AN: This can be read in relation to my other stories "Never Again" and "Never Again is Now" or it can be a stand alone fic.

TW: Discussion of Nazism

After the battle of New York, Tony had opened up the tower to anyone who felt like coming. (He'd like to think it was because grand gestures were kind of his thing and not because living by himself in a tower right under the portal that he had almost died in wasn't… pleasant).

To his surprise, the other Avengers had all agreed. Even more surprising, Steve Rogers AKA Captain American AKA the super soldier who had seemed to hate his guts, had been the first one to move in.

Steve and Tony had clashed badly on the Helicarrier, so Tony had made up his mind to leave the man to himself, choosing instead to spend most of his time holed up in his lab and making adjustments to his suit.

The arrangement seemed to be working. Rogers was quiet and polite whenever they happened to cross paths in the common room kitchen and Tony could feel his natural defensiveness around the man gradually lessening as time went on.

A few weeks in and Tony is busy trying to replicate the power surge that had happened when Thor had hit his suit with lightening when JARVIS breaks into his concentration.

"Sir, I believe you should make your way to the living room."

Tony's brow furls as he looks up from his work. Usually he'd ignore comments like this, since they were usually on the same thread as 'you should eat something' or 'the human body requires 8 hours of sleep a night to function properly'. But he'd lived with JARVIS long enough to be able to recognise the minute inflections in his voice.

His AI sounded tense. His AI sounded worried.

He's already up out of his chair and halfway to the elevator before his next words come out of his mouth. "What's up J?"

JARVIS somehow manages to close the elevator doors with an air of anxiousness and Tony can definitely feel the lift rising faster than usual.

"Captain Rogers seems to be in some distress, Sir." JARVIS replies as the lift flies upward. "I felt it… advisable to intervene."

Tony blinks a little in surprise at that since JARVIS has pretty strict privacy protocols, but he doesn't have long to question it as the lift slows to a stop at the common room floor.

The doors ding open and Tony's attention is drawn to the sound of the TV in the living room sitting in front of a ring of couches. A news anchor dressed in a yellow pantsuit is looking grim as she reads off the day's report.

"The National Socialist Movement, a neo-Nazi group, held two rallies in Arizona and Minnesota on Saturday to demonstrate against illegal immigration." She says and Tony's stomach drops as images of people dressed in World War II-era Nazi garb are shown holding red and white flags branded with an all too familiar symbol.

"The group was outmatched by about 700 counter protestors." The lady continues as Tony finally catches sight of Rogers, sitting frozen on the couch, staring at the screen with wide eyes.

Oh no. Tony thinks, dread pooling in his stomach as the news anchor continues to recount how a fight had broken out between the two groups of protestors. This is not good.

"JARVIS, turn off the TV." He orders sharply, before cautiously making his way into the room, edging his way around the couches so that he doesn't accidentally sneak up on Rogers.

The Captain doesn't seem to notice the TV turning off, he doesn't even blink.

Oh… kay. Wherever Rogers is, it's not in a good place. Now that Tony is closer to him, he can see tiny little tremors running through his body as he sucks in tiny, shallow breaths, his eyes never leaving the TV.

This… this is not Tony's area. He doesn't do feelings. He is definitely the last person who should be trying to help in this situation.

But there's nobody else in the tower, and Rogers needs help now.

"Okay Rogers." Tony warns as he inches closer, crouching slightly as he nears. "It's just you and me here, nothing else."

A shudder runs through Rogers' body and he drags in a loud painful breath, his shoulders jerking slightly as he pants. His eyes squeeze shut, and his hands dig into the couch cushions as he leans forward, another tremor running through his body.

"Cap?" Tony tries, raising his hands cautiously. "Cap, you with me?"

Rogers' eyes suddenly snap open and he lurches up abruptly from the couch, startling Tony back a few steps, before blindly shoving himself to the other end of the common room, towards the kitchen.

Tony's heart kicks up a notch as he slowly follows the man, not really sure what he's getting himself into.

Rogers reaches the kitchen and scrambles to lean over the sink before shuddering and retching into it. Tony winces at the sound and is totally unprepared for the absolutely haunted gaze that looks up at him.

"T-they… they said we won." Rogers whispers, wiping his mouth. "They said we won— they said—" His voice catches and he gags again before slowly slipping into a crouch on the floor, his breath rapid and his eyes wide as he stares blankly in front of him.

Tony's stomach twists and he feels his breath shorten slightly as he sinks down to join Rogers on the floor, his mind running a mile a minute.

He hadn't really… he hadn't really thought about it before, but the Second World War wasn't really that long ago for Rogers. It hadn't been that long ago that he'd been fighting the original Nazis and… wait, hadn't he liberated a camp or something at one point?

He had, Tony realises with growing horror, he remembers learning about it in school. At the time it had been taught with an air of 'isn't it great that we were the good guys that put a stop to this sort of thing?' and 'doesn't this make Captain America out to be just the best guy ever?' and Tony hadn't really thought about what that sort of thing might actually do to a person.

He sees it now though, plain as the thousand-yard stare on Rogers' pale face.

"They said we won." Rogers mumbles again, his hands shaking as he lifts them to run through his hair. Tony feels his heart clench. He is so not qualified for this.

