Chapter 5
Studying the scene in front of him, Steve put down the pencil and flexed his fingers, slightly sore from gripping the tool too tightly for too long. He’d been sketching them, Nat and Clint, who were in their usual positions with Clint nestled into Nat’s side, but something was just off and he needed to put it to the paper to understand it.
The TV was on, but neither were really watching. There was a slightly too-distant look to Clint’s eyes, and while Nat was watching the television with a predator-like focus, her body was tense and her leg bounced where she had it braced against the coffee-table. Bruce sat on the other couch, reading a book – or, pretending to read a book, but Steve pointedly ignored the flashes of green in the man’s eyes.
If he hadn’t known them as well as he did, he would never have been able to tell that they were worried. Steve’s bet on Tony reaching out to them for help hadn’t paid off. They hadn’t seen the genius since the lunch-gone-sideways yesterday morning, and it was well into the evening of the next day. The tension had climbed the longer they hadn’t seen their genius. Steve studied the redheaded spy in front of him, her lips drawn into a tight line as she stared blankly at the TV-screen. She would never actually let on about how much she cared for Tony, but she had her tells.
She’d been angry – distraught – after they’d come back from busting the HYDRA nest. Her mood had been so foul that Clint had to bully her into opening up.
She’d found blood staining their private elevator that could only belong to Tony – unless Thor had suddenly returned from Asgard, had managed to get hurt badly enough to bleed and managed to keep both of those hidden from the entire team for two days. Then yesterday happened, and Steve oh-so-stupidly managed to apparently jostle the injury that Tony had carefully hidden from them. And he’d admitted to it. Admitted to being hurt.
He didn’t know whether that was a good thing. Either he was finally warming up to them and opening up, or he was so much worse off than they all realised. He winced at the creak of wood as his fingers had apparently tightened once more, straining the pencil between them.
They’d asked Jarvis about Tony, of course, but the AI was obviously constrained by one of Tony’s many protocols. The only thing that he’d be able to tell them was that Tony was in the workshop, and showed no signs of leaving. When they threatened Jarvis to tell them how Tony was doing, they’d get the same reply every time
“I am not at liberty to share anything pertaining to Sir’s well-being.”
What was worrying, though, was the increasing urgency and frustration the voice conveyed.
They’d gone down to the workshop, too, but the windows were blacked out. They’d commanded to be let in, threatened to bash the windows in if Jarvis didn’t allow them to enter, before they’d been told – not too unkindly – that everything in the Tower was as good as hulkproof, so good luck to them. After, they’d been told in a gentler tone that they would be warned if Tony were actively dying. Which wasn’t all that reassuring, but at least it was one way Jarvis could get around Tony’s protocol.
He’d been about to resume his drawing, but was pulled out of his concentration when Clint let out an undignified screech. Nat had suddenly jumped up from the couch, disrupting the heavy quiet of the room by pushing Clint off of her. Steve sought out her gaze, fighting back a wince as the knife-sharp intensity landed on him. Her reply came in the form of an incline of her head toward the kitchen.
“Tony.”
Steve whipped his head around, wincing as he nearly pulled a muscle at the speed of the movement. But, sure thing, Tony was right there. Some of the tension in the air drained away as they all took in their long-lost teammate walking into the kitchen.
Nat’s eyes left his face as she began walking up to Tony, and Steve smiled to himself at the way he could feel some of her anxiety melt away at just seeing Tony. He knew what that felt like. He saw Bruce and Clint exchange a glance, before they settled back into their seats, keeping an eye on their two teammates in the kitchen. Steve brought his hand up to support his chin to watch them as well, relief curling in his chest.
“Hey there, Shellhead,” Nat said fondly as she sidled up to Tony where he came to a halt next to the fridge. She didn’t bother trying to be quiet as she walked up to him, a show of both her comfort with the genius and her way of not startling him.
He noticed that the quiet stretched a tad too long and felt himself stiffen when he saw the exact moment Nat realised it, too. Her body language transformed from casual and relaxed to tense again within a second, shoulders drawing up to her ears, hands falling to her sides in shock.
“Tony?” she probed, a hesitant urgency to her voice as she read the man in front of her.
The man in question didn’t reply. He just sagged against the kitchen counter as he apparently found what he’d been looking for in one of the cabinets. He shuffled over to the fridge right as Natasha called out again and the sheer inelegance of Tony’s movement right there alarmed Steve more than the not-replying. It wasn’t all that uncommon for Tony to zone out, even around the team, but he was always deliberate in his movements.
