Who: Steve and Tony (mcu) What: A pretty sick surprise. Where: Their place. When: July 6th, Early Morning Rating: Low
Steve had gotten used to sleeping in bed with another person, in bed with Tony in particular. The weight of him, the heat at his back or his front and the smell of him in the sheets. Usually Steve fell asleep alone and woke up when Tony joined him and in the dark they'd settle together. It was one of his favourite things waking up slowly with the feel of Tony's chest under his hand and the sound of his breathing. But the moment Steve stirred he knew something was incredibly wrong, his chest felt like it was in a vice and he tried to gasp for breath but it was laboured.
His eyes sprang open and he pushed himself up to sitting. He was still in their house, Tony was there beside him and that should have meant everything was normal, but it felt anything but. That was when he looked down and what he saw- thin wrists and knobbly knees through the sheet was like a nightmare. Although compared to the things that usually haunted his dreams this was nothing, but still he touched his own chest, the ribs that stuck out utterly foreign after so many years.
It took a moment to remember how it had been before, how he'd dealt with feeling like he was suffocating. Steve breathed slow but shallow, over and over as he reassured himself he was getting enough oxygen, not to panic because he was breathing and he'd be okay. Maybe he'd wake up, that's what he told himself again and again.
But he didn't.
"Tony," he said softly and at least his voice was the same. Steve's fingers were freezing, usually his hands were broad, his entire body warm like a heater. But his fingers were tinged purple and he was cold all over, the room chilly in the early morning. "Tony, something's wrong," Steve tried again, a little louder this time.
--
Tony was used to sleeping with someone else (Steve) as well — and his was something of the opposite story. He loved crawling into bed, overly tired, already half asleep and squirming his way into Steve’s arms which would always open for him no matter how asleep Steve already was. He loved tucking his head underneath Steve’s chin and falling asleep that way, even if he never quite stayed the whole time.
It was a pretty rare day when he woke up to Steve still being there though - that was the price he paid for going to bed only a few hours after Steve might decide to get up. But it was enough. Usually, Steve would leave him, go out and do his own thing (be it working at his gym or going running) and then come back eventually with coffee at a more reasonable time and Tony would be at the point where he was snuffling under the covers, contemplating the concept of being conscious again anyway.
So it was — it wasn’t really normal that Steve would still be there, would be actively trying to wake him up (even if whatever he was saying hadn’t really sunk into Tony’s tired brain yet) and so the first thing he thought wasn’t that he wanted to go back to bed and that Steve ought to come back later, it was that there was probably an emergency. Tony sat up immediately, covers pooling at his waist as he looked toward the door. “Wha—“
Glancing over at Steve showed the real problem though, and Tony lost his own damned breath for a moment because it was just such a shock. “Steve?!”
---
He'd gone to bed in his underwear, as was usually the case because he liked to be ready to jump up at a moments notice and not be bare assed. But the elastic waist now hung down, the legs baggy and he stared for a long moment, blinking at himself like at any moment all of this would go away.
Unfortunately Tony's exclamation showed him that they were seeing the same thing and he looked across at him, wheezing a little. He got to his feet, holding his underwear up in one hand as he headed to look at himself in the mirror, because he needed to see it to completely confirm what he feared had happened.
And there he was all five feet and four inches of him, his face at a level in the mirror he wasn't used to. It had taken a long time to get used to his new body, to be in a different place in space than he expected to be and now it was just as weird to be back where he'd been before. Weird and terrifying.
"I- It's- It's me," he said to himself more than to anyone else as he touched his own ribs and watched the reflection do the same.
--
Tony didn’t know what to say, not yet. He sat on the bed, with his heart in his throat and the damned thing was hard to swallow back down because it was throbbing so strongly. So he watched as Steve got up and wandered over to the mirror on the wall.
Steve’s comment sounded shocked, which was far, because this was shocking. But it was immediately obvious to Tony that yes, of course it was Steve. The same Steve that had been in a few photos in his old house growing up, the one’s that they showed in all those documentaries that he’d seen growing up and the stories that his—that Howard had often bragged about.
Those photos didn’t do it justice, he thought. The photos hadn’t shown Steve without a shirt, the way his bones were obvious even on his back, the point of shoulder blades or the way his spine was obvious. He shifted on the bed so that he might look past Steve a little and into the mirror so he could catch his face better. Steve’s nose was a little too big, but his chin was still sharp, and mouth hadn’t really changed any. Or his eyes.
