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Tony awoke to the thick smell of smoke choking his lungs and pain beating like a drum behind his eyes.
"Jarvis... report," he rasped out, throat like sandpaper. Nothing. He lifted his hand to his throbbing head and was greeted by wet, matted hair. He wasn't wearing his helmet? He didn't seem to have his HUD glasses either. His hand, when he pulled it away from his head, was coated in blood.
The last thing he remembered was flying over that Atlantic in the Quinjet with the team. They'd been on their way back from a meeting with the European Commission in Brussels. It had originally just been a conference to discuss jurisdictions and how the Avengers were to conduct themselves regarding threats outside of the U.S.: Boring Geopolitical stuff if you asked Tony. But, of course, it had attracted the attention of some dime-a-dozen villain of the week. Attack drones had swarmed the Parliament Complex, firing on the representatives and employees. They were horribly inaccurate, though, and were easy enough to take out. Child's play, really. Tony had been able to hack into them with ease and shut them all down after just a few minutes. In the end, only two people had been injured, and they were both in stable condition. Of course, there was a good bit of property damage, but nothing Tony couldn't pay for. Thankfully, it was only the one building this time, not half of New York. They'd helped clean up the aftermath and then began the long trip back home.
So where was he now? What had happened?
Tony groaned as he tried to sit up, stopped by sharp pains in his chest that radiated outwards to encompass his whole body. Above him, dark clouds crackled with lightning, an unholy torrent of icy rain pouring down and soaking him to the bone. Why wasn't he in the Iron Man armor? His ears were ringing, and god damn did his head hurt, making his mind sluggish and foggy. Where were the others? Where was Steve?
"Ste...ve" he tried to choke out, his mouth full of cotton. "Steeeve!"
"Tony!" Steve's voice rang out. He sounded faint, far off, but Tony blinked, and there Steve was, standing above him like an angel. Tony wasn't even sure he was real. Maybe he was a vision, a figment of Tony's most likely concussed brain. "Tony, oh my god. Don't move. Guys, I found him! Over here!"
"...Steve--" He said, once again trying to sit up, though the action and words were quickly cut off by a strangled cry as pain flared through his body, snaking its way through his veins.
"No. No. Tony, lie down." Steve was saying, gentle hands urging Tony back. His face was full of worry, forehead crinkled in fear. Tony didn't understand why. "You're going to be ok. Thor's gone for help."
Help? Why'd they need help? Tony's world was spinning. Nothing made sense. His reason was slowly slipping from him as the ringing got louder and the pain mounted. His vision was fuzzy. His body felt light.
"Ste...ve," and then he was out, his boyfriend's stricken face the last thing he saw.
---
Tony had been the only one seriously hurt by the jet exploding. In fact, he'd been the only one on board when it went down.
It had been around halfway through the flight across the Atlantic when the first charge went off, blowing one of the engines. They'd all been jerked from their half-asleep daze, scrambling to their feet as the plane shuddered and lunched downward.
"We're losing altitude fast!" Clint yelled from the pilot seat.
"What was that?" Steve demanded.
"Looks like those drones were just a distraction," Tony replied, using his HUD glasses to scan for additional charges. "There's at least 5 more devices attached to the outside of the jet. Located on the engines, wings, and hull. Whoever's behind this doesn't want survivors."
"I knew the lack of injuries earlier was suspicious," Clint said through gritted teeth as he pulled on the yoke with all his might, desperately trying to slow their descent. The plane shook as another charge went off outside, pitching them suddenly to the right.
"Hawkeye, what's the report! Is there anything you can do?" Steve asked.
"There's an island up ahead. I'll try to steer us towards it, but we're an engine down and coming in hot." Clint called back, pressing buttons on the control panel in an attempt to steady their course.
"Looks like abandoning ship is our best option. Thor, you grab Hawkeye and Widow. We'll meet at the island."
Thor nodded solemnly. "A wise plan. I shall be ready."
"Bruce--" Steve started, turning to the scientist.
"Don't worry about me. The Hulk will protect me," he said, face grim and already tinged green. Steve nodded in response before turning to Tony.
"Ironman, suit up. I'll take one of the parachutes.” Tony nodded, briefcase suit already in hand.
