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THIS ROUND IS NOW CLOSED TO NEW PROMPTS.
ROUND TWO
closing at 5000 comments
Please read the [rules] before commenting!
PROMPT FORMATTING:
Alphabetize pairings. They will be archived that way!
Put [RPF] before RPF prompts.
Put [Crossover] before crossover prompts.
Please use this format: Steve/Tony, Tony needs help adjusting his arc reactor ; ( Read more... )
“Don’t waste your time talking to him. At least not about me.” Tony unsteadily rose from the bench, trembling now more than ever. “Go save the world, Steve. I’ve gotta run.”
Tony’s run was more of a lurch, and he made it all of eighty yards before dropping to all fours to throw up in the grass. It was painful to watch, and Steve walked over to where he knelt.
“So you’re going to follow me around now?” Tony grumbled, wiping his mouth. “You’re like Jiminy Cricket on steroids.”
“Tony --”
Without warning, Tony threw up again. Though it was a cool spring morning, his face shone with sweat. Kneeling next to him, Steve put his hand on Tony’s forehead, and the boy wrenched himself away.
“Jesus, please, leave me alone.” He staggered to his feet. “I need to take a leak.”
Tony stumbled into a patch of trees. For a minute Steve gave him the privacy he wanted, but when the boy had been gone for a suspiciously long time to be urinating, Steve silently traced his footsteps. He easily spotted Tony behind a wide-trunked tree, smoking something that looked like a small chunk of quartz from a little brass colored pipe. The smoke smelled terrible, the same toxic stench that Steve hadn’t been able to place before. Whatever it was, he hadn’t wanted to smoke it in front of Steve, but he’d needed to badly. That in itself was a bad sign.
Before Tony even saw him coming, Steve pinned him to the tree with the palm of his hand. The impact to his chest made Tony sputter and cough and knocked the sunglasses right off his face. His eyes went saucer-wide and his face sheet-white. Pipe and lighter dropped to the ground. “Shit!” He tried to pull away or kick himself free, but of course it was useless. “Fuck, Cap, you’d better not call the cops on me!” Tony snapped.
“I won’t,” Steve assured him. He wanted to protect Tony, and he didn’t exactly see him faring well in jail. With his free hand, he picked up the hot pipe and its half-melted contents from Tony’s feet. “What's this?” he asked.
“My breakfast,” said Tony, who had given up squirming and slipped back into atitude. “It’s the stuff they used to put in Coca-Cola back when you were a kid. Except it’s been chemically tweaked to maximize its potency. Kinda like you, actually.”
Steve’s eyes narrowed. “Is this all just a joke to you?”
Tony’s jaw twitched, and he shook his head. “No, not really. I’m actually really terrified right now, so if you could please let me go...”
“Is this why your father threw you out? Drugs?”
Something in Tony’s face couldn’t seem to stop moving. He looked jittery, almost electrified, and his heart beat absurdly fast beneath Steve’s palm. “More or less, yeah.”
“Maybe he’ll take you back if you stop.”
“Hey, there’s a thought!” Tony’s voice oozed sarcasm. “I’ll just stop! Why didn’t I think of that? Thank god Captain America is here now to tell me these things.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “I know you’re new to the decade and all, but can you really be that innocent?”
“I didn’t say it would be easy, Tony. I just want to make things right.”
“Look, I appreciate your concern, but this has about as much to do with you as the Berlin Wall does with my ass, so...”
“I want to help you.”
Another twitch. “You hardly know me.”
“I’m indebted to your father, and--”
“Well my father would tell you not to waste your time.” Tony’s eyes darted down to the paraphernalia in Steve’s hand. “C’mon Cap, just let me go.”
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“I take it you’re not going to give me my stuff back,” he said.
Steve shook his head firmly. “It’s dangerous, Tony.”
“Just please don’t report me. Please.” The jaw twitch again. “It’s the last thing I need right now.”
“What do you need right now?” Steve asked.