“Tony?” Bruce called out from the couch, closing his book.
The spy turned around to cast them a look as once again there was no reply to his name, checking to see if they were seeing this, too. Something urged Steve to turn around to face the kitchen and he shifted his weight around in the chair, getting a better view. The sketchblock was absent-mindedly laid down on the armrest.
He had just settled in and watched as Tony shut the fridge door and jumped away from Nat, the wild look crossing his eyes not going unnoticed. Tony grabbed onto the kitchen counter tight enough to turn his knuckles white, looking like he might have keeled over if he hadn’t had the support, and flinched. Anxiety tightened in Steve’s chest. Something was wrong.
“Jesus,” he heard the genius rasp out between puffs of breath, ‘Warn a guy before you try to kill him, Nat.”
He heard Clint shift behind him.
“To be fair, she did,” the archer called out to them, voice not carrying its usual cheer. So, he’d seen it happen as well.
Steve could tell exactly when Tony noticed them sitting behind Natasha in the living room. The genius’ eyes closed off and turned cold, but not before a flash of something passed across his face. He watched as Tony’s lips moved, not quite getting his words out, and Steve felt torn. Could they be reading this entire situation wrong?
As he narrowed his eyes on the genius’ frame, though, he knew that they were right. Tony’s upper body was held stiffly, his breaths coming out in a rhythm not entirely naturally. He wasn’t quite looking at them and Steve swore he saw a suppressed flinch when Natasha spoke up again.
“I called out to you several times. Did you not hear me?”
And oh he really did not like how Tony was pushing himself into the counter, making himself appear smaller in front of the spy. He was contemplating stepping up to Nat’s side, wanting to study his friend up close to see what was wrong, but also not wanting to overstep. His body made the choice for him when he saw Tony cringe away from Nat’s outstretched hand. Steve was already halfway out of his chair when Tony retreated until his back hit the kitchen island.
“Nope, I was just thinking about the flamethrower design,” the genius said, but his tone held none of his usual sarcasm, none of the usual brightness at the mention of his inventions.
He crossed the distance to the kitchen and then Tony finally met his eyes, but there was such alien wariness there that it made his heart skip a beat. Tony retreated another step.
“Are you okay, Tony?” he breathed out, unable to quench his curiosity. He just had to know that he was alright, what he needed. Steve came to a stop standing slightly behind Nat, shooting her a quick look, only to see the stillness there that usually accompanied the Black Widow. She seemed shaken.
He had asked the wrong question.
“Just perfect, Cap,” Tony spit back with that famous Stark-venom in his voice, but it didn’t match his body language at all. He withdrew another step and Steve noticed the way Tony’s chest hitched. He realised Tony was on the verge of panicking, forcing himself to remain calm. He clenched one of his hands into a fist, but Steve doubted whether the genius even knew that he was doing it.
He took a second to take in Tony’s state. His hair was dishevelled and plastered sadly to his forehead with sweat, which Steve noticed only now. Was he sick? The dark brown of his hair only emphasized the pallor of his skin, much too pale for Steve’s liking. Had he lost that much blood? Was he about to faint? He couldn’t allow Tony to just retreat and go pass out somewhere. Maybe he’d actually come up to ask for their help, but felt too exposed now he was here? Either way, every fibre in Steve’s body was screaming at him to not let Tony out of his sight, to take care of him.
Bruce abandoned his spot on the couch, a quick look at him revealing worry flashing across his face as he spoke up, “You’re not looking too good, Tony. Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re running a bit hot.”
Steve barely heard Clint get up as well, quietly making his way to the others, because his attention once again snagged on Tony. He’d somehow moved around the kitchen island in the brief moment Steve had looked behind him. Tony hit the far end of the line of counters and winced slightly. Tony had raised his hands to comb through his hair, but aborted the movement at the shakiness he found there and let out a small sound, which Steve could only try not to copy.
Steve felt his own breathing catch when Tony seemed to hunch inward, inhaling a ragged, painful-sounding breath from where he stood braced against the counter. If he was going to pass out, now seemed like the perfect time and Steve moved to stand closer to him, able to catch the genius if it became necessary.
“Are you in pain?” Bruce asked from behind him and the alarm in the doctor’s voice punched the breath out of Steve’s lungs. He swivelled his head around breathlessly, brows furrowed, to get a read on Bruce, but his eyes found the bottle of painkillers in the scientist’ hands instead. He whirled back to check Tony over again, now that Bruce had confirmed his suspicion, but that hardly mattered anymore.