He was still Steve, and he was still —
Well, best not to get too onto that thought, since Steve was clearly having some trouble breathing. “What happened?” He asked, bewildered and trying not to sound accusing, because that would be stupid.
---
Steve was having trouble breathing, but it was getting easier to remember not to try to breathe in too deep. Especially now he was looking at himself like he'd looked at himself so many times before. Steve had stood in front of the mirror and longed for everything to be different, for him to be different. Then when he was it had been a shock of its own, he still wasn't used to the attention but he reveled in what his body could do.
He swallowed hard as he met Tony's eyes in the mirror, still clueless and confused but awake now, awake enough to grasp something had happened to him. "I don't know. I woke up because I can't breathe properly," Steve explained quietly. "And-" well the and was obvious.
He shivered then, suddenly aware of how cold it was and how he hadn't been cold in years. Steve pursed his lips and ran his spare hand through his hair. "Do you feel okay?" Steve asked because of course his concern would shift immediately outward.
--
Tony was quick to evaluate himself when Tony asked and quicker to dismiss the question a second later. “I’m fine,” he said, and for once it was actually true. He didn’t feel strangely, or different at all. He didn’t know what was going on here, but if it had Steve reverting to the way he was somehow, or the serum disappearing (or any other number of things, his brain was supplying ideas a little too quickly)— well. There wasn’t anything like that in Tony.
It was the shivering that got Tony standing up, pulling one of the blankets off the bed with him. “C’mere,” he said, but didn’t really wait for Steve to listen so much as go to him with it, and drape it around his slight, boney shoulders. “You’re cold,” he said, like it wasn’t obvious. But he was trying to figure things out, trying not too be too distracted by the fact that Steve was shorter than him by a good several inches and Jesus, wasn’t that new and strange?
----
Steve thought about all those nights in he and Bucky's freezing apartment, New York winters with just his friend beside him warming the room that probably kept him alive. He'd forgotten about it and as Tony wrapped the blanket around him it came flooding back. It was strange, looking up at him, a completely different view of his face and he allowed Tony to fuss, mainly because his lungs were burning from the cold morning air.
He turned his head, coughing into his arm and he pulled the blankets more tightly around him. Steve was always quick with a plan, most situations left him with two or three of them on the go. But he was utterly stumped. This was still him, just one from a long time ago, before everything had happened. He was just Steve Rogers with no trace of Captain America left behind. Steve coughed again, longer this time and when he was done the wheezing was worse. "The steam of the shower, it'll help," he said with a nod toward the bathroom. Then maybe when he could breathe more easily he could think a little more clearly.
----
Tony wasn’t good at this, not really. He was quick on his feet when it came to most things, but he wasn’t an expert in the wet sciences or really anything medical (unless of course it came to unsupervised and inadvisable solo procedures on himself) and he sure as hell wasn’t an expert in Boyfriends Shrinking Down to Tiny Sized. Especially because the only explanation was probably magic related or -- he didn’t know.
It was all a lot. Steve was small and shaking and cold and --
And his first urge was to either go find Strange to figure out what was going on, or to go get Bucky because he knew how to deal with Steve like this. But it wasn’t dealing, it was helping. Steve’s coughed out suggestion brought Tony back to the present and got him moving. “Shower, right. Extra hot coming up. C’mon, mister.”
Tony didn’t wait though, not when he was on a mission, and the faster that steam filled up the bathroom, the faster Steve could get his breathing under control again.
---
Steve didn't want someone else, Strange or Bucky, what he wanted was all of this to be a bad dream. But the longer it stretched on the longer that Steve knew it was real. If this was happening then the only one he wanted to ask for help from was Tony, which he didn't have to point out because he was off to start the shower.
He moved a little slower, placing the blanket on the foot of the bed and still holding up the underwear with one hand as he shuffled toward the bathroom.
The light in there was warm and he shut the door behind him to trap the steam before he leaned against the counter to cough again. There had been times back then he couldn't afford the medication, the shots that had helped his poor lungs. So he knew how to handle these things, it had just been a minute. Steve was trying not to panic, that would only make it worse and instead he looked at Tony like a kicked puppy might have.
---
That kicked puppy look had Tony’s heart (which was already a little frantic, considering) both melting and breaking a little all at the same time. Because maybe Steve was thinner and smaller, but christ if that wasn’t the exact expression he’d been expecting to get.
“Okay,” he said. “You’re okay. Have a seat on the toilet, take a load off.” Not that Steve had much of a load to take off, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that Steve was clearly freaking out and it wasn’t helping him any so if Tony did the same thing it would really not help.
