Even Heroes Have the Right to Bleed

Summary: Steve is homesick for his time and sets out to clear his mind, but when he comes across a man named Schmidt, blood is spilled and he goes missing. Knowing something is wrong, Tony is left to find him.

A/N: This chapter would not end! In fact, this chapter as a whole... man, I had so much trouble. If it wasn't one section, it was another. But hopefully, I've finally got it right. And hey, an actual conversation between Tony and Steve - I can't believe this is the first chapter where they're actually in the same scene together.

A huge thank you to everyone for reading and for all the comments. I've had a lot of fun writing this fic.

Implied Tony/Steve but can also be read as a friendship fic.

Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, I'm just playing around with them.

Chapter 4

That twisted smile of Schmidt's spread across his face and a small chuckle built somewhere in his throat.

"You are an idealist, Mr Rogers," he started, his tone almost amused at the thought. "I admire this – after all, I am an idealist too. You see, my great uncle – your Johann Schmidt – when he passed on, he did so without also passing on what made him one of HYDRAs most powerful and glorious leaders. The only legacy he left behind was his name and a meagre position of power. That is not enough. With the serum, he was not just superior... he was a god."

Steve raised a sceptical eyebrow. The way the man spoke, his desire for greatness, it reminded him so much of the one he fought decades ago – even if for him it felt more like months. "And you want to be a god too?"

"Is that so wrong of me? To wish to restore HYDRA? To rise up the ranks once more? With my ideals and the serum in your blood, HYDRA could restore the world to its true glory. I could build an empire where there would be no more war because everyone would be under one rule – HYDRA's rule."

"In my opinion, it's exactly those types of ideals that create war in the first place."

A sneer formed on Schmidt's lips. "You are Captain America, you would say this. America is a hybrid at best, and yet it stands above all others as if it is some kind of superpower." Schmidt began stalking back and forth, his hand gestures returning, his gun waved carelessly about in the air. "Tell me, Mr Rogers, what makes America so much better than anyone else? I could offer you power and riches beyond your wildest dreams, but I know you would not accept. Why is that?"

"My loyalty is as much to the people as it is to America. Captain America isn't up for sale, and neither is freedom. America is no better or worse than anyone else; it's just a bunch of people going about their business. I know we might not seem like much to you, but there will always be those who will fight for their country and their freedom... Even if they don't have some serum to make them stronger, they'll still fight as hard as they can."

"Heart warming, truly. In time, perhaps you will see that not everyone is so willing to put their lives on the line." Schmidt tilted his head to the side, his gaze surveying Steve so intently that Steve found himself tensing. "Enough talk now, Mr Rogers, there is much work to be done. Now, if you would kindly return to your bed."

"By bringing me here, Mr Schmidt, you lost your one advantage. It's just you and me now." And the gun... But so long as there were no civilians to get caught in the crossfire, Steve would take what he could get. Of course, he would have preferred to have his shield at hand, or something of the like.

"Are you refusing me?" Schmidt questioned. "Even now, when I have shown you what I am willing to do – you refuse me? Perhaps I should have killed the boy after all. Or perhaps you need just a little bit more persuasion?"

He raised the Luger to aim it at Steve, and Steve could tell that it wasn't hesitancy that kept the madman from pulling the trigger. It was indecision. He was deciding where to shoot. "How much blood can Captain America lose before passing out completely? Perhaps we should find out?"

The drugs were well out of his system, so Steve couldn't blame them for his sluggish reaction time. Having a bullet in his abdomen? That would do the trick. Add to that the blood loss, and he definitely wasn't on his top form. Still, he managed to dive to the side enough for the bullet from Schmidt's gun to simply clip him and no more. That he could deal with. Landing on his side though, that sent a jarring pain up and down the length of his body. That slowed him down more than anything else.

"Didn't you hear me, Schmidt?" Steve questioned, grimacing at the way his side ached as he dragged himself up from the floor to face the German once more. "It's just you and me. I can do this all day and you'll be no closer to getting your hands on the serum."

"You think you are a hero, Mr Rogers, but it is people like yourself who are the first to die. Your self-sacrifice will not save, only delay." He raised the gun once more, and Steve readied himself.

The shot never came. Somewhere, beyond their room, there was a loud crash. It was the type of entrance a billionaire playboy wearing a metal suit would make. A much needed distraction.

