Chapter 4
Waking up was a slow process. He felt groggy, like he was underwater and he hadn’t the slightest idea of how long he’d been asleep. His arms and chest felt cold in the chilly air of his bedroom and he went to pull up the blanket from where it pooled around his middle. As soon as he reached down though, he felt as if someone doused him in cold water and he gasped as memories of the night before flooded him. He looked down at his chest and barely noticed the cold anymore as he stared at the ugly stitchwork there and the arc reactor nestled in between his ribs. The wound throbbed in time to his heartbeat and he was at once reminded of his least favourite time of his life. He squeezed his eyes shut and a tingling feeling spread outward at the sensation of phantom hands on his chest, prodding, pushing, breaking—
“Sir! Sir, I believe you are having a panic attack.” He gasped a ragged breath as the voice of his AI snapped him out of it and he felt his head clear slightly, noticing how his chest heaved with quick and panicked breaths.
The AI continued, “Please focus on calming yourself down. Might I recommend some breathing exercises?”
Tony waved his hand half-heartedly at the ceiling, focussing on slowing his breathing. Though it was only a mild panic attack, he was glad no one was around to hear the pathetic wheezing and gasping as his chest heaved. Well, aside from Jarvis, but he would never tell a soul about this. Tony clenched his fists in his sheets as he focussed on drawing in breath and holding it before releasing it again. He stared at the ceiling as he grounded himself, becoming lost in the faint blue glow emanating from his chest on the ceiling, threatening to overwhelm him again before tearing his eyes away and dropping his head to the side.
“Sir, are you alright? Can I—”
“Shut up, Jay,” he grumbled, before adding in a softer voice, “Can you open up the curtains for me?”
The AI complied, and as the curtains were dragged away with a soft rustle, he felt more of his anxiety lifting. His breathing slowly evened out. In the background, Jarvis was repeating the current weather conditions and some news updates. Tony felt himself relax enough to look down at his chest again. All in all, the wound itself looked decent enough, no clear signs of swelling or reddening in the area. He let out a long, slow breath before casting his eyes outside again. It was clearly morning by now and he frowned.
“How long was I asleep for, Jarvis?”
“It is currently 9.48 AM, Sir. You slept for nearly 16 hours,” he replied, smug satisfaction clear in his voice.
Tony glared at the ceiling, he couldn’t even remember when he had last slept this long. Besides, he didn’t have the time for it. He had places to be, things to invent! He began the painstaking process of sitting himself up, trying not to jostle himself too much and was relatively successful. He threw the blankets off and moved his legs over the side, closing his eyes for a second as black spots danced in his vision.
“You should have something to eat. Should I ask Captain Rogers to bring something—”
“Do not notify any of the others, Jarvis,” he sneered in earnest this time, “or I will donate you to those influencers. Besides, I’m fine. I’ll go down to eat something in a bit.”
With that, he pushed himself out of the bed, slightly unsteady on his feet.
“Shut. Up.” he ground out.
“I didn’t say anything, Sir,” came the smug reply.
Tony grumbled under his breath. He carefully made his way to the bathroom, feeling slightly better with every step he took. The door slid away again and he stepped through, stooping down to grab the bloodied rags off the floor and throwing them into the trash on the other side of the bathroom. He grimaced at the blood smears on the floor. Ugh. He braced his hands on the bathroom vanity, avoiding any stained spots and looked at himself.
His reflection was not nearly as bad as he had expected, as one usually does look better without smears of blood all over himself. Besides that, his skin wasn’t as pale anymore and sleep had restored some of the life in his eyes. He nodded slightly in appreciation. There were a few other slight scratches and cuts on his torso that he hadn’t really noticed before, but they were superficial. He was just going to take a shower before going downstairs to meet the others. He would put himself together, work to convince the others of his stellar health and then he could escape and withdraw into the workshop.
