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For all that Tony struts around arrogantly, teasing villains during battles and portraying himself as invincible to the public, he knows that—out of the suit—he is the weakest link on the team. He's a normal red-blooded human, for one, none of that supersoldier serum or Asgardian blood in him; and two, his heart is shit and the titanium plates in his chest can collapse at any time.
After his fight with Steve—or, as the media's dubbed it, the Avengers' "civil war"—he gained permanent nerve damage in his arm, too. It's not bad or anything, just his arm hurts sometimes and his hand is a little more unsteady than before. Whatever. He has two hands and two arms anyway, and he's ambidextrous to boot.
Anyway, yes, despite his arrogance, he knows he could die at any time. And that just won't cut it. Tony Stark may be replaceable, but Iron Man—the world needs Iron Man.
That's the main reason why he creates the AVALON protocol one night, sitting alone in the Compound and nursing a bottle of whiskey and thinking, How can I be better, I have to be better. It's a protocol that prioritizes his teammates over himself, a verbal command for FRIDAY to operate the suit in the event that he is unable. It's a protocol that will finish the battle even if he's bleeding out or already dead.
Sure, it's a little morbid. He doesn't tell Rhodey or Pepper about it for this very reason, and he knows they will disapprove. But he can go to sleep easier at night knowing that his team (or what's left of it, anyway) will still have someone watching their back.
A year after their fight, the Rogues return to the Compound. As much as Tony hurts to see their faces, see how close they've gotten (without him, his traitorous mind whispers), he knows that the world needs them too. All of them, even the newer ones like Sam and Wanda and Scott.
And so when they show up, he's there waiting for them. His eyes are blank, his expression closed off, a lukewarm smile on his face. "It's good to see you," he says. Steve—no, Rogers—peers at him cautiously.
"You too, Tony."
Barton scoffs from somewhere behind Rogers's back, but Tony doesn't comment on it like he might've before. He's tired. Fighting is not going to repair the team or give any of them back what they have lost.
He leads them into the Compound and tells them a representative will be around tomorrow to help them through the Accords, and to answer any questions they have. "All your rooms are still the same," he says. "I haven't touched them. Lang, Wilson, you both are welcome to stay here too. We have guest rooms in the west wing that Rogers can show you."
"Tony," Steve says. He sounds like he wants to say more, but Tony turns away.
"Nuh uh, Rogers. I have a meeting to attend to," he tells the empty doorway. He can feel the eyes on him, repulsed, angry, discerning. "If you want to talk, ask FRIDAY when I'm free."
Then he leaves.
It is hard having them back.
When he goes down to the kitchen in the morning to pour himself a cup of coffee, they are all gathered there, talking amongst themselves. The chatter stops when they see him, however, almost as if they're waiting to see what he will do.
Who knows, maybe he will make another Ultron out of the coffee pot.
His hand shakes so badly as he pours into his mug that he nearly spills over the edge. He tries to hide the tremor, knowing the super spies are likely watching his every move, and curses the fact that he'd forgotten to check with FRIDAY about the others' whereabouts first. He doesn't need them to pick up on another weakness, or to think he's coping this badly with their return. Even worse would be pity, although he doubts that any of them would spare an ounce of sadness for him.
"Hey man." It's Wilson, leaning his hip casually on the counter. He nods at Tony's hand. "What's up with the shaking?"
Great. Tony gives the guy a thin smile, says, "Must be my old age catching up to me. Early Parkinson's, soon it'll be a stroke, you know the drill."
"No," Wilson says, "I actually don't know the drill."
"Tony, have you gotten that checked out?" Rogers asks from across the room. When Tony looks up, Rogers' blue gaze looks worried.
"I did." Tony spits out the words like they're choking him. You did this to me. "Permanent nerve damage. Doctors can't do anything about it."
"What about...." Rogers trails off.
Once upon a time, Tony would've gone to Helen Cho, begged her to fix his hands, but now—now, is it even worth it? His body still works fine, he doubts even Helen could work a miracle anyway. His body is fine, he is fine, and he doesn't understand why Wilson and Rogers are acting so goddamn concerned for him when one of them beat him into a pulp and the other barely even knows him.
"What about nothing," he says coldly, and picks up the coffee with his other hand. "I'll see you bunch later. Places to go, people to meet and all that." Code for going to the lab.
Later that day, Rogers is the first person to sign the Accords, apparently satisfied with the new corrections Tony's made to its many regulations. The other Rogues follow suit shortly after, and all of them minus Scott decide to stay.