Steve rushed forward, taking advantage of Schmidt's inattentiveness and his focus on the noises from elsewhere. He gripped the man's right wrist, pushing both it and the gun up as he brought his fist around to connect with Schmidt's jaw. The gun went off, the bullet sent wide, and Schmidt was thrown backwards by the force of Steve's blow.

The gun was dropped from Schmidt's grasp, skittering across the floor to somewhere out of reach. Steve was too focused on the man to see where. He stalked forward, already bending down to grip the madman's collar and pull him upwards.

"Not so impressive without your gun, are you?" he questioned.

"Then it is a good thing I always carry a spare."

Steve didn't see the flash of silver until it was too late. He heard the gun go off though; at about the same time he felt the bullet pierce the flesh of his leg. Just the right angle to make him lose his balance and to cause his grip on Schmidt to slacken enough for the man to break free.

"A man must rely on the strengths he has, Mr Rogers," Schmidt mocked, pushing himself away from Steve and giving him a wide berth as he circled around behind him. "But then, I hear you are not so fond of guns..."

"Doesn't mean I can't use them," Steve pointed out. He pushed himself up enough to face Schmidt's direction, his gaze scanning the floor for any sign of the Luger whilst also taking in the man's movements. He was after the blood bag. "You just don't give up, do you?"

By the bed, barely a foot or two away from Schmidt's feet... Steve dove forward, toward the Luger. He was a moment too late. Schmidt saw it too and kicked it out of reach.

"And neither do you," the German answered, snapping the lid of the cool box shut. He raised his gun and aimed it at Steve, never once turning his back as he headed for the exit. "It has been a pleasure, Captain America."

Another shot, and this time, Steve barely made it out of the way. Whether or not it nicked him, he couldn't tell. There was too much pain everywhere else for him to notice, and by the time he recovered enough, the door to the room swung shut and Schmidt was nowhere to be seen.

"JARVIS," Tony began, his tone authoritative, "scan the building for heat signatures."

Getting to the address Natasha had given him had been simple enough. Getting inside? That was different. The van he had been following earlier was parked out front, so just marching in through the front entrance probably wasn't the best of plans. It was a small building in that it wasn't a sky scraper, but instead was only two floors high. But despite its meagre look, Tony suspected there was more to it.

"Scan complete, Sir," JARVIS returned.

The HUD changed to display what JARVIS had found and Tony tracked the movements of the half dozen or so people within the building. There was a group on the second floor, clustered together in what appeared to be the same room. There was another one, possibly two, just down from there, and then there was the faintest trace of heat coming from what looked like a basement to the building. There was no way to identify which was Steve.

"Any ideas?" Tony asked. "I mean, I could try knocking – 'Can Captain America come out to play?'"

"Forgive my reservations, Sir, but I do not believe that will work."

"Really, JARVIS? And I thought it was such a good plan."

He stayed hovering for a moment longer, looking the building over. Sneaking in through a window just didn't feel right; not after the clowns from the van had greeted him with rocket launchers. It was only right to return the favour, especially when his suit packed plenty of firepower.

"Any structural weaknesses near the group on the second floor?"

"I believe the brickwork in a building of this kind will be vulnerable to a small missile or two."

"Then I guess that'll have to do." A small smirk played on Tony's lips. "JARVIS, lock onto a spot that will cause the least amount of damage to those on the other side. Don't want to hurt Steve by accident..."

A breath, and then, "Locked on."

The display flashed again, heat signatures vanishing to be replaced by the usual visual. A target was painted onto the building, flashing and twisting, ready and waiting.

"Fire."

A blink of the eye, no more, no less. The missile was fired and it hit the building right where it was supposed to. In the explosion of dust and brick and smoke, a hole was formed and Tony took advantage of the situation, of the element of surprise. He moved forward instantly, scanners ready. Within moments, he identified two of the people in the room as enemies and dealt with them quickly – a repulsor beam to the chest for the pair of them.

The smoke stalled him when it came to the other two men; both silhouetted figures were big and broad-shouldered enough to maybe, possibly be Steve, and Tony couldn't afford to take any risks. Within the time it took to realise that neither were in fact Steve, they had recovered enough to start fighting back.

The bullets from their guns dinged and bounced off of the Iron Man suit and Tony raised his right arm in the direction of the burliest of the men, his eyebrow mimicking the motion. He didn't hesitate in sending the man flying backward into a wall. The last of the men paused, gun lowering; no doubt the hopelessness of the situation finally dawning on him.

