My current readers know I've been struggling to find the time to publish things, but Infinity War killed me emotionally and I had to write something in order to process. Now I'm finally posting it a month or so later. It's my first Avengers fic (well, published one anyway), but I've been a huge fan of the MCU since the first Iron Man movie.

This is pure speculation, so probably no spoilers for Avengers 4. Besides, this is mostly introspective...

-Cat

Disclaimer: Don't own the Marvel Universe. The End.

Warnings: "Language!" and general angst. Also, SPOILERS for IW.

There were still enough stars.

For some reason, a part of Steve had expected half of them to go out. But then, perhaps they had. Bruce had explained it to him once, that those who look up at the myriads of constellations are seeing into the past. The light from their own sun took eight minutes to travel to earth. If the stars were now dust, those on earth would not know for millions of years, when the final dying gasp had limped across the universe to reach their eyes.

So it was possible that… maybe the stars were dead too. Maybe there weren't enough stars.

Steve stared upwards, indulging the ancient light for a few precious moments. Playing pretend. He tried to live in the present (really, he tried), but it was hard for a man who was from another century to begin with. The stars were the same then too.

The loss of Bucky ached like starlight.

It took longer than it should have for him to realize that he was not alone. The palace balcony was plunged into the night and the light from the windows did not quite reach the edge. But there was a darker shadow against the sable jungle, one that leaned on the railing with a glass in one hand. Clear liquid glistened as the glass moved.

Steve stepped out from the doorway curiously. Then, with a lurch in his stomach, recognized the second person on the balcony. His muscles stilled.

Tony had not noticed him yet. His hair was a mess, and he listed slightly to the right, favoring his left side. He wore sweatpants and a button down pajama shirt, a far cry from his sleek suits or t-shirts and jeans. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, ignoring the brilliant tapestry of the Wakandan sky. Steve watched him, considering retreating and finding a different place to wallow.

But Bucky was gone (dead).

He's my friend.

And Tony was here. Alive.

So was I.

The alien spaceship had crash-landed in Wakanda three days ago, another three days after Thanos snapped his fingers. Tony had managed to contact them before landfall and convey a static-ridden message that he was alive, that he was coming home ("Hello? Tony?" Soft clearing of throat. "No, Steve. It's Bruce." "Bruce? Where have you been? Where's Tony?" "Long story. Um...something's happened. Turn on the news. You need to find Vision. Now." "How'd you get this phone?" "Tony had it." "Is he there?" "...No, I-I don't know where he is.").

All the questions, all of the problems were eclipsed by the sheer relief that one more of them had survived. It was a shock (a miracle) to see the foreign craft break atmosphere. And even more of a shock to see Tony himself…

The spaceship's opening was battered like a mouth full of broken teeth. The leftover heroes and Wakandans held their collective breath as two figures moved in the gloomy maw. Right away, Steve knew that no one else would be coming. One was slender, a patchwork of blues who glared suspiciously at their welcoming committee. She bristled with distrust, but was distracted by assisting the shorter person. The last time Steve had seen Tony in person… had he been this broken? He leaned heavily on his strange companion, his head low and his legs weakly supporting him.

On the recording, Tony's voice had shaken, but he never mentioned an injury. Steve took a single step, holding back a curse, but Colonel Rhodes moved faster.

Steve let him.

Words were exchanged lowly between the old friends. Rhodes ducked below Tony's other arm, eliciting a soft hiss of pain. Bruce had joined them too, and his quick, assured fingers skittered across Tony's side.

"What happened?" Bruce asked briskly.

"Fought. Lost." God, Tony sounded tired.

"You should have told us you were hurt."

"And ruin the surprise?" A shadow of his usual humor. A tremor rippled through the breathy question. There was blood, but the source was covered by shards of armor. It leaked from the corner of his mouth like a ribbon of crimson.

"How badly are you hurt?"

Tony's hesitation spoke a hundred times louder than his stuttered answer. "I'm still standing."

"Tony. How bad?"

"I… I don't know."

If Steve hadn't seen his mouth move, he wouldn't have believed Tony said it. Strange fear coursed through his bones.

"Nebula?"

