Flashback
Darkness.
Screaming.
Cold.
Abandonment.
Pain.
So much pain-
Tony's eyes snapped open. He found himself sitting in the back of a car, the sun just beginning to rise in the sky. Highway and distant buildings flew by - his brain automatically calculated that he was going roughly seventy miles an hour - and he couldn't remember why he was there. All he did know was that his lungs were burning, someone was still screaming (was it him? It was so distant), and he couldn't see the pale blue light of his arc reactor.
His hands scrambled for his chest, fingers running over the fabric of his shirt where the arc reactor's cold metal should have been and-
"You okay back there, Tony?" The voice, so familiar yet unfamiliar, cut through his rising fear. He blinked a few times, stuck at the top of a fear-filled adrenaline high. The person at the wheel was talking to him. Tony knew he should be able to recognize him, recognize that voice. He had dark hair. He was wearing a blue shirt. He kept glancing at Tony quickly even while he should be looking at the road. What little of his face that Tony could see was pinched in worry.
Memories resurfaced, like a bobber on the water. He was headed to California. He was with people. They were going for a mission. Eyepatch said they had to go in a car. Tony was forced to use his least flashy car. There was arguing and silence and McDonalds and more arguing and a stupid GPS and a texting lady and a zombie apocalypse and-
"Tony?" This voice wasn't that of the driver, but of someone beside him. He couldn't bring himself to look away from the window and the whisps of red hair in his peripheral vision. A hand entered his main line of sight - a dark hand that wasn't Rhodey's and accompanied the voice that wasn't Rhodey's - and hovered a few inches from him. More specifically, where Tony was still gripping the fabric of his shirt where there wasn't an arc reactor-
"Tony, breathe." That same voice said. Tony thought he was breathing. Was he breathing? He couldn't feel his lungs moving aside from the smallest shifts. Was the shrapnel still there? Was it moving toward his heart? Why wasn't he feeling pain anymore? Was he numb? Was he dying?
The whir of Obadiah's paralyzing machine filled his ears, yet it somehow didn't drown out the voices. Voices that he should recognize. Voices that he wasn't sure were friend or foe and he really didn't want to be back at death's door again-
"Breathe, Tony." That voice commanded again. The hand inched closer. Tony found it the easiest thing to focus on. One detail. One force. (He still noticed the way outside had stopped moving. He noticed the red hair had shifted. He noticed how it felt like there were several sets of eyes on him.)
"Is he okay?" The driver's voice asked. It was tinged with panic. Something told Tony that voice should be joking. It should be relaxed. It should be everything except panicked.
"I don't know." The hand's voice answered again. "Tony? Tony, blink if you can understand me."
He can't. He's frozen.
There was someone else who was once frozen. Was this how they felt?
"He's been like that for a full minute." That panic was edging on fearful. It shouldn't be scared. There was nothing hurting it. Nothing holding it still. Nothing-
"Tony, can I touch you?"
The world went up and down, just barely. Had he nodded? Had he answered? He didn't know. He wanted the contact. Wanted to know something was real-
That hand finally made hesitant contact with Tony's shaking ones. It was warm, cutting through the sheet of ice over his body. (There was another time, another world, where ice had frozen him, froze him in the air). After an extra second, Tony's hands were pulled away from his chest. He didn't fight it.
"Do we call Pepper? Or Rhodey? Or Steve?"
Steve. Steve Rogers. Captain America. Steve. He was the one who had been in the ice. Something other than fear and numbness trickled in. Something conflicted that was scared and relieved and confused and- and-
("That was my father's shield!")
His hands were gently squeezed. "I don't know." The hand's voice finally expressed something other than calm concern. Fear. Frustration. Confusion. Lostness.
Tony could recognize that last one easily.
"Wanda, can you do something?" Driver's seat person asked.
The red hair shook. "I-I don't- yes, but I don't want to go messing with his mind without him knowing-"
That voice.
It was connected to something in his mind.
He grabbed that connection and pulled.
The car washed away. The voices were silenced. All he could see was everyone dead and he was alive and he hadn't been able to protect them-
"Anthony Edward Stark."
