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Steve saw Tony in front of the grand, pure white gate.
Tony wasn’t wearing one of his signature "Tony Stark" suits. He wasn’t even dressed in that excessively shiny silver armor. Instead, he was clad in the most basic and ordinary of his suits—the red and gold armor. He casually held his helmet in his hand, twirling it absentmindedly. Steve would even bet that under the armor, Tony was still wearing his favorite black T-shirt, as if he were just at home.
“Long time no see, Winghead.” Tony—his once closest friend, and also the enemy he had fought to the end of the world—greeted him with a calm yet familiar warmth.
It felt strange, like they were back at the old Avengers Mansion, bathed in the glow of the setting sun, filled with laughter and joy. Back when Clint hadn’t died from some ridiculous accident, when Janet was still the "Wasp" flitting around Hank. Years had passed, yet they remained the same, stubbornly arguing without backing down. From the beginning to the end, from their first meeting to the apocalypse.
Though countless thoughts flashed through his mind, Steve simply walked forward and, just as he had done countless times before, knocked on the helmet Tony held in his hand. “Long time no see, Shellhead.” Even Captain America himself, Commander Rogers, hadn’t expected that after all they had been through—the end of the world, the bitter fights—he would find himself greeting Tony as if nothing had changed.
The familiar nicknames rolled off their tongues, marked by the passage of time. They had shared countless jokes, drank together countless times, wandered through the streets and alleys of New York, and talked about the future of the Avengers on rooftops. They had rebuilt the Avengers together, recruited new members together, and trained inexperienced youngsters together. And in battle, they had countless times trusted each other with their lives, being each other's steadfast support.
They were the elders of the Avengers, once so close that nothing could come between them.
Tony chuckled softly and shook his head. His beautiful blue eyes sparkled with clarity. He didn’t say anything else, just like when they were still friends. He reached out, wrapped his arm around Steve's neck, and rested it on his shoulder, guiding him toward the white gate.
Inside the gate, it wasn’t as pure as it appeared from the outside. Instead, it exuded a familiar scent—smoke, blood, sweat, and dirt. It was the scent they knew best, one that clung to them and could never be washed away.
Steve suddenly realized something.
He grabbed Tony’s free hand—the one not holding the helmet—abruptly.
He might not be as brilliant as the geniuses in the Illuminati, but he had a sense of what lay beyond the door.
Perhaps behind that door was Janet and Hank’s wedding, Wanda and Vision living happily with their two children, and Bucky and Natasha no longer worrying about being the cause of each other's danger. Maybe even he and Tony could...
The cold logic of "ever-calm Captain America" returned, swiftly smothering the sudden surge of joy.
“Steve,” Tony’s eyes, once filled with laughter, were now crystal clear, filled with an understanding that was almost heartbreaking—not the smug satisfaction of the ultimate Iron Man, but the clear realization of the futurist Tony Stark. “We’re already dead.”
“There’s nothing left to worry about,” he said with a sigh, “No one’s plotting against us anymore.”
*But your eyes tell me otherwise.*
Steve didn’t say it aloud. He just stood there, as always, like an unyielding symbol that would never fall.
“Why don’t you ever believe?” The “angry Tony” suddenly seemed to spring to life from the “smiling Tony,” furiously jabbing a gloved finger at the star on Steve’s chest. Steve never believed. He didn’t believe in the benefits of the Accords, didn’t believe the world was beyond saving, didn’t believe that Tony really wanted to save people rather than kill them.
*Yeah, why?* Steve asked himself softly in his heart, wondering why he felt a strange sense of peace from the sight of this angry Tony.
Maybe Steve Rogers had endured too much in his life. It was as if every villain in the world had joined a competition called “How to Break Captain America,” challenging him every couple of days. And the stubborn art student from Brooklyn never wanted to give those aesthetically challenged villains even a chance of winning. So he stood tall, just as he did now, standing up for the conscience of humanity.
Pain was so real to him that he feared, even dreaded, the idea of a "utopia" existing. He always chose to be the rational one, to expose the real suffering.
This sudden clarity of fear gave him an unusual courage, allowing him to reach out and embrace the man in armor before him.
“I do trust you.”
He trusted the man before him. Perhaps he had once wavered, and their relationship had been broken, but deep down, he always trusted him. Although he often disagreed with Tony’s views, his trust had never wavered. Because the man before him was Iron Man, a superhero, a futurist, a genius willing to risk everything, the one who had shown him the future.
The future was worth trusting, no matter what.
With a smile that hadn’t graced his face in a long time, Steve looked at the man who had let down all his defenses with a single sentence.
“We won’t kill each other again, will we?” Tony shed his armor, extending a distinctly human hand toward Steve.
“I don’t think either of us can guarantee that.” They were always full of contradictions, always clashing, but Steve still stubbornly took the hand extended to him.
They were heroes carrying the weight of the world, that was true.
But they still needed someone to tell them whether what they were doing was right, even if they always stood by their beliefs. They needed someone to stand in front of or behind them, even if they were both barely managing when one was in trouble. They needed someone to share a bottle of beer with during sleepless nights, even though one of them had sworn off alcohol and the other couldn’t get drunk no matter how much he drank. They needed love, even if it meant being hurt. They needed to be loved, even if it terrified them.
Steve and Tony never did step through that gate. They sat on the steps, like two ordinary old men, leaning on each other.