Tony paused. For a moment it looked like the veil of snotty sarcasm had blown back a bit, like he was going to say something earnest. But then he picked his shades up off the ground and put them on, and shrugged.
“Well, now, thanks to you, I need a new pipe.” He sniffed. “And fast. I’ve gotta get going. See ya.”
Steve didn’t want to let him go, but he didn’t know what else to do. He also noticed that the drug had made the boy substantially steadier on his feet -- a fact that unsettled him deep in his gut.
“Wait,” he called. He opened his sketchbook and drew out a quick map with his address on it. Then, ripping out the page, jogged over to Tony. “If you need a place to stay tonight, or ever, here’s where you can find me.”
Tony looked at the map and stuck it in his jacket pocket. “Thanks, Cap,” he said, and flashed an earnest smile if there ever was one.
“Will you be alright?” Steve asked anxiously.
Tony nodded. “For a while. I really do have to run, though.”
“Take care,” Steve called to him.
Tony looked over his shoulder and saluted, then turned on his heels to leave. Steve sighed, Tony’s pipe still faintly warm in his hand, as the boy left the park and disappeared into the urban jungle.
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Nice start, can't wait to see where it goes.
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He decided to stop by Howard’s office later that afternoon, though the chances he would actually be there were slim. During the war, Howard had once tried to explain something called the uncertainty principle, and while Steve hadn’t understood it very well, he thought the basic notion could apply to Stark himself. He was impossible to pin down. But Steve was lucky: Howard was in, having just wrapped up a meeting from the looks of it.
Howard beamed when he opened the door. “Steve! What brings you all the way to this side of town?”
“Mr. Stark -- ”
“For the last time, call me Howard.” He took two glasses down from his shelf. “Got time for a drink?”
“No thank you.” Steve decided he might as well drop the bomb and get it over with. “I ran into Tony yesterday.”
Instantly, Howard’s smile retreated into the lines of his face. He almost spilled the scotch he was pouring into his own solitary glass.
Steve continued. “He was sleeping on a park bench and said you wouldn’t let him back home. Is that true?”
Wordlessly, Howard took the drink back to his desk and sank into his chair. Despite having seen him age forty-five years seemingly overnight, this was the first time Steve thought that Howard looked old. He took a long drink that seemed more like a sigh. “Tony has a problem” he said at last. “But it’s his problem. Not yours.”
Steve persisted. “Please tell me you’re not going to leave him out there, with nothing --”
“Steve, you’ve got a great heart, but this isn’t your battle.”
“Your son needs you, Mr. Stark.”
“What Tony needs is to figure this out for himself. He doesn’t want anyone to save him. He might want attention, maybe, but he doesn’t want help. Never has. And he certainly doesn’t want to stop doing what he’s doing.” He set his glass down on the desk. “Tony’s a problem-solver, and he’s bored, so he’s making problems for himself and everyone around him. And I’m not going to play this game with him anymore.”
“Game?” Steve said incredulously. “When was the last time you saw him? This isn’t a game. He owes thousands of dollars--”
Howard threw up his hands. “Well, don’t look at me. I’ve given that kid everything! And look what he’s done with it! I built this company, and I won’t let him drink, snort, and smoke it out of existence. It will all be here for him when he’s ready, but he’s not getting another dime until he gets his head out of his ass.”
“Mr. Stark, he’s really sick.”
“He’s a child. You think I haven’t been there? I have, and I pulled myself out. It’s called growing up.”
“And how does his mother feel about forcing her only child onto the street?”
“Maria?” Shaking his head, he looked out the window to the skyline, backlit by afternoon glare. For a minute, he seemed fragile, softer, more transparent. “He broke her heart.”
Steve swallowed. “With all due respect, sir, you have a responsibility.”
Howard’s eyes hardened again. “Well with all due respect, Captain, this isn’t your family, this isn’t your company, and this isn’t your business.” Then he took a long drink of scotch and turned his back to the window once more, and Steve knew the conversation was over.