Because Tony, willingly taking any sort of pain medication? That was unheard of. That just did not happen.
Tony, apparently lucid enough to read Steve’s mind, as good as bared his teeth at him as his face contorted into an ugly sneer.
“God, I’m fine! Just fuck off!”
Steve’s mouth snapped shut at the comment and he felt the others flinch at the sheer hostility the engineer had aimed towards them.
Tony took that exact second of shared hesitation to escape from the situation. He was already stumbling back and away from them before Steve had even recovered, but felt the collective urge to do something, now pass through the room. He felt like the situation was spiralling out of control fast, like Tony was about to slip through his fingers, never to be seen again. He stood frozen in place though, unable to act.
He watched as Tony’s guarded eyes fell on his, turning awfully distrustful and suddenly Tony gagged and choked on his breath. Their eye contact was broken and Tony stared at the ground before his breathing became audible. The grating, wheezing sounds were enough to snap Steve out of his stupor and he couldn’t stop himself from dashing forward to catch the genius, who was looking more unsteady with every passing second. A choked whimper escaped from Tony’s throat as he stumbled away from him, foot catching on the floor.
Tony’s cry echoed through the silent room as he smacked to the floor on his behind, hands shooting out to catch the weight of his upper body. The movement was accompanied by a distinct ‘pop’ and Steve cringed as he realised two things.
- Whatever injury Tony had sustained, it had needed stitches
- At least one of those stitches definitely just tore
Sure enough, a patch of red appeared on his shirt, staining the area below his collarbone. Steve halted in his movement, hands outstretched in the space between them, and his heart leapt up into his throat as he looked at Tony. The genius’ head snapped up to meet his gaze.
Tony’s pupils were so dilated his brown eyes appeared black.
Terror twisted his features.
Steve’s entire world narrowed to the sight of Tony – downed and vulnerable – and something clicked.
Right as Tony began scrambling back from him hurriedly, clumsily, while one hand seemed to want to guard his chest, Steve realised – much too late – that Tony was having a flashback. He had PTSD.
Tony collided into the wall and a slight, barely-suppressed whimper escaped from the other man, the sound echoing in Steve’s ears, who was still stood there, frozen, arms outstretched.
The realisation slammed into him so hard it left him nearly as breathless as the man in front of him. He had no idea how to deal with this, how to help him, even though he wanted to do nothing more.
He’d seen some of the Howlies fall victim to attacks like these, hell, he himself had probably had a flashback or two during the war, or after Bucky—
He was stepping closer to Tony before he even knew it, remembering how helpful a grounding touch could be.
The engineer had crossed his arms tightly in front of his chest, looking right through Steve as he panted and gasped through his panic. Steve’s own lungs swelled with a hopeful breath as anticipation crested in his heart when he went to crouch down in front of Tony, one of his hands hovering over Tony’s, and he opened his mouth to ask—
“No!” Steve jolted back in shock at Bruce’s hissed yell, the world and sounds around snapping back into focus. The scientist appeared beside him, placing a firm hand on his bicep.
“Give him space, Steve,” he was told while Bruce dragged him up off his haunches forcefully, not pausing for even a second before pushing Steve back towards the kitchen. Bruce had been about to say something else but was cut off by a sound Steve never wanted to hear again.
A scream of absolute agony tore out of Tony’s heaving chest and none of them did anything but watch on in shock, stilling in their movements. They watched as the genius released his death-grip on his own torso and watched as unsteady fingers began to rove over his chest, coming to a halt with a panicked shriek on his arc reactor. There was a pause, another whimpered yell before he became frantic.
Tony’s fingers dug into his chest, grasping at the edges of his arc reactor as he tried to get enough purchase on the sphere. His anxious efforts were accompanied by the squeaking of Tony’s shoes straining against the floor. Feeling lost, Steve’s focus remained on Tony, not wanting to lose sight of him but also needing to look away. Tony’s strangled sob nearly brought tears to Steve’s eyes and he winced at the grating sound of nails scratching against fabric-covered metal. He barely noticed Bruce talking softly to Tony, crouched a few feet away from him, but he too seemed lost, shaking his head slightly at the lack of response.
Then, suddenly, silence returned to the room with a last, strangled cry as the fingers that had previously been tugging at the arc reactor suddenly fell to the ground, lifeless.
What the hell just happened?
He was pulled out of his stupor when he heard the soft words muttered by Bruce. The scientist was telling Tony he was safe, with his friends, not in Afghanistan.
Oh.
Right.