Slowly, Tony turned his aim to the other man.

"Where is he?" he asked, voice unwavering and determined.

The man shook his head and raised his gun again. Tony fired before the man even had a chance to touch the trigger, let alone pull it.

"I guess I'll just have to find him the old fashioned way."

He walked through the rubble of the room and to the doorway, where the door hung open on its lower hinge – the upper barely attached anymore. Apart from some dust at the entrance, the corridor was untouched. Long and white, with a large window at the opposite end providing some light; it was the sort of typical corridor Tony expected of such a building.

"JARVIS," he started, gazing back and forth.

"On it, Sir."

The display changed again, heat signatures revealed once more. Hidden away behind one of the doors at the end of the corridor were another two masses of red. He nodded in acknowledgement of their presence and the screen flashed back to its usual display.

"Maybe we should try asking them, see if they know where Steve is."

He headed down the corridor and stopped outside the door, listening for a moment. Whoever was inside knew he was there, the silence told him that much. He considered knocking for a moment, and coming out a witty comment of some kind about pizza delivery, but such a manner was far too delicate. A hole in the wall and one room almost destroyed wasn't nearly half enough destruction for his liking. Another door though, that might start to even things up.

He took a step back, looked the door up and down, then aimed for the hinges and lock. It was less dramatic than his entrance into the building, but when the door fell forward into the room, he felt a small sense of triumph and stepped forward.

As with the other room, the furnishings were minimal and probably left over from the last occupants. Unlike the other room, this one held only two people and neither of them had guns. The man, he sat unmoving on a chair, slack jawed and bruised. The woman though, she had enough about her to attempt to reach for the taser that lay just to her left.

Tony marched forward, gripping her neck loosely enough for it to not cause injury but strong enough for her to know his hand was there and would squeeze if he felt he needed to. She stopped her movements immediately, arm falling to her side.

Faceplate going up, Tony looked her in the eye. "You seem like a person in the know," he said, glancing once more to the man and his bruised jaw – definitely the work of Steve. "Where is he?"

"I don't know wha-"

He tightened his grip just ever so slightly and her lie died away. "Don't play games with me."

"The basement... He's in the basement."

Super soldier or not, bleeding out was most definitely not fun or a good idea. Steve grimaced, gripping the bed with his hands and using it as an aid to help him stand. Given that he could barely put any pressure on his injured leg, he needed all the help he could get. Still, there was Schmidt to think about... which was really difficult considering how much his head was spinning in that moment. And the double vision? That wasn't helping in the slightest.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your long hair." The words echoed through the air, followed by the door swinging open and that ever familiar swagger of red and gold.

"Stark!" Relief flooded through him and he couldn't stop the smile that tugged at his lips. Pushing away from the bed, he moved forward but stumbled, losing his footing almost immediately.

Tony was there though, catching him before he managed to greet the ground with his face. "Woah, easy there – I've got you, big guy."

If he sunk into the support that Tony offered a little more readily than what would be expected of Captain America, Tony said nothing. The man just wrapped his arm around Steve's waist, the faceplate of his suit up and out the way so that Steve could see the worry in Tony's eyes and the light bruising at the edge of his brow.

"You're late," was all he could say before he found himself groaning against the ache in his side.

"Well, you know – I had to stop for coffee and doughnuts first."

Steve would have laughed, if he had thought he could manage it. Instead, he tried to push himself up straight, placing weight on his own legs once more. After all, the injuries could wait. Schmidt was getting away.

"Schmidt," he started, taking only one unsuccessful step before falling back again into Tony's grasp, "We have to..."

"Hey, priorities here, Cap," Tony answered with a shake of his head. "You're bleeding... really bleeding. We need to get you to a doctor."

"No... no more doctors." And this time Steve really did laugh, the sardonic kind, or at least the coughing noise was meant to be a laugh. The very idea of not wishing to see anymore doctors seemed ridiculous to him. But he figured for one day, he'd had enough of white coats and beeping machines and needles and drugs. "Just... just take me home, Stark."

Tony's response was delayed enough to make Steve believe he would deny him, but he nodded, his tone sober and dry. "You're the boss, Cap'n."

Somewhere along the line, Steve was sure he must have blacked out. From Tony's response to arriving back at Stark Tower, there were gaps and blurred memories that took far too much effort to think about. Steve didn't bother trying. He was sure he was lying down now, but he could have been hung upside down from the ceiling for all he knew – the sensation was about the same, the feeling of not being entirely there.

