He chuckles. "If I have to carry you, I'm only doing it once," he points out. "Might as well just take the cheesecake with us to go watch the movie." Hopefully Tony isn't too fussy about the possibility of getting cheesecake on his sofa, because Steve clearly doesn't intend to get plates. Instead, he just juggles Tony a little to grab a pair of forks and a knife.
Mindlessly Tony mutters, "Uh-huh, sounds great," and takes the utensils into hand. As Steve carries him, Tony pops off the plastic dome of the packaging, scoops a bite of the creamy cheesecake into his mouth, and groans. "I feel like a teenaged girl with a tub of ice cream post-break-up," he admits sadly.
"You're the one who wanted to watch a rom-com," Steve reminds him cheerily. He waits till Tony's in between bites to set him down on the sofa, then grabs the remote and curls up next to him. "Got any requests?" He's become adept at using television remotes, but he doesn't know what movie, if any, Tony has in mind. Although he has a fork of his own, he steals Tony's to take a bite of the cheesecake while waiting for him to answer.
Tony makes a face at Steve just shy of sticking out his tongue before he answers, "I'm feelin' ... The Princess Bride. It's a classic. Definitely something to add to your repertoire."
Steve responds by kissing a stray smear of cheesecake from Tony's lips. "Got it." It takes him a couple minutes to navigate through the menus and find the movie on Netflix. "I should've brought my Snuggie along for you, huh?" he teases. But there's a blanket on the back of the couch, and he tucks it around the both of them to keep Tony warm.
By the time Steve wraps them up, Tony feels warm in more ways than physical. He pulls the blanket up on one side; from the other he sneaks his arm out to fetch more bites of cheesecake and the halved strawberries on top. "Dying to see more of your things on me? So possessive," he teases back.
"I've already seen the Snuggie on you." Steve wrinkles his nose playfully and places a finger over Tony's lips as the movie starts. It doesn't take long for him to get engrossed - he's always enjoyed good movies - and whenever Tony glances over at him, he's usually smiling or chuckling at whatever's just happened. In between, he steadily picks at the cheesecake, and the better part of it is gone by the end of the movie.
Afterwards, they sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, Steve resting his chin on Tony's head. Hopefully, he thinks, they'll be able to have more nice nights like this when Tony moves to the compound. Maybe he can even find him a red and gold Snuggie to wrap up in. "You ready for bed?" he asks finally, before they end up falling asleep on the couch.
For his part, Tony stops picking at the cheesecake not long into the movie and instead nibbles on the cut strawberries. The Princess Bride is a childhood favorite, a comfort—a dashing hero outsmarting villains and defeating all obstacles to reach his true love while spouting off banter always appealed to him, and he secretly loves the fantasy genre. When he's not sneaking a glance at Steve, he's quietly smiling to himself, save for dire moments, like when the giant shrieking eel lunges mouth-first at the screen. There, Tony sees the toothy maw of a much more alien leviathan. He falls strangely still and quiet after that, which he resolves by sitting length-wise on the couch and using Steve's side as a backrest. By the movie's end, Tony is already halfway to dozing on Steve. The exhaustion of subdrop has caught up to him.
He sucks in a deep breath and jostles his head like he just snapped out of sleep. He sounds like it, too, his voice coming out scratchy. "Yup. Bed sounds great. Let's go, buttercup."
When Tony shifts to sit with his back against him, Steve moves his arm to let him rest against his side, then idly combs his fingers through Tony's hair through the rest of the movie. The gesture is almost instinctual, and he doesn't give much thought, if any, to Tony changing positions. It's normal enough, and he's too caught up in the plot. He'd always been entranced by tales of knights and chivalry as a child, and of course he's a sap for true love.
"As you wish," Steve replies easily, with a kiss to the top of Tony's head, then (perhaps on purpose) ruins a potentially emotional moment by adding, "I'm not carrying you again, though."
For a long moment, Tony doesn't move, face ducked away from Steve's view. Then, he cranes his neck around and up and says, "Did you just ... confess your love for me via movie quote?"
