Steve watched helplessly as Tony plummeted down from the sky like a lifeless doll carelessly dropped off a skyscraper. For a moment, he was perfectly sure that after a second, Tony would regain his consciousness and land himself safely. He was Tony Stark, after all. He’s been through hell and beyond. But seconds went, and seconds were running out, and Tony showed no signs of any awareness to what was happening to him.
“He’s not slowing down!” Thor boomed as he prepared to take off with his mjolinir. Steve, who couldn’t possibly do anything to slow down the momentum of the fall, felt guilt and sheer uselessness. There was nothing at that moment that he wanted more than to be able to do something. But thankfully, the Hulk was able to catch Tony just before he hit the ground. The two crashed onto a car, and before Steve knew what he was doing, he ran towards them as the Hulk set Tony down onto the asphalt.
Thor threw the faceplate to the side as Steve knelt beside the unconscious man in the iron suit. No, no, no, he thought frantically as his eyes skirted over the expressionless face of Tony. On instinct, he pressed his ear on the solid metal right over Tony’s heart. The suit made it impossible to tell whether or not he was still alive. He must be. He must be alive. It took every fiber of Steve not to cry out Tony’s name, not to speak. He knew if he did, his trembling voice would give him away.
Steve dragged his hand over the smooth surface of Tony’s chest plate. His heart was beating fast, and he thought it was unfair. Why can’t Tony’s do the same? Dammit, Tony, breathe. Tony. You can do this. Tony. Don’t leave me. “Tony…”
The Hulk suddenly let out a growl that sent a jolt through Tony, making him scream his way back into consciousness. Steve let out a breath he didn’t know was holding as he saw Tony’s brown eyes flutter to life again, feeling as though a weight had just been lifted from his shoulders. He had been drastically wrong about Tony. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if Tony had left this world without Steve getting the chance to start over with him.
He tears his tent apart, his sleeping bag, his backpack. He starts tossing meaningless junk, trying to get to the precious gift within. He cuts his hands on pieces of flint, burns his fingers on fumbled matches. Then rage overtakes him, the cleanest of all the emotions. He starts ripping everything apart. It's all junk, it’s all worthless, it’s pieces and fragments of things that belonged to another person, a person who isn’t him.
— and he loathes that word because it’s come to mean nothing. There’s no him. There’s no self when there isn’t any thread bridging one moment to the next.
— and he thinks, I could have been anything I wanted.
What is a Gringotts? I hear these kids around me excitedly chattering about goblins and this Gringotts, and I’m sort of curious as to what it is. I bet it’s something from Harry Potter. I really should’ve read the books before attending the audition..
The past few months have been…God they’ve been fantastic. I don’t think I’ve been nearly as happy as this since…well, never. I’ve never felt like this, and it filling me is just absolutely euphoric. And I owe it all to my beautiful girlfriend, Emma.
Tastes Like Good Ole Christmas, A Steve/Tony ficlet
Christmas in 2012 is incredibly different from Christmas in the ‘40s.
My past Christmases revolved around my mom and I. We’d spend Christmas eve huddled together, talking, and she’d look at me with her warm, blue eyes- they were warmer than the cocoa in our hands. She’d kiss my temple, tell me that everything’s perfect, everything’s going right, and I believe her, even though I could feel the gust of wind of an incoming storm. But we’d be all right, despite my constant coughing and weak bones. We’d be all right because she always caught me when I tripped over my own feet, and I was always there to make her tea.
“I love you, Steve.” She’d whisper in her motherly voice. “Thank you for spending Christmas with me."
There was a warmth in every Christmas that I spent with her that I can’t seem to feel at the present time. Maybe because the lights hanging off of lampposts are blinding. Maybe because there are too many things to choose from. Maybe it’s because it’s my first Christmas without her. Maybe it’s because it’s my first Christmas truly alone.