The car came back. Another one of those hands was on his face, holding him gently by the chin, and tugging his head to the left. A face washed into his vision, one that was so deeply concerned (for him? Why?). The voice, that so painfully familiar voice, had said his name. His full name had always been an attention grabber. He heard it from a beautiful strawberry blonde who liked peppermint perfume. He heard it from his best friend. He heard it from his mother and his father. He heard it from Steve one memorable time when he had exasperated the Captain to his wits end-
"Listen to me, Tony," the voice was gentler now. "You need to breathe. In an out, like this." The unknown man demonstrated with exaggerated breaths. "C'mon, you can do it." The words were said with a carefully controlled calm Tony couldn't miss the desperation in them, even with the edges of his vision turning to fuzzy darkness and his heart beating loudly in his ears. Was that his heart? It was so fast.
The man kept speaking. Somehow, Tony found himself listening. His brain reconnected with his lungs and found them burning for oxygen. Hesitantly, he inhaled, then exhaled at half his lung capacity. Then again, with more air. And again. And again. The darkness receded. His lungs no longer hated him. He breathed at his full, though decreased, lung capacity - and found that air made his brain work.
Sam Wilson gave him a shaky, relieved smile. His hand had moved from Tony's face at some point, two fingers gently pressed to the pulse point on his neck. It was a grounding point for Tony as much as the contact to his hands was. His eyes moved from Sam's face to look at Scott and Wanda. Their expressions were an open mixture of worry and relief. (Why was she relieved? Didn't she want him dead?)
"Tony, you with me?" His eyes moved back to Sam. "Can you talk?"
Tony wants to say something, he does, but with the adrenaline fading and his body no longer stuck in mental paralysis, he was reminded that he was still utterly exhausted. He blinked a little faster, trying to clear his head but a fog had already stuck to the surface of his mind, taking away his focus. He couldn't concentrate as Sam's mouth moved, saying words he couldn't quite understand. A comfortable numbness spread over the rest of his body - a numbness that he wasn't scared of. He was protected. He was fine.
No one here was going to hurt him. They weren't Obadiah. They weren't Anton Vanko. They weren't Hammer, or Hydra, or... anyone that would try to take his life from him again. They were teammates, right? Friends from work? Just friends?
He couldn't give it a label because the darkness swept over his vision, taking him back into oblivion.
____________________________________________________________
Sam held Tony's shoulders when he suddenly slumped, eyes fluttering closed. Since he had removed the seat belt to give the genius more breathing room, his hands were the only thing keeping Tony from faceplanting the seat in front of him. Sounds of alarm came from the two in the front - and Sam couldn't say he wasn't worried either, after what just happened. His fingers found their way back to Tony's pulse point. After a few seconds, he could deduce that the man hadn't suffered a heart attack. He had either passed out or fell back asleep. He really hoped it was the latter.
"He's fine." He was quick to reassure Scott and Wanda, but it was the short answer. His heart wasn't in it. He just needed to calm them down. As Temporary Captain (or Temporary Steve), it was his job to keep everyone focused and not panicking.
Even if he was internally scared.
"He just-" Scott waved a hand around.
"He went back to sleep." Sam redid the seat belt to keep Tony upright. He shifted the genius's head to lay against the seat rather than lolled forward at an awkward angle. "He's still exhausted. I don't know if he was fully awake earlier."
Earlier. Earlier Sam had been halfway asleep himself, staring out the window. He had just swapped shifts with Scott again - they would definitely be paying for this sleep schedule later - and was trying to work out a plan for tonight, when they made it to the conference. The Stark reprogrammed GPS said they were seven hours from the motel Tony had gotten for them. That would leave them with four hours to eat, get ready, and formulate a plan before the seven PM conference.
Except the information they had was little. Assassination or ambush? Was the attack on one person or multiple? So many brilliant minds and powerful people together was a great chance for someone like Hydra to take them out, as Fury said.
And Tony would be in the thick of it, wouldn't he? No matter what they did, Tony Stark would always be recognized. They would have to use it to their advantage. Somehow. They had zero clue how the attack was going to go, making any plans they tried to create vague. All they knew was that going in the building was critical. Tony had Friday do a scan from satellite, only to have there be some sort of barrier around the place. The scan was disrupted and Tony had instead looked up (read: hacked) the building blueprints, showing them to Sam. Three floors above ground with a basement level. The basement was likely the most important.