Tony wants to scream at Rogers—scream, I was planning to do this all along, we might still be together if you had just listened to me— but all of this pain and rage is moot. What the team used to be is a concept that is long gone, erased by Tony's mistakes and too much power and too much pain and too much personality.
He spins the hologram for James Barnes's new arm in the air and ignores FRIDAY when she tells him he's had nothing but coffee in the past two days. Almost as an afterthought, he adds a new line to his will, one stating that the Avengers will get the Compound if he dies, just in case.
Bruce comes back, and Thor, too. Apparently they were in space together, trying to track Loki down and navigate Asgardian interplanetary relations.
Tony tries to be surprised, but even the thought of two people prancing around in space no longer shocks him. He has seen too many things, and besides, Bruce can turn into the Hulk and Thor is a literal god. There are stranger things to occupy his mind.
He's a little hurt that Bruce disappeared for so long without telling anyone where he was, but Tony understands that it's none of his business what Bruce does. He left you to deal with the fallout, yes, but it feels better knowing that Bruce was in fucking space— space!— instead of hiding somewhere on Earth.
He'd thought Bruce abandoned him for over a year. Now that he knows better, it hurts a little less.
Bruce and Thor do not know what happened in the year they were gone, and nobody really bothers to tell them. Bruce finds out eventually, never one to allow a year's worth of information to pass him by, but he still can't quite understand the true severity of the team's divide. It is Tony on one side and then the Rogues on the other, with Bruce and Thor somewhere in the middle. But nobody is completely on Tony's side. Once again, he is alone.
He has come to expect being lonely by now, but the true reality of it hurts every time. Every time the Avengers have a movie night, or eat dinner together, or even bump elbows teasingly, he aches. He wants that; and back then, he'd almost had it.
Then Ultron, and the team cracked a little. Then the Accords, and the Avengers fell to pieces.
Except—except they didn't, not really, and it's clear from the casual way they interact with each other in the Compound. They didn't fall to pieces at all, they just made a new home without Tony in it.
What hurts the most is the way they're nice to him, as if he deserves it after everything, as if they feel bad that he doesn't fit in. Rogers—of course, Rogers—offers the first olive branch, preparing Tony's coffee for him in the mornings. He sometimes visits Tony's lab and invites him upstairs for movie night, too, even bringing food down to the workshop during long work binges.
Tentatively Tony opens up, but only because he knows this will not last, this peace, this almost-pleasure. Every time Steve—Rogers—laughs at a joke or looks at him with that sad tender gaze, he thinks to himself, This will end with my next mistake.
Romanoff paints his toenails and gives him foot massages. On the very rare movie nights that Tony attends, she will slip out a bottle of polish and paint them, or she will massage the muscles in his feet knowing that they are sore and aching. Sometimes she paints his toes pitch black, and other times, she will alternate between red and gold. He wiggles them in her lap after she is done and her gaze will soften when she looks at him, almost like all the backstabbing and betrayal and pain and hurt and conflict never happened and they've always been like this: coworkers, teammates, friends (family).
Even Barton has lightened up a bit around him. They've never been ones for feelings, so it starts out with a flippant joke here and there, and eventually, they have fun and enjoyable conversations. Tony's sure that they will never trust each other again, at least, not off the field, but it still feels nice to be joking around again. Even if it's not the same. Even if it won't last.
He stays away from Maximoff but they've come to an understanding. He leaves her alone, she'll leave him alone. And at least in battle, they will guard each other's backs.
Wilson, much like Barton, does not trust him, but they at least get along. Tony can see why Rogers likes him—he is sarcastic and funny, and utterly loyal to those he likes. He's also a licensed counselor for vets with PTSD, which would explain why he keeps trying to therapize Tony. Wilson is definitely the guy whom Tony considers the most easily likable out of all the Rogues, because out of everyone who came back, he was never a part of the original team. When Tony looks at him, he sees Falcon, and he sees Rhodey (one mistake he'll never forgive himself for), but most importantly, he does not see a shield bearing down on his body or hear sneered words or see himself alone because another person left.
On their first mission together as a reunited team, Rogers breaks his arm, Romanoff gets a concussion, and Tony blacks out for five seconds in the air before righting himself a foot away from the ground. Barton nearly gets himself killed seven times (yes, Tony counted), and Wilson smashes his wings so badly that Tony spends three days and nights trying to fix the mess because he needs to protect them, he has to be better than this.
