Soundless screams were pouring from his lips, striking pain up his throat as he struggled with getting any of the sounds out. The air was stuck in his lungs and he couldn’t control the panic as it raced heavily and strikingly through his veins. His vision was blurred from tears and he didn’t know where he was as his body shot up like a bullet. It caused his head to spin, stomach to churn and just before he could gag the door to his right flew open.
“Steve? Baby, hey, hey , hey, hey look at me.”
A rush of ice pushed against his chest, warmth on his back and he chopped up more breaths as he shook his head irrationally. His eyes were still burning and he grew heavy as a loud sound escaped his lips.
Was it a cry? It sounded more like a gasp.
“Stevie! Punk I need you to breathe, look at me and follow my lead. Doll, focus on me.”
There was a forehead against his, pushing closer as the two hands pushed the blockage out of his chest. With the release came the sobs, loud and strung out as the tears finally began to drip down his face.
“Shh, you’re okay- Doll, we’re okay.”
The other voice above him cracked on the syllables, tone higher than he was used to.
But it wasn’t what he wanted to hear.
The shushing did nothing for him and sob after sob he tried to spit out the words that were on his mind from the moment he began dreaming.
He couldn’t hold himself up, falling into the larger arms as the letter still held itself upon his lips.
“I can’t understand you, love, you have to breathe.”
“T-tony! Tony!”
Terror bled through him and he clung to Bucky’s shirt, screaming the name over and over until the door flew open and feet ran across the floor.
“Rogers? Steve. Steve, pal I really need you to focus on me. Right here big guy.”
Fingers crawled up his back, coming to rest on his neck as the familiar voice pierced through his panic and he shuffled an ear on a heartbeat and eyes on a best friend. Those brown eyes were so familiar, soft yet scarred and at the sight his bloody lips trembled.
“Tony-”
“Yeah, Steve. I’m right here.”
Tony’s fingers came to rest on his cheek, thumbs wiping tears from his vision seeing as they weren’t planning on stopping any time soon. He refused to move his gaze, even as Bucky shifted him so his ear rested perfectly over the even thumps of a beat.
“Tony.”
His tone had lessened considerably, just staring into the familiar face so close that the aches began to subside from his ribs. It was a little more difficult to slow his breaths, but he did so as best he could, releasing a hand from below to grab on to the reactor.
“How are you feeling?”
The fingers in his hair were gentle, uncaring of the sweat as they maneuvered through the blonde strands.
And then things were okay. They were okay as a blanket rose up his shoulders, they were okay when Bucky dropped a kiss on his head.
They were not okay when the world stopped spinning once again.
“Tasha?”
The fingers tensed, the kiss pulled away and the tightening of the grip around him anchored reality.
Tony’s face darkened, even more so around the scars that surrounded his left eye.
With a single shake of his head he let Steve know she wasn’t okay. She wasn’t breathing.
Natasha was still dead on the side of that mountain Clint so minisculely described.
By the time Tony had got up, there was light flooding into the room. He had seen every sunrise this week, just about this month and stayed solid even when the bath across the room started. The bathroom door was wide open, preparing his welcome as he knew he would soon be led into the area.
“If you need me call me, Barnes.”
With a thanks, in nod and in words the hero was gone, disappearing in the hallway as Bucky began to sway.
“You gotta see a doctor Steve. I can’t- we can’t do this every night, pal. We can’t do it.”
He meant to comfort his husband, to promise he would try and get better, but the trembling of his fingers distracted him and before he knew it he was carried across the room. The hot water rose to his ankles and he didn’t even wince as his clothes were removed.
Within minutes he was sitting in the tub, dragging his thoughts together as a cloth made its way across his skin.
“I’m sorry, Buck.”
“It’s not your fault.”
The recognizable tone was back, held together and strong. This was able to hold the soldier together too, holding in the crack of his voice as he apologized again.
“I’m so sorry.”