Steve walked into the lab. It was good timing, Tony was literally inside of half of one of the Iron Man suits, protected by hundreds of pieces of wires and machinery. Concealed. Concentrating. Cheat. Tony's hands shook as he turned over the circuit board he held, biting into the corners of his palm. It hurt.

"Tony I need to tell you something but..." Steve's voice choked. He was wearing his Captain America uniform, the cowl down on his neck, the shield held lax at his side; he was ready for battle and yet not. Strange, Tony remarked in his head, but then his mind conjured up the image of Doctor Strange and Tony wondered if the good, ol' witch doctor could fix this, because it hurt a lot.

"You can tell me anything, it's alright," Tony said into the Iron Man. "You can't tell me anything I don't already know." Maybe Steve could hear the gentle tone in his voice, the nonchalance, the mechanical quality because Tony could sure as hell feel it inside, empty and cold.

"Tony," Steve's voice choked again, and he swallowed, trying to remove a huge block in his throat. Tony turned so that he could see him, look at Steve's face as Steve suddenly shattered the image of pure, unadulterated, living legend for anyone who knew the truth. Maybe Steve could see the hurt on Tony's face that ached like an ice cream headache.

Ice cream on a hot day, standing over rubble, laughing about the end of the world that never came, like they never do.

"I didn't mean to do this," Steve pleaded. He took a sharp breath, holding his gloved hands up to his mouth. Maybe he bit them, there seemed to be something else but Tony's view was obstructed by protecting wires and machinery. That was what the Iron Man suit did, protect Tony from pain like this.

Tony took in a breath, a soft gentle motion, only enough that he needed. "You did it. I saw." But that sounded weak. That seemed wrong somehow... not the right thing to say, not enough, not perfect enough to explain how this felt like... "She's something," bitch, bitch, bitch, YOU HORRID fucking BITCH, "isn't she? Can't blame a man." It felt like the slow, painful shocks from a failing arc reactor.

"Wanda means nothing to me, Tony, I promise she means nothing I don't even understand why-" Steve's knees shook. Tony could see Steve's knees knocking into each other, like he was terrified. How ridiculous was that? Captain America terrified? Of what? Tony wasn't going to shoot him. Maybe Steve could feel it... could feel the easy agony.

And so Tony felt the need to interrupt. "I forgive you," he said. And it wasn't because he did forgive Steve. Not at all. Who was it who said 'Never believe an easy forgiveness; likely they are in too much sorrow to think of something else to say'? Confucius? Aesop? Mandarin? But that wasn't it. This wasn't sorrow. Or maybe it was... it hadn't gone to sorrow, no, this had gone straight to mourning. Sweet mourning.

Once Tony had held Steve's hand after a nightmare, Steve crying over Bucky's death before they found out Bucky was alive. Tony kissed Steve's forehead with gentleness he'd never known he had and Steve told him he loved him.

"Oh, Tony," utter, complete, entire, glorious, joyful relief in Steve's voice, "thank God... thank God, Tony you have no idea I- I've been... the moment it happened I felt so guilty I couldn't... I couldn't..." A gasp of shaky breath from Steve Rogers. Tears on his cheeks, there were more on the right then the left and Tony noted that curiously in some part of his mind. Tony understood guilt; he could feel so much guilt at this moment, so much crushing guilt.

Maybe if he'd spent more time training with Steve, another beautiful moment in the gym with sweaty bodies and Steve's too kind movements guiding Tony lightly through exercises with a teasing twinkle in his eye.

Oh. Oh. Oh god, Tony don't.

Suck back in the tears. Suck back in the emotion. There was water on top of his eyelids, Tony could feel it threatening to fall if he blinked so he was careful to measure it out. "Steve, it's okay," Tony assured. "I love you." Oh, did Tony love Steve. He loved him like a monster in his chest, curled and ready to gnaw on his heartstrings and open them up to spill blood in his insides.

"I love you too, Tony," Steve had such a nice smile. Such a hesitant, sweet, and genuine smile for a cheater. Tony wondered if that was why the Scarlet Witch had liked Steve so much; it was one of the reasons Tony did. Was it part of Steve's games? No. Steve didn't play games. Steve was real as he could be. Tony had been real with Steve too, no games, no getting drunk, no... girls. Maybe that was why this hurt like a fire licking at his elbows and cheeks.

