How Far We've Come

Chapter Ten

Tony got home during that fuzzy hour of the morning where he and Steve sometimes passed each other in the bedroom, Steve, getting up early, Tony, going to bed late.

Tony was twitchy. Anxious. Like he'd mainlined a few gallons of caffeine into his bloodstream. Nat and Clint didn't ask any questions, just shoved him off the quinjet the moment the tires hit the helipad.

He loved them a little more for it.

Peter's room was closest to the elevator, so Tony tried to check on him first. The door was locked.

Another red flag.

He's just looking for some privacy after whatever happened at dinner, Tony thought. That's all it was, right? That's all.

"Tony?"

Steve was standing in their kitchen, a mug gripped tight in one hand, the other palm balancing his weight against the counter. He looked like death warmed over.

"Steve." Tony walked over, stopping only a few inches away. "Why aren't you in bed?"

Steve leaned in, kissing Tony softly, before wrapping his arms around his shoulders. "I'm glad you're here."

That wasn't an answer."Steve, it's almost five in the morning."

"Couldn't sleep. Not after- you know." Steve melted against Tony, his arms heavy across Tony's shoulders. "I'm so glad you're here."

Tony gripped him tight. "Me, too."

They stood there, like that, for a few minutes. Steve's heartbeat slowing down as Tony's breathing deepened. They weren't okay. Not by a long shot. But they were better, just being together.

"Tony- I'm..."

"I know. I... I know." Tony pulled back. "He locked the door. Did you get him to..."

Steve shook his head and ran a hand over his hair before crossing his arms. "He kept telling me he felt sick, so I let him go to bed. I wasn't getting anywhere."

"That's okay. We'll worry about it in the morning. C'mon. I need to shower and then we can try to-"

Tony's hand was on Steve's arm, urging his husband to follow him, but Steve didn't move. He shook his head and ran his palms down his face. "Tony, I can't. Not with- not knowing Peter..."

How could Steve go to bed knowing something was wrong with their son? Something this serious?

What if Peter got worse, or needed them, or wanted someone with him, or anything like that, and Steve was sleeping, completely oblivious, while his son suffered-

"Steve." Tony reasoned, cupping the side of Steve's neck. "He's locked in his room, asleep. It's almost five a.m. There's nothing we can do right now except-"

"Tony, I need-"

"Sleep." Tony said. "You need sleep. I need sleep. Peter needs sleep. All of us need to wake up in the morning with clear minds so we can have a serious conversation. This isn't going to be something you can be foggy and exhausted for."

Steve slowly let the mug clatter to the counter, the rattling of the ceramic on the granite subsiding once Steve released the handle.

Tony showered in record time, barely rinsing all of the shampoo out of his hair. Usually, the jets of warm water between his shoulders were his favorite part of coming home from a mission. Cleaning the silt and soot from his body as the heat eased the tension in his shoulders.

Tonight, every second under the spray was another second to stress over Steve and Peter and everything happening here.

It didn't help that the mission was still lurking in the back of his mind. Something was wrong. They were missing something. Something big. Something-