Wincing as his knees groan in protest, he inches slightly closer, ducking his head to try and catch Rogers' gaze. "Hey. Hey Rogers." He leans forward and snaps his fingers, jumping slightly when Rogers' head snaps up, his eyes wide and— oh no, those are tears.

They don't quite fall but they well up in Rogers' eyes, making him suddenly look a lot younger.

Wait a minute, Tony thinks as he stares, his brain jumping at the distraction. How old is this guy? When was he born? The 20's?

A shuddery breath from Rogers cuts off his train of thought and he watches as Rogers scrubs a hand across his face, leaving his eyes red and raw.

"Fury told me the war was over." He says, his voice thin and oh so vulnerable.

Tony nods. "Yeah. Yup." He confirms desperately. "It is, it's finished."

Rogers' chin jerks and he shakes his head. "No— no." He swallows as his voice catches. "There's still, there's still—" He waves his hand in the direction of the living room and Tony gets the general idea.

This is so not what he wants to be doing.

"Yeah." Tony shrugs awkwardly and looks down. "Some people aren't so ready to move on." He says.

At his words, a flurry of shock and anger flies across Rogers' face before he seems to deflate, slipping out of his crouch to sit heavily on the floor, his eyes clouded.

Tony isn't really good at dealing with mental breakdowns in general (just ask Pepper), and he finds himself at loss for what to do. Eventually he too makes himself comfortable (or as comfortable as he can be, on a tile floor) and waits for Rogers to make the next move.

After a few minutes, Rogers draws in a breath, his shoulders falling and rising like mountains before he seems to blink himself out of his haze and looks over at Tony.

Really, when was he born? Tony thinks frantically as he's pinned by an exhausted stare. 1918? That sounds about right. He runs some calculations in his head. So that puts him at what? Twenty-six, twenty-seven?

A twenty-seven year old has no business looking that tired.

Rogers shifts his heavy gaze away from him and leans back against the counter behind him. "Did you know there was a Nazi rally in Madison Square Garden right before the war started?" He asks, his voice hollow.

Tony mutely shakes his head.

"February 20th, 1939." Rogers recites woodenly. "Twenty-thousand people." His face twists. "They called it a pro-American rally." He spits out the words as if they were poisonous and his hand curls into a fist on top of his knee.

"I guess things really aren't so different." He says bitterly, his shoulders slumping.

Tony's mind flashes back to the last time he'd heard the Captain say those words—back on the Helicarrier, when they'd discovered that SHIELD had been developing Hydra tech— and winces.

"Well," Tony blows out a gust of air. "It's not all bad." He says. "There were people counter-protesting at this one, and it seems like they outnumbered them pretty well."

Rogers scoffs and shakes his head. "There were protesters at the last one too." He says. "Thousands of us, but they said they had a right to have that rally, and then seven months later Hitler invaded Poland—" His throat flexes and he swallows.

"I just thought," he continues quieter, "that things would be better now."

"Yeah." Tony breathes out, slouching against the cabinets behind him. "You're not the only one."

Silence sits over them for a while longer before Rogers wipes a hand over his face again, drawing in a long breath and dropping his hands down to rub against his legs anxiously. "Sorry." He says suddenly, ducking his head and clenching his jaw. "I didn't mean to—" He shrugs and sort of cringes away at the same time, studiously avoiding Tony's gaze. "I should probably, get… back to my room now, so…"

"Oh." Tony jolts and scrambles to his feet along with Rogers. "Sure, um…" He rubs his hands together and silently curses Steve Rogers' soulful eyes.

Nobody needs eyes that big and lonely looking. It just isn't practical.

"Or," Tony finds himself speaking up as Rogers walks away. "Or if you want, if you wanted, we could go down to my lab or something and do… something."

Rogers pauses and turns to look at him. "Do… something?" He asks, his eyebrow raising just slightly.

"Sure." Tony rambles off, waving his hand and letting his mind run. "I mean, did you see the suit that SHIELD gave you? Disastrous. I'm sure I can whip up something better in no time."

Rogers seems to hesitate for a second, and Tony swears he can almost feel the scale between acquaintances and potential friends teetering back and forth between them.

"I…" Rogers sucks in a breath and offers, small as it may be, probably the first smile that Tony's seen since he'd declared their victory over Loki's invasion.

"I think," Rogers says, his shoulders pulling back. "That that would be interesting, Stark."

"Call me Tony." Tony replies flippantly, making his way towards the elevator, his mind already buzzing with a dozen different design plans for the Captain's suit.

Rogers eyes flicker over him for a second and something in him seems to relax. "Only if you call me Steve." He says, his eyes brightening for the first time since this whole ordeal started.

Tony's train of thought cuts off for a second as he looks over at Rogers—Steve, and he nods once. "Deal."

AN:

So I got mad at Nazis again, and wrote this. I think there was definitely a moment were Steve turned on the TV and saw people wave Nazi flags and had to deal with the fact that people still follow that kind of thing and that made me sad.

The rally on TV was based on one that happened in 2009. 2009/11/07/120129726/neo-nazi-rallies-provoke-anger-fear

I think if I put brackets around the dots you can use the links if you take out the brackets, but I don't know.

You can learn more about the 1939 rally in Madison Square Garden here: /when-a-jewish-laborer-took-on-20000-us-nazis-in-madison-square-garden/

Other fics of Steve being angry at the world:
"Never Again"
"Never Again is Now"
"Again with the Plague"

"Again the Riots Come"