Rocket the racoon pushed to the front, movements frantic and jerky. The blue woman's black gaze snapped to him. It was impossible to read emotion in those abyss-like eyes. There was an exchange that ended in a mournful, "No" from the racoon, but Steve was distracted. Tony's head had lifted with the blue woman's-Nebula's-and before Steve was prepared, they were staring at one another.

Tony's eyes had always been more expressive than the man preferred. The devastation there was raw and unchecked. Rather like Steve's. But there was something else there as well, something hard and determined. Something both afraid and ready.

Then these drained so suddenly, Steve had to bite back a gasp. Tony's eyes rolled back into his head. His legs crumbled like sand and Bruce was shouting for a stretcher, but Steve was already there, lifting Tony easily and running, running, running…

The next few hours had been a blur of pacing and updates from the Wakandan surgeons and Shuri that always seemed to be vague and insufficient. Tony had a hole through his abdomen. The fact that he was still standing when he exited the spaceship was a feat of sheer willpower. Nebula told them what she knew in clipped, harsh tones, her black eyes hard as stone. When she told them about how the kid, Spiderman, had dissolved into dust in Tony's arms, Rhodes swore and punched the wall.

They called Pepper. They called her again. She never picked up.

Once Tony was moved to recovery, Steve had finally let himself breathe.

But not speak.

Tony drifted in and out of consciousness at first. Then his periods of wakefulness lengthened. Steve hovered near medical, listening at the door just to reassure himself that Tony was lucid enough to speak with Bruce and Rhodes. Tony would not want to speak with him.

"Tony… Pepper didn't-"

"I know." The words fell like lead weights on the sterile bedsheets. "I tried her first. Friday said..."

"I'm so sorry-"

"Don't," Tony snapped, his voice far too fragile. "Just… don't say that."

"Okay."

"Talk to me about something else. Where's Nebula?"

"Stalking the halls like an angry cat."

"Little ray of sunshine, isn't she?" Pause. "Who'd we lose here?"

And Steve spun away, feeling like a coward. He didn't need to hear it again. The list was branded into his brain. T'Challa, Vision, Wanda, Sam, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky…

Steve had only entered the room once, in the shadow of Thor and Bruce. They felt more… neutral. Neither were present during the conflict two years ago. Still, the skin around Tony's face was tight and the air was heavy with unspoken words. What could they possibly say to one another after this?

Thor and Bruce had tried to soften the uncomfortable atmosphere with stories of a Grand Master and escaping through a wormhole called the Devil's Anus. Tony let out a strained laugh that was unnatural and followed by silence.

Then Thor told him Loki was dead.

Tony just looked at the god long and hard.

Steve was worried he would say something rude, but instead, he slowly placed a hand on Thor's larger one. No one spoke, but Thor's eyes grew moist.

The silence lingered.

Lingered until now, and Steve was desperate for it to end. He wanted to talk to Tony again. He needed to talk to Tony again. Two years was too long. Two years felt infinite.

(And the Avengers had to be a team, now more than ever).

So he made up his mind and approached Tony, settling a few yards away against the rail. The perfume of smoke and green things permeated the night. Tony did not acknowledge him, so Steve forced himself to speak first.

"Should you be out of bed?"

The only sign that Tony heard was an abrupt lift of his chin. His eyes caught an edge of golden light from indoors and glinted, staying locked on the trees. The liquid in his glass lapped gently on the sides.

"Is that water?"

"Yes, mother."

Sarcasm. Steve knew better than to find this encouraging. Still, he said, "Had to check." As if they hadn't been split apart. And irreparably broken.

"I would pay a lot of money for it to be something stronger."

"I would pay a lot of money just to be able to get drunk," murmured Steve.

Tony chuckled softly. "Maybe I can work something out for you."

"I'm sure you could."

"Hope you don't mind sharing it."

Steve sobered then. Anything that could surpass his supersoldier metabolism would surely kill a normal human. He studied Tony cautiously, taking in the uneven slump of his shoulders, the permanent crease in his forehead. He'd aged since Siberia.

And now that he was closer, he could see what was in Tony's left hand. A Stark Phone, open to the vocal recordings. Steve felt his heart drop. Everyone knew about what had happened yesterday. Word spread quickly in the Wakandan palace.

But Steve had been there…

"Good afternoon, boss."

"Friday, I want a full report on Stark Industries employees and I need you to start diverting funds to relief services for any accidents caused by the… uh…"

"Of course, Mr. Stark. The report is in your inbox. All other communications have been organized in order of importance."