"Just rest, Cap," Tony soothed, leaning across him to look him in the eye. The suit was gone, and it was Tony's hands that played across his skin, fixing him up.

"The bullet," he tried to say, but the rest of the words died, drowsiness too heavy.

Tony understood though. "I'll get it out, don't worry."

And that was the last he remembered, before waking up once more in his own bed, his own room. No machines hooked up to him, no straps keeping him in place. Just clean white sheets tucking him in and keeping him warm, the curtains open and gently blowing on the breeze from beyond the open window.

Daylight trickled into the room and Steve pushed up, pulling the covers away enough to swing his legs over the side of the bed. He wasn't surprised to find himself in just his boxers and wrapped up like a mummy in bandages. Whoever the first aider, and Steve strongly suspected it had been all Tony, had gone a tad overboard.

He started with a couple of stretches, still seated on the bed, and bent to each side in turn, testing. When he decided it was enough and the aching had dulled enough to be disregarded as nothing more than a minor nuisance, he pushed gingerly to his legs. It was then that his door swung open and Tony marched in with a tray in one hand and what looked like Steve's jacket in the other.

"Ah, good – you're up," Tony greeted, his gaze travelling up and down Steve briefly before looking anywhere and everywhere else in the room.

The motion was enough to remind Steve that he was standing there half naked and he quickly grabbed a pair of trousers that had been laid over a chair, ready and waiting. He pulled them on just as quick and cleared his throat.

"How long was I out?" he questioned, because after the time in the ice, he could never be too sure.

"Don't worry, Sleeping Beauty, you haven't missed anything. The world's still turning and we haven't fought off anymore bad guys without you."

"Stark..." He was aware that the name came out sounding somewhat like a plea. He needed an answer, not jokes.

Tony's features grew more sombre, and Steve couldn't help but notice how much more prominent the bruise on his brow had become. Sure, he was Iron Man, but that didn't mean he didn't get hurt in that suit. If anything, sometimes it was the suit that did the damage.

"You slept through the night, no more," Tony answered, the words so gently spoken that Steve knew they were the truth.

"Thank you." He dropped onto the bed and heaved out a weary sigh. "You know... for everything."

The small smile on Tony's face was no longer a smile but a grin that reflected in his eyes. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were talking about me saving your ass."

"I had them on the ropes..." A familiar lie in an unfamiliar setting, with a person that wasn't Bucky. And yet, it felt oddly comfortable.

"Ye-hah, of course you did, Cap." And because, apparently Tony thought he looked a little too mopey, the man threw the leather jacket at him. "Thought you might want this back."

Steve pulled the jacket away from his head and held it up in front of him. Blood stained the brown and when he looked closely, he could see the bullet hole – right through the pocket. "I really liked this jacket."

"Don't worry, we'll get you a new one... maybe one with Kevlar and metal plating so you know, you don't get shot anymore..." Silence for a moment, a mere breath where neither of them said the things that were on their mind, until Tony broke it. "You really had us worried there. We thought... well, you had us worried, okay? So do me a favour and don't do it again... I don't think I could stand the glares from Agent Romanoff. Which reminds me..." He held the tray up to emphasise its presence before placing it on the bed beside Steve. Orange juice and pancakes. "She sent this up."

Steve looked the tray over before returning his attention to Tony. His gaze took in the bruise once more and he wondered how many more Tony was hiding beneath that long sleeved shirt of his. Again, he found himself thinking of Bucky, the memory a painful cavity within his chest. "I should never have gotten you dragged into this."

"That's the beauty of being a team, Captain, you don't have to do any of this alone. And you're not the only one who could maybe benefit from having a few friends around, you know?"

"What? You mean you?" Eyebrow raised, Steve looked Tony up and down. He didn't miss the sight of something vulnerable in the man's usually cocky eyes, something so sincere and truthful.

Then it was gone, cockiness slipping back into place. "Well, there's Bruce as well – having the other guy as company all the time wouldn't exactly be my idea of fun. And of course, Clint and Natasha – don't tell them I said so, but I think they secretly like it here."

A smile played across Steve's lips. "Thanks, Tony."

"You've already said that."

"I mean it... I... I'm glad to know you have my back." He hung his head, shaking it a little. "I've spent so much time thinking about my past since waking up from the ice, so much time thinking about everything I've lost and all the things that aren't there anymore... A lot has changed, but it's not all bad."