She must have been something great, Tony did not say. You know, Steve, I once did Emma Frost? Did her a lot actually when I wasn't with anyone else. I could make such a list. Such a long, long list. Who should I start with? Ha, I wouldn't even know. Did you know I did Maria Hill? I can't remember it, but I did. Also Pepper Potts. That I remember, somewhat. Madam Masque, she still loves me. I could go back to Madam Masque, he didn't add. She wouldn't fall in love with someone else while pretending to actually love a wretched thing like me, because she'd be more likely to tie us both up to an anchor and drown us so we would be together forever; and that pressure from the water closing in on them and the ache of being unable to breathe that turns into a slow burn and then exquisite agony right before you go unconscious that was what you did to me.

"I'll always forgive you," Tony did say. "You know I will. I've done bad in the past... you know that." 'Bad' like the way a wild animal would claw at your arm and tear it to shreds?

"I'll make it up to you," Steve swore, his bright, azure eyes glistening with pain and promise. "Anything, Tony," oh there was so much guilt, so much anger directed not at Tony but at himself that Tony could sense it like a taste in the air and that smell was sulfur, "anything you want, just tell me and I'll do it." He wanted a release, a quick fix to the pain. Oh, wouldn't that be nice? Nice to stop the gremlins chewing Tony's skin, swallowing it, making disgusting noises as they tore off flesh to stuff down their piggish throats.

"I can't..." Tony smiled. Oh it was such a smile, a smile that hurt in anyway possible. A smile that was kind. A smile that was wrong. A smile that smiled of it's own accord, a face without Tony's orders. Did it find the situation funny? "Steve... look at you," Tony said. He cared. Steve looked, "exhausted. Don't tell me you were up all night coming up with this apology?" It was a horrid apology, and Tony knew horrid like the lightning shattering his bones.

"Tony I," oh Steve was grateful, he was truly and honestly relieved to the depths of his pretty, tight uniform that stood for the greatness of American society that never truly lived up to the hype. It put on a show, though, a grand old show of stars and stripes and freedom forever and Red Skull punching and that was all. "I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you." Tony didn't know what he'd done either. So it was mutual? That excruciating pain of boiling shame and sick thrown over his face, blistering down his vulnerable skin?

Skin was soft, and pliable, even with muscles underneath. It was meant to be kissed and touched with loving fingertips, tentative and commanding at the same time as sweet, old fashioned words were whispered into Tony's ear.

Naked and bleeding and tired. Oh, was Tony tired. "Are you going back to her?" Tony asked, because he had to ask. His voice sounded so simple. Straight to the point and straight on till morning, off to Neverland to never see their faces again. Who's faces? Maybe Tony's own. The laughing, emotionless look he received every single time he could see his own caught in a spare metal part or a window pane; the one that poured horrified begging and screams into his ears until they threatened to break and crumble into black, searing husks.

"No, of course not," Steve begged, "Tony, I love-"

"You should. You should go to her." Cut. Sharp. Oh, Tony wanted to die. He could see the hurt that burned into Steve's face, the terrified look returning and all of the fears justified. Because Tony had just given pain Steve, and Tony wondered if that feeling he'd just unfairly jammed into Steve was worse then what Tony knew was scarred in his own marrow and tissue. Because Steve loved him. And Tony loved Steve and Tony didn't doubt that one bit. There was nothing, though, nothing that Tony wanted. "Please go," Tony said to Steve.

"T-"

"NOW!" A scream. A banshee's scream. A cry so loud and inhuman that Tony didn't even believe it came from him, it felt like something else, anything else had made that. An alien. A monster. Not Tony, but Tony's throat hurt from that like scratched from teeth down his diaphragm. Steve walked out of the lab.

It hurt. It hurt like someone had jammed hot, monstrous fingers against Tony's skull and pushed and pushed and pushed until they found his brain and sunk those fingers inside mashing as they went and laughing laughing laughing maniacally as those fingers pushed out of his eyes and then slammed Tony's body into the ground crumpling him up until his kneecaps broke his eardrums and his toes stuck between his ribs and everything bled.