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Somehow, he had to help Tony. Some of Howard’s comments had made sense. If Tony’s mind was anything like his father’s, of course he would be bored -- he had blown through MIT before most kids his age had finished high school. Yet Steve suspected boredom was only part of the picture. Mostly, Tony seemed lonely. And as for his not wanting help, Steve wasn’t so sure about that.
His next stop was the library. Somewhat self consciously, he combed the shelves for books about drugs, and learned that the stuff Tony was smoking was called crack cocaine. According to the books it was extremely addictive, and Tony was most likely completely hooked on it. Then there was the obvious issue of alcohol, which perhaps hit a little too close to home for Howard to face. And who knew what else Tony might have been doing. There were dozens of drugs in the book that Steve had never even heard of.
Steve walked home with his head swimming with terminology and grim statistics. As he rounded the corner, his heart sped up when he saw a crumpled form slumped over the steps to his apartment. It was Tony, looking even more dishevelled than before. His shirt was half-unbuttoned and soaked through with sweat, and his hair hung in damp strings over his forehead. He positively reeked of liquor.
“Tony, can you hear me?”
“Mmhm.” It was more of a whimper than an answer. Steve lifted him and felt his whole body shaking as he carried him inside. “I should be taking you to the hospital,” he said as he gently laid him on top of the bed covers.
“No!” Tony gasped. “‘m fine...’snormal.”
“Normal?” Steve’s brow furrowed.
“Happens...all the time...’ll be fine.”
That was far from reassuring. Tony’s drenched shirt was chilling him, and Steve peeled it off of him. His neck and chest bore fresh bruises that looked like they’d been made by someone’s mouth. Steve was surprised -- if Tony was seeing a girl, where was she now when he needed care? But then Steve scolded himself for being old fashioned: it probably wasn’t that kind of girl. This was Howard’s son after all. A surge of anger at the elder inventor welled up in his chest, and he wondered if Howard had ever seen his son in this state. He found a towel to mop the sweat from Tony’s skin and hair.
Tony mumbled something that had the word “hurl” in it, and it barely took a second for Steve to scoop him up and get him into the bathroom. He made it just in time.
“Shit,” Tony said, kneeling over the toilet. “You really are Capn’merica.”
As Tony vomited some more, Steve knelt beside him and gently rubbed his bare back and shoulders. He wasn’t sure why, but he thought it might help, and Tony didn’t give any signs he wanted him to stop.
“Fuck,” Tony groaned, when his stomach was emptied. He rest his head on the toilet seat and closed his eyes. “I need to quit.”
“Yes, you do.”
“I never wanna go through this again,” he coughed. He still looked green and shaky, but at least now he could string together a full sentence. Steve wasn’t sure if this was overdose or withdrawal, or a combination of both from different substances. He didn’t know anything about mixing alcohol and cocaine, to say nothing of anything else he might have consumed.
“You sure you don’t need a doctor?”
Tony raised his head and blinked at him. “Who’s going to pay for it? You? S.H.I.E.L.D? ”
“Come on, you’re To--”
“I’m nobody!” Tony cried, sitting up. “Don’t you get it? They’re not going to fucking bail me out anymore.” He fell back against the wall and buried his head in his hands, which still trembled.
“I’m sorry, Tony,” Steve said sadly. “I spoke with your father, but...”
The boy nodded, eyes cast down, and swallowed bitterly. “What’d I tell you?”
It just wasn’t fair. Underneath his smart aleck demeanor, there was something almost warm and inherently pitiable about Tony. “Hold on,” Steve said, and got up to fill a glass with cool water. When he returned to the bathroom, Tony’s eyes had fallen closed again. “Here, drink this," he urged.
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At least Tony’s humor was intact, but Steve was in no mood to smile. Tony drained the glass and almost dropped it onto the tile trying to he hand it back. Then, bracing himself against the wall, he struggled to his feet.
