The nightmares were reoccurring.

Like plagues, they dug their sharp claws into his sleeping brain, rattling and filling it with irrational fears and painful memories. They'd strangle at his sanity, leaving him terrified, frozen, and dripping with sweat in the middle of the night. But what was the scariest part about these nightmares?

Not the vividness…. no, not the morbidity. Not even the heart-stopping sickening visions they held. The scariest part was that, after waking up, Steven couldn't even remember a single second of them.

"You're up early." Tony walked into his spacious living room clad in stained lounging plaid pajama bottoms. He spoke monotonously, barely making eye contact with Steve and he lethargically made his way into the kitchenette.

"It happened again," Steve spoke almost inaudibly, staring ahead unblinkingly to a wall that was blank aside from some framed records of bands he'd never heard of. "That thing. It happened again last night."

"Hmm?" Tony looked up from the bag of coffee beans he had just retrieved from a cabinet. "Oh, yeah. Right. The dreams."

"I'm starting to get a little worried…" Steve finally shifted his eyes, leaving the spot on the wall he'd be eyeing so carefully now unsupervised. "This is the third time this week."

"Fourth." Tony was pouring the beans into a coffee maker.

When Steve returned a 'what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about' glance, he concluded, "Sorry, I forgot to tell you. It happened Thursday too."

"You forgot to tell me?" Steve twisted his body around on the couch he had been perched on for the last hour or so. "Tony… how do you just forget to tell someone something like that?" His voice held both anger at his friend for neglecting to inform him of such an important matter and fear for the fact that the episode had occurred once more than he'd originally believed.

"I didn't really think it was a big deal," Tony shrugged, the coffee maker now making its familiar loud bubbling sound that drove Steve crazy.

"Not a big deal?" Steve had now turned complete around, his arms folding over the top of the couch. "You're telling me, that the guy you're sleeping with wakes up next to you at three in the morning, trembling and screaming, and you think it's nothing to be concerned about?"

"You forgot crying."

"For Godssake, Stark! Can you be serious for once? I honestly think there's something wrong with me…"

"There's nothing wrong with you." Tony rolled his eyes as he found himself sitting down next to both his roommate and, more commonly, guilty pleasure.

Before placing a delicate hand on the other man's knee, he consoled, "Look. You're just having some bad dreams, there's nothing to be afraid of. Steve, we were fighting to the death only a few months ago. I think you should be concerned if you weren't having nightmares."

True, it had been only four months since the Avengers initiative was assembled and put into action. Four months since Tony Stark, the brilliantly minded and filthy rich narcissist had met Steven Rogers, the legendary super-solider who might as well have been made of glass. Four months since the Asgardian aliens arrived.

However, it had been only two months since the patriotic captain and metal-suited man began living together. Okay, maybe 'living together' wasn't a favored term between the two of them. Perhaps 'Steve constantly stayed the night' was a better way of putting it.

Either way, that also happened to be the time these episodes began to occurring.

Tony could never forget the first one. It had happened about five days, give or take a few, since Steve had officially claimed the left side of the his bed. Somewhere between midnight and two in the morning, a sort of yelling noise coming from right next to him had woken Tony. With his heart beginning to beat a little faster than normal, he thought Steve had seen or heard something that startled him. But when he sat up to take a closer look, his curiosity was confronted by an unsettling image.

The LED light from his arc reactor acted nicely as a torso flashlight, and he was able to see a sobbing Steve through the blue haze.

"Steve? Hey, what's the matter?"

No response.

The ex-soldier was sitting up completely straight, cheeks red and moist, with eyes that were closed firmly shut with a gaping frown to match. He clutched onto a pillow, as if for dear life itself, and slowly rocked back and forth, crying hysterically.

"Steven. What happened? What the hell is wrong with you?"

No response. The only thing able to exit the other man's mouth were periodic wailing screams that shattered as they hit the bedroom's cold air with a crash.

Tony had sat up completely straight, shivering when the cool atmosphere hit his naked chest. He extended both arms, hoping to consult his friend and companion.

"Calm down," he tried hushing, but when he was finally able to grab hold on the burning body next to him, he was pushed down, two fists now clenching his shoulder and hip.

"It-it is" Steve could barely speak, his words coming out like chokes and eyes still shut tightly as his buried his face into Tony's chest. "It's so-so c-cold."

Unaware of what to do, Tony awkwardly patted a hand on his bedmate's back. 'There-there' the motion said, 'don't fret little soldier boy, I'm here.'

"What's cold?" He said out loud instead. "Steve? Are you dreaming about-"

"Don't let go!" Came out as an ear-splitting screech accompanied by a very firm-tightening grasp to the shoulders. Tony took a mental note to never underestimate a scientifically enhanced war-hero's grip.

The outburst had settled back down into whimpers and mewls until finally, Steve Rogers, living legend World War II hero, was breathing normally at a slow pace, eyes resting and peaceful, body asleep.