"Ok, we’ll only have a few minutes once I let go. Opening the hatch now. Get ready." Clint said as he pushed a button. There was the hiss of the airlock and then the roar of the wind. The sky was dark with clouds and smoke. Rain was pouring down in sheets. Steve did one more scan of the cabin, making sure his team was in place.
"Avengers, Assemble!" He called, and suddenly the cabin was a whirlwind of action. Bruce immediately jumped out, Hulk’s loud roar echoing through the sky as he plummeted out of view. Clint and Natasha held tight to Thor, lurching as the jet began to nosedive. Then they were gone, whisked away in a crackle of static and thunder. Running over to where the parachutes hung on the wall, Steve pulled one on with tactical precision, hand braced on the airlock, ready to jump. One person left.
He turned back to check Tony's status right as another, bigger explosion burst violently through the cabin, throwing him from the plane. All he saw was his boyfriend engulfed in flames and thrown against the cabin walls. Then he was plummeting through the clouds: his desperate plea for Tony getting lost in the howling storm.
From where he landed in the rough waves, Steve could make out the rest of the team standing on the shore and the smoldering remains of the jet around a mile down the beach. Everyone was accounted for: everyone, except a certain red and gold genius.
Frantically, Steve swam for the shore. His heart was a jackhammer. It wrecked his chest and drowned out the crashing of the waves around him. This just couldn't be happening. It couldn't. As soon as he felt sand beneath his feet, he was running, sprinting, towards the wreckage, ignoring the concerned shouts of the others. He had one goal: get to Tony.
Before long, they were all combing through what remained of the jet, calling out Tony's name as they picked their way over shards of metal and fuel-soaked seats that were still burning despite the continual deluge of rain. And then, Steve heard it.
"Ste...ve."
Steve's head spun, searching around him frantically until he caught a glint of red metal tucked behind a more undamaged chunk of hull. Tony.
"Steeeve."
"Tony!" Steve called out, running over to where his boyfriend lay half buried in sand and debris. Bits and pieces of the armor hung off of him and lay scattered about. It was obvious that the armor had taken the brunt of the damage, thankfully. Unfortunately, it was also obvious that Tony was barely lucid and still very hurt. He was covered in cuts and bruises from shrapnel, and blood was pouring down from a gash along his temple, mixing with rain and making it impossible for Steve to tell how much he was actually losing.
"Tony, oh my god. Don't move. Guys, I found him! Over here!" He called out, the others quickly rushed over to them as he kneeled down.
"Careful, careful," Bruce said, kneeling down opposite Steve as he tried to keep Tony from moving too much. "He might have internal injuries."
"Thor, do you think you can fly in this storm? Can you go get help?" Natasha asked, taking charge, something Steve was eternally grateful for. He was in no shape to lead. He was a mess. He could do nothing except stare down at Tony's bleeding head, his wild pained eyes, the way he begged for Steve with a voice that was rasping and unsure.
"Aye, I do not fear the storm. The storm fears me. I shall fly fast as lightning and bring back aid for friend Anthony." He boomed, raising his hammer above him. There was a gust of wind and a crack like a whip, and Thor was gone, the lingering scent of ozone left in his place.
Tony lost consciousness shortly after. Nat started giving out orders, a voice of reason in the chaos. The island they were on was small but mountainous, and Clint managed to find a cave they could use as shelter. It was a large cave with plenty of space, the main cavern big enough that Steve could stand up straight and not reach the rocky ceiling above. It also had a spring, a crystal clear pool of cool, fresh water, in the back recesses where the cave began to narrow and snake away into the dark earth. They managed to move Tony there without much difficulty, using a large chunk of plane wing as a makeshift spineboard, just in case. They'd removed his dress shirt in order to check for visible injuries. There didn't appear to be any open gashes, just dark purple bruises and the soft blue glow of the arc reactor.
They didn't know how long it would be until help arrived. Thor could travel through the storm, but not much else could, and it was only getting worse. All they could do was wait.
---
When Tony awoke, he was greeted by darkness and a cold, clammy chill that seemed to settle in his bones. The air smelled earthy and stale, like moss, damp sand, and wet rock. Distantly, he could hear the sound of someone ringing something out into water. His whole body felt like it was on fire, alight with a roaring pain that seemed to emanate from his chest. The familiarity of it all sent a spike of fear straight through Tony's already cloudy mind. He blinked against the dark and the pain, trying to make out any of his surroundings. But as his eyes adjusted, the simmering fear boiled over into a primal, all-consuming panic.