“I can take you --”
“I got it,” Tony insisted, but he grabbed Steve’s arm as he stumbled back towards the bed. He flopped down limp on top of the covers, and Steve lay down next to him.
“Can I stay here with you tonight?” Tony asked. “Ty’s looking for me, and I don't want to face him right now.”
“Ty?” Steve frowned. “Is that your friend? The one you owe all the money to?”
Tony nodded. “I mean...he’s my dealer, among other things. We were friends once, I guess. More like rivals.” He rubbed his eyes with his thumbs. “Hell, I don’t know what we were.”
Steve didn’t like the sound of Ty at all. The tremble in Tony’s voice revealed a fear that his words didn’t fully account for. “Of course you can stay here,” he assured him.
Tony lay back on the pillow and closed his eyes. For the moment, he seemed to be on the upswing, but within half an hour he began to flush with fever, and Steve had to whisk him to the toilet once more. With a cool, damp towel, he mopped the fresh sweat from Tony’s skin, and when he was done he carried him back to the bed. He stayed by his side for hours, feeling horribly inadequate as Tony cycled through rounds of of fever and nausea. For all his super strength, he felt completely unprepared to care for a drug-addled teenage genius. He wondered what Agent Fury would say.
When at last Tony’s illness began to subside, and it looked like he was finally falling asleep, Steve cautiously put his arms around him.
“Steve...” Tony whimpered, stirring, and Steve started to pull away, afraid he’d crossed a line. But the boy nuzzled closer to him, resting his troubled head on the Captain’s chest. “Why are you doing this?” he murmured.
“Because,” Steve answered, “I know what it’s like to suddenly find yourself totally alone.”
With a small, satisfied sound, Tony draped his arm across Steve’s torso. He didn’t have to get up again all night.
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The next day, Steve received a call from Director Fury, who wanted to meet to discuss a new mission. Steve washed up and got ready to go as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Tony, still sound asleep and shirtless on the bed. Now that his skin had regained a bit of color, he looked beautiful lying there, and Steve noticed for the first time how long and dark his eyelashes were. His eyes began wandering down the smooth curve of Tony’s shoulder and had made it halfway down his back before he abruptly turned away. He didn’t feel right staring at Tony like that. It wasn’t the first time he’d been attracted to a male, but Tony was Howard’s son, and far too young, and just not appropriate for those kinds of thoughts. Steve sighed, just thankful that he seemed to be in neither pain nor danger for the moment. He poured him a fresh glass of water and left it on the bedside table, and next to it, he left a note.
I’ll be back soon.
Drink water!
- Steve
At the bottom of the note, he added a quick cartoon of Captain America holding a glass of water aloft. He thought it might cheer the kid up.
All through the meeting, Steve’s thoughts kept drifting back to the boy in his bed. Howard was there, all business, and Steve could barely meet his eyes. When he learned SHIELD wanted him to do an assignment overseas, he had to hide his anxiety and disappointment. He didn’t want to leave Tony right now. In fact, it surprised him how much the prospect upset him, but there was no way he could explain that to Fury. He wondered whether Howard had told the Director about his son’s situation. He suspected not, but Fury appeared to know everything about everyone, so he probably was aware the younger Stark was in trouble. Steve almost wanted to broach the subject with him and appeal for his aid, but Fury was far more no-nonsense than Howard. It would never fly.
Steve felt selfish. It was ridiculous to put the welfare of one person -- even a Stark -- above his greater duty to the nation and world. Maybe Tony reminded him a little of Bucky, or maybe he just felt he owed it to Howard whether the man liked it or not, or maybe it was the way the boy’s body had felt nestled against him as he slept. He didn’t know. All he knew was that saving Tony felt like a mission in itself, and he couldn’t leave a mission incomplete. He had to know Tony was safe. If the past night was Tony’s idea of “normal,” he could be in serious danger. The kid’s poor body could only take so much. He made up his mind to get him into rehab before he had to leave. It wasn’t free, but he’d pull the money together somehow. What good was Captain America if he couldn’t protect one kid?
