“Usually, one person doesn’t have the solution. But 100 people with 1% of the solution - that’ll get it done. I think that’s beautiful - pieces solving a puzzle.”
even if it's made to bleed (you know you can count on me)
a stevetony hurt/comfort moment for the hurt/comfort square on my @tonystarkbingo card, inspired by an ask about tony getting "suit rattle" and steve taking care of him that i couldn't get out of my head 🥺
2.2k words, also on AO3
****
Steve is antsy.
He always is, when he’s stuck at home and the rest of the team is out on a mission. He hates sitting around and waiting for news, wondering if everyone, and Tony in particular, is okay. Steve hadn’t been called to assist with this particular mission because he was, technically, still recovering from the last one, when he’d been nearly impaled by what had appeared to be a giant, flying, dinosaur-looking thing.
Steve might be biased, but it’s definitely starting to feel like it’s always a giant, flying, dinosaur-looking thing.
So instead, this morning Steve had promised Tony he’d take it easy, which mostly meant staying home while Tony donned the suit and met Sam and Nat and the others to save the day, and doing paperwork on the couch instead of at the Compound, or even at his desk at home.
Working from home — resting — was nice for about an hour, at which point Steve started to feel restless and more than a little useless. He’d traded his laptop for the news, in the hopes that he’d catch a glimpse of whatever was going on, since he knew Tony had probably asked everyone to let Steve relax. Tony is persuasive that way, not to mention the fact that everyone liked to remind Steve that he needed to take a break every now and again.
He can already feel the serum working, though. He’s nowhere near as sore as he was the first few days, when it felt like his insides were made of pulp and his chest sported a truly nasty gash from said flying dinosaur.
Now, Steve’s mostly just exhausted, and worried for Tony and the rest of the team, which is why he can’t help but turn the volume up when he finds a news channel actively covering the ongoing fight. They were fighting actual people this time, but they looked to be as heavily armored as Tony, and Steve watches, heart in his throat, as Tony takes a brutal hit before hurtling to the ground and landing with a crash Steve swears he can feel in his own bones.
“...And we’re live here on the Lower East Side, where it appears that Iron Man has taken a hit. He’s down— no, no, wait, he’s up. He never gives up, does he?” The newscaster says on screen as Steve winces, watching as Tony flies up, a brilliant red streak in the sky, the repulsors beaming down at the chaos below.
Tony really doesn’t ever give up. It’s one of the things Steve loves most about him. The problem is, it’s one of the most frustrating things about him, too. They have that in common, Steve knows, and it constantly feels like a matter of the pot calling the kettle black. Steve sighs, then flips off the TV. There’s only so much he can watch without being able to do anything before he feels like he’ll go crazy.
For the next hour, Steve manages to busy himself with paperwork — there’s never any shortage of that, after all — and training plans for the younger, newer Avengers. They’ve come a long way thanks to a whole lot of effort from himself, Tony, and Natasha, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of their progress.
Finally, just when he's starting to get truly stir-crazy, Steve gets a text from Sam letting him know they’re back and on their way to medical. Thank god.
You might wanna come down here. Stark’s looking a little green around the gills if you know what I mean?
Steve frowns down at the text. He does know what Sam means, and had suspected as much himself after seeing Tony fall and get back up like that. The thing about being a man in a can as Tony loves to say, is that he really is just that. A man in a metal suit, using every ounce of strength he has to navigate around in the air. Even ensconced in metal, no one is really meant to take those kinds of hits, let alone fly at the speeds Tony did. It can take a toll on a person.
As a result, Tony is sometimes left feeling disoriented and sore for a good few days; it’s like having a concussion, without the head injury. Steve feels his chest tighten with worry, because even though he knows that, realistically, Tony is and will be fine, it’s still jarring when it happens.
He sets his laptop aside and stands up, clearing away the papers and empty coffee mugs and cups of water he’d been refilling for the better part of the day, and makes his way downstairs to meet the others.
Sam’s the first person Steve sees, and he gives him a grateful nod, a silent thanks for the heads up, and Sam holds out a fist, which Steve bumps with a small smile. It’s not long before he sees Tony, clearly banged up and out of sorts, making his way through the doors. His pale face lights up when he spots Steve.
“Uh oh, who tattled?” Tony asks weakly, looking over at Sam before Steve can admit to watching the fight on the news.
“It’s not considered tattling if it means letting your worried husband know you’re home,” Steve points out.
“Fine, fine,” Tony says. He meets Steve’s eye and tries to give him another small smile, but it looks like more of a grimace than anything, and Steve just shakes his head. “Shouldn’t you be home yourself, soldier? I recall leaving you with strict instructions not to do any hard work while I was gone,” Tony continues.
“Paperwork isn’t hard,” Steve says.
“Speak for yourself,” Tony counters, lifting his eyebrows.
Steve can’t help but smile then, too. Tony really is the definition of stubborn, and he knows that, given the chance, he’d stand here and bicker with Steve all day if he could.
Before Tony can say another word though, Steve lifts him up and into his arms, like a bride on her wedding day.
“Steve!” Tony yelps, “put me down. I can walk, I’m not—”
Steve peers down at him. “I relaxed all day for this,” he tells him. “Don’t you want to make all that rest worth my while?”
Tony rolls his eyes. “You are a menace.”
“Bet you say that to all the guys,” Steve teases. “Bye, Sam,” he says, turning to Sam, laughing behind them and shaking his head.