He was in a cave. He was in a cave, and there were dark figures and water, and one of them had a cloth. No. No. No! This couldn't be happening. Not again. How'd he get here? How'd they find him? Where was his team? Where was Steve?
His heart was hammering fast, unnaturally fast. It beat against his rib cage like a wild animal fighting to be let out. It hurt. It felt electric. It felt.... like he was hooked up to a car battery. Get it off. Get it out. Make it stop. He desperately groped at his chest in a blind attempt to remove the offending metal he could feel resting there, the metal that was suffocating him. His breath was sharp, fast, going in and out in ragged, pained bursts, hands frantic, desperate.
"He's awake."
All the figures looked up, all their attention on him. Not good. The one with the cloth dipped the scrap slowly into a large pool of water at his side and stood, making his way towards Tony.
Suddenly, Tony couldn't breathe at all. He couldn't do this again. He couldn't take it. He had to get out.
He began to flail, the sharp pain of movement drowned out by the sheer animal need to get away. He tried to get up, to run, lunging forward with all his might, but his body wasn't working right. His leg gave out, the pain of putting weight on it was too much, even through his panicked haze. He was dizzy, and the cave was spinning around him like the world's most horrific carousel. He was still trying to get the metal out of his chest. He had to get away. He had to. Or die trying.
"He's gonna hurt himself!" Someone said.
"Hold him down!" Another shouted. And then there were hands on him. They grabbed at him, one pair pulling his arms away from his chest while another wrapped around him, pinning them at his sides. A guttural animal sound escaped his throat as he struggled, and his terrifyingly strong captor gripped him tighter, holding him in place. The more he struggled, the tighter their grip got until it hurt. He tried to kick out, but someone grabbed his legs too. He was distantly aware that he was screaming, begging to be let go as he trashed about, too far gone for shame or reason. There was no room for that if he wanted to survive.
And then he felt it. The cold press of the wet cloth on his face. His entire body went still. The screaming cut off abruptly with a strangled, choked gasp as he felt one of his attackers begin to wipe the towel across his face. Why were they teasing him like this, taunting him? Tony almost wanted to tell them to just get it over with already; the oxygen-starved high of water in his lungs was almost preferable to the dread. His whole body shook as drops ran down his face and into his mouth, agape in a silent scream. It tasted dirty. Tony began to cry. He just hoped his tears blended in with the runoff.
He couldn't breathe. Dirty water was filling his lungs as the rough, scraping hands of his tormentors pushed his head under the surface. His chest, his whole body burned, and he was losing feeling in his fingers. The car battery. He couldn't let the water touch the car battery.
Where was Steve? He wanted Steve.
---
"That was...bad," Nat said once Tony had passed out again. The remaining Avengers sat in a circle around Steve, who still held his boyfriend desperately to his chest.
"What... was that?" Clint asked, letting go of Tony's legs to sit back on his own heels.
"It looked like PTSD." Bruce looked somewhat green but still in control as he helped a shaking Steve lay Tony back down. Tony needed Bruce Banner, not the Hulk. The unofficial team Doctor had torn a scrap of cloth off of Tony's discarded dress shirt and was now using it to dab at the raw and bleeding wounds Tony had dealt to his own chest. "Most likely a flashback. To what, I have no clue."
"Afghanistan, if I had to guess," Nat said. To an untrained ear, her voice sounded even, calm, but Steve could make out the slightest hint of wavering, proof that she was just as shaken up as the rest of them. None of them knew much about Afghanistan. Tony had hacked his SHIELD files long before they met, and he wasn't very forthcoming about it even now that they had all grown closer. They knew it was bad, knew that it was how he got the arc reactor and Iron Man, but that was it. They had no idea what Tony thought was happening or what had triggered the flashback and how best to avoid another.
The others were talking, but Steve didn't hear them, didn't say anything, just stared down at Tony's slack face. The sound of his screaming played in a deafening loop in Steve's head. He couldn't shake the image of Tony's breaths, sharp and ragged like he was drowning, like he thought every breath would be his last, or the way he stilled as the cloth was pressed to his face. He'd been completely quiet, motionless except for the tremors and gasps that wracked his entire frame. Tears spilled down his face like silent prayers. He reminded Steve of prey trying not to be seen by a predator, like he expected to die. It shattered Steve. His Tony wasn't this quiet. Ever. Even when he was captured or injured in battle, he was fighting back, sassing back, shouting, trying to find a way out. He wasn't waiting in silence for some perceived inevitable horror to befall him.