But when he got back home, Tony had vanished. The sheets where he’d slept were stiff with his dried sweat. He’d taken his shirt and shoes and drained the water glass, and where Steve’s note had been, he’d left another in its place:
Thanks
That was all.
“Tony?” Steve called, expecting no answer. He got up to check the bathroom, but the only sign of Tony was the lingering smell of vomit from the night before. Steve cursed for the first time this half-century.
Steve tried not to panic or jump to conclusions. Maybe he’d just gone out to get aspirin. But in his gut he knew Tony couldn’t be given benefit of the doubt. He was too enslaved to his poisons. There might still be time to find him before he managed to get himself completely wrecked all over again, but searching for one boy in the city would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. Back when they’d first met, Tony had carried a tiny cordless telephone with him that he’d designed and built himself. But Steve wasn’t about to ask Howard for the number.
He needed a plan. The things Tony would seek out would be cocaine, whisky, and women, perhaps not in that order. The best place to look would be the nightclubs, but they weren’t open yet, so Steve checked the blocks around his apartment, surveying the street like a hawk and stopping in all the stores. No Tony. Next, he headed to the park where he’d first run into him. No Tony.
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As night deepened, Steve couldn’t take it any longer, and he resumed his search. It was time to hit the clubs.
He picked the first place on a random guess. The minute he entered, he felt like he’d stepped into hell, if hell was on another planet. The music alone was disorienting to him, the lights nightmarish. Around him, throngs of people danced like possessed creatures. Many of the girls’ clothes were more revealing than some bathing suits from Steve’s youth. He was glad it was dark enough that nobody could see him blushing. Everyone seemed drunk, and more than half of them seemed high. But Steve didn’t mind sticking out like a sore thumb, he just wanted to make sure Tony was okay, and these people were clearly Tony’s peers in lifestyle if not in abilities.
“Have you seen this boy tonight?” he asked as he showed his drawing to as many people as would turn around. Dozens of them shook their heads, or stared at him as though he were speaking French. Finally, one young man pointed at the picture in recognition.
“Oh hey, yeah, that’s Tony!” he nodded.
Steve’s heart raced. “You know him? Have you seen him today?”
The boy smirked. “Check the bathroom.”
Steve thanked him graciously and sped to the men’s room, but his heart sank as fast as it had soared -- there was no sign of Tony at the urinals or sinks, and both the stalls were empty. He pushed one open just to be sure, and something on the inside of the door caught his eye. Written in bold black marker were the following words:
Tony Stark gives good head. And is dead.
Steve’s stomach tightened. He wasn’t even sure what it meant -- and he knew Tony couldn’t be dead, not so soon -- but he suddenly felt he had to find him more than ever. With a superhuman fingernail he scraped the scrawl right off the stall door, rendering it illegible.
He stumbled back out into the dizzying, smoke-choked kaleidoscope of the club. “Tony!” he called. He had never felt so useless. “Tony!” He was engineered for war, but not for this. How could he ever find his lost friend in the orgy of alien youth?
He had to keep calm and try another club. This street alone might take him all night, but he couldn’t give up. The next club was as bad as the first. If anything, the music was more sinister and the kids more freakish looking. Again, he flashed the image, desperation building in his voice. More people there recognized Tony, but nobody had seen him.
“He’s not here,” said a girl with blue hair leaning against the wall, smoking a cigarette. “Tony Stark’s not here.”
Steve’s heart pounded louder than the fierce dance beat. “Where is he?”
She raised an eyebrow. “You his boyfriend or somethin’?”
Steve blushed a deeper red than her lipstick. “N-no, just a friend. Do you know where he is?”
“Said he was going to Ty’s.”
“What?” Hadn’t Tony been avoiding Ty the day before?