“Man, is this what marriage is? Will Buck come strolling in to sweep me off my feet every time I get back from a mission as soon as we say 'I do'?”
“Pretty sure he’d do that now if he thought you’d let him,” Tony pipes up.
“Agreed,” Steve says. “You take it easy, too,” he continues seriously.
“This coming from the shining example of rest and relaxation,” Sam laughs, but nods. “I don’t think Bucky would have it any other way, though, so, will do.”
“He wouldn’t,” Steve agrees, giving Sam a final wave before turning, Tony still in his arms, and heading for the elevator.
*
“This is egregious, don’t you think? Look, my legs are fine, I can—” Steve quiets him with a soft, quick brush of his lips over Tony’s as the elevator brings them upstairs. Despite his protests, Tony doesn’t actually seem to mind being carried this way, and by the time they reach their floor, he’s settled into Steve’s arms, the warm weight of him a comfort after the long day of waiting and worrying.
The living room, once covered in the detritus of Steve’s work from home day, is more or less spotless. Steve had dimmed the lights and rummaged through the closets to find a few of the blankets Tony insisted on buying every time one of them was sick or hurt or unwell in any way, really. There are two oversized throws draped over the couch, and the menu for their favorite burger place waits on the coffee table.
When Steve finally sets Tony down, he sways a little on his feet, blinking his eyes a few times and laying a hand on Steve’s arm to steady himself.
“How do you feel?” Steve asks, leaning down and brushing his lips over Tony’s hair. “Really.”
A sigh escapes Tony at the touch, and he leans into Steve almost unconsciously. “Really… About a million years old,” he says, “like my bones are made of glass. Like I could really use a cheeseburger,” he adds, eyeing the menu.
“I can order us something. Shower and then dinner?” Steve asks.
“It’s a date,” Tony nods. He looks like he wants to say something else, but Steve watches as something tentative flickers in his eyes and he stays quiet.
Without a word, Steve takes Tony’s hand in his and leads him to the bathroom. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says quietly, turning the water on and then sliding his hands under Tony’s t-shirt and pulling him in close.
“I really am fine, darling,” Tony says. “Cross my heart and everything. I should be worrying about you and the hole that thing punched into you the other day.” Tony shudders at the memory of it.
“Sure, but not all of us have super soldier serum to do our healing for us,” Steve reminds him.
Tony just nods, letting Steve all but hold him up as they let the water run and fill the room with steam. Steve tugs Tony’s shirt over his head, then lets Tony do the same for him. They strip down layer by layer, slowly, taking their time, until Steve guides them both into the shower.
“How are you feeling, though?” Tony asks, eyes slipping shut as the water sluices over his skin. Steve traces a line of bruises down Tony’s torso as he answers.
“Much better, thanks to you,” Steve says. It's true, too. If he hadn’t promised Tony he’d take it slow, he’s almost positive he would’ve been back out in the field way too soon, slowing down the whole healing process. As hard as it is to sit back and let the rest of the team handle things, Steve's grateful to have someone who looks out for him now, too.
“Good,” Tony murmurs, opening his eyes and meeting Steve’s. The shower is luxurious, spacious and full of the countless artisan body products Tony picks out for them, and Steve lets his own eyes slip shut for a long minute when Tony wraps his arms around his waist and holds onto him. He’s not sure who’s holding the other up at this point, but he’s hardly complaining.
Tony’s injuries are relatively minor, mostly just bruises from where he fell, but still Steve worries at them with a washcloth, muttering under his breath about ice packs and tea. He drops a kiss to Tony’s shoulder, right in the middle of a smattering of freckles. He thinks for a minute about how few people have probably done that, how he’s one of a set number of people who knows Tony Stark has eleven freckles on his left shoulder, and feels something in him settle.
Steve lets Tony shampoo his hair, and has to fight to keep his eyes open at the soft push and pull of Tony’s fingers through his hair, the dull scrape of nails on his scalp. When he’s done, his hands wander down Steve’s shoulders and onto his chest, where the wound from the other day is still healing. Tony presses a kiss just to the side of it, so soft and careful Steve feels his breath catch in his throat.
“I think maybe we both needed this,” Tony says when they eventually leave the shower and head for the bedroom, changing into sweats and t-shirts in comfortable silence.
“I think you’re right,” Steve says, rubbing at his hair with a towel. Some of the color is coming back to Tony’s face now, though he still looks utterly exhausted and a little unsteady on his feet.
“Now, what this night needs is a decadent, greasy, doctor unrecommended burger with the works,” Tony says, taking Steve’s hand in his as they walk back to the living room. It’s a short distance, but they’re both a little bit needy, a little extra affectionate on nights like this.
Once dinner is ordered, (burgers and fries and two chocolate shakes), they fall against each other on the couch, Tony stretching out like a cat and all but curling up on Steve’s lap while they wait. There’s something mindless playing on TV, the volume on just softly enough that they can hear it, but not loud enough to be distracting. They can both use the easy, comfortable quiet.
“Hey.” Tony lifts Steve’s hand to his lips and kisses his knuckles. “Thanks,” he murmurs. He doesn’t have to explain what he’s thanking him for, and Steve doesn’t need to ask.
“Anytime, sweetheart,” Steve promises.
Soon there’d be paperwork, and suit repairs, and the million other things that come with their line of work, but for now, there’s just this: burgers, and Tony half-asleep on top of him, the comforting reminder that in spite of it all, they’re here, together, all in one piece.
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