Steve felt gutted. He felt useless. He felt vile for using his super strength against his own boyfriend, his boyfriend who was kicking and screaming, pleading to be let go, a boyfriend who now had dark blue purple bruises forming on his tan arms from where Steve had restrained him. In that moment, he truly felt like the bad guy Tony thought him to be. He'd injured his boyfriend, terrified him even, the person he was supposed to protect with his life. He felt like he'd just sat back and watched as Bruce rubbed acid on his boyfriend's face, not just a damp cloth. That's certainly how Tony had reacted. For the first time since moving into the tower, he felt totally and completely lost. He had no idea what to do.
He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, grounding him with slow but firm circles. It took all of Steve's effort to pull his eyes away from Tony and meet Natasha's comforting green gaze.
"He'll be ok, Steve." She said, "Thor will bring help. He'll... We’ll all get through this. Ok?"
"Yeah, man. He's got you looking out for him, and you've got us. We've faced angry gods and alien armies; this is nothing we can't handle." Clint added, his jovial but pinched tone an obvious mask for his own concern. Steve nodded. He wasn't sure he believed them, but he was grateful just the same.
The rest of the day passed agonizingly slowly. Once Tony came to again, he'd managed to stay awake for the most part, but he wasn't lucid by any means, swinging wildly between periods of catatonic silence and frenzied panic. Bruce said he was feverish and likely concussed. Plus, he obviously wasn't willing to put weight on his left leg, and the way he gingerly guarded his chest, wincing at even the slightest of movements, worried Steve a great deal.
They hadn't tried to clean him up any more than they already had or even give him water after the first episode. However, every time Tony's dazed and wild gaze landed on the spring, his breathing would become labored and gasping as he attempted to scramble further into the cave wall, body already flush with its cool, mossy surface. He flinched whenever any of them would pass near him or even lean towards him. It broke all their hearts.
To Steve's absolute dismay, he needed to restrain Tony thrice more during his bouts of fevered mania. This included one particularly memorable instance where he'd lunged at Bruce with a makeshift taser he'd somehow cobbled together from plane wing parts without them noticing. He'd been thrashing about and gnashing his teeth like a feral animal as Steve held him back.
"You'll pay!" He spat, voice dripping with malice as he fought with all his might, "I'll make you pay for Yinsen! He... he didn't deserve—" Tony's voice broke, venom draining away as quickly as it had appeared "It should have been me," he sobbed, body going limp as Steve let him go. He'd spent the next several minutes repeating Yinsen's name in a broken, despairing tone, face pressed into the musty dirt, before slipping into unmoving silence once more.
The team's eyes met, faces twisted with worry and confusion. They had no idea who Yinsen was, but whatever happened obviously weighed heavily on Tony's conscience, even after all these years. This whole experience had shown them how little they knew about their teammate and friend, how much he kept closely guarded to his chest, and it hurt to know that he'd been shouldering all of this alone for so long.
After several hours, Tony sat up, glaring owlishly at the team, studying them. Hope bubbled up in Steve's chest. This was the most lucid Tony had appeared since the plane crash, but that hope quickly waned when Tony began speaking.
"What do you want from me?" He hissed, no hint of recognition in his glazed-over eyes, only suspicion and thinly veiled fear. "What's your game?"
"You should know," he added after a few minutes of no response. His voice was low and hoarse, trying to sound threatening but coming out shaky. "Stark Industries doesn't pay ransoms, and I won't build anything for you. The last people who tried that regretted it, and the car battery waterboarding combo won't work this time."
For the nth time today, Steve felt his stomach drop out, anger boiling up in its place. He was losing it.
"What?" He asked, low and dangerous.
"Steve—" Nat warned, but Steve was too riled up, his vision flashing red. He wanted to punch anyone who had ever hurt his Tony. He wanted to drive his shield through their skulls.
"Tell me who."
"You heard me." Tony snapped shakily, "There's no trick you could possibly come up with that I haven't seen before, so do your worst. I'd rather die than tell you anything!
