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Tony woke with the lingering feeling of dread in his stomach. He was tense, eyes gazing forward unseeingly for a long moment as he tried to figure out what had knocked him from his dreamless sleep. The answer came readily enough, a quiet, almost imperceptible whimper.
He sat up slowly, turning to look at Stephen, whose head was turned away from him. His lover was only half covered, though by the sweat glistening on his pale skin in the moonlight, Tony knew he didn’t need them. He wasn’t really moving, lashing out sporadically had always been Tony’s thing, but he could see the muscles jumping in his neck, his stomach.
Tony wiped at his eyes, tired and a little hazy still. Reaching across, he laid a gentle hand on Stephen’s chest, not pressing, simply making his presence known. He began to rub small, soothing circles, just like he’d been taught and called Stephen’s name in nothing more then a whisper, over and over again.
The actions felt routine after eight months of sharing a bed. It took awhile to figure out but it had quickly come in handy as they were both plagued by nightmares most nights. Tony watched through bleary eyes as Stephen fought his way to consciousness bit by bit. By the time his eyelids had started to twitch and the pained expression faded, a solid five minutes had passed.
Stephen inhaled deeply. On the exhale his eyes opened, his shadowed gaze flickering over to Tony, voice croaking a quiet, “I’m sorry.”
Tony sighed, getting really tired of trying to convince Stephen to stop apologizing for things he couldn’t control, “its alright, it was just a nightmare.”
Stephens expression spasmed for a moment and Tony found himself sliding down until he could press close to his side. His hand remained a solid presence on his chest, while his head took residence on his shoulder. Stephen didn’t like to be stared at in the aftermath of a nightmare, much preferring positions like these, where Tony couldn’t see his face.
It was fine. It was a trait they had in common.
“What was it this time?” he inquired softly, expecting to hear yet another horror story of the torture he suffered at the hands of Dormammu.
Stephen tensed beneath him, not saying a word. Tony didn’t mind. Sometimes words were difficult, especially late at night with nothing to distract you from what you’ve seen. He laid there, one hand now resting low on his stomach, thumb brushing the sliver of skin where his shirt had ridden up. He listened to Stephen’s breathing become steady, felt as he forcibly relaxed into the bed.
When he was sure twenty minutes had passed, Toy murmured, “in the morning then?”
Sometimes Stephen couldn’t talk about it, not right away. Putting it off until morning was the only way to make sure he would eventually do so, even if it made Tony’s stomach twist with the distant feeling of failure. Stephen always knew what to say to get him to talk after his nightmares and he was beginning to despair of doing the same for him.
A hand settled over his own making Tony crack his eyes open again. In the dimness he could just make out Stephen’s trembling fingers resting on top of his, a weak squeeze. Tony didn’t move, waited again, felt the hitch in Stephen’s chest, bit his lip to keep from speaking.
“No,” came Stephen quiet, croaking voice.
“Ok,” Tony turned into his chest a bit, nuzzling there.
The silence was thick between them. Tony felt inexplicably tuned into Stephen’s body, aware of every little movement.
“It wasn’t him.”
The admission was rough, an ache in his voice hinting at a deeper ache inside. Tony didn’t even need to be looking at him to know his eyes were glassy with unshed tears. Beneath those trembling fingers, Tony’s hand curled into a fist.
“What was it then?”
A deep, shaky exhale, “the crash, my hands, the cold.”
It was Tony’s turn to tense. All this time they had been together and Stephen had never dreamed of his crash, that he was aware of anyway. He’d inquired about it of course, but Stephen had laughed a little sharply and told him he had worse things to dream about now.
Evidently that wasn’t true.
“Are you alright?”
“4.”
Tony’s heart stopped for a second. They had created the number system for Tony, who sometimes woke from his nightmares paralyzed with fear or stress. Unable to do much of anything but stare despondently, Stephen had introduced numbers, easy to say, so he would know how bad it was. Stephen never used it, never had a reason to.
Four wasn’t good. Not at all.
His mind raced with the possibilities. When Tony said four, it meant he needed to be grounded and Stephen, natural that he was, would bundle him close and begin soothing motions designed to reassure him he was awake and here.
Tony pressed himself a little more firmly against the line of Stephen’s body, his hand which was still captive beneath Stephen’s, slipped away and began applying a steady, massaging motion up his chest and beck down his stomach. He turned his head inwards, pressing a kiss to Stephen’s neck and over his heart.
Tony didn’t like talking when he was being held but he thought Stephen would. So, he began to murmur soft assurances that the crash was a long time ago and he was alright now. Soon enough he was rambling mindlessly, everything from endearments to random complaints about meetings.
He wasn’t sure how long it lasted, but he stopped when Stephen’s hand came up to grip his again, holding it still against him for a moment before sweeping it up and pressing it to his mouth. Tony followed the movement unthinkingly, eyes finally looking up at Stephen.
It was still dark, difficult to make out the details. Tony could see the slightest glisten of tears all the same, the paleness of his face standing out worryingly. He expected Stephen to turn his head away, try to hide from his gaze and he wouldn’t have blamed him in the least. Instead, eyes locked on his as he pressed a firm kiss to Tony’s hand.
“Thank you,” he whispered against it, expression crumpling.
Tony shook his head, “I love you.”
“I know.”
“I’ll take care of you.”
Hint of a smile, “I know.”
“I’ll stay in the morning.”
Stephen swallowed thickly at that. They both knew he had a meeting with Pepper and the board of directors. They both knew nothing Stephen could possibly say would stop Tony from staying with him until he was ready to talk about it.
“I know,” he whispered, entire body shifting toward him until they were pressed impossibly closer, faces inches apart.
“I love you,” Tony repeated softly.
“I love you too.”