"It's better than Star Wars?" Steve offers up lamely, his cheeks suddenly red. It hadn't seemed like a big deal at the time, but now Tony's making it into one, and he feels awkward. Of course he loves him. He hasn't tried to hide the fact, he's just never come out and stated it before. Tony's planning on moving in with him, and you don't do that with someone you're just casually fucking, even when there's a two hour commute involved. But he's still nervous about Tony's reaction, in that silly teenage girl butterflies in the stomach kind of way.
Tony's face falls into numb shock. The thing coursing through his head is, I don't deserve this. First Pepper, now Steve—Tony keeps sucking these goodhearted, amazing people in like a black hole, where his singularity eventually crushes them. He knew Steve cared deeply for him. Wanted him. But to frame that as love, that cements it somehow. That's the event horizon. Are you sure? he wants to ask. There's no going back after that. Tony will pull Steve into him with a greedy, terrifying force, hoard Steve like a dragon with his treasure, paranoid over when it'll be taken away; until one day (his thoughts spiral out of his control from here) he'll find Steve and the shield cleaved in two with the rest of their friends, all dead. Because of Tony. His mistakes.
Breathing funnily, he faces forward again. Say something! he yells at himself, but his mind only blares back at him with, I don't deserve this. So he tells it, Too bad. You have this, anyway.
"I'm not there yet," he hears. Belatedly, Tony recognizes his own distant, scared voice. He can sense Steve falling into him, but he already knows Steve won't turn back. He won't even wear a helmet.
Steve freezes at the words like a deer caught in the headlights of a car. Stupid, stupid, stupid, he tells himself, he goddamn knows better than to let his feelings slip with Tony. He comes on too fast, too hard, throws himself in headfirst even when he shouldn't and ruins it with something as stupid as a movie quote. I'm not there yet, to him, translates as a polite rejection. He's scared Tony off with his intensity when he knows perfectly well he needs to play it slow and safe, and now he wants to erase what had been an incredibly good evening up till now.
"Yeah, okay," he says finally, feeling like he's supposed to say something but not really knowing what. "That's. Uh." It's not fine, he can't make himself say the word fine. He wants to distance himself somehow, but doesn't have any reasonable excuse to do it, and sitting there on the couch, he feels like he's on one of those goddamn double dates with a girl who's not interested in him and no way to escape. He doesn't move, doesn't do anything to further betray his emotions.
"Bed!" Tony exclaims, higher in pitch, as he whirls around. "That's what I wish. I wish it, you grant it—that's how it goes. C'mon." His core is trembling. He can't move either.
"I'm not a genie," Steve manages to say, and it's a credit to his self-restraint that he doesn't hiss the words like a prelude to one of their usual arguments. "And I told you I wasn't carrying you again." He tilts his head. "You go to bed, okay? I'll be there in a little bit. I'm gonna stay up and watch a little more Netflix." They both need the emotional space, he thinks; sleeping together will be all right, but falling asleep is fraught with emotion, and he doesn't want to deal with that right now.
His stomach drops. Swallowing, Tony nods and slips out from underneath the blanket. He stands there, eyes on Steve, a million thoughts clustered behind them. "I did say yet," he notes, that word stressed, willing it to impart everything he should explain but can't: his fears, his hopes. Steve's not a genie, but Tony wishes him to understand. I'm trying to protect you, even if it's from me, because I think I might—"That was a crucial part. Anyway," he sighs and crosses his arms tightly, colder now in the harness without Steve by him, "g'night." He motions his head to the television. "Check out My List. You might find something," he suggests and then with a final, pleading look, he leaves.
In bed, he keeps the collar on, the harness draped over a chair (after some finagling to remove it). Tony sleeps scooted to one side, the other left empty for Steve to fill.
It's my fault, Steve thinks, because he can't keep his damn mouth shut, because he can never keep his feelings repressed around Tony. He jumps into everything too readily and assumes people will follow. As much as Steve wants to gather Tony up in his arms and kiss him while he's standing there with his arms crossed like that, he still feels rebuffed.
He keeps eating the cheesecake while he flips through Netflix, but he doesn't manage to settle on anything by the time it's gone, and honestly, sitting around and sulking isn't Steve's kind of thing. Tony's asleep when he goes back to the room to change into running clothes, and he quickly scribbles a note telling him that he'll be back in time for breakfast, leaving it on the table.