A low, feral growl emits from Steve's throat, his knuckles going white around the handle of his shield. Tony puffs out his chest, trying and failing to hold his ground, bravado fading by the second.
In his blind protective fury, Steve misses the way his boyfriend's body trembles uncontrollably, eyes flicking between Steve and the spring water with a terrified fervor. Natasha, however, does not. Acting fast, she jabs the butt of her knife into the back of Steve's skull, leveling him with a fierce and deadly stare when he whirls around.
"What!"
"Cut the crap, Steve," she hisses, voice icy cold. "You're not helping anyone by going ballistic. You're scaring him for Christ's sake!" Chest heaving, Steve looked over his shoulder at Tony, the sight making his blood run cold in an instant, all the fury draining out only to be replaced by a distraught restlessness. Tony was whimpering, crying, desperately trying to push himself into the wall and away from Steve, but his feet kept slipping on the wet earth.
"I... I feel so powerless, Nat," he almost sobbed as he turned back towards her, free hand grabbing at his messy blond hair like a lifeline.
"I know Steve," she said, voice warming in an instant. "We all do, but there's not much we can do from here. Why don't you take your shield and get us some firewood before it gets dark, work out some energy?"
"Yeah... I... Yeah. That sounds like a good idea," he sighed before turning on his heels and stalking out into the rain, staunchly ignoring the way Tony flinched away from him as he passed. He came back an hour later, drenched but feeling better. Tony, thank god, appeared to be asleep.
The rest of the team crowded around the small fire they'd managed to start with the dryer pieces of wood. None of them felt much like talking, so they just watched the dancing flames in tense silence. As dusk began to settle, they agreed to a night watch schedule before attempting to get some rest. Steve, of course, took the first watch.
---
"What do you mean he's gone!" Steve snarled at Clint, the archer holding up his hands in surrender as he stepped away from the raging super soldier.
"Look, man, I'm sorry. I just stepped out for two minutes to take a leak, and when I came back, he was gone." Clint defended, looking distraught.
"Leave him alone, Steve. Tony could have slipped by any of us." Nat reasoned, placing herself between the two.
"He couldn't have gone far," Bruce added, "this island can't have more than a few walkable acres at most, and he wouldn't be able to move very fast with his leg."
"We’ll find him, Steve," Nat said "I promise."
---
Tony didn't fall asleep. It was too risky, too vulnerable. So instead he waited, biding his time as he planned his escape.
The raging downpour had slowed and then trickled to a stop early that morning, and he'd taken the chance to slip away when his guard had stepped out. His memory was fragmented, out of order, and fuzzy, but he'd managed to make his way back to the plane relatively quickly, ignoring the pain shooting through his ankle with every step. He had to be fast.
It was not long after the sun rose above the watery horizon when Tony heard them calling for him from where he sat amidst the jagged metal. It was now or never, he thought as he looked down at his work. It wasn't done, not by a long shot, but it would have to do. He'd managed to get the jet boots working for the most part, but outside of that, he only had one working repulsor and a helmet he could barely see out of.
He quickly pulled the pieces on as his captors emerged from the treeline, running onto the beach. Lifting unsteadily into the air, he aimed his single repulsor at the group of assailants.
"Tony, please! You're going to get hurt!" The largest man begged. Tony's head pounded in his skull as the world grew brighter and brighter, blinding and confusing him. Why was his kidnapper pleading for his safety? Why did that voice sound so familiar? The world didn't make any sense.
Before he could do anything or even respond, the air filled with a loud buzzing sound and a rumble like thunder. Tony looked up in dazed confusion before relief overtook him. Flying toward him was the silver outline of the War Machine armor, flanked on either side by dark government helicopters. Rhodey was here. He was saved at last.
---
This time when Tony awoke, it was to harsh white lights, the sterile smell of rubbing alcohol, and an electronic ping that sounded with every pained beat of his heart against his ribs.
Tony groaned. He hated hospitals.
"Oh, good, you're awake," a familiar sarcastic voice said from beside him. "Now I can beat your stupid ass."
"Good morning to you, too, Honeybear," Tony croaked, throat like sandpaper, his eyes blinking rapidly against the overly bright lights as he tried to look at his best friend since college. "I'm doing swell. Thanks for asking."
Tony winced as he moved to sit up in bed, his ribs flaring with an all too familiar knife-sharp pain. Rhodey, to his credit, did lean over to help, offering Tony support as he readjusted himself.
