superhusbands4ever:

Whoops my fingers slipped haha this was cathartic

sorry if this is bad I wrote it in like 30 minutes

~

Tony,

I’m glad you’re back at the compound, I don’t like the idea of you rattling around a mansion by yourself. We all need family. The Avengers are yours, maybe more so than mine. I’ve been on my own since I was 18. I never really fit in anywhere – even in the Army. My faith is in people, I guess. Individuals. And I’m happy to say for the most part, they haven’t let me down. Which is why I can’t let them down either. Locks can be replaced, but – maybe they shouldn’t. I know I hurt you Tony. I guess I thought – by not telling you about your parents I was sparing you, but… I can see now I was really sparing myself. I’m sorry. Hopefully one day you can understand. I wish we agreed on the Accords, I really do. I know you were only doing what you believe in, and that’s all any of us can do, it’s all any of us should. So no matter what, I promise if you — if you need us. If you need me, I’ll be there.

Tony frowned, looking down at the phone that was sitting on his desk.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, staring at the offending object, but it must’ve been a while, because suddenly Rhodey was rolling up behind him in his chair, returning from PT.

“Hey,” Rhodey said, stopping by the desk and nodding towards the box that had been tossed aside once opened. “What was in there?”

“A letter,” Tony said, smiling humorlessly. “From Steve. And a burner phone.”

“That so?” Rhodey asked, body going rigid with fury, glaring at the letter in Tony’s hand. “What did he have to say?”

“Says that… he’s sorry he didn’t tell me about my parents… that the Avengers are my family… that he’s sorry we couldn’t agree on the Accords…. He also says that if I ever need him for anything, I can use this,” Tony help up the burner phone by the edges, careful not to touch it with more than just his thumb and index finger, “to call him and he’ll be there.”

Rhodey’s face flattened, going into the strongest bitch face Tony had ever seen.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Rhodey deadpanned.

“Apparently not,” Tony said blandly, tossing the phone back in the desk with distain. Rhodey reached over and snatched the letter out of Tony’s hand.

“’The Avengers are your family, maybe more so than mine,’ what the fuck is that? Some family, they all left you!”

“Thanks Rhodey,” Tony murmured, face buried in his hands, “I had almost forgotten that happened for a second.”

“Oh you know what I mean,” Rhodey argued, but there was no heat in his voice and he was looking at Tony with concern. “So what are you going to do?”

Tony moved his hands, resting his chin on one fist and toying with the phone with the other. He sat there quietly for a long time. Rhodey was just about to speak again when a slow smirk spread across Tony’s face, the first glimpse of the old Tony that Rhodes had seen in days.

“I think I’ve got an idea.”

~

It had been nearly two months since what the media was calling the “Avenger’s Civil War,” and nearly a month and a half since Steve had sent Tony his apology letter and the burner phone, and still, Tony had yet to call him.

It was a gorgeous sunny day in Wakanda, and Steve, Clint, Sam, and Wanda were sitting in the living room, reading and watching TV, waiting for something to happen or something to do.

Sam and Wanda were sitting and talking quietly by the window. Clint had been sitting on he couch and flipping through the channels for almost twenty minutes, never staying on one channel for more than thirty seconds. And Steve was sitting on armchair in the corner, holding the burner phone in his hand and waiting for it to ring, when T'Challa walked into the room, box in hand.

“Mr. Rogers,” T'Challa said, nodding at the others in the room before walking towards Steve.

“King T'Challa,” Steve said, standing and slipping the phone into his back pocket. “I thought you were still in Vienna for the UN meetings?”

“I was, but we decided to take a recess for a few days, as I had things to take care of in Wakanda and we were not really getting anything done.” T'Challa moved the box from under his arm, thrusting it at Steve, a small indecipherable smile on his face. “I was, however, asked to give this to you.”

“Me?” Steve asked, cold fear flooding his body. “How would they know you could get it to me? Does someone know we’re here?”

“Yes, but I assure you, it’s no one you need worry about,” T'Challa smirked, an amused twinkle in his eye. “They told me not to tell you who it is from, and that you’d recognize the sender when you opened it.”

“Okay…,” Steve said slowly. “Thank you for bringing it to me,” he called out as the King turned and walked away.

“My pleasure, Captain.”

Steve felt his confusion rise when he heard the obvious entertainment in T'Challa’s voice. Looking down at the box in his hand, he sat back down in his chair and began to open it.

A rattling noise came from inside when the box flipped, and Steve’s brow furrowed. Once opened, he dumped the content of the box into his lap and felt his heart drop into his stomach as he looked at the objects in his lap.

Plastic pieces of what looked like an old, cheap flip phone fell out, shattered as though someone had taken a hammer to it repeatedly. On top of the pieces, a slip of paper.

Steve picked up the paper, heart pounding in his chest and ears, and unfolded it.

All that was written inside, in Tony’s blocky, engineer handwriting, was:

Fuck. You. :)