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There’s rarely even breathing room in a fight like this, and maybe it’s because Steve actually was asphyxiating with Thanos gripping him so mercilessly by the throat, but this moment seemed to slow to a stop for him to take in—
Tony, who had been a gleaming dot in the distance one second and right there on the other side of Thanos the next. Tony, repulsors blinding, wasting his energy in a way he must've known wouldn't matter in the end. Steve couldn't make sense of why until Thanos tossed him aside and turned his attention onto Tony, blade drawn, and Steve realised that that was the only reason. He was the only reason.
Tony had dove in and thrown himself at Thanos just so he'd let Steve go.
Steve still couldn’t quite breathe, but there was no time to worry about air getting back in his lungs. He lunged for his shield as Thanos slashed through the forearm of Tony's armour and then slashed again as the nanoparticles were still scrambling to cover him. Steve threw his shield as hard as he could, knocking the blade out of Thanos’ hand before he could land a third blow, buying enough time for Tony to lift off the ground with his armour now intact.
It isn’t until the sun starts to clear the dust in the air and Tony finally peels his armour back that Steve actually sees the wound. Thanos must have just grazed Tony’s arm with the tip of the blade, but it looks like it’s only just stopped bleeding and Steve remembers the cut above his own brow from five years ago. He remembers it because it was the only wound that’s left a scar ever since he got the serum. The Black Order uses some kind of unearthly metal in their weapons and it’s like his throat is in Thanos’ hand again when he thinks about how long it’s going to take Tony to heal from this one.
Everyone salvages what medical supplies they can from the ruins of the Compound, mostly from the underground fallout shelters that Steve and Tony had designed together way back when. At least it’s coming in handy now, Steve thinks.
It’s evening by the time the battlefield clears. Everyone else who has any kind of home to go back to has gone.
Steve’s combing what’s left of the Compound for Natasha because she’s the only one who actually lived here, so she’s the only one with nowhere to go now, when he finds Tony in one of the underground medbays, sitting on an examination table by himself and ripping off a piece of tape with his teeth.
“Hey,” Steve says, stopping. “I thought you left.”
“About to,” Tony says, taping together the ends of the bandages wrapped around his forearm. He doesn’t quite look at Steve. “What are you still doing here?”
“Looking for Nat,” Steve says, taking a step closer. “She lived here full time before this, so I thought she’d need a place to crash.”
“Right. Uh, she went into the garage, I think. To see if there’s anything left she can drive.” It’s an absurdly normal conversation for two people who haven’t been alone together in nearly ten years and just had a hand in killing an alien warlord. Tony pats the spot next to him with his good arm. “You can sit here and wait for her if you want.”
“Okay.”
So Steve sits. He imagines they make a funny picture, him with his left arm wrapped up and Tony with his right.
None of it seems real—sitting here with Tony, just the two of them in this quiet while the rest of the world is sure to be pandemonium, as beams of light from the setting sun stream into the underground room from the broken walls and ceilings; but then again, they've been here before, haven't they? Tony has put himself between Steve and harm's way before and Steve has found Tony patching himself up before. It's just that there has also been an after, where Tony was the one hurting him and the wounds Steve made were the ones Tony was left licking, and Steve thought they'd never be here again.
“Were you using the strap of your shield as a tourniquet when you came off the field?” Tony asks, breaking the silence. Steve didn’t know Tony had been looking at him.
“Yeah. Had to.”
“I’m sure you did,” Tony says with a sigh, and something about the way he says it makes Steve want to take a chance.
“Regretting yours yet?” Steve asks, nodding towards Tony’s arm, and Tony actually almost smiles.
“Not yet. Ask me again later.”
“What’d you do that for anyway?” Steve asks. He knows he’s pushing it now, and Tony goes back to being quiet and he stays quiet for so long that Steve figures he isn’t getting an answer, but then he does.
“Let's say it was for when we lost,” Tony says, his voice very low, “and I wasn’t there.”
Steve’s chest clenches at the answer he wasn’t expecting. “Tony, don’t.”
“You know something? I'd do a lot differently, with you, if I could put that quantum suit we made back on and go back to the beginning knowing what I know now and do it over, but this—” Tony gestures to his arm. “This, I'd do the same damn way. Every time.”
“Tony—”
“I should’ve gotten to you sooner.”
It doesn’t take Steve a second to understand that Tony isn’t talking about today and after all that's happened, he finally believes that for the two of them, it's not too late.
“I think your timing’s alright, all things considered,” Steve says softly.
And finally, Tony looks him in the eye. His hands had been resting on his lap and now he turns his left hand over, palm up. Steve reaches for it and it’s not a handshake. Tony just closes his fingers around Steve’s, excruciatingly gentle, and this is somewhere they've never been.