“Tiberius Stone.” She said the name like she was casting a spell, half-lidded eyes staring into his all the while. “You don’t know Ty?”
“No...I do. Ty the drug dealer.”
She nodded. “He’s got a big ol’ hotel suite uptown. I can take you there, if you like. I’m bored sick of this club.” She winked at him. “I’m Carrie.”
“Let’s go,” Steve nodded, though her flirtations made his skin crawl. He just needed to find Tony, and this girl seemed to be in the know.
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“Oh I don’t really know him. I just know who he is. We’ve partied.” She rolled her eyes, then smiled. “He sure can party.”
“Yeah,” Steve replied regretfully.
Their timing was perfect: the train pulled in right as they arrived. Steve knew he could run as fast as a subway, but he didn’t want to give himself away, or give Carrie the wrong idea by carrying her. Once they got off the train, it was just a block to the huge hotel. They took the elevator to the tenth floor and made their way to Ty’s suite. Just a smile from Carrie got them into the party, but as soon as they got inside, she flitted over to snort some powder from a huge, rotating mirrored table.
Steve looked around the bright, bustling room. The people here looked a little older and classier than the kids at the clubs, but a sinister atmosphere hung in the air. Worst of all, Steve didn’t see any sign of Tony.
“You look like you’re looking for someone,” said a voice behind him. Steve turned around to see a tall, thin man with blondish hair and steely blue eyes.
“I am,” he nodded. “Tony Stark. Is he here?”
“Tony?” The man grinned and gestured towards a closed door down the hall. “He’s in there...but you’ll have to wait your turn, I’m afraid.”
“My turn for what?”
The man burst out laughing and clapped Steve on the shoulder. “That’s a good one! But you’ve got nothing to hide here. You’re in good company tonight.” Still grinning, he held out a sweet-smelling hand-rolled cigarette that Steve figured had to be marijuana. “Relax, have a good time.”
Ignoring the man’s offer, Steve turned down the hall towards the room the he had indicated. The door was locked, but he barely even noticed as he snapped the lock with one twist of the knob.
Steve’s old fashioned eyes were completely unprepared for the scene before him. Tony was naked on the bed with another, older, equally naked man who was thrusting his fingers in and out of Tony’s body as Tony sucked on his prick. Both of them froze when the door opened. Tony let the man’s length fall from his mouth as he recognized Steve.
“What the --” the man exclaimed.
Steve was too shocked for words, but not for action. He stormed right up to the bed and and hurled the stranger across the room. Tony had scrambled to his feet and was fumbling with his pile of clothes on the floor. As soon as Tony’s pants were on, Steve scooped him up in one arm and carried him out through the still-bustling party. Before people could even turn around to stare, they were out the door and heading down the hall. When they got inside the elevator, Steve finally let Tony back down to the ground, but maintained an iron grip on the boy’s arm. Tony’s skin felt sticky with more than just sweat as he struggled to put his shirt on.
“What did I just walk in on?” Steve demanded when they got out into the open air.
“Nothing they didn’t have in the ‘40s,” Tony sniffed.“You know, I thought Captain America had bigger things to do than sweeping in to rescue disaffected teenagers.”
“You’re not just any teenager, Tony.”
“Hey, you’re my father’s project, not mine. And I’m basically dead to him, so you don’t owe me anything.”
“Tony...”
“You made things worse, you know that? Now that guy’s going to harass Ty about not getting his money’s worth, and I’ll be up shit creek by tomorrow morning --”
“Wait,” said Steve, fixated on a tiny phrase. “His money’s worth?”
At first Tony stared at him like he was an imbecile, but the sad, sudden clarity in Steve’s eyes must have been too much for him, and he turned away in shame.
“Oh...oh, Tony...”
Tony grit his teeth. “Where do you keep all your medals from the Naivety Olympics?”