His train of thought had been cut when Stark had woken up, his eyes flying open and head jerking up. At first, Sam thought it was a normal response to awareness. They were on a mission and sleeping in awkward positions, so jolting awake really wasn't that uncommon. He himself had already done it a few times.
Then, in the next half second, Tony was grappling at his chest with a panicked expression. His hands had paused there when Scott spoke, taking the words right out of Sam's mouth. When Tony didn't respond, Sam had jumped into action to try and calm him down. Tony's eyes were far away, looking at one spot. His hands had trembled where they were wrapped in his shirt. His breathing came in extremely short puffs with long, long seconds in between. It took what felt like ages to get the smallest reaction out of him. He refused to blink, refused to look at them, continuing to stare at that one spot until Sam asked if he could touch him. That tiny nod was the only sign of conscious awareness.
Scott asked if they should call someone. The names he listed garnered small reactions. Pepper got his jaw relaxing. Rhodey got his hands loosening. Steve got the slightest notes of so many emotions Sam couldn't make out, but were all better than the eery stillness, the fear, and the vacant look in Tony's eyes as he experienced something they couldn't see.
And Sam didn't know who to call.
He had helped with soldiers dealing with their experiences in the military. He had talked them through it. That's what he did before becoming part of the Avengers. That's how he continued to help after Riley died. He should be able to help - but Tony had never been a soldier. All he knew was to try and calm him down, try and bring him back from wherever he was lost at, and get him to actually breathe.
Then Wanda spoke and all the progress went away. That lostness filled his eyes as he was pulled back inside his mind. His muscles tensed back up. He stopped responding to Sam's prompting. The fear returned. "Tony." He'd repeated, not sure if the man could hear him. He had to force his voice to remain calm and steady as his hand squeezed Tony's again, trying to bring him back to the present. "Tony Stark. Ironman. Tony." All names failed. Finally, out of desperation, he resorted to the way his mother got him to listen: the full name. "Anthony Edward Stark."
That had gotten his attention.
He came back from whatever place his mind had gone to, his eyes refocusing and the fear visibly receding. Sam would be more relieved, except Tony hadn't taken a full breath since he woke up. The lack of oxygen wasn't helping. With one careful hand, he pulled Tony's chin, making the engineer look at him. It took too many seconds of prodding, of talking, of encouraging, and demonstrating before Tony took a bigger breath. Then another. And another. And then he was breathing normally, his brown eyes fully entering the present, and Sam couldn't be more relieved in that moment.
He let Tony look around, let his eyes focus on faces and the stopped car and where he was, before speaking again. "Tony, you with me?" He tried for a smile when their gazes met again. "Can you talk?" The silence was becoming extremely concerning, especially for a man who could talk until people wanted to pull their hair out.
Tony blinked a few times, mouth coming open as if he was about to say something, then he stopped. Sam prodded at him again with words, trying to get him to say something, anything, but the brunette's eyes had closed. He fell limp, with Sam being the one to catch him.
Now they were here, stopped on the side of the highway, with a hopefully-fine Tony Stark and only a few hours left before the mission.
"We'll let him sleep." He decided, pulling off his jacket. He put it over Tony's legs and chest, hoping that somehow it would keep Tony present the next time he woke up. "Keep going, Scott. We'll stop for lunch before we get to the motel."
"On it, Temporary Steve." Scott saluted. He spared one last concerned glance at Tony before he was back to the wheel, pulling them off the side and merging into the flow of traffic.
Sam couldn't stop the slight twitch of his lips. That nickname really wasn't going away anytime soon, was it?
It was then that Sam realized Wanda hadn't spoken in a while. She was still staring, eyes darting from Sam to Tony. That obvious relief from earlier was gone, replaced by apprehension and a tidbit of fear. "Wanda?' He asked carefully. "Is...something wrong?"
She shook her head, then shrugged, eyes locked on Tony now. "How he reacted..." She muttered - Sam wasn't sure he was supposed to hear it. She turned around to face the road, silent again, and Sam figured out what she meant. Tony had been coming back, then she spoke and he was thrown back into his mind. That was the only time she said something.
He ran a hand down his face and collapsed back into the seat, still watching Tony's sleeping face.
They really were a messed up team, weren't they?