"What'd I do to warrant that lovely greeting this time?"
Rhodey leaned back in his chair, studying Tony with a harsh glare, one Tony knew well after so many years. An outsider would think his friend was angry, but Tony could make out the subtle way his eyebrows knit together, and his mouth formed a tight line as he worried about his bottom lip. Whatever Tony'd done this time, it must have been bad.
"What's the last thing you remember?"
"...I remember the conference. With the European Council. " He started, slowly piecing together the fragmented images like a puzzle. "It was so boring, a total snoozefest. Then... drones attacked? But I probably took those puppies out single-handedly like the genius I am."
Rhodey raised a scrutinizing eyebrow at him, arms crossed.
"Alright, alright. The team probably helped too. We cleaned up, threw some money at 'em, and then we hopped on the Quinjet to head home. Next thing I know, I woke up here."
A surprisingly tense semi-silence blanketed the room, sending a chill up his spine. Whatever Rhodey wasn't telling him, he wasn't going to like.
"The Quinjet exploded over the Atlantic, Tony."
He was right, he didn't like it at all. Tony felt his heart nearly drop out of his stomach, mind spiraling with a thousand possibilities.
"Steve..?" He started, heart in his throat, unable to even ask the question burning like a red-hot brand in his mind.
"Everyone else was more or less unharmed. Managed to abandon ship for a nearby island before the jet hit the ground." Rhodey informed him, and Tony let out a deep breath of relief.
"You, however," Rhodey narrowed his eyes at him. "Went down with the plane. Your armor wasn't even fully on. You're lucky it protected you as much as it did. Got off easy with just some minor cuts, a concussion, broken ribs, and a fractured ankle."
"Yeah. Sure. Easy," Tony snorted, rubbing roughly at his sore and bruised chest until Rhodey swatted his hand away like he was a dog who'd stolen a slipper. God, he hated broken ribs. It was hard enough for him to breathe already without the added pain every time he moved.
"Anything else?" Tony asked incredulously, "That sounds like a normal Tuesday for me, so why are you giving me the 'you almost died, you idiot’ look?"
"It was storming when y'all crashed. They wanted to get you out of the rain until Thor could bring back help, so they brought you into a cave. "
Uh oh, Tony thought, wincing inwardly. He had a feeling he knew where this was going now.
"You were concussed and delirious, so let's just say, you kinda freaked out on them. Thought they were the Ten Rings or something. When I got there, you'd somehow managed to fix parts of the armor and were about to blast them into next week. I think they were all pretty rattled."
Tony groaned, face going red with embarrassment and a dejected sort of shame. That was so much worse than he could've even hoped. There was a reason he kept Afghanistan to himself. People barely liked him as is; he didn't need to pile all his baggage on them as well.
"...Is that why Steve isn't here?"
"Cut it out, Tones. No, you didn't scare Steve off, you self-deprecating ass-hat. Like I said, you were still pretty out of it when I got there, but you recognized me, so Steve and the others thought it would be best for me to be the one to babysit you."
"Hey! I don't need babysitting."
"Yes, you do, and I don't get paid nearly enough to be the one doing it as often as I do," Rhodey quipped back without hesitation. "Look, Tony. You were having flashbacks. You were scared and lashing out. Steve had to hold you down to keep you from hurting yourself or someone else. I think he's terrified that he hurt you more than anything else."
"He could never—"
"He cares about you, Tony, we all do. We want you to be ok, and when you aren't, it hurts us too."
Tony looked down at his hands, quiet as he fidgeted with the thin hospital blanket.
"I think you should talk to them. At least Steve. You don't have to carry the weight of the world by yourself. No matter how much that stubborn, stupid-genius brain of yours says you do."
Tony kept his gaze cast down at his own lap, refusing to look up and see the stubborn, caring look he knew was plastered on his friend's face. He didn't want to look up and have to face the fact that he knew Rhodey was right. His best friend didn't push him, though, just sighed and made to leave.
"I'll call Steve, let him know you're awake," he said, giving Tony a final pat on the leg. "Just think about it. Ok?"
---
"Tony...?"
Steve was standing in the doorway, looking every bit a kicked puppy, apprehension clear on his face. He looked like he expected Tony to cower away from him or even throw him out. God, Tony sucked. Steve didn't deserve to have to deal with him or his baggage. He didn't deserve someone who made him look like that.