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He walked into the elevator, feeling mildly refreshed by the shower. He’d redressed the wound and layered a T-shirt over a white undershirt to cover most of the bluish glow out of his own peripheral vision. He didn’t need the visual reminders of the arc reactor on top of the physical pain from that general region, not while the metaphorical wound was ‘fresh’ in his mind. One panic attack often led to the next for him. Leaning against the wall of the elevator again, he noticed that the bloody stains had been cleaned off the floor. He hummed to himself while layering his masks on. He felt well enough to come across convincingly.
“Who’s in the kitchen, Jarvis?”
“Everyone is, sir. It appears Mr. Banner is preparing lunch at the moment,” Jarvis hinted at him.
“Yeah, I’ll eat, you menace,” he replied with a smirk, fondness curling in his chest.
As the doors to the communal floor slid open, he found that the AI was right. He spotted Bruce behind the stove in the kitchen and saw Steve, Natasha and Clint hanging out on the couches in the living area. Clint lay sprawled over Natasha’s lap, feet kicking over the armrest at Steve, who was sitting on another couch. However, his attention was drawn by the waft of sweetness reaching his nose from the kitchen.
“Brucie bear, please tell me those are cinnamon buns,” he mused aloud, genuine hunger gnawing at his stomach at the scent.
At that, they all looked up at him, Bruce beaming at him from where he was stirring something in a pot.
“Yep, with baked apples. Good morning, Tony,” he added gently. Tony beamed back at him as he sauntered over to the other genius, hands stuffed down his pockets.
“You are the best, Fluttershy.”
He reached a hand into the pot on the stove, snickering as Bruce swatted at his fingers with the spoon. Bruce opened the drawer and grabbed a fork, stabbing a slice of apple onto it before handing it to Tony. Tony winked at him before walking over into the spacious common room.
The other team members were still looking at him with various degrees of scrutiny, and he noticed the frown between Steve’s brows. Tony came to a halt beside the soldier, lifting an eyebrow.
“Good morning, terror twins. Cap, don’t frown so hard or your handsome face will have permanent lines,” he teased, taking a bite of the apple. The sweetness washed over his tongue, nearly making his teeth fall out but hmm-hmm that was good!
Clint grinned as Steve’s cheeks reddened slightly and Tony felt pride swell in his chest. Oh, he could so pull this off.
Steve cleared his throat before speaking up.
“Hi, Tony, how’re you feeling?” he asked with just a bit too much worry in his tone to be casual.
“Oh, I’m perfectly peachy. Thought I’d have a good, long beauty sleep. How long did I sleep again, Jarvis?”
“16 hours, Sir,” Jarvis spoke into the room, smugness still in his voice and Tony flashed Steve a self-satisfied grin.
“Well, that’s a lot of handsomeness gained, wouldn’t you say?” he concluded with a grin as he wolfed down the rest of the apple.
From behind him, he heard the loud snort from Bruce and Clint rolled his eyes.
Steve sat up straighter and turned his entire body around to face him. His eyes scanned over Tony’s body and Tony was about to make a lewd comment but Steve was faster.
“Sure did. How’re you really feeling, though?” he said without pause.
“How many times are you going to ask, fusser? I told you, I’m good,” he retorted back, barely refraining from rolling his eyes before putting on a broad, toothy smile.
Clint whistled at the expression.
“Careful, Cap, that’s Tony Shark you’re dealing with, there,” he mused, cringing at the nickname.
Tony shot him a look. Sure, why not? He broadened his smile some more, baring his teeth.
Clint raised his hands in mock-surrender, pushing himself up from Nat’s lap to sit up beside her as Tony walked over to Steve’s other side and dropped down next to him, assured that he’d asserted enough dominance over the situation. He braced himself for his next question.
“So, what’s the verdict on yesterday?”
Nat rested her head on the hand she’d propped up on the armrest, regarding him with a calm look.
“Zero casualties, actually. We handled it all quick enough. There was barely any material damage to the buildings, either. Great job on that, by the way.” She nodded at him and he shrugged.
“Well, it was a joint effort. You guys did just—” he began before being interrupted by Steve, who inched slightly closer to him on the couch.
“Don’t sell yourself short, Tony.”
He was about to retort back but the tender look in Steve’s eyes stopped him from saying it aloud. He deflated, appreciating the man’s closeness despite himself.
He was saved from having to think about what both the look and his own reaction meant when Bruce walked over from the kitchen, handing two plates to Nat and Clint. His mouth watered at the sugary smell of caramel and cinnamon. As Bruce went to retrieve the other three plates, Natasha waved her fork at Tony.
“He made one of your recipes. They’re the salted caramel cinnamon rolls you found a few weeks ago.”
Huh. That did indeed sound familiar. And delicious.
“I threatened him to,” she added with a conspiratory glance at Bruce before stabbing her fork into the bun.
He swallowed at the warmth he felt at that. That was… genuinely thoughtful? Huh.
As he was handed his own plate by Bruce, he dug into the pastry and apples, the group engaging in some small-talk. He complimented Bruce on his baking, the buns being just the right mix between sweet and salty. He knew this recipe would be going onto the 'success pile'. Taking another bite, a new thought suddenly fired into his brain without his consent. He looked down at the pastry, appetite suddenly lost.
They probably needed something from him, if they were being this nice, bribing him with food. He cast subtle glances at his teammates, who were all still happily eating away. He couldn’t find a trace of tension in any of their eyes, but as he looked better he noticed the slight rigidity in the way they all carried themselves. He set his plate down on his lap and cleared his throat.
“Alright, out with it. What is it that you want me to do?” he asked with a smile that he could barely force onto his lips. He felt the shift in his breathing as all eyes turned to him. They probably just wanted him to do another data sweep, or design a new alarm system for HYDRA activity, or add some gadgets—
“What?” Bruce asked, dumbfounded. Tony looked at the others again, who had all put their forks back down with stunned expressions. His gut clenched.
“Well, there’s probably something you want me to help with, right? Since you made the food for me?” Was that not how this went? That's how Tony thought it went. 'Quid quo pro', right? Well, if the other person was kind enough.
The beat of silence was just a bit too loud and he knew he’d said the wrong thing. Damage control? Damage control.
He had another comment ready but was once again stopped by Steve’s warm hand on his – left – shoulder, barely containing the wince.
“Nothing, Tony,” he said earnestly, casting a concerned look at the others before continuing, “We don’t need you to do anything. We genuinely just want to know that you’re okay.”
“Yeah, man,” added Clint.
“Well, yeah, I’m…” Taken aback, he squirmed in his seat as he finally placed the tension as concern. For him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not hurt?” Bruce asked, voice so serious it made Tony swallow around a dry mouth. Breathe, he told himself.
“Uh…” he answered intelligently. Should he make a break for it?
His uncertainty must have shown on his face, because Steve squeezed his shoulder soothingly. This time, however, he couldn’t hide the wince as Steve’s finger caught the stitches. He would have laughed at the sudden tension that rippled through all of them if the situation had been any different. Steve dropped his hand and Tony couldn’t stop himself from patting it where it fell in between them, biting his cheek.
“I took care of it, it’s just a bit sore” he admitted under the heavy scrutiny, not looking up from their joined hands until he’d said it.
No one responded for a few more seconds, until Bruce nodded at him approvingly and resumed eating again. Nat immediately followed his lead. Steve and Clint only looked away when Tony grabbed his own fork. He felt like he could breathe again when all eyes finally averted and he focussed on keeping his breathing level when still no one said anything. He didn’t know what that meant. He removed his hand from where it had rested on Steve’s and started shovelling down the cinnamon roll, until the silence became too much.
He set the plate down and stood up, heart thundering in his chest.
“I’m thinking I should put a flamethrower in the suit,” he stated.
“Okay. Thank you for telling us," Steve told him softly.
Steve obviously wasn’t talking about the flamethrower and something eased slightly in Tony's chest. He nodded.
“Okay, well, since you guys don’t need me here anymore, I’ll be going into the workshop.”
“Tony…” Nat started, but he flashed her a hesitant smile to show her he was joking as he walked away from them.
“Can’t delay genius, Tasha.”
He stepped into the elevator, Jarvis already having picked the destination floor.
“Good talk.” Clint’s comment was the last thing he heard before the doors closed and he exhaled roughly as the elevator began descending.
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The metallic clanging of the wrench as it clattered to the floor jerked him out of his focus, making him stumble a step back from the worktable. He gasped as pain fired through him and he hunched forward, bracing his forearms on the worktable. The gnawing hunger in his stomach and the throbbing headache were only secondary to the white-hot pain radiating from his chest. He heaved in another pained breath as his legs threatened to buckle underneath him. Dropping his head onto his arms on the desk, he noticed the sheen of sweat on his forehead. He wheezed unhappily while the fingers of his right hand found a chair nearby and he dragged it closer. He sagged into it, bracing both forearms on the desk again and he slumped forward.
“Jarvis?” he rasped.
“Sir! Are you with me?” the usually smooth voice replied, laced heavily with distress.
“Jay!” he wheezed again as he nodded, panic gripping him at the overwhelming feeling of disorientation and pain.
“Jay, what’s going on?”
“You haven’t been replying to me, Sir. I could not notify the others, as you had ordered a complete black-out when you entered the workshop yesterday. It appears the wound has gotten infected. You… worried me,” Jarvis told him, obviously calming down now that Tony was responding.
Oh. Infection made sense. It explained the hot and stuffy feeling in his head, as well as the pain and warmth radiating from the wound. He brought his good hand up to prod at it, before he froze, registering what Jarvis said.
“’Yesterday’?” he gasped, cold dread flooding him. “Jarvis, how long have I been in here?”
The AI took a second to reply, “You’ve been working for approximately 33 hours, Sir.”
He stopped breathing. What the hell?
“Breathe, sir,” he was told gently, “can I lift the lockdown mode?”
Tony tried to heave in a breath, struggling to fill his lungs as moving sent agony up and down his spinal cord. He panted the breath out pathetically between his teeth. How had he lost so much time?
“What the hell have I been doing, Jarvis? Why didn’t you alert me?” he asked, the venom in his question not as stinging when he didn’t have the air to spit it out.
“I tried, sir. You wouldn’t snap out of it and I couldn’t get around the protocol,” his AI said, voice carrying guilt.
His lungs burned with the lack of oxygen, and he struggled to draw in another breath. It hurt. He scraped his fingers at his desk for purchase. Was he dying?
“Help,” he gasped out, shame burning in his cheeks, “Jarvis, help me.”
Straight away, Jarvis’ voice began rattling off details about the workshop. A guided breathing meditation blasted through the speakers and he struggled to follow it, chest muscles spasming at first. His fingers trembled underneath him, head dropping down to redirect his energy. He wasn’t dying, it was just a panic attack, he heard Jarvis tell him and oh, wasn’t that good to know.
Unwelcome tears spilled onto the worktable, but he didn’t care as he drew in the first full breath since he had jerked out of his trance. It stuttered out as he heard Jarvis telling him he was doing a good job. He grabbed onto the desk as he followed Jarvis’ voice. Whirring to his side drew his attention and he lifted his head just enough to find DUM-E there. He rasped out a breathy laugh as he watched his robot, arm twitching with concern, and he nodded.
“C’mere.”
He focussed on getting his breaths in as he felt the robot arm clumsily – but successfully – rub his back. It helped. The burning in his lungs receded as he got more and more good breaths in. He dropped his full weight onto the metal of his desk, head clearing even more as the cold bite of it soothed his chest and he closed his eyes. He breathed against the table for a while, guided by DUM-E and Jarvis. He didn’t understand what had happened. It wasn’t unlike him to be in the workshop for days on end without sleep or food, but he didn’t usually lose time like this. He nearly lost all of the control he had regained over his breathing as he opened his eyes to the faint glow on the desk in the shadow of his own body. Right.
He shook his head and pushed himself upright with shaky arms. DUM-E retreated slightly, but Jarvis didn’t stop his grounding techniques as Tony resumed breathing for another minute, leaning his weight against the backrest. Pesky arc reactor. Stupid anxiety.
“Sorry, Jay, you can stop,” he said as he stared at the ceiling, happy with the volume of his voice.
“Are you feeling better, Sir?” he asked, with such gentle care that Tony almost broke down again. He simply nodded, instead.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly. He still wasn’t breathing normally again, but it was good enough. It still hurt like a bitch, though. He pressed a hand against the cut, groaning, but his hand came away dry. That was good, at least. He should probably go and take some painkillers.
“Jarvis, did I store any ibuprofen in the shop?”
“No, sir. However, I know Mr. Banner has stored some in the communal kitchen. Should I bring the elevator up?”
Tony nodded. He blew out a breath, wincing as it sent another stab of pain through him, and braced himself. After a few seconds, he pushed up from the chair, head swimming with exhaustion but he remained upright. Nice.
God, he wanted to sleep.
He staggered over to where the elevator waited for him, breaking out in sweat as the effort of walking and breathing slowly took an ungodly amount of energy out of him. He placed a shaky hand on the door and pulled himself through, nearly collapsing onto the floor, but remaining upright through sheer will. He realised Jarvis was still talking to him, guiding his breathing into a normal pattern where it stuttered in and out of him. His butler fell quiet when the doors slid open on the communal floor.
He left the elevator and forced his feet around the kitchen counters, passed the large kitchen island at its centre and moved to the cabinet against the far wall above the sink. He focused solely on his quest for painkillers. Leaning bodily against the counter, he rummaged through the cabinet with a trembling hand, the other hanging forgotten down his side. He sagged in relief when he found the bottle of ibuprofen, setting it beside the sink.
Despite the pain, he actually felt like eating something. He opened the family-sized fridge to his right and looked inside. He squinted eyes that refused to focus, looking for something resembling food in the fridge. He sighed as he didn’t find any leftovers, and was too tired to bother looking any further.
Closing the fridge, he jerked back in shock as a figure stood behind the fridge door. He bumped into the kitchen counter beside the fridge, forcing his good hand to grab onto the counter for support instead of shielding his chest. He barely bit back a groan as fire licked at his chest.
“Jesus,” he ground out instead, steadying himself slightly before looking up into Natasha’s watchful eyes. “Warn a guy before you try to kill him, Nat.”
“To be fair, she did,” Clint piped up from the living room. Tony shifted his tired eyes behind Natasha and God damn it—
There they all were. Clint and Bruce were sat on the couch, apparently watching something on the TV, and Steve was there, too. His friend had fully turned himself around in his chair to look at Tony, sketchblock sitting forgotten on the armrest.
“What…” he exhaled, trying to draw air into his lungs, chest aflame with pain as every inhale stretched the infected skin. He felt like someone had replaced his brain with wet cotton. How had he not noticed them sitting there?
He nearly jumped out of his skin again when Nat spoke up again in front of him.
“I called out to you several times. Did you not hear me?” she asked, voice level, but Tony pressed himself back slightly more into the counter at the look in her eyes. Damnit. He could see that she knew that he hadn’t. He was thinking one step ahead of her when she raised her hand to place it on his arm, backing away quickly before pressing himself against the kitchen island, facing Natasha. He really did not want to talk to them right now, not when he didn’t have the wits about him to protect himself. To keep them from seeing.
“Nope, I was just thinking about the flamethrower design,” he said quickly with more faked confidence in his voice than he had expected. He forced his lungs to expand. He retreated another step along the kitchen island when he saw Steve getting up from the chair and approaching, too. God, he felt as if he was surrounded by tigers or something. Would these people just leave him to panic in peace?
“Are you okay, Tony?” Steve asked him with as his brows knitted together, coming to a stop just slightly behind Natasha, as if nervous to approach him.
Fuck that question.
“Just perfect, cap,” he snapped as he took yet another step back, barely refraining from gasping as talking snagged his air, while less and less oxygen seemed to be drawn into his body. His ears started ringing. He could feel his control over his breathing slip again.
“You’re not looking too good, Tony. Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re running a bit hot,” Bruce asked, also rising from the couch, the stark concern in his voice making Tony swallow back bile. Clint was following behind the other scientist. Tony felt his fingers go numb as suddenly all four Avengers seemed to be closing in on him. His feet dragged him backwards around the kitchen island, legs hitting against the last line of counters separating him from the elevator. He drew his fingers through his hair, immediately dropping them as he noticed the shaking. He hunched forward slightly, opening his mouth probably just a bit too wide to be nonchalant in attempt to heave in another breath. His fingers tightened their death grip on the counter behind him. The breath pushed out of him again as Steve was suddenly a few steps closer than he remembered.
Behind Steve, he saw Bruce pick up the bottle of painkillers from the counter, frowning before addressing Tony.
“Are you in pain?” he said with blatant concern. Tony watched as Steve’s head snapped around to look at the bottle Bruce now held, before snapping his gaze right back to Tony. Staring at him with a new intensity, Steve opened his mouth again, but Tony felt the last bit of his self-control slipping away.
“God, I’m fine! Just fuck off!” Tony bit out with as much venom as he could still muster. “Seriously, go find another hobby.”
He had to get out of here, now. At least the tone of his voice seemed to stun the others. He pushed himself away from the support and stepped into the space separating him from the elevator. His legs felt too unsteady to carry him all the way, and he knew that stumbling now would mean death—or, well, the façade would be up.
The intensity of the four pairs of eyes on him shattered the last bit of control he had. He didn’t dare turn his back to them as his vision started fading with black spots, oxygen no longer something he was familiar with. He actually gagged as he looked at Steve and saw all warmth in his friend’s eyes drain away, leaving behind the cold, hard shell of a soldier. His lungs turned to ice as he saw the same coldness in the other people surrounding him. He stumbled over his feet as he took a frightened step backwards as the soldier – no, Steve! – in front of him stepped closer, holding his arms out as if to grab him and Tony suddenly found himself a few feet lower. He yelped as lightning flashed on his torso, joined by throbbing emanating from his left buttock. He barely caught the weight of his upper body on his arms, something feeling so wrong about that movement. He looked down and found blood seeping through his shirt on his chest. Tony’s head snapped up as he heard Steve approach him, and found the man standing over him, holding out his arms as if he’d gone to catch him, before Steve completely vanished.
There were hands reaching for his chest.
Someone was standing over him.
He scrambled back, a distressed noise catching in his throat as he couldn’t breathe.
His back hit the wall of the cave and he cried out in terror as he realised he had nowhere to go, but the hands were closing in, he could hear them yelling. He moved his hands to shield his body, surprise flaring faintly in the back of his mind at the fact they weren’t tied down to his side. Then, the pain hit him.
They had split his chest open. He could feel the blood running down, pooling in his lap.
He patted himself down as he panted through the absolute agony of his cracked ribs, the smell of his own blood dizzying.
There was something in there, something that wasn’t supposed to be, but they had pushed and shoved until it settled. He scrabbled at his ribs, fingers catching on the object lodged in there. He howled in panic as he scratched and wrenched at the cold sphere, but it only caused his breathing to stutter as he felt the pull deep into his sternum. He swore he could feel his frantic heart chafe against it with every panicked beat.
His chest heaved as his hands fell to his sides. He didn’t see his captors anymore, they had left. The cave was eerily silent now. But he knew what would be coming next. He moved his wrists to assure himself they weren’t back yet. But they would be coming back, and they would put him under again. Yes. Every time they put him under, he would wake up to something new, something worse. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what could be worse than this and he whimpered when he heard voices. He drew his knees up to his chest and covered his head with his arms, which were still free. He couldn’t ignore the shaking of his fingers, the struggle of his lungs. What would Howard think of him? He clenched his eyes shut.
He screamed and began struggling when strong hands took hold of his wrists and wrenched them away from his head. His heart almost beat out of his body at the animal panic that consumed his brain. They would restrain him again, tie him down—
He jerked as he felt something press against the inside of his wrists, something icy cold. His hands trembled in the grip of his captor as his eyes flew open, light flooding his vision as he took in the drops of water running down his forearms. Was that… ice?
His eyes snapped up and he gasped, the sudden rush of oxygen clearing his head. The image in front of him flashed between a dark cave and a bright, open area, faces in front of him switching between the clothed faces of his captors and Bruce and—
“Steve!” he gasped out. Tony didn’t recognise his own voice.
Awareness came back to him in bursts. Sometimes he heard the foreign language, the gruff and commanding voices, but he latched onto Bruce's comforting voice like a lifeline. The cold against his wrists helped him breathe, helped him clear away the mind-numbing panic and his brain slowly put itself back together enough to hear what Bruce was saying.
“You’re in the Tower, Tony. You’re safe, Steve and I are with you. Nat and Clint are over in the kitchen. Can you hear me? You’re okay, Tony,” Bruce muttered to him lowly.
Tony heaved out a breath and nodded slightly, relief washing over him so strongly he sagged down. He stopped fighting the hands encircling his wrists and focussed on the small blocks of ice that were held against the skin on the inside of his arms. Neat trick. They didn’t have those back in Afghanistan. Which is not where he was, Bruce told him. He was in the Avengers Tower. He closed his eyes as his breaths came to him easier than they had all day, although the pain nagged at his peace. His head still swam.
He let his head fall forward a bit as he felt his face burning. He pulled carefully at his wrists and sagged once more in relief when his friends just let him go. He buried his face in his hands as he focussed on what he knew. He was safe, no one was out to get him. He was sat back against the wall in the Tower. His friends were all here, Steve and Bruce right in front him. He tried to ignore the shame as he thought of what they’d all seen, but at least they’d helped him. They’d pulled him out. He dropped his hands into his lap and looked up carefully.
Bruce had walked back into the kitchen, back turned as he talked quietly with the two spies. Steve sat cross-legged in front of him, watching him, probably gauging how aware he was now that he’d calmed down. Tony felt giddy at the ease with which he could breathe, but he was so goddamn exhausted. And it was time to take his leave. He’d made enough of a scene for the day. He folded his legs underneath him and got up as gracefully as a newborn doe. He noticed Steve getting up quickly as well, but the captain was obviously unsure of whether he could reach out and support him.
“Tony?” Steve began, but stopped himself. The question he wanted to ask was painfully obvious and Tony nodded slightly.
“I need to sleep,” he said. Which was true.
“Okay. You’re bleeding, though,” the captain told him, pointing a finger at his chest.
He looked down and found that there was indeed some blood on his shirt. Ugh. He'd have to redo the stitches.
“Oh. Yeah,” he muttered as he looked into Steve’s eyes, waving his hand slightly. He felt like the captain could see exactly what he felt, what he needed, which was weird, but also nice, because he really didn’t want to talk about this.
“Sleep, Tony,” he told him gently, eyes warm. Tony nodded and he wanted to turn around to go into the elevator, but he hesitated. He knew that sleep wouldn’t fix everything, not this time. He met Steve’s eyes and Steve dipped his head after a few seconds, eyes conveying so much care.
“I’ll come up later,” he told Tony and he smiled slightly at Steve as he felt some of the weight lift off his shoulders.
He retreated into the elevator.