"Is that a compliment, Mr Rogers?"

Steve snorted. "I don't know – wouldn't want to inflate your ego too much, your head's already the size of Manhattan."

"Manhattan? I'd have said at least Queens, if not the whole of New York."

"I can't argue there."

He looked up, meeting Tony's gaze, that grin of his present, his eyes lit up. For a moment, they stayed like that, a silent understanding passing between them both. But like before, Tony was the one to break the silence, clearing his throat a little before speaking.

"Well, you better eat up and get your strength back, but not too quickly. Fury wants a report when you're feeling up to it, so give it a day or two. It'll give me some time to do a little more digging on these new friends you've made."

That was enough to sober Steve up. "Anymore sign of them?"

"JARVIS picked up a suspicious looking car on the surveillance system but it's long gone, and if this Schmidt guy and his buddies at AIM have any sense – they'll be long gone too."

"But they'll be back, won't they?"

"That's the funny thing about bad guys, they just don't seem to know when they're beat. Now we know they're out there though, we'll be ready for them."

"Then maybe I should skip breakfast and get straight to training." Steve made to stand but Tony stepped in his way, offering up a disapproving look.

"Bad idea, Cap. Wouldn't want any of those wounds to open up before they're fully healed. Don't get me wrong, what you do is your business, but if I let you out of this room, Agent Romanoff has already informed me of at least sixteen ways she could kill me with a spoon, and that's only the wooden kind – imagine what the woman could do with metal."

Steve smirked a little, amused at the idea. "You're afraid of a dame?"

"I'm afraid of Agent Romanoff." Tony leaned in a little, his tone turning conspiratorial and hushed. "In fact, you do realise that she's probably listening to this entire conversation? Any moment now, she'll march through that door and force you back into bed."

"I appreciate your concern, Tony, I really do – but don't you think that's taking it a little far?"

"You think I'm joking. Fine." And Tony stepped to the side, nonchalant as he swung his arm out, gesturing for Steve to pass him by. "Go ahead, go train. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

"One day," Steve answered, taking a seat back on the bed. "I'll rest for one day, then it's back to work."

"I'll take that." Tony grinned, the devilish kind he saved for whenever he knew he was right or had won an argument of some kind. Pushing back, he motioned to the tray. "Now, don't forget to eat your pancakes and drink your OJ. And no sneaking out because the walls have eyes."

"You mean ears... the walls have ears."

"Why would the walls have ears? That's ridiculous." Pausing at the door, Tony looked back into the room, his brow burrowed. "Maybe I should get you another blanket."

"Tony... Tony – stop. I'm fine. Look, I'm resting... I don't need any more blankets." Or confusing references that made his head spin.

Tony nodded. "I'll have JARVIS call me when you're finished so I can collect your tray."

"Why don't I just bri-"

"Sixteen ways to die by a wooden spoon. Do you really want to risk that?"

And honestly, Steve was beginning to think that Tony was deliberately being exhausting so that he wouldn't have enough energy left to even think about training, let alone enough to go through with it.

He huffed out and raised his arms in defeat. "Fine. You win."

"I usually do." Tony lingered at the doorway only long enough to offer up that devilish grin once more, then he was gone and the door clicked shut behind him.

Steve stared after him for a few moments longer before pushing up from the bed and heading toward the window. New York was splayed out in front of him, busy and nonstop, the streets filled with cars and people talking on their phones as electronic billboards flashed and changed to advertise something new. It was so different from the New York he knew. Everything was different – and maybe, if he thought about it, even he was different.

He was still a man out of his time, still decades away from the place he once called home. But maybe it wasn't all bad. He had a purpose here, in this new New York... and he had friends. He had a place he could call home once more. Maybe it was time he started adding new memories to that dusty collection of old ones.

Past the sirens and skyscrapers, past the technology and the phrases that Steve would never get his head around, Lady Liberty still stood... the ideals were still there, as were the people who would fight for them. People he was proud to call friends.

Not everything had changed after all. Some things still remained the same.

Author's end notes: Thank you so much for reading! It means a lot to me. And once again, thanks to Dairi for giving me this prompt in the first place.

Additionally, I have to say that I chickened out on including Thor in this fic. He's a very imposing character and his speech is so hard to get right! Maybe one day I'll dare write him...