"Anything from May Parker?"

"Yes, boss, several messages. Would you like to listen-"

"No! No... just...I'm going to New York as soon as I can. I'll talk to her then."

"Boss?"

Steve had never heard the A.I. sound so hesitant. He was (once again), just outside the door. He knew that Tony knew he waited there, wanting and not wanting to go in and finally talk. But the moment was never right and Tony never invited him in…

"Yes, Friday, what is it?"

"Ms. Potts left you one message."

There was a very long pause. Steve could imagine the way Tony froze at the statement. A man of perpetual motion, held in place.

"Play message," said Tony's voice hoarsely. Steve should leave. This was private.

"'Tony. I don't even know if you're still alive out there somewhere but… something's happening here and… oh my God…'"

Steve could here the controlled panic in her voice. He was frozen. There was a sound from inside the room, like Tony had grabbed something to steady himself.

"'Your dream was real. Tony, your dream was real, you need to know it was real, and that I love-'"

Static. Silence.

It was the heavy thump that sent Steve careening through the door. Tony was kneeling on the floor, one hand still clutched tightly around the bed frame. His eyes were wide and and his breath was coming quickly, too quickly.

"Tony, slow down, breathe."

Steve knelt in front of him, checking for blood or torn stitches. The hospital gown was clean. "Are you in pain?" But Tony was too far away to notice. His breathing did not slow. Hesitantly, Steve reached out his hand and lightly brushed Tony's shoulder.

Tony jerked and his eyes focused. To Steve's horror, they were wet. Tony Stark did not cry.

"Tony…" he whispered.

"Get out."

"Tony I-I don't want to leave you here alone-"

"Get. Out."

"Ton-"

Tony flinched again. His breath was still sputtering in his lungs. He tried to snarl something, but it was incoherent without the air to fuel it. Then he seemed to understand why Steve was reluctant to leave.

"Rhodey. Get me Rhodey and get out," he gasped.

Steve obeyed.

But not even Rhodes knew what Pepper meant. Or if he did, he kept it to himself so expertly that no one could pry it out of him. Steve learned that the panic attacks were not unusual since New York. The triggers less and less frequent… stray mines in the field of a damaged genius subconscious. The distance between constellations.

He was the last to know about them of course.

Had they ever really known each other? Or were they always teammates just for show, fooling the world and theirselves just as effectively? Or at least… until their lies to each other hit a critical mass.

"I've always thought the stars shone brighter in Wakanda," Steve said to fill the radioactive silence between them.

"Only you would say something so disgustingly sentimental to break the ice, Rogers," snipped Tony. Steve brushed aside his annoyance, knowing that Tony was trying to deflect.

"Have you looked at them?"

Tony snorted as if the suggestion was ridiculous.

"I see enough stars in my nightmares. And they're always the wrong ones." His answer was weighted with more honesty than Steve had ever heard from him. He was tapping the phone against the banister in a quick, staccato rhythm.

"We all have nightmares, Tony."

Steve knew right away that this had been the wrong thing to say. Tony stiffened and his incessant tapping came to a shuddering halt. For a moment, Steve was certain he was going to hurl the phone at his face.

"Sorry," Steve amended quickly. "What I meant was-"

"I know what you meant," Tony interrupted, the tension not quite draining away. "That I shouldn't let my nightmares rule my waking." He punctuated his next statement by hitting the phone against the banister hard enough to crack the edge. "Well fuck that, Rogers, because there isn't really a difference between the two anymore."

"You saw this," Steve stated, staying calm. Tony had never hidden his fear of this particular future, but Steve took a moment to marvel at just how long Tony had been afraid. And how long they had just… ignored it. Pretended it wasn't there. The panic attacks were starting to make more sense. "You tried to tell us and we didn't listen."

How were you guys planning on beating that?

Together.

"I'm sorry."

"What's done is done," Tony said sharply, his voice like a blade and his hand jittering even faster. "People need to stop fucking apologizing for things they can't control."

We'll lose.

Then we'll do that together too.

They couldn't even do that. Something Steve once, naively, thought he could control. But the Avengers had broken apart long before they could lose together. Steve had been on earth and Tony had been millions of miles away on a strange planet. Both had stood against the mad Titan alone. And lost. Tony in typical, spectacular fashion.

