(Or an alternate manifesto.)
Picture this: Think of your best friend. Your best friend in the whole world. You hang out together. You’re ‘bros.’
Are you picturing it?
Good. One day, you go to your best friend’s house. You’re hanging out. You get up to go to the restroom.
As you’re walking down the hall, you notice an open door. You look inside, it’s a room full of stuff about you.
There are drawings, pictures, posters, calendars, clothing your mom sold at a yard sale, maybe a lock of your hair.
How does this make you feel?
When you return from the bathroom, your friend, who owns their own house by the way, asks you to go in their room and grab them a jacket because they’re cold.
No problem. You walk into their room.
Your friend has a giant poster of you on their wall.
You return to your friend with the jacket, and spend the next hour feeling awkward as hell.
Your friend then asks you if you will go will go grab their most valuable possession out of the family safe. You agree and ask for the passcode.
The passcode is your name.
What conclusions do you leap to?
Your friend gets into a huge fight with you. Things go too far and you are critically injured. When you’ve recovered, you later find out that, even though you’ve been fighting, your friend has signed a paper giving you the legal right take them off of life support. They’ve also given you the power to kill them.
You find out that while you were away, they tried to get another friend of yours to dress up like you.
I think we can all conclude that your friend is either a bit obsessed/infatuated with you, or they are batshit fucking crazy. Possibly both.
Ladies and Gentlemen: I present to you the above as ‘shit that has actually happened’ in the relationship of Tony Stark and Steve Rogers. I have done so without mentioning the alternate universe.
That is all.