Reclamation: starkindustrious ((Closed))
It was difficult to believe, now, after everything that had happened, that he'd ended up here, in this place.
After the misguided, pointless war that had torn their friends, their families apart, the mistakes he'd made, despite having the best intentions. The people that had been hurt, that were always hurt. Lost. Civilians and soldiers alike, there was never a winner, not really. Not in this.
But that was his life, the life he'd chosen. The life he had been born for. To make the best of the worst situations, to be the one others could look to when fear and dissolution shook the foundations of their morale. To give hope, to be a symbol when everything seemed lost.
And it had, it really had.
Steve himself had been lost. More than once, though his passing and the quite literal re-forging of his history had offered insight that he hadn't even realized he'd needed. Somehow, it was a lot easier to re-assign priorities properly after being dead. Despite the grim nature of the observation, it amused him every time it crossed his mind.
But even beyond all of that, it seemed he'd somehow been given another chance, and honestly, Steve wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. This sort of thing wasn't his strong point, to put it mildly, but forcibly becoming aware of who truly mattered to him, well. He couldn't ignore that gift, couldn't forget what he'd felt when forced to raise his hand against the man before him.
Tony, or at least, who he had been, lay still in the hospital bed he sat beside, seemingly uninjured, his tanned skin a little pale against the crisp white sheets, those familiar features smooth and disconcertingly devoid of the characteristic expressiveness that normally animated them.
He looked younger, the care that had etched itself on his brow during the conflict noticeably absent, and Steve's hand slowly clenched, fisting against his thigh as he remembered vibrant blue eyes darkened in anger, that brow furrowed in a very personal rage.
More than anything, he wanted to take it all back, to wipe away every harsh word, every false impression, every act of violence that had pushed them further apart, and it was truly a blessing, a miracle to believe that it had somehow actually happened.
That when Tony woke up, he would no longer hate him.
Bowing his head, Steve surrendered to the urge to seek his own reassurance, his own absolution, his lips moving soundlessly with the words of his prayer.
Now, there was nothing to do but wait.