"How did you know?" Steve found himself asking.

Tony's expression darkened, a tremor rippled up his left arm. He clenched his fist around the phone to steady it and said in a heavy, halting tone, "I'm cursed with knowledge. Or at least that's what Thanos said. He was right, I think. Those damn stars have been burning inside my head since I put a nuke through that wormhole in New York." Then he shook his head, and muttered softly to himself. As if he found his own premonitions of death ridiculous. Illogical. "But I'm a futurist," he said, louder. "Maybe it's just my job to think ahead."

"Thanos said you were cursed with knowledge?"

Tony nodded.

"He knew me," he mumbled softly, troubled.

"How?"

"I don't know." His hard edges blurred with the admission. It was the second time in so many days that Tony had admitted ignorance.

Steve saw the smudge of dark lashes twitch upwards. A quick, fleeting glance at the boundless sky. Somewhere, Titan glowed red. I see enough stars in my nightmares. Was this what Pepper had been talking about in her final message? This horrible, unthinkable end?

Somehow, Steve did not think so. Her voice had been… desperate. Despairing. Full of… something… Your dream was real. You need to know it was real. Could a voice be full of absence?

"I'm sorry about Pepper," Steve said quietly. Tony inhaled, too soft to really be a sound of pain, but it resonated like one. He had to ask. "The dream… Was she talking about Thanos?"

"Like I'd tell you," Tony replied, suddenly harsh and wounded. The iron walls slammed back into place, the brief moment of vulnerability shattered. His knuckles were white around the phone, around the crystal tumbler. Steve sighed. He had lost the right to Tony's secrets years ago. But it was still painful to be reminded.

Abruptly, Tony shoved the cracked phone into his pocket and downed the last of his water. Then he turned unsteadily and pushed off the railing.

"Well, this has been a nice chat, Rogers, but I'm going to go… do something else."

"Tony, we can't keep going like this," Steve said firmly. He'd left his place at the edge of the balcony as well and placed himself between Tony and the exit. Tony glared up at him, eyes narrowed like lasers.

"Now you want to talk?" he hissed. "It's too late, Rogers. I tried to talk to you and all it got me was chest full of self-righteousness and vibranium." The words were aimed to wound, and wound they did. Steve flinched and took an unwilling step back.

Did you know?

"I couldn't let you hurt Bucky," he defended.

To his surprise, Steve thought he saw a tiny flash of guilt through Tony's furious glare. It was gone in an instant.

"So you left," Tony spat with finality. "Done. Problem solved. Except for one thing: the damn hole in the sky. So you get to play hookie while I get to clean up the mess in the lunchroom. Well, newsflash Rogers, I'm not enough without-" He cut himself off, started again. "I gave everything, and I still failed. I wasn't ready."

"It wasn't up to just you," Steve murmured.

"Don't you think I know that?! You LEFT, Rogers!" Tony yelled, his voice cracking. "Why do you think I recruited a fucking kid?! And now he's dead because of me!"

"Tony that… that wasn't your fault. It was random. He would have-"

"I know. I know, I just…"

"Don't bullshit me, Rogers. Did. You. Know?"

Tony turned away, waving his hand in a useless gesture and took a limping step back to the edge of darkness. After a moment, he said roughly, "I heard… about Bucky. That must be hard."

"It was," Steve answered, forcing the honesty. "But we all lost people."

"Doesn't make it better."

"No. But at least it isn't as lonely."

"Is is not?" Tony mused.

"We have what's left of us," Steve dragged out of himself. "That should count for something."

"It should." Tony's words were loaded as he maintained his stubborn gaze outwards, away from Steve. "But it won't be enough." He sounded so certain, that Steve began to wonder if Tony knew more than he was saying. Cursed with knowledge.

"It will be," Steve said anyway.

Tony chuckled softly, as if he found Steve's hope charmingly naive. Then he asked, "Are you with me, Rogers?"

Steve knew better than to brush the question aside with a simple answer. Trust did not transcend tragedy. Things between the two of them were too complicated, too twisted.

"Tony… I know I haven't always been there. And… I know I've made mistakes. And for that I do apologize. But right now? Of course I am. We all are."

Tony's tough, iron-hard exterior was crumbling again, revealing a tired man who was much older than Steve remembered. His head bowed, throwing his face into unreadable shadows.