Night in New York City is far from quiet, especially on the weekend, but nobody pays much attention to Steve as he runs. He leaves Fifth Avenue behind, runs around Central Park a few times, then heads east. Eventually, he finds himself at the edge of Queens, in a neighborhood that's seen better days. When he hears the noise of crashing, falling bricks behind a bank sometime around 4 am, Steve has to investigate.
"What the hell-" he gets out before someone belts him upside the head with a crowbar.
"You too, huh?" When he comes to, he's tied up with a much smaller figure. "Man, I'm gonna be in so much trouble." Judging by the pitch of his voice, the other person is a teenager, dressed in some kind of stupid red getup.
"God," Steve groans. They've wrapped him in chains, and the goons - there's four of them, all equipped with varying weird tools - seem to be discussing what to do with both of them. "I'm such an idiot." And what the hell kind of crowbar is that? It should take more than that to knock him unconscious. "You got a cell phone, kid?"
"I'm not a kid!" he squeaks indignantly, which proves the lie. "I'm a man. You know, Spider-Man."
"Spider-Man," Steve repeats dubiously, flexing his muscles against the chains. Rope wouldn't be a problem, but chains that he can't grip to pull apart? "Is that a theme or something? Bug theme?"
"Come on, you've heard of Black Widow, haven't you?"
"Trust me, I'm hoping she doesn't hear about this." Nat could take these assholes down in about five seconds. Why doesn't he have his cell phone? Steve lets his head thud back against the wall, but it's unsuccessful in accomplishing anything. Tony's going to kill him.
Through the bank's large, front-facing windows, crowding the parking lot and spilling into the streets, is a squad of police cars with sirens still swinging their lights over the building. Gray morning light reveals dust motes in the air; Steve must have been unconscious for at least three hours for it to be past dawn. The officers outside show no sign of moving in, but they have their guns aimed forward, huddling behind car doors as cover. Rather than concerned, the crooks seem frustrated.
One of the crooks is growling negotiations and demands into a two-way radio, which he received earlier from the officers—this must be the group's leader, since the others seem content leaving him in charge. He hides behind a purple ski mask and brandishes a crowbar. Nearer to Steve stands a black man in a yellow ski mask. His eyes are shrewd and perceptive, latched onto Steve, who is bound by the four-foot chain of his steel wrecking ball, the ball's end effortlessly lifted in his hand. The other two men (one in a red ski mask, the other with some kind of armored helmet) hold no weapons, but red-mask's hands are outlandishly oversized for his frame and helmet-head's limbs despite his short stature are as bulky as the Hulk's. The first of two men guards the front door. The second hangs near the back.
Minutes later, while purple-leader barks into the radio, a figure scuttles behind the teller's desk. From around it, just the barest sliver of Tony's face peeks at Steve. He's wearing purple-tinted sunglasses. When he lifts a single finger to shush Steve, a familiar red gauntlet is encasing his hand. He ducks behind the desk again, so far undetected.
There's a difference between being told that Tony doesn't have any more suits and really, actually knowing that he doesn't have any. Sure, he'd said one thing, but Steve had always believed that there was one just under the radar, occupying space in a closet somewhere, and never mind that if Pepper asked Tony to do something, he would do it wholly and unreservedly, unquestioning. But apparently he really doesn't have any suits - at least, not any whole suits - and Steve would go into a tirade of how stupid are you, really except that he managed to get himself caught by a bunch of jumped-up thugs with a really terrible theme without his goddamn shield and he knows he's already going to hear all about this from Tony later.
Luckily, the kid doesn't see Tony ("Iron Man wouldn't have let himself get tied up like this," he'd pointed out earlier, and apparently he has some kind of Tony Stark hero worship complex, and Steve had to refrain from pointing out that he'd had Iron Man in restraints and begging with him last night) and Steve is smart enough to keep quiet - in fact, he's been quiet, it's mostly been the kid trying to banter with their erstwhile nemeses. Absolutely nobody seems impressed by this kid's smart mouth, and that includes Steve, who's reminded of himself in his younger days. He wonders how many trash cans the kid gets stuffed into on a regular basis.
Steve keeps one eye on the crooks, but keeps a watch for Tony's next move. He isn't used to this whole stealth thing; Iron Man is usually the exact opposite of stealthy, for obvious reasons. But he believes in Tony.