Fuck.
Tony had never really told them much about how he’d received the shining beacon in his chest, but Steve knew a few things from the SHIELD files he’d read before meeting the team for the first time. If he had had any lingering doubts about the traumatic happenings in that cave back in Afghanistan – which he didn’t – they would have been resolved now.
Guilt punched into him as he thought back to how he had acted, to his apparent incompetence to read a situation. He’d likely triggered this attack, crowding Tony like he did. Good intentions be damned.
Steve observed Bruce from behind where he still sat crouched a few feet from Tony, who just sat there with a heaving chest. He sought out the two spies behind him and anyone with eyes could have told that they were as shocked as he was. They were both standing frozen, watching their downed friend relive an invisible danger. He shuffled over to them.
“He has PTSD,” Steve said, still slightly unsure of his judgement.
“I… thought so, but I never really confirmed it ‘til now,” Nat confessed, eyes still focused solely on Tony’s huddled form against the wall.
Clint hummed softly, before stating with a hint of wonder, “Well, at least someone knows what’s going on.”
He nodded toward Bruce - still muttering soft words of comfort to an unresponsive Tony - who turned around slightly at Clint’s comment. They got a frown in return, before Bruce stood up and walked over to them, pulling them away further from Tony.
“Don’t be a jealous prick, Clint,” Bruce said, levelling him with a glare that showed only the slightest bit of mirth to show he was joking, on some level.
“Do I know what is going on? Barely, it’s Tony,” he sighed, but there was no bite to his words.
“I’ve seen him get flashbacks before but something’s different…” he trailed off, gaze seeking out the genius. Steve followed his lead and he noticed the slight rotation of Tony’s wrists at his sides, gaze up as he stared at the ceiling and gasped silently.
“I don’t know why, but he’s not snapping out of it this time,” Bruce concluded, voice tight with urgency.
Clint nodded at his words and looked at Nat, who was biting her cheek as she studied Tony.
“What do we do? He’s quiet now but I don’t want him to…” she hesitated before shooting them all a nervous look, and she continued carefully, “…hurt himself again.”
Unease settled in Steve’s gut at the thought. Bruce inhaled sharply next to him and when Steve dragged his eyes away from the troubled expression on Natasha’s face, he found Bruce already looking at him. The perturbed look to his eyes cleared Steve’s head and he stood to attention at once.
“I… have an idea. It might work. Come with me, Steve,” Bruce said softly and he immediately trailed after the doctor into the kitchen, when Bruce aimed another comment over his shoulder, “You two, stay back for now.”
Steve felt his mind clear as his panic dissipated while he followed after Bruce. They stopped in front of the fridge and Steve frowned.
“What are you doing?” he asked, glancing back at Tony, the distance between them making Steve want to run right back to him. Bruce pulled open the freezer compartment below and began rummaging through it’s drawers.
“Ice against the wrists might snap him out of it,” he said, stilling as he found the mould and he slammed the freezer door shut. He quickly popped out two cubes and whirled to face Steve.
“You need to hold his arms out for me, Steve. He won’t like that, but it’ll help.”
Steve swallowed.
“Can you do that for me, cap?” Bruce probed, placing a hand on his arm and squeezing lightly.
Yes, he could. He would do anything that would help his genius. He nodded.
Bruce smirked at him, expression turning into a grimace as he went to pull Steve along to where Tony sat, obviously still deep in his flashback.
“He’ll fight you, but do not let go, okay? I swear to you it’ll get better after a while,” Bruce whispered urgently.
Steve hummed in response. He only half noticed Nat and Clint standing against the kitchen island, facing away from Tony and in the back of his mind, gratitude swelled at how gracefully the spies dealt with this.
Bruce and Steve crept closer to Tony slowly, not wanting to startle him as they did before, but they were barely even acknowledged. The only real response they got was a slight whimper when Bruce asked Steve softly if he was ready. Steve swallowed around the anxiety in his throat when Tony began shaking lightly again, clenching his eyes shut and breathing tightly through his nose.
They exchanged a last look and nodded in agreement. Steve breathed out and reached for Tony’s forearms, settling his hands there with a firm grip and pulling his arms away from his head toward Bruce. He kept his eyes glued to the genius.
Tony’s reaction was immediate and Steve flinched as a scream tore from his throat. He had to tighten his grip when the engineer began thrashing, fighting back, panic so thick Steve almost threw up.
“C’mon Tony,” Steve muttered under his breath.
From the corner of his eyes, he saw as Bruce reached over and pushed the ice to the inside of Tony’s wrists.