“We’re just gonna sit here til you feel a little better.” If Tony got anything, it was not being able to breathe, the horrifying feeling of not being able to get his lungs to expand enough to take in a full breath, of something tripping it all up and going into a coughing fit instead which only made it worse. Yeah. He got that. Not for the same reasons -- because Tony wasn’t stupid, he’d read the files about Steve Rogers and Captain America when he’d been, like, seven -- but it didn’t have to be the same to have some empathy.
---
He was okay, okay. Steve sat on the lid of the toilet, the blanket still around his shoulders. The last thing he'd wanted was to go back to feeling this way. It wasn't about how he looked, not really, it was about the feeling of utter weakness. He looked down at his knees, all bone and thin legs and closed his eyes instead. What if this was it now? If he never got back to what he'd been?
Steve swallowed hard, but tried to focus on breathing and not that thought. Tony sounded worried and of course he would be, what with the sound of Steve's laboured breathing. But in amongst being oxygen deprived and freaked out came the fear the best thing in his life, the thing he'd wanted for so long might not survive if Steve looked like this again. Tony wasn't shallow but Steve reveled in how attracted the other man was to him and what if that was simply gone?
The steam filled the small bathroom and Steve could breathe a little deeper, the warm wet air opening up his airways. "It's helping," he said softly as he opened his eyes again.
---
“Good.” Tony didn’t mean to sound so terse - he certainly wasn’t angry with Steve, not even a little. He was just worried, and he didn’t really know what he should do - whether he should be going out and looking for clues -- seeing if anyone else was having problems like Steve was or if he should be sticking to Steve’s side like glue. The part of him that felt responsible for the whole town said he should do the first thing. The part of him that felt responsible toward Steve disagreed.
Steve won out.
He knelt down in front of him so that he could look up, and Steve could look down (which felt -- more normal, really) and tried for a reassuring smile. “Hey, you.”
----
Steve was incredibly glad that Tony's panicking didn't take him out of the room, the last thing he wanted was to be alone. Well no, he didn't want anyone else there, what he wanted was for Tony to stay because with so much different what he needed was some same.
Which came in the form of Tony dropping down in front of him and it pushed his heart up into his throat. It was so incredibly sweet and thoughtful and Steve did some much needed relaxing of his tight shoulders and chest. "Hey, you," Steve replied and at least his voice hadn't changed and he stroked his fingers through Tony's hair, pushing it back from his forehead.
He breathed slowly, a little deeper and the squeeze around his lungs lessened slightly. "Well this is less than ideal," Steve said with a little smile.
---
“Hey,” Tony repeated, because he was trying to keep his cool here, he really was. But this wasn’t how he’d expected to wake up basically ever, so it wasn’t spectacularly easy. And he was also trying to keep Steve calm because breathing was clearly and issue and he didn’t want to make things worse.
So of course, Steve had to go and he himself, reaching out to pet his fingers through Tony’s hair like he wanted nothing more in the world than to make Tony feel better instead of himself. It worked a little, too. Tony dipped his head forward a little into Steve’s hands and huffed out a little breath of a laugh. “It’s not great,” he agreed, looking up at Steve through his lashes. He was just so thin.
Not unattractive, not even a little. Just. Different. “Any idea what’s going on?” he asked, trying not to get too off track here. “You forget to recharge your batteries, Cap?” It wasn’t a great joke, since that sounded more like an Iron Man issue than a Steve one, but the question was out there for them both to think on.
--- All he ever wanted was to make Tony feel better, to make him happy, to be with him especially knowing there were universes that he'd never got the chance. Being with him was so good and now Steve had gone back to looking how he'd looked when he'd been invisible and later on he'd make time to freak out about that. But there were more pressing matters, like trying not to die.
Steve snorted at his joke, a little wheezy but amused. Joking was good, it was better than panic and he stroked the side of Tony's face, just touching the familiar lines there because his own self looked and felt so foreign. "No- I don't know," he said quietly. "Is it possible the serum just wore out?" Steve asked, the fear in his eyes so real.
What if this was permanent?
"I don't feel well," he suddenly realised, because it had been a long time since he'd been able to even feel like that. "And not just the asthma, I feel. I don't know. Weird."
----
Steve did make Tony feel better and happier, that was definitely a thing. Even now, beneath all the worry and the wave of rising anxiety, Tony was glad that Steve was here. There’d be very little that could ever change that, short of either of them getting into an argument that would tear themselves and others apart again. Or lying.