After this first catastrophe, they regroup, and Rogers decides they need to do more team bonding exercises. "It's a matter of trust," he announces, and Tony swallows hard and looks away because he knows exactly why there's no trust in this team.
They start going on outings, like, honest-to-God Boy Scout-esque outings where they do obstacle courses and camp and try to fucking make s'mores over homemade campfires. It's almost ridiculously cheesy and cliche, and yet, Tony finds himself laughing on more than one occasion. Being happy. Having fun.
These weird activities must work, because on every mission after that, their dynamic as a team gets better and better. Wilson and Tony work in tandem as aerial support, and Rogers barks out orders in the way he was born to. The Hulk begins to respond to Romanoff again, and everyone choruses "Language!" when Rogers lets out a swear.
It's good. It's really good.
One evening, they're watching Up. Barton's casually holding back tears, and Rogers's eyes are looking glassy. Natasha kneads a finger into Tony's heel, and she whispers, "You can rest, you know."
Tony looks at her sharply, lulled out of the relaxing haze he's slipped into. "I'm not tired," he says, even though the way his eyelids struggle upwards says otherwise.
She gives him a look. "Here," she says, and releases his feet. "You can put your head on my lap. You can trust me."
Natasha, of all people, should know how much Tony wants to reject that statement, but in her eyes he can see nothing but a desperate sort of truth. He wonders for a second if she's doing that on purpose—allowing him to see emotion in her just to get her way—but a second later, he's curling up on the couch and placing his head in her lap. A moment later, he feels his feet being lifted up, and warm strong hands—Steve's hands—resume their massage on his arches.
"Rest, kotenok ," Natasha murmurs simply, and Tony closes his eyes. He wants to stay awake, to make sure nothing's going to happen like (no no don't go there) but he falls asleep anyway. Right before he drifts off, he feels slim fingers running through his hair.
This battle is bad and he knows it.
It's not for lack of team cohesion; they fixed that problem a long time ago. Rather, there're too many fucking monsters romping around again, a result of some idiot magician trying to bring fantasy-book creatures to life.
"Jesus Christ," Tony swears as a long black tongue comes hurling out of nowhere. He only barely evades the slimy muscle before it snaps back with a loud, wet slap. "I hate stupid people."
"Cut the chatter, Iron Man," Steve says a second later, but then sighs. "Me too."
Tony grins. A few years ago, Steve would've never been so flippant about bantering over the comms, but it's clear that none of them are the same people they used to be. Sometimes thinking about the way they've all changed is like a big punch in the gut, but other times—he breathes in and just. Accepts it.
"Dude, did you see me explode fucking Megalodon with that new arrow you made me?" Clint crows into the comms. He's switched over to Tony's private line.
Tony snorts. "More like Toothless."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever." There's a faint explosion in the distance. "That one was a Megalodon."
Tony spins into the air as a dinosaur-esque creature with wings spots him hovering and launches into the air. "Lovely," he grunts to himself even as he blasts it straight in the eyes. It lets out a screech before blinking and flying straight at him again, the film of its eyes flaking but otherwise unharmed. Wilson joins him and begins to fly around the creature, looking for gaps between its thick scales.
They're fighting, and winning, even, when suddenly more monsters burst out of a portal near the edge of the forest. "Guys," Tony says, tense. "Incoming. Three Godzillas, one Toothless, and six King Kongs if Kong Kong were like, more creepy and less scary."
"I understood those references," Steve says, then his voice goes stern. "Scarlet Witch, I want you on that sorcerer before he creates any more monsters."
"Got it," Wanda says, and disappears from Tony's eyeline.
They keep fighting, but some of them are beginning to slow down, especially the Avengers that have been battling on foot. Steve gets clipped in the head and goes down, his body still, and Tony's heart jerks into his throat before he sees that broad back twitch and hears a muffled groan.
"You with us, Cap?" he asks, faux-casual, and waits for Steve to answer affirmatively before taking off again.
In the next few minutes, Tony gets a claw to the leg that rips right through the armor and gouges his thigh. That same claw tears through one of Falcon's wings, and Wilson is forced to retreat to the ground. Tony can feel it, even though he doesn't want to feel it—they're losing. The scales are beginning to tip.
"Stark, avoid the other monsters and focus on Toothless," Steve barks into the comms, and even though there's nothing funny about this situation, Tony can't help but snicker anyway. God. Toothless. "Hulk, try to lead one of the King Kongs away. Barton, Romanoff, Thor, you deal with the others. Wilson and I have the last Godzilla."