Steve ignored the barb; he was too stunned and saddened. Wait your turn. Perhaps he’d known all along, deep down, because somehow he’d known he had to get Tony out of that room. But he hadn’t let himself believe it; he’d written it off as Tony being too intoxicated to know what he was doing. Now everything made much more sense. He recalled the marks he’d seen on Tony’s body the previous night, and knew this wasn’t the first time. He shook his head. “Tony...why?”
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“But there must be a million ways you could pay that debt! You could get a job as a mechanic, or something. Anything but this! Be creative, for Pete’s sake!”
“I can’t hold a job, Steve! I can’t even hold a screwdriver.” Tony held up his hands, which were already shaking uncontrollably. “I’m not a Stark anymore.” His voice cracked. “I’m just...well, you got the point.”
Steve sighed. He knew it wasn’t unusual for drug addicts to be forced into prostitution -- it was common even in his own time -- but no matter what Tony said, he had other choices. He’d chosen this, maybe because wallowing in random sex was just one more way to simultaneously drown and prolong his misery. Maybe Howard was right -- maybe Tony didn’t want to get better. He wanted to feel sorry for himself.
“You’re better than that,” Steve said, his voice straining with frustration. “You have so much talent --”
“Yeah, that is so not what I want to hear right now. I know all about my squandered potential and how I was supposed to be. I get that. Just because my dad won’t talk to me anymore doesn’t mean I need to hear it from you instead.”
Every time Tony mentioned Howard, Steve felt punched in the gut. “Then what do you want me to say?”
“How about, ‘Gee Tony, you look like you’re coming down now; let’s go find you a bag of coke and a bottle of anything over 80 proof.’”
“No.”
The very thought seemed to make Tony’s shaking worsen. “I really need it, Cap. I know you don’t get it, but that is what I need, right now.”
“No, I do get it. You’re killing yourself, and you need to stop,” Steve insisted. “You said yourself that you needed to quit, remember?” Tony was beginning to droop on his arm like a wilting plant. “I’m getting us a taxi.”
Steve flagged down a cab and dragged Tony into the back seat next to him. Once the cab got going, Steve asked the driver if he knew where the nearest drug rehab clinic was.
“What? No!” Tony wailed, and started fumbling like he wanted to throw himself out of the car .
Steve grabbed his hand. “I’m sorry, Tony, but I can’t leave you until I know you’re getting help. I can’t let you live like this.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Tony growled lowly.
“You can’t do everything by yourself, Tony.”
Tony blinked at him. “You really think spiriting me away to the wonderful world of Betty Ford for a month is going to fix me?” His voice was pure vinegar. “You can’t fix my life, Steve.”
Steve sighed. “What is it about the thought of letting somebody help you that you can’t stand?”
Tony turned his head towards the window and closed his eyes. He exhaled deeply and sank into the car seat. Big, silent tears slid down his cheeks. Damaged and defiled as he was, Tony was beautiful even now, and Steve felt a pang of guilt in his gut. The last thing he should be feeling in this situation was desire, yet he wanted to kiss him. Only the raw memory of Tony’s mouth on that other man’s body held him back. The boy had been through enough already. He wondered how many others had come and gone from that bedroom before the unfortunate fellow he’d left slumped against the wall. The blond man smoking marijuana had assumed Steve wanted a turn himself. Had that man been with Tony too? Had Ty? He thought back at the text on the bathroom stall, and couldn’t imagine how alone Tony must feel. Steve scooted closer to him and held him close, smelling the sex on his skin and smoke in his hair, and Tony didn’t pull away.
“I’m sorry,” Tony said, so quietly that a man without Steve’s enhanced abilities might not even have heard over the hum of the car.
Steve almost leaned down to kiss his tear-stained cheek. Instead, he gave his hand a firm, gentle squeeze.“You’ll be okay. We’re going to get through this.”
Tony swallowed. “How?”
Steve wove his fingers together with Tony’s, feeling the small, steady pulse against his skin and thanking God that Tony Stark was notdead.
“Together.”
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