“I want to give it back to him,” Tony continued as if no one had ever spoken over him, extending a hand out. “I suggest you allow me to. So hand it over.”

There was a second of silence, and then the man stumbled clumsily over to the big table in the centre of the room, shaking hands heading over to the top left drawer. Tony glanced over to his two pals. Still stuck to the walls like Tony had glued them there. Clearly these men weren’t professionals. That was good. Tony had thought earlier that they might be mafia, which would’ve meant smoothing over some feathers once he got around to killing this guy. Mafia didn’t like other criminals stepping on their turf or roughing up their guys, and usually Tony would probably have a little more tact than this. 

But they’d mugged Steve. And like he’d said: Steve loved that wallet. 

“Here,” the man held out his hands, full of everything that he’d stolen from Steve that morning, including the chewing-gum wrapper that this guy must’ve accidentally grabbed as he’d raided Steve’s pockets. “Here, it’s all here, I promise. I’m so sorry. I had no idea that he was one of yours--”

Tony shot him in the head.

The bullet rang out in the cold empty space of the room, and a second later there was a dull thump as a body hit concrete. Tony didn’t spend time looking at it; it was already irrelevant to him. Instead, he turned to the remaining two in the room, both of them now staring in blatant terror at Tony as he approached them. One of them started to pray, falling to his knees with his hands clasped in front of his face.

Tony curled his lip. “Get up,” he barked, and with a stuttered apology, the man did. 

He looked at them for a few seconds. They were on the younger side; clearly having lived through their years without much to show for it. They weren’t much good at the criminal life either, considering they’d been a part of the team that had broken the one single rule that was more important than anything else in the underworld of New York:

Do not touch Steve Rogers.

Tony cleared his throat, running a thumb over the worn leather. The thing was getting faded with use; Steve had had it since he was 12. But no matter how many times Tony suggested he buy a new one, Steve chose instead to keep using this. It meant something to him. More than just monetary value. It was a concept Tony hadn’t truly understood- until he’d met Steve, of course. Then everything in his world had changed. 

But some things... well, some things stayed much the same. 

He pointed a finger at the men in front of him. “I’d like for this to be a learning curve,” he declared finally, watching how the two individuals shrunk under his glare, “about how this fucking city works. I thought I’d made it clear, but apparently a newer version of the message needs to be sent out..” He turned around and gestured to the corpse propped up messily against the desk. Its eyes were lifeless, caught up in the echo of mild surprise. He’d not been expecting the shot to come so suddenly. “That,” he snapped, “is what happens to people who decide to mess with Steve Rogers. Do you understand?”

The men were nodding as Tony turned back around to them. “I can’t hear you,” Tony said, because really, he’d asked a question, and as reigning crime-lord of the city and, arguably, the entire country, Tony thought he was owed a verbal response.

“Yes, yes sir, we understand, we didn’t know what he’d done--”

“Well, now you’re enlightened.” Tony smiled at them and gestured once more to the body, before stuffing his gun away. He wouldn’t kill these people. He hadn’t particularly wanted to kill the first one if he was being honest, and if all he’d done was steal from Steve then Tony might even have been kind enough to let him go with his life. But the thing was, Steve had come home with a black eye. And he hadn’t said directly that it was because of the now-dead man in front of him- too proud- but Tony wasn’t a fool. The guy had clipped him to get him to comply. And that... well, that just wouldn’t stand. Not ever. 

“I suggest,” Tony said softly, “that you spread this warning to whoever you meet. If you see Steve Rogers-- hell, if you even think that you could maybe have seen Steve Rogers-- If a small, skinny blond man is walking past you on the sidewalk and you clock him and think, ‘hey, there’s a 0.2% chance that could be Steve Rogers’, you do not fucking touch him. You do not even fucking look at him, do you understand me?”

“Yessir, oh God, please don’t kill us--”

“If I find out that anyone else even so much as lays a finger on that man, I will come for the perpetrator first, and you next.” Tony stepped forward so he was within touching distance, revelling in the terror that radiated off the two people in front of him. It had taken him years to garner this reputation, but now it spoke for itself. Tony didn’t even have to raise a gun to make sure he was heard. “So believe me when I say that it is in your best interests to make sure this information spreads. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”

“Crystal clear sir, we won’t let you down again.”

Tony paused for a second, and then nodded. He had nothing more to say to these people. They’d dispose of the body in their own way. It wasn’t Tony’s problem now. 

Without a word, he turned on his heel and walked back out the front door that he’d come in through, pulling out his phone as he did so. He looked on forlornly at the bloodstain on his cuff while he dialled the familiar number. That was probably not going to come out in the wash. He really hated using his above-board suits for below-board business.

It was a few seconds after he’d stepped out from the warehouse and into the street that his phone connected with Steve’s, and a familiar voice spoke down the line. “Howdy,” Steve said cheerfully, pulling an involuntary smile from Tony’s mouth, “what can I do for you this fine evening, good sir?”

Tony glanced up dubiously at the grey-looking sky. “I will mercifully forget the fact you just tried to greet me like I was a 17th century cowboy and you an exuberant barmaid at the local tavern, because I love you for all of your flaws, including the terrible southern accent.”

“Hey, that accent was absolutely not terrible. You just have no idea how southern people speak,” Steve said grumpily, and Tony heard something clatter down the line. He checked his watch. Steve was probably cooking. 

“Darling, what in the hell would I need to know what a southern accent sounds like? It’s not like I’m ever going to lower my standards enough to go there.” Tony grinned and then did a little skip of excitement on the sidewalk, hailing a cab as he switched the phone from left ear to right. “But anyway, listen, you’ll never guess what I managed to get my hands on just now.”

There was a pause. “Hozier tickets?”

“No. But I can get them if you wanna go, I know a guy--”

“Tony,” Steve’s voice was full of fond exasperation, “what did you get your hands on?”

Tony mulled it over for a second as he found a taxi and slid into the back seat. “You know what, I have decided to turn up the suspense and keep you waiting. I’ll show you when I get home, okay?” Steve made a noise of protest down the line, but Tony just grinned happily and then barked out his address to the cab-driver before turning his attention back to the phone. “Love you lots sweetheart!”

“Tony, for God’s sake, just tell--”

Tony ended the call quickly, feeling the weight of Steve’s wallet in his breast pocket as the car began to move. Steve had only been without it for about a day-- Tony had been busy, and tracking down your average-joe criminal was a little tricky- but he was sure Steve would be happy to have it back anyway. He knew about Tony’s... somewhat shady lifestyle, but he chose not to ask when it wasn’t necessary to know, and Tony would helpfully omit the part where he’d shot a guy in the head. It was easier for everyone. 

He wasn’t thinking much about that bit though. All he was thinking about was the look on Steve’s face when he was presented with his good old wallet again, complete with the pictures and mementos of everything he held dear.

He was going to be so happy. Tony couldn’t wait. 

Today was a good day.