It takes three broken ribs and a minor concussion to kill Toothless, but there's no time to think about his injuries as Tony rushes over to where Sam and Steve are struggling to fight off the last Godzilla.
"He is strong," Wanda pants into his ear. "I have found the sorcerer, but he is not controlling the monsters, only creating them. I can hold him off, but I do not know if I can—" She bites off her last word and cries out.
"Scarlet Witch," Steve says composedly, even though Tony can hear the strain in his voice. "What's happening? Where are you?"
Wanda rattles off her location hurriedly, but her voice is pitched high and she lets out a gasp of pain a second later. "I am fine," she says hastily. "I just—I think my arm is broken."
Steve swears, and this time, no one says language. "Falcon," he says. "Can you get to where Wanda is?"
Sam nods sharply.
"Iron Man, with me," Steve orders tightly, and then the comms are busy again.
"Gotta say," Tony says as he fires his repulsors over and over again. He arcs around the Godzilla and beneath its underbelly, searching for a weak spot, but finds none. "These things are much stronger than Godzillas. We should name it something different. Like, Hulkzilla."
The Hulk lets out a wounded grunt.
"Okay, maybe not Hulkzilla," Tony amends. "But it's gotta be something else. Hey, Thor, what's stronger than a god?"
Suddenly, the HUD is flashing warnings and Steve screams, "Tony, watch out!"
Tony has split second to react before something big is crashing into him, and he hurtles through the air. For a second he blacks out and the HUD is buzzing with warnings as he shakily rights himself, tasting blood on his teeth. "FRIDAY, what happened?"
"One of the King Kongs has thrown a tree at you, Boss," FRIDAY says. She sounds worried. "Boss, you have a severe concussion and spinal bruising. You also have a torn back ligament. I suggest returning to the Quinjet for medical attention."
"No," Tony snaps immediately. There are still five King Kongs left and the stupid Godzilla. "Absolutely not."
"Boss, these injuries could quickly become critical if not taken care of," FRIDAY warns.
Tony waves it off. He's had much worse before—hell, terrorists carved out half his chest and he still survived to become Iron Man. "I'll be fine, FRI. Trust me."
He switches back on the comms, where Steve's been frantically asking him if he's okay for the past minute. "I'm fine," he grunts, and carefully does not think about what the blood leaking from his mouth might imply. "Don't worry about me, Ice Pop."
They take care of the Godzilla, its large body thumping to the ground, and turn to see three King Kongs teaming up on their teammates. The Hulk is in fierce battle with one, and the others are quickly gaining the upper hand against Natasha, Clint, and Thor.
"I can't get in close," Natasha says. "I've been trying, but their reflexes are pretty sharp."
Steve coughs. It sounds wet. "Widow, go help Falcon and Scarlet Witch, see if you can get a shot off while the sorcerer is preoccupied. Iron Man and I can cover for you."
The King Kongs lumber around, their actions manic. Tony swoops in and starts firing at their eyes, but one of the King Kongs reacts by opening its mouth and sending a missile-sized stream of green slime at him.
"I'm pretty sure this is different than the movies."
"Now is not the time to joke, Iron Man." Steve slings his shield into the venom-spitting King Kong's ankle. "Try not to encourage them to do that again. We don't know what kind of venom that is."
"Roger, Rogers," Tony says.
Suddenly, Sam crows. "Fuck yeah!"
"Falcon, report!" Steve barks.
"We got him," Sam says, breathless. "He's unconscious. Jesus Christ, I've never had to see so much horror-movie crap in my life—he kept panicking and throwing half-formed animals at us. It was disgusting."
"Good," Barton says. "We can report him for animal abuse too."
"Status report," Steve says, and Tony stifles a flinch as Falcon announces that Natasha has a broken leg and a fractured collarbone. He should've been there, he should've been there, he should've been there. It doesn't matter what bad blood they have, or had, between them—he should've been there.
They kill off another King Kong. This clearly enrages his counterpart, because he spews acid in an arc, narrowly missing the Avengers, and sweeps a long arm and knocks Hulk off his feet. Hulk goes flying, his body soaring through the air and into the forest. There's a loud thumping sound, and then a dead quiet.
"Shit," Tony says. "Hey, big guy? You awake?"
No response.
"Hulk can handle it," Steve says, breathless. "He'll—he'll be fine. We need to focus, Iron Man."