All Tony was able to do was sit there in awe. He was not only beyond confused, but a little bit frightened, for he had never seen a side of the captain like this before. Instead of pushing him aside, ignoring him, or trying to find a way out like he normally would, Tony just held onto his other firmly and intimately, quietly repeating, "I won't. I promise. I won't let go."

"It's not from that though," Steve had said, looking at his companion with misunderstood eyes. "It's not because of… New York, or Loki, or any of that Avengers crap. It's something different… I-"

"How could you possibly know?" Tony's eyes held indifference. "You said it yourself, you don't even remember what you're dreaming about."

"Then why aren't you having nightmares? You were there too."

Bringing his hand back, Tony raised an eyebrow. "Well, I suppose you're more empathic than me. Congrats, but quite honestly I think we could've established that without all this drama. You know, when I was in first grade, I was the first kid to ever be awarded the 'doesn't play well with others' phone call-"

"Tony turn that stupid thing off!" Steve interrupted, yelling with eyes clenched shut. He was talking about the coffee maker.

The bearded man stood up, taking his sweet time to reach the counter-top appliance. "I want to see a doctor," he heard from behind him.

"A doctor…" Tony pondered the idea while pressing the 'off' switch. "Like… a psychiatrist?"

"Yes." Steve had finally stood up, stretching the muscles that ached from a long night of tossing and turning. "I need help, Tony."

Although he didn't agree with this statement, Tony didn't deny it either. Here stood an incredible man. Tacky as his 'mighty hero' costume may have been or how outdated his ideas and language were, he was in no way weak or overrated. His strength, both mental and physical, had always impressed Tony. Though he'd most likely never admit it.

To see such a brave person with so much to live for act so delicately and vulnerable made Tony realize the problem haunting Steve's subconscious was a bigger threat than he was allowing to let on. The least he could do was give the guy what he asked for.

"Alrighty, then. A psychiatrist you will get." He poured a hot cup of freshly made coffee into a mug that read 'Stark Industries' on it. "Want some?"

Wincing at the drink, the captain replied a polite 'no', and then retired back into the bedroom in order to catch up on the sleep he had missed.

"Okay, lets review." Tony had a phonebook open on his lap and was busy taking notes on which doctors seemed the most qualified or least shady. He only wanted to hire the best. "Who were in the Beatles?"

Steve, sitting on the sofa opposite him, drummed his fingers along his left knee. "Uh… Ringo Starr…"

"Yes." Tony licked the tip of the pen and turned the page.

"John… Lennon."

"Good, two for two. You're on a role Ken Jennings."

"Ken Jennings?" Steve asked, looking up from his clasped hands in confusion.

"He's, uh… um never mind." Tony mumbled, then turned his attention back down to the heavy open book in his lap.

"Okay so… Ringo Starr, John Lennon, Paul McCartney," he counted on his fingers as he spoke each famous name "… and George Harrington?"

"Harrison, but close enough, I'll let it slide for effort."

Steve smiled to himself as if he had just won a game show, and took a sip out of his can of Coca-Cola with pride.

"Alright…" Tony said, adjusting more comfortably in his lavish chair. "So I've narrowed it down to about three people. Now, this one," he pointed to the second name on his handwritten notepad which read 'Robin Orwell'. "She had the best reviews. But she lives the farthest away. Now, I'd like for them to come here, and I don't know if she'd charge for travelling-"

"Why?" Steve's question interrupted.

"Huh?"

"Why do you want them to come here?"

"I want to show off the place," Tony replied with a face resembling that of pleading innocence, to which Steve just subconsciously rolled his eyes in frustration. "Anyway, she specializes in recovery therapy. Then there's this Jordan Garner guy, who, quite frankly, creeps me out a little from his picture. However, he lives right on the same avenue, so that'd be convenient."

"What about the third guy?" Steve had gotten up, and paced the room until he stood behind the sitting man. He wrapped his arms around the other's neck while reading over his shoulder.

"Uh… that'd be Mr. Cole Crowe. It says here that he's won a bunch of awards and has experience helping people overcome their fears."

Steve nodded, sneaking a peck on Tony's neck in the process.

"Pick your poison, Rogers."

Well… I say we dial up each one and speak to all of them," Steve turned his head slightly, although he was already uncomfortably close to Tony so his nose was hitting him dead in the cheek. "We can tell them the conditions and then we'll see how willing or capable each one is to helping me."

"Helping us," Tony corrected. "I haven't a gotten a good night's sleep in weeks. I need this as much as you do."

"You're an asshole." Steve breathed on his neck, and playfully laid a punch on his companion's shoulder. "Do you have the numbers written down?" He was reaching for the phone on the coffee table.

"Yeah, here's the first one, Garner's." Tony placed the lined paper close to his face and read off the number.

They repeated this game three times; recite a string of numbers, punch those numbers into the digital phone, wait for some rings, hear a voice, ask some questions.