"Come here, Spangles, I wanna kiss that stupid look off your face," He said, feigning more confidence than he felt.
Steve rolled his eyes but smiled as he crossed the room to Tony's side. He leaned down, hand carefully cradling Tony's jaw as he gave him an oh so gentle, almost hesitant kiss. Tony desperately wanted more, wanted to grab onto Steve's golden hair and pull him down into a proper kiss, but his body was loudly protesting even that small display of affection. Much to Tony's chagrin, Steve's nervous look reappeared as he sank down into the chair pulled up by the bed.
"How are you feeling?" He asked voice, unsure and eyes downcast as he fidgeted with the hem of his khaki shorts.
"Like a jet fell on top of me," he joked with a forced smile, but Steve wasn't falling for it.
"...Tony, please"
Figures that Steve wouldn't let him deflect. The man knew all of Tony's tricks, his walls, and how to knock them down. Sometimes he let him get away with it, but today was evidently not one of those days. Go figure. Tony sighed, long and tired. He just didn't have the energy to push back, to push Steve away. Not today.
"Everything hurts. I can't think straight; it feels like my skull is being crushed in a vice when I try. Probably the concussion. And my ribs. God, I hate broken ribs, Steve. I can't even breathe without feeling like I'm being stabbed in the chest, and this thing's no help," he motioned dramatically at the blue glow emanating from behind the wound dressings on his chest. He didn't remember what happened there, but he could feel the familiar pull of stitches behind the gauze. He tried not to think about it. Thinking about it made his already struggling lungs freeze up, his hard-won breath catching in his throat just at the terrifying familiarity of that pull, that stabbing ache.
Steve reached over and squeezed his hand, grounding him. He took a few shallow gulping breaths, eyes focused on his boyfriend’s soothing blue gaze. Once Tony had regained some semblance of normal breathing, or at least as normal as he could get at the moment, Steve leaned forward, using his free hand to trace gingerly along the marbled purple impressions on his arms. He looked pensive, sad.
"What about these?" he asked, voice barely above a whisper. He didn't meet Tony's eyes.
"Probably the least painful thing I've got going on right now," Tony joked, trying to keep his voice jovial and light, but to his dismay, Steve's face only sank more.
"But they do hurt."
"You did what you had to do. I don't hold it against you. I don't even really remember it."
"I don't think that makes it any better." Steve frowned up at him. At least he was looking at Tony now. "I used my super strength against you, Tony! ...I'm your boyfriend. I shouldn't have hurt you." His face was grim, voice laced with anger that Tony knew was targeted at himself.
"Steve, baby. I love you. I know you would never hurt me on purpose."
"You were so scared, though! Kicking and trashing to get away from me like your life depended on it. How can you act like it was nothing?”
"I wasn't scared of you. I... I thought you were someone else. ... from Afghanistan." He said. It was his turn to not meet Steve's eyes, instead staring at where their hands sat laced together on the stark white sheets, Steve’s thumb tracing gentle circles over the back of Tony's hand.
"Will you tell me about it? Afghanistan?" he asked eventually, voice quiet but more steady than before. "When you are ready, of course. I don't want to push you.” He quickly added, making Tony chuckle, which in turn made him wince. “I’m here for you. We all are."
"On one condition," he said, picking up their still intertwined hands to point an accusing finger at Steve. "You stop feeling guilty about the whole 'holding me down to stop me from hurting anyone' thing. You did what had to be done. I'm fine. We're over it. Capiche?"
Steve rolled his eyes as he leveled Tony with a 'you're one to talk' face, though it was somehow impossibly fond. How Steve managed to be so sassy yet so sincere at the same time, Tony would never know.
"Whatever you say Tony," he chuckled, warm and genuine, and Tony's heart felt light and free. He knew he'd have to face the horrors of his past again at some point. But he also knew that when he did, Steve and the others would be there to catch him.
"Good, now help me break outta here. I need some coffee stat."
"Nope, not gonna happen. Besides, they have coffee at the hospital."
"Uuugh, that burnt watered down sludge hardly qualifies."
"Unfortunately for you, that's not a convincing argument for me to let you leave AMA. And no amount of eyelash batting or puppy-dog eyes is gonna change my mind."
“You're the worst boyfriend ever.”
“I love you too.”