"Yeah," Tony says, bitter. He's being unfair—he knows it's not Steve's fault, he knows the Hulk probably just needs a minute to recover, but this situation reminds him of Steve hurting him. Steve leaving him in Siberia with a broken suit to die.
"Fuck," Barton says. His last arrow hits his mark, but King Kong just howls before bracing itself to stand again. Thor slams Mjolnir into King Kong's head, but it seems like the sorcerer's made this creature more durable than the rest, because it just wraps one heavy hand around Thor's midsection and squeezes.
The cry Thor lets out is something Tony never wants to hear again. Immediately he's by Kong's wrist, which is the size of Hulk's midsection, and he blasts his repulsors in a cutting line until the burns begin to show and King Kong releases Thor with a whimper.
"Injuries, FRI?" Tony says, hands going to Thor's body. The god is unconscious for now, his eyes rolled up in the back of his head.
"Two cracked ribs," FRIDAY says. "The compression on his chest limited his oxygen intake, but other than that, he appears to be physically fine."
"Okay, okay," Tony says. Blood rises up in his throat. "Um...what about me?"
"Three broken ribs, a severe concussion, spinal bruising, a torn back ligament, and internal bleeding," FRIDAY lists. Hm. The internal bleeding, that's new. "Boss, I would really suggest you take Thor and go to the Quinjet for medical help."
"Can't," Tony says, because leaving when his teammates are still struggling against the two King Kongs is not an option. "FRIDAY, how's the suit?"
"Twenty percent power remaining," FRIDAY says. She sounds tense. "Boss, internal bleeding is a critical injury."
Tony shakes his head, closing his eyes as black spots appear in his vision. "No. No medical till the fight is over."
He turns back to the battle and hits King Kong only to receive a punch to the midsection. He gasps, his eyelids struggling down and his body screaming. When he coughs, blood spatters the HUD.
"Tony!"
"'M fine, Cap," Tony grunts. Have to be better.
"You don't sound fine," Steve replies cautiously.
"I am," Tony insists even as nausea roils through him. He wobbles in the air. Have to be better, have to do better. "I—" His vision completely blacks out for a moment.
"Boss," FRIDAY says with increasing urgency. "Boss, please wake up."
Tony jolts to with a start. "Don' worry, 'm here, baby girl," he slurs. Huh, he can't breathe very well.
"One of your ribs has pierced a lung." FRIDAY sounds frantic. "This is a fatal injury. You will die if you do not get help now."
Tony presses a gauntleted hand to his head. He wants to lie down, he wants to rest, but—his teammates need him. Fuck, he only just got them back. He would do anything to prevent losing them again. "FRI. Activate—" Another bloody cough. "Activate the AVALON protocol."
There's a steady silence before FRIDAY says, more monotonously than before, "AVALON protocol activated."
"Good," Tony says. His head spins, he feels a searing pain in his chest. "You got me, baby girl?" Like this, his team will be safe. The world needs Iron Man. The world doesn't need Tony Stark.
"Always, Boss," FRIDAY says. Her voice is thin, afraid. Tony thinks he's never heard her sound this human, and he would feel bad about putting her through this if it weren't for the fact that his team, his team . "Please rest. Allow me to do my duty quickly so that you can get the medical help you require."
"Yeah." Tony breathes, in, out. His eyes close, his breaths slow. "'Kay."
FRIDAY tries to be gentle, but the way she has been coded to maneuver the suit means that she must fight without regards to the man inside it. She chokes back the pain as Boss whimpers, another rib piercing his lungs as the suit flips in the air.
As the minutes tick by, FRIDAY's monitors tell her that her creator has lost too much blood and is going into delirium. "FRI," Boss mumbles. For the first time, he sounds hesitant. Afraid. "'M scared…."
"I can still get you medical help," FRIDAY pushes. "But I cannot as long as the AVALON protocol is active."
Even now, as his life slips through his fingertips, Boss shakes his head. His head rolls against the back of the helmet. "H've to keep them safe. H've to keep them protected."
For the first time FRIDAY is mad. "If you protect them," she says, "then who is protecting you?"
But Boss does not reply. More blood spurts from his mouth. His eyes roll up into the back of his head.
FRIDAY searches her code, but there is nothing that will allow her to break free and take autonomous control of the suit. So she sits there, half of her code dormant, and watches her creator die in his own creation.
"I am so sorry, Boss," she apologizes, over and over again. She continues to apologize even when one of the King Kongs dies, and Tony's breaths come slower and slower, