If you feel like doing 14 for steve/tony, you'd have my everlasting love (that's a lie you already have it)
Here you are! :D
As usual, watch for the cut. ;)
He woke from a dream that he was a superhero living in the future to find himself back in his tenement apartment. In the haze that remained of the dream, the tenement was startlingly loud, and the stench made him wince. In the dream, he’d been big and strong, but he was back to just being Steve Rogers, the little guy. For a moment, he ached with grief and loneliness. He’d had friends there – a whole team of magnificent people: a woman who could take down an army with two handguns and her fists; a man who preferred a bow and managed to be just as effective as ten men with guns; a giant alien who claimed he wasn’t really a god, but kind of was; a nice man in glasses who turned into a raging ogre; a genius who flew around in a metal suit.
Iron Man had been his favorite, and not just for the suit of armor. To think that Steve Rogers would ever know Howard Stark’s son. That might have been the most fantastical of it all. Still, in the future he’d imagined, it wasn’t illegal to be in love with Howard Stark’s son, wouldn’t have been illegal to touch him, even in public. It seemed unfair that even in his dreams, he still didn’t get the guy.
Don’t go, he remembered Iron Man saying as he’d woken up. Don’t go.
I wish I didn’t have to, Steve thought, and barely stopped himself from saying.
“You gonna laze in bed all day?” Bucky asked, leaning into the bedroom from the kitchen they shared with two other families. Steve could hear Mrs. Cohen clattering around at the stove. “C’mon, you lazy punk, I want the bed.”
Steve groaned and put his arms over his head. Bucky worked two shifts at the docks, and Steve put in a shift and a half with the grocer down the street, and ten hours a week with the pharmacist. He rolled slowly over, wincing as his nightshirt clung wetly to his body – he’d sweated right through it in the night and the air felt cold and smelled like salt. Bucky ducked back into the kitchen to wheedle some food out of Mrs. Cohen once he was satisfied that Steve was moving. Steve could cook, but Mrs. Cohen cooked better, and it smelled like she was making noodles.
“Only a little!” Mrs. Cohen declared, though her definition of ‘a little’ was usually enough to keep even Bucky happy. Steve heard Bucky making promises that he would wash up and go right to bed, but he just loved her cooking so much. It was a surefire way to get even more than ‘a little’ out of Mrs. Cohen, whose two sons had died young along with her husband.
“I’m going to eat your noodles,” Bucky warned Steve around the door. “Ow! Joking!” he told Mrs. Cohen, who sounded like she was beating at Bucky with her wooden spoon. Steve meant to get out of bed, but for some reason he was having trouble moving his legs. He needed to get to work. He was just so tired.
“Stay with me, goddamnit!”
“Tony…?” Steve slurred, confused.
“Who the hell is Tony?” Bucky asked, suddenly leaning over him. Steve was flat on his back again and realized he must have fallen back to sleep. He blinked heavily. “You runnin’ another fever?”
“Steve, I swear to God, if you don’t wake up, I’m going to change your ringtone permanently to Barbie Girl.”
“I am awake,” Steve said, frowning up at Bucky.
Bucky shook his head and set his hand on Steve’s forehead. “Not even the question I asked, Punk.”
Steve lifted a hand and felt at his chest. It ached, felt tight. Not unusual. He blinked again, but when he opened his eyes, he was looking up at Tony, soot-covered and sweat soaked. It was quiet, they were in a big, dark space of high rafters and echoing stone. “Bucky?” he asked.
Tony’s lips pressed together. “Just me,” he said, “Sorry.”
“Hey, kid, don’t go to sleep on me just yet,” Bucky said.
Steve blinked and Bucky was back, leaning over him in the tiny bedroom they shared with Steve’s drawings up on the wall and their clothing hanging from the line stretched over the window. It was dark outside – it should have been morning. Steve worked the morning shift at the grocery, Bucky had just gotten off his last shift, hadn’t he?
“You look so young,” Steve told him. Bucky cocked a grin at him that seemed wrong. His lips moved, but Steve couldn’t hear the words.
“Flattery will get you everything you want,” Tony said. “I promise, no Barbie Girl.”
“I hate that song,” Steve mumbled.
“What song?” Bucky asked, brushing his hair back. “Ain’t no music playin’, pal.”
“The Barbie song,” Steve tried.
Bucky pressed his hands to either side of Steve’s face and picked his head up. “Who’s Barbie, Steve?”
“It kind of grows on you when you’re high,” Tony said, a weary chuckle in his voice. “You just going to lay on this floor all day?”
“I need to get up,” Steve said. He pushed at the bed, but Bucky gently held him down. “No way, not when you’re sick. Last time you went out sick like this you got pneumonia, remember?”
Steve tried to remember, but his head felt so fuzzy. “I had pneumonia?”
“I don’t think you’ve had pneumonia in like… eighty years.”
“I’m really old,” Steve complained.
“You’re not even twenty, you ass. Don’t talk like that.” Bucky disappeared for a pair of heartbeats and came back with a damp cloth. He pressed it to Steve’s neck.
“I really miss you, Bucky,” Steve sighed.
“Why isn’t he fighting this off?” Tony asked, directing his question to someone else. There was a murmur of an answer.
“I’m right here,” Bucky said soothingly.
Steve wrapped a hand in Bucky’s shirt, and he wasn’t sure why, but he was suddenly terrified to let him go. “Don’t leave me.”
“I’m not going to leave you,” Tony answered.