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Tony was quiet for a very long time after that. Time passed, rolling the stars further across the heavens. None went out. All remained, jewel-bright hopes or lies. Slowly, Tony's head tipped back until his face was directed at the firmament. His eyes were shut. He would not open them to reflect the burning lights. This was no dream.

Steve turned to leave, but Tony's voice stopped him.

"Steve?"

"Yes?"

"I didn't always have nightmares."

Tony was looking at him again, but this time all resentment was gone.

"Sometimes… sometimes I had good dreams." His voice cracked. For a moment, Steve expected the man's legs to fold beneath him, for Tony Stark to finally let go of his defiance against the bitter end.

"Tony?"

He still stood, battered and beaten down and leaning against the balcony for support. His response was so quiet, it could have been the breeze. The stars were holding their breath.

"I dreamed I had a child."

It hit Steve like a meteor, crushing the air from his lungs. The shocked grief that rasped in Tony's voice spoke volumes. His nightmares could not have predicted this. An excruciating vacancy. The missing of the barest beginning. So a voice could be full of absence. It took several moments for Steve's hearing to return, to realize that Tony had started speaking again. Bulldozing over the agony like it was yesterday's trash, unworthy of the light of day. Steve knew better. Pain is always worthy of being recognized.

"This isn't over, Steve. As much as I'd like to hate you right now… I can't. So… I'm sorry too. I guess. And if you're with me... I'll be with you too."

Steve could not find his voice right away. "Tony, I-"

"Great. So we're good."

"Yeah. Yeah we're good."

"Okay." Tony glanced at him and kept babbling. "Don't… don't make that face, okay? It's sappy and weird and… just don't. I can't handle that right now. Tony Stark doesn't do friends anymore so… so stop it. I'm going to enforce a strict policy. We need to cut our losses while we're ahead, yeah?"

"I've missed you," Steve laughed wetly around the lump in his throat.

"Well I didn't miss you," Tony retorted, determinedly looking away again. But the skin around the eye Steve could see was crinkled just slightly. Almost a smirk. A barest brush of a time long ago when the deeper uncertainties and losses were not so tenuously close to the surface.

"I dreamed I had a child."

That Tony even wanted kids was a surprise to Steve. But then… they had not spoken in years. Steve could guess what caused the change. He'd seen the news, noticed Ironman's interest in New York City's young superhero, the kid from Queens. How could he not? And based on Rhodes' reaction to Spiderman's disintegration into ashes… Steve realized the relationship went further than just fellow superheroes.

"Do you think…" Tony began unevenly. "If we can fix this…"

He did not need to finish.

"I think so."

"Well… that's something, I guess."

The silence that settled was different now. Not warm. But not cold either. Eventually, Tony seemed to waver. Resolve finally melting into exhaustion. His knuckles were white around the banister.

"We're done here. Might need an escort back to my chambers, Stars and Stripes," he grunted.

Steve chuckled softly and hooked a strong arm around Tony's shoulders. The nickname made him pause. He had not felt like Captain America for a long time, now. But he did not need to voice his troubles in this moment. Instead, he synced his footsteps with Tony's and they slowly made their way back into the warm light of the palace.

As they passed inside, Tony murmured tiredly, "I'm serious about that friend thing though. Don't think we're friends now. I've hit full capacity on the heartbreak-o-meter."

"Sure, Tony."

"Really, Cap, I have a heart condition." He was struggling to keep his head up now. The brunette mop of hair bobbed level with Steve's chest. Steve sighed, unable to stop the subtle swell of affection for the man who was not supposed to be his friend. Like muscle memory.

"Don't we all?" Steve wondered out loud. His own heart pounded with the terror of losing one more person.

"Mmmm, I suppose so," Tony responded.

Outside, the stars still shone. And if Steve was a fool for thinking there were still enough, well, he figured that was alright. As long as there were enough stars (or starlight), he could save enough room in his fragile, time-addled heart for the people he had left. Even one as infuriating as Tony Stark.

And if it turned out the stars were dead too…

Well, hearts were odd, enduring things. Space and time could not bind them as easily as they bound the stars. Even those that turned to dust.

A/N: That's it! If you have the time or inclination, leave a review and let me know what you think :)

For my brother.