Strange, wild eyes snapped up and Tony gasped at the sensation, jerking back against Steve’s hold. His eyes flickered back and forth a few times, interrupted by aggressive blinks before for the first time, Steve saw a hint of recognition there.
“Steve!”
And wasn’t that the best thing Steve had ever heard in his life? He huffed out a relieved, shocked laugh at the rough exclaim of his name and allowed his grip to become slightly looser when Tony sagged back against the wall, eyes toward the ceiling again as he panted through whatever he was still seeing.
Bruce picked up his continuous stream of words again, waiting for Tony to confirm that he could hear him. Steve shot Bruce a small smile when they got a nod after a few seconds.
Tony’s pants slowly turned into big gulps of air as the genius blinked his eyes again and again, sometimes settling on his two teammates in front of him.
Steve glanced sideways and saw Bruce already looking at him with a pensive look, before it settled into a contented acceptance.
“Good job,” he mouthed at Steve, before releasing his own hands from Tony’s arms where the last bits of the ice melted away. He got up and retreated into the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone.
Steve didn’t release his grip on Tony’s hands and remained his study of the other’s face. His breathing seemed to be slowing down as more warmth returned to Tony’s face. It appeared that whatever wound he had, had stopped bleeding, which relieved some of Steve’s tension.
Steve’s own breathing levelled out with each breath Tony took, more and more life returning to his brown eyes. He deemed the situation safe enough to look away for a couple of seconds, so he turned back slightly towards his team standing in the kitchen. He found Nat’s gaze straight away and he inclined his head to her with a small, hopeful smile. Her shoulders relaxed slightly and she delved back into her conversation with Clint. Steve also turned back to Tony and felt a flash of lightning go through his body when he found Tony already looking at him, but the genius averted his eyes after a long second.
Steve’s smile fell as he noticed the red creeping up Tony’s neck that settled brightly on his cheeks. Steve was no stranger to the intimacy of having people watch him as he panicked, having emerged from ice after seventy years into the future, but these people were Tony’s team, his friends. Of course, Tony would still feel too exposed and vulnerable, and Steve’s throat constricted as he imagined the engineer was likely beating himself up internally for showing such blatant weakness. The genius let his head fall forward in shame.
His fingers itched to reach out, to soothe. But he didn’t.
He let go straight away when Tony tugged slightly at his arms, giving him that freedom. Gently letting his weight drop to the ground, he settled into a cross-legged position on the floor opposite to Tony, close but not touching, content to just watch him for now. The engineer had hidden his face in his hands, so Steve gave him the time he needed to collect himself and stayed quiet. He merely forced his breaths to come out a bit louder, hoping it would steady Tony.
Every now and then, he’d catch a quiet mumble fall from the genius’ lips. He realized that Tony was reassuring himself of his whereabouts and safety and he felt something flutter in his stomach as his pride swelled.
His previous hopeful smile returned to his face. God, how could anyone ever doubt this man – bull-headed, sarcastic and loud he may be, yes, but most of all strong.
Somehow, through that monumental trauma Tony had just relived in front of them, he had not once uttered a word, had not once asked for mercy. Steve would never have thought any less of a man that would have broken under such stress, because well, that would have been the intended outcome, hadn’t it? It would have been the expected response.
But Tony Stark never did quite as expected.
Instead, he fought back.
He’d fought back and emerged on the other side of his time in Afghanistan a changed man, moving heaven and earth to improve the state of his world, his own legacy. Yes, he had the fractures to show it, but here he was, talking himself out of that cave and back into the present.
Steve really couldn’t tell the amount of time passed as he watched Tony. Noticing the slight shift in the other’s posture, he kept his face neutral when Tony let his hands fall into his lap. The genius gingerly took in his surroundings, eyes landing on their team in the kitchen, before settling on Steve. His breathing had evened out as much as Steve had dared to hope for, but he knew this moment of quiet would be broken soon as some of Tony’s usual determination leaked back into his brown eyes. Mostly, he just looked exhausted, though.
Using his determination and that determination alone as a crutch, Tony had gotten his legs under him. Quicker than Steve would’ve thought possible, the genius was standing upright, swaying slightly as Steve got up off the floor as well. He suppressed a wince at the sudden rush of blood back into his cramped legs. The conversation behind him fell quiet when they noticed the two of them had gotten up, but Steve kept his attention fixed on Tony. He hesitated.
“Tony?” he breathed the name, stopping himself from asking the stupid, obvious question again. Tony understood, however, and he got a nod in return.