Helmet-head, pouting near the back door, complains to his leader about just "busting outta here, plowing 'em down," but purple-leader snaps back about him "going back to prison, that what you want?" Helmet-head and red-mask both mumble no, while yellow-mask stares impassively at their two hostages. The leader argues over the radio some more before something clangs in the back rooms. The crooks snap their heads over. Purple-leader orders helmet-head to check it out.
More minutes later, there's a loud thud. Helmet-head doesn't return; instead, there's an intermittent ringing of metal banging into metal. The leader begins accusing the police of sending someone in and threatens to "bash Captain America's head in." Yellow-mask snarls, "This is taking too long. We do what I say now—" before the bank's intercom screeches, the noise piercing, and they all flinch and cover their ears. Beside Steve, the kid shouts in pain, too, but the wrecking ball holding Steve at yellow-mask's mercy is also dropped to the floor, where it cracks and craters the tiles.
Steve doesn't enjoy the screeching noise any more than anyone else does, but he also knows that this is the opportunity Tony's giving him, and once there's slack in the chain, he wriggles his arms free and then pulls the links apart. "Get the crowbar," he hisses in the kid's ear, and hopes that some part of that manages to penetrate through the deafening noise. The broken chain drops to the floor with a clatter, and Steve tackles yellow-mask to the ground while everyone else is still reacting to the noise.
"What're you doing?" Steve asks with deceptive mildness. "Other than committing a few felonies and, honestly, really ruining my morning." The guy tries to grab for his wrecking ball, but comes up short, thanks to the broken chain. "You could've at least had the cops bring us some bagels." God, now he's bantering too. It must be contagious.
The shrieking stops not long after Steve subdues his captor and Spider-Man webs the crowbar away from the leader's feet. At the front doors the police are gathering to barge through. Yellow-mask snarls at Steve and tries to twist them, surprisingly strong, similar to wrestling with Thor. Spider-Man is shaking off the loose chain and constantly yanking the crowbar away from the leader, who scrambles after it, and talking about some game called Monkey in the Middle. Frantically strapping the crowbar to his chest, he launches himself up to the ceiling and sticks to it on all fours, out of the crook's reach.
While Steve tussles with yellow-mask, red-mask stomps over, recovered from the intercom, and raises his oversized fists like the Hulk readying to smash. But then Tony comes vaulting over the teller's desk, palm outstretched, and a soundless ripple passes through the air from the repulsor-like device on it. Red-mask yells, beaten back.
"Give it up, Demolition Squad," Tony says, voice and face hard. When he looks away to deliver a casual, but guarded "hey, Cap," to Steve, purple-leader shouts and charges at him, only to tumble to the floor with his legs tangled in a web. "I got you, Mr. Stark!" comes from the ceiling. Tony glances up at Spider-Man, thoughtfully frowning, eyes otherwise unreadable behind the sunglasses—he murmurs, "Nice work, kid," and then returns his attention to the crooks.
On the bright side, if there is one, yellow-mask's strength isn't too much for Steve to handle - Thor is at least easier than the Hulk. If he'd had his damn arms free, Steve would have been able to deal with the wrecking ball himself; it's not out of his weight class. But that crowbar hits harder than anything made on Earth has any right to, which is why he'd had the kid take it (and, not so coincidentally, himself) out of the fight. He's not sure Tony's gauntlet would be able to stand up to it, either.
"Thanks for the assist," he replies to Tony once yellow-mask is subdued. The cops, it seems, have tranquilizers - hopefully elephant tranqs, because he doubts anything else will take these guys down. Yellow-mask is at his feet, purple's been taken down, and only red and his giant fists are left. He's shaking off the blow from Tony's gauntlet and preparing to charge again. Steve straightens up, his back against Tony's. "Got any more tricks up your sleeve?"
Tony seems not the least bit concerned. In fact, he swipes his hand over the device and it shrinks back into a watch. He even turns his back to red-mask to face Steve and crosses his arms like a disappointed parent. Through the front doors, police are already filing in with guns raised at the crooks. Some dart to the two downed men to lock thick shackles, designed for enhanced criminals, onto them, though purple-leader struggles before he's tranquilized, too. A deputy approaches Tony, who tells her that the fourth man is locked in the bank vault and that her men should wait for the Avengers en route to subdue him. He's a juggernaut of an asshole, he warns her.
Before he slipped in through a back window of the bank, Tony spoke with the police. His HUD glasses scanned six enhanced inside when he arrived, two of them the hostages, one of the two being Steve as the news reported. (When Tony heard the news, something angry and ugly got lodged in his chest, but he still can't tell if it's at the crooks, Steve, or himself.) Tony and the police planned thus: he'd go in, distract the crooks, free the hostages, subdue whom he could, and then the cops would clean up. Of course, the men and women of the NYPD probably thought Tony would do this all in a metal suit. But smooth sailing from here, Tony figures. These guys are small fry, a group who call themselves the Wrecking Crew; he has them on file. Robberies, heists, violent assaults. Basic heinous stuff. Now that the Crew's members are disarmed and without human shields, the NYPD can handle it. Tony's not even meant to be here. He was done with this.
Pinning Steve with a heated, stern look, he answers, "Yup. Their names are Black Widow and War Machine, you know, the back-up you should've called when you found four enhanced robbing a bank?"
"No! Me and my friends ain't goin' back!" red-mask suddenly yells and pounds his oversized fists into the floor, which quakes and knocks the police around him off their feet. Tony teeters into Steve.
Steve purses his lips when Tony chides him, but now that there are other people present, he can't snipe back without sounding petty and childish. (It still won't stop him once they're in private and Tony really gets going, like Steve knows he will.) "I didn't have my phone on me," he mutters under his breath. It's not second nature for him to grab it like it might be for someone else. At the time, he'd been more concerned about not waking Tony up.
"I would've gone for Wanda," he adds in a normal tone, and if that's a subtle dig at Tony, then he's the only one who knows it. He's about to elaborate, but then red-mask hits the floor. Steve instinctively reaches out to steady Tony; once he's stable, he jumps over the desk to face red-mask. Steve manages to grab one wrist, but it takes both his hands to wrap around the muscle, and this is really the folly of his plan.
"Maybe this is an incentive to take a look at prison reform," he offers to no one in particular. "If people are desperate to avoid going back to prison, we should think about why." At least, that's what he tries to get out while red-mask starts hitting Steve's back with his free hand. He's winding up for a blow, fist in the air, when he finds his appendage wrapped in webbing. Between the two heroes, his hands are effectively subdued.
"Ow," Steve says, wincing. Once the police have manacles secured around both wrists, Steve relaxes his own grip and rubs his back. "I appreciate the help, kid. I owe you breakfast."
"Uh, I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that." Spider-Man shifts nervously on the ceiling. "I really gotta get home. It's been great, though. A real honor to meet both of you." While the cops are preoccupied with loading the crooks up, the kid takes advantage of the opportunity to slip out of the bank. That leaves Steve and Tony standing there, Tony looking like a disappointed parent.
"Can we leave before Nat shows up to laugh at me?" he asks, a little wryly.
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Afterwards, they sit in companionable silence for a few minutes, Steve resting his chin on Tony's head. Hopefully, he thinks, they'll be able to have more nice nights like this when Tony moves to the compound. Maybe he can even find him a red and gold Snuggie to wrap up in. "You ready for bed?" he asks finally, before they end up falling asleep on the couch.
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He sucks in a deep breath and jostles his head like he just snapped out of sleep. He sounds like it, too, his voice coming out scratchy. "Yup. Bed sounds great. Let's go, buttercup."
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"As you wish," Steve replies easily, with a kiss to the top of Tony's head, then (perhaps on purpose) ruins a potentially emotional moment by adding, "I'm not carrying you again, though."
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Breathing funnily, he faces forward again. Say something! he yells at himself, but his mind only blares back at him with, I don't deserve this. So he tells it, Too bad. You have this, anyway.
"I'm not there yet," he hears. Belatedly, Tony recognizes his own distant, scared voice. He can sense Steve falling into him, but he already knows Steve won't turn back. He won't even wear a helmet.
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"Yeah, okay," he says finally, feeling like he's supposed to say something but not really knowing what. "That's. Uh." It's not fine, he can't make himself say the word fine. He wants to distance himself somehow, but doesn't have any reasonable excuse to do it, and sitting there on the couch, he feels like he's on one of those goddamn double dates with a girl who's not interested in him and no way to escape. He doesn't move, doesn't do anything to further betray his emotions.
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In bed, he keeps the collar on, the harness draped over a chair (after some finagling to remove it). Tony sleeps scooted to one side, the other left empty for Steve to fill.
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He keeps eating the cheesecake while he flips through Netflix, but he doesn't manage to settle on anything by the time it's gone, and honestly, sitting around and sulking isn't Steve's kind of thing. Tony's asleep when he goes back to the room to change into running clothes, and he quickly scribbles a note telling him that he'll be back in time for breakfast, leaving it on the table.
Night in New York City is far from quiet, especially on the weekend, but nobody pays much attention to Steve as he runs. He leaves Fifth Avenue behind, runs around Central Park a few times, then heads east. Eventually, he finds himself at the edge of Queens, in a neighborhood that's seen better days. When he hears the noise of crashing, falling bricks behind a bank sometime around 4 am, Steve has to investigate.
"What the hell-" he gets out before someone belts him upside the head with a crowbar.
"You too, huh?" When he comes to, he's tied up with a much smaller figure. "Man, I'm gonna be in so much trouble." Judging by the pitch of his voice, the other person is a teenager, dressed in some kind of stupid red getup.
"God," Steve groans. They've wrapped him in chains, and the goons - there's four of them, all equipped with varying weird tools - seem to be discussing what to do with both of them. "I'm such an idiot." And what the hell kind of crowbar is that? It should take more than that to knock him unconscious. "You got a cell phone, kid?"
"I'm not a kid!" he squeaks indignantly, which proves the lie. "I'm a man. You know, Spider-Man."
"Spider-Man," Steve repeats dubiously, flexing his muscles against the chains. Rope wouldn't be a problem, but chains that he can't grip to pull apart? "Is that a theme or something? Bug theme?"
"Come on, you've heard of Black Widow, haven't you?"
"Trust me, I'm hoping she doesn't hear about this." Nat could take these assholes down in about five seconds. Why doesn't he have his cell phone? Steve lets his head thud back against the wall, but it's unsuccessful in accomplishing anything. Tony's going to kill him.
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One of the crooks is growling negotiations and demands into a two-way radio, which he received earlier from the officers—this must be the group's leader, since the others seem content leaving him in charge. He hides behind a purple ski mask and brandishes a crowbar. Nearer to Steve stands a black man in a yellow ski mask. His eyes are shrewd and perceptive, latched onto Steve, who is bound by the four-foot chain of his steel wrecking ball, the ball's end effortlessly lifted in his hand. The other two men (one in a red ski mask, the other with some kind of armored helmet) hold no weapons, but red-mask's hands are outlandishly oversized for his frame and helmet-head's limbs despite his short stature are as bulky as the Hulk's. The first of two men guards the front door. The second hangs near the back.
Minutes later, while purple-leader barks into the radio, a figure scuttles behind the teller's desk. From around it, just the barest sliver of Tony's face peeks at Steve. He's wearing purple-tinted sunglasses. When he lifts a single finger to shush Steve, a familiar red gauntlet is encasing his hand. He ducks behind the desk again, so far undetected.
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Luckily, the kid doesn't see Tony ("Iron Man wouldn't have let himself get tied up like this," he'd pointed out earlier, and apparently he has some kind of Tony Stark hero worship complex, and Steve had to refrain from pointing out that he'd had Iron Man in restraints and begging with him last night) and Steve is smart enough to keep quiet - in fact, he's been quiet, it's mostly been the kid trying to banter with their erstwhile nemeses. Absolutely nobody seems impressed by this kid's smart mouth, and that includes Steve, who's reminded of himself in his younger days. He wonders how many trash cans the kid gets stuffed into on a regular basis.
Steve keeps one eye on the crooks, but keeps a watch for Tony's next move. He isn't used to this whole stealth thing; Iron Man is usually the exact opposite of stealthy, for obvious reasons. But he believes in Tony.
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More minutes later, there's a loud thud. Helmet-head doesn't return; instead, there's an intermittent ringing of metal banging into metal. The leader begins accusing the police of sending someone in and threatens to "bash Captain America's head in." Yellow-mask snarls, "This is taking too long. We do what I say now—" before the bank's intercom screeches, the noise piercing, and they all flinch and cover their ears. Beside Steve, the kid shouts in pain, too, but the wrecking ball holding Steve at yellow-mask's mercy is also dropped to the floor, where it cracks and craters the tiles.
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"What're you doing?" Steve asks with deceptive mildness. "Other than committing a few felonies and, honestly, really ruining my morning." The guy tries to grab for his wrecking ball, but comes up short, thanks to the broken chain. "You could've at least had the cops bring us some bagels." God, now he's bantering too. It must be contagious.
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While Steve tussles with yellow-mask, red-mask stomps over, recovered from the intercom, and raises his oversized fists like the Hulk readying to smash. But then Tony comes vaulting over the teller's desk, palm outstretched, and a soundless ripple passes through the air from the repulsor-like device on it. Red-mask yells, beaten back.
"Give it up, Demolition Squad," Tony says, voice and face hard. When he looks away to deliver a casual, but guarded "hey, Cap," to Steve, purple-leader shouts and charges at him, only to tumble to the floor with his legs tangled in a web. "I got you, Mr. Stark!" comes from the ceiling. Tony glances up at Spider-Man, thoughtfully frowning, eyes otherwise unreadable behind the sunglasses—he murmurs, "Nice work, kid," and then returns his attention to the crooks.
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"Thanks for the assist," he replies to Tony once yellow-mask is subdued. The cops, it seems, have tranquilizers - hopefully elephant tranqs, because he doubts anything else will take these guys down. Yellow-mask is at his feet, purple's been taken down, and only red and his giant fists are left. He's shaking off the blow from Tony's gauntlet and preparing to charge again. Steve straightens up, his back against Tony's. "Got any more tricks up your sleeve?"
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Before he slipped in through a back window of the bank, Tony spoke with the police. His HUD glasses scanned six enhanced inside when he arrived, two of them the hostages, one of the two being Steve as the news reported. (When Tony heard the news, something angry and ugly got lodged in his chest, but he still can't tell if it's at the crooks, Steve, or himself.) Tony and the police planned thus: he'd go in, distract the crooks, free the hostages, subdue whom he could, and then the cops would clean up. Of course, the men and women of the NYPD probably thought Tony would do this all in a metal suit. But smooth sailing from here, Tony figures. These guys are small fry, a group who call themselves the Wrecking Crew; he has them on file. Robberies, heists, violent assaults. Basic heinous stuff. Now that the Crew's members are disarmed and without human shields, the NYPD can handle it. Tony's not even meant to be here. He was done with this.
Pinning Steve with a heated, stern look, he answers, "Yup. Their names are Black Widow and War Machine, you know, the back-up you should've called when you found four enhanced robbing a bank?"
"No! Me and my friends ain't goin' back!" red-mask suddenly yells and pounds his oversized fists into the floor, which quakes and knocks the police around him off their feet. Tony teeters into Steve.
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"I would've gone for Wanda," he adds in a normal tone, and if that's a subtle dig at Tony, then he's the only one who knows it. He's about to elaborate, but then red-mask hits the floor. Steve instinctively reaches out to steady Tony; once he's stable, he jumps over the desk to face red-mask. Steve manages to grab one wrist, but it takes both his hands to wrap around the muscle, and this is really the folly of his plan.
"Maybe this is an incentive to take a look at prison reform," he offers to no one in particular. "If people are desperate to avoid going back to prison, we should think about why." At least, that's what he tries to get out while red-mask starts hitting Steve's back with his free hand. He's winding up for a blow, fist in the air, when he finds his appendage wrapped in webbing. Between the two heroes, his hands are effectively subdued.
"Ow," Steve says, wincing. Once the police have manacles secured around both wrists, Steve relaxes his own grip and rubs his back. "I appreciate the help, kid. I owe you breakfast."
"Uh, I'm gonna have to take a rain check on that." Spider-Man shifts nervously on the ceiling. "I really gotta get home. It's been great, though. A real honor to meet both of you." While the cops are preoccupied with loading the crooks up, the kid takes advantage of the opportunity to slip out of the bank. That leaves Steve and Tony standing there, Tony looking like a disappointed parent.
"Can we leave before Nat shows up to laugh at me?" he asks, a little wryly.
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