Tony let his eyes flutter shut for a moment over the touch before blinking them back opened, brown eyes going more serious than before. “No,” he said, and that was a positive thing, absolutely sure. “It’s not like -- you know this, Steve. It isn’t like super steroids. It doesn’t wear off, it’s a part of you.” Which lead Tony to think that this problem was probably more to do with magic or -- well, he wasn’t sure. Outside related.
“Feel weird how?” He prompted, leaning in closer. Steve looked a little pale, but it was hard to know if that was normal or not. “What can I do?” He hated asking that, he really did. Tony liked being useful without ever having to ask how, and not knowing what was going on wasn’t doing well for his nerves.
--
One of the reasons Steve had been so darn scared to take the leap was that he knew there'd be no coming back from it. This thing was so big and important and now they were in it Steve felt like this was it for him, that this was all there was and that was incredible but terrifying. Tony made him feel stronger, he was different and looked at things in another way which made Steve better and smarter. But he'd never considered this, what might happen if he wasn't the him Tony had fallen for.
"You say that but-" Steve gestured at himself in defeat. "I'm right back where I was when I was useless and invisible." It was harsh but he was terrified and maybe he was allowed to be a little dramatic all things considered.
He was usually pale, his hands and feet always cold and nailbeds a little purple from poor circulation and Steve had forgotten all of that only to be reminded now. "Like I'm coming down with something," he said quietly. It was in his nature to pull away, to shut down, because looking like this Tony wasn't going to want him anymore and he'd be no good to anyone. What he wanted was to feel that fear alone, to push Tony away before he could leave him, but Steve had been trying so hard to be different and allow himself to be more open. Steve breathed in slowly as he shrugged his slim shoulders and looked down into his eyes.
----
Okay. This was -- Tony frowned and it wasn’t at Steve. Actually, no. It was at Steve. But not because he didn’t like the way he looked, or because he was mad at the situation, but because apparently the guy just lost all of his self confidence the second he lost about a hundred pounds, too. And they just -- they didn’t have time for that, not really, not if they wanted to get to the bottom of things. “You weren’t invisible,” Tony said, matter of fact. Because he had it on good authority he’d had a fantastic best friend (even if Tony didn’t love the guy) and he’d been noticed enough to be picked for the Super Soldier Program to begin with.
He reached up, settled his hand on Steve’s cheek. “Okay,” he said, “alright. Like a -- fever. Or? You gonna throw up? Do you wanna stay in here or--?” Tony was bad at this, he really was. Taking care of other people wasn’t a strong suit, hell, he wasn’t even all that good at taking care of himself. But he was sure as hell gonna try. Steve’d do the same for him, he knew.
----
They may not have had time for it, but Steve couldn't help it. He felt terrible, like the tight feeling in his chest was a sign of impending doom. Like this he couldn't protect anyone, help anyone or be the man he'd been when he went to sleep. He nearly snapped at him, with a 'how would you know' but despite the urge he didn't actually want to push Tony away. Sure there might have been one or two people to see him, but on the whole? Well Steve hadn't been an anyone.
Tony touched his cheek and he sighed as he nodded. "Like a fever," he agreed because he'd been cold before and maybe now he felt warm in the face. The steam had collected and his breathing had eased some from the moisture in the air. "A bit longer," Steve said as he turned his face into Tony's touch. He thought about how hard it had been to see Tony arrive, so thin and sick and that had been before they'd been more. This couldn't be easy for him, to see Steve like this now and he stroked his hair again.
---- There were different kinds of being a someone, Tony figured. Not everyone had stage presence or a following. But so long as they had someone who cared, someone really important, they were probably doing okay. That probably wouldn’t mean much if he said it now, but it was true anyway.
“Okay,” he said softly. “A little longer. You tell me when, okay?” He wasn’t going to rush anything, not if Steve wasn’t feeling well. Which obviously he wasn’t, on probably a few different levels, but still. “Whatever you need.” Still, he tilted his head forward, closing his eyes over the way Steve was petting his hair, like he was somehow the one being comforted. It felt normal, good.
---
"Okay." It wasn't okay at all, but with Tony he felt calm, a little safer than he would without him. He didn't like to think about himself as someone who needed protecting, but trouble seemed to find them and it scared him to think that he was vulnerable, less than no good to anyone. A burden.
But thinking like that wasn't going to ease his breathing any and he stroked Tony's cheek before leaning in to press their foreheads together and close his eyes. There he could just pretend everything was okay, that he was still Captain America, even if the wheeze in his chest said otherwise.