“I need to sleep,” the genius muttered softly, subdued but steadfast in his resolve to get out of there. Steve didn’t doubt the man’s need for sleep for even a second.
“Okay. You’re bleeding, though,” he offered in return, indicating the bloodied fabric on Tony’s front. It really did seem as though it had stopped bleeding, so he did not really have any qualms about giving Tony the time and space to cobble himself together again. Not for too long, though.
He watched as Tony looked down at his shirt, but his posture didn’t give away any surprise. No reaction at all, for that matter, except a wave of his hand with a muttered, “Oh. Yeah.”
Their eyes met again, and Steve just took the moment to study Tony. He knew his brain must be firing at him to get out of there as quick as possible, and Steve was genuinely impressed at the show of self-constraint Tony put on here. He’d honestly expected the engineer to bolt as soon as the opportunity presented itself, like he’d tried to do earlier. And had done so many times before.
Steve knew Tony had long ago taught himself he functioned best on his own, with a mug of coffee in his one hand and his tools in the other, locked away in some lab. It was up to them now to teach him different, to gentle-parent him out of those patterns and recalibrate that stupidly amazing brain of his into allowing other people to help him.
But that would start by giving him space. By allowing him to retreat now. Small steps.
“Sleep, Tony,” Steve told him gently, heart threatening to spill over with warmth as his comment was met with a hint of stunned relief in the genius’ brown eyes.
Tony had already half turned around, before he halted and looked back, seeking out Steve’s gaze again like they had in that damned HYDRA nest. There was a question in Tony’s eyes, and he answered it immediately.
“I’ll come up later,” he told Tony and the answering smile he got back released the knot that had formed in his stomach two days ago. Tony turned around and left.
As the elevator doors slid shut, Steve released a long sigh.
“What, no overbearing mother-Steve-ing this time?”
Steve snorted and his head dropped forward. He turned around after a second to face a smirking Clint, his expression both shit-eating and uncertain somehow.
His own smirk didn’t waver as he waited for the others to walk over to him where he stood.
“Well, I, uh…” he scratched the back of his neck with a grin, before crossing his arms in front of his chest and continued, “… I realized Tony doesn’t really appreciate that, does he?”
Clint raised his eyebrows at him and mirrored his stance, a smile brightening up his eyes as he relaxed at Steve’s calm demeanor.
“Gee, that only took you like, a year to realize?”
Steve shrugged in reply, smirking. “What can I say?”
“Since we’re on the subject of your denseness anyway, a little birdie told me you had another big realization back—” Clint started with a wide grin, poking a finger at Nat, who rolled her eyes at him.
“Really, Barton?” Bruce interrupted with a tired groan, but a smile tugged at his lips as he asked, “You want to get into that right now?”
“I mean, yeah, why the hell not—” He was cut off by a slap against the back of his head by Natasha.
“Shut up, birdbrain,” she reprimanded lightly, before turning to Steve with a somewhat more serious look.
“You feel confident he’s not going to do something stupid right now?”
Steve softened his smirk at the apprehension in her tone, and inclined his head.
“Yeah. He’s clearly exhausted from all that,” he waved his hand at the elevator. “I think he’s passed out on his bed already.”
“Correct, Captain Rogers,” Jarvis announced smoothly. Steve didn’t even jump at the disembodied voice anymore. The AI’s snark reminded him of Tony.
He took in his three teammates and saw the lingering strain and worry in their expressions, eased slightly now that they were joking around again for the first time in days. He felt confident that they would back his decisions.
“He just needs some space before we come blazing into his rooms with first aid kits. Tony and I agreed I’d go up to him later, but I figured I let him sleep for a bit first,” he concluded and breathed in relief when he saw Bruce and Nat nod, relaxing ever so slightly.
Clint frowned at him, delight shining in his eyes.
“What, you speak Tony now all of a sudden?”
Steve raised his best ‘Captain America’-brow at the archer. Clint threw his hands up in mock surrender and smirked, before gesturing at them to follow him back to the couches as he turned around.
“Jeez, the guy realized he had feelings not even two days ago and now he’s already a self-proclaimed Tony-expert,” Clint muttered to himself, before yelping as Nat flicked her fingers at his ear and he hurried away from her.
Steve met Bruce’s eyes with an unflinching grin. Allowing the scientist to study him for a moment, he took Bruce by the arm and tugged him along after Clint and Nat.
“I’ll explain to you what to do,” Bruce said with a soft smile.