Eventually, through the few short interviews and explanations, it was down to that Robin Orwell. Steve was the final decider though, and since Robin had easily agreed to do sessions at the tower, he figured she was their best shot.

"So, would you mind, in a hundred words or less, explaining why you need this psychiatric help?" She had asked over the phone after formal introductions were exchanged.

Steve, scratching his head while Tony listened in on speakerphone answered, "It's weird. I wake up in the middle of the night and, or so I'm told, have unconscious fits and, uh, breakdowns."

"Hmm, I see. Is there someone I can talk to who has witnessed or can describe these events? A spouse or girlfriend perhaps?" The professional yet not unfriendly voice said through the receiver.

"Yeah, he's right here," Steve had handed the phone to Tony, still not completely aware of how speakerphone worked.

"Hello? This is Dr. Robin Orwell, to whom am I speaking with?"

"Ee-yeah, hey there, Doc," Tony shot Steve a glare that read 'I wasn't exactly planning on having to speak on the phone as your boyfriend, dickhead' while biting his lower lip. "My name is Tony Stark, uh-"

"Tony Stark? … as in… The Iron Man, Tony Stark?" her voice had slightly picked up on pace, volume, and pitch.

It was kind of ironic. For so long, when introducing himself, people responded with 'Tony Stark? Are you by any chance related to the famous Howard Stark?'. Finally it had changed and become 'Tony Stark? As in the billionaire weapon-manufacturer running Stark Industries, Tony Stark?'. More recently, however, it had become 'You mean Tony Stark as in Iron Man?'.

"Uh, yes. And you're welcome by the way." Tony wasn't too gifted at speaking on the phone with other people.

"Yes, um, well then. Mr. Stark, can you describe Mr. Rogers', quote 'episodes', he's been having at night?"

The faint static that came through the receiver made it a little hard for Tony to think straight. "Well…" he started, "He'll usually, uh, sit up straight in bed. Sometimes his eyes are open and sometimes they're closed shut… but he's never awake. And he starts to cry and breathe heavily and sob all over the place."

Steve had been leaning against the bar, one leg propped up behind him. His arms were crossed and he listened carefully to his friend's description. It was hard for him to imagine doing all these things.

"Mm-hmm, yes, go on." She sounded as if she were taking notes.

"And uh… he'll usually hold onto something. Like a pillow or the blanket. And he'll just sit there and sort of… yell."

"Yelling how? Does he say anything Mr. Stark? Is it a scream? Or more of a wail, perhaps?"

"M-mostly just screaming… I mean to say, he's not too quiet about it." Tony walked closer to Steve, and placed a few fingers softly over his crossed arms. "Sometimes he says things, and I think they have to do with his past."

"You never told me th-" Steve said in a loud whisper, furrowing his eyebrows, but had been cut off by a harsh 'Shh!' from Tony who was still talking on the phone.

"And uh… he'll shake and start to toss and turn. Then he'll calm down, and then he goes right back to sleep."

"Interesting…" the woman's voice purred on the other end. "Well, I'm sure I can help you and your… erm… friend, Mr. Stark. And it's been an honor talking to you. Would you like me to stop by tomorrow? That way we can all sit and chat and dig deeper into the details?"

"Uh, um, yeah. Yes. Tomorrow sounds good. Tomorrow's very, very doable."

"I'll need a time and address, please. Nothing before noon and nothing after nine."

"Three?" Tony asked, to both the phone and Steve who was beginning to seem much less interested in the conversation than initially. "And I think you'd know where to find me."

They exchanged affirmatives and goodbyes, Steve throwing his own ones over Tony's shoulder for good measure, and then didn't speak of that matter for the rest of the day.

That night, however, the vicious night criminal had wreaked havoc once again. Tony had his eyes closed; the blue hue of the arc reactor humming under the bed sheet, as he slowly began to drift off into a comfortable state of sleep.

Right as he eyelids began to heavy, a very angry-sounded groan pulled him out of the dream-like state. This groan was then continued by whimpers, and a hand shot itself towards Tony, grasping onto his wrist with a hold stronger than chains.

The sobbing was quieter this time, but equally painful to listen to.

Tony turned to the man next to him with sympathy. His soft eyes looked into Steve's closed ones with a message of hopelessness.

Quite frankly, he wanted to slap him awake. He wanted to turn the lights on, splash water on his face, or hit him… what ever it would take to stop this. He hoped for a quick way out that would allow him some peaceful rest.

But he knew that was wrong.

So instead of trying to shut him up, instead of moving to a different bedroom, and instead of ignoring him, Tony pulled Steve closer.

He could feel the war hero shaking violently as the wrist Steve's hands had a tight grasp around was replaced by Tony's entire upper body. He held on to him with a grip that could've killed a man.

"… It's okay," Tony whispered, now relaxing himself once more to the sound of his lover's pain-filled tears. He could feel the salty warm droplets smear against his chest, and to the irregular pulsating body that came with every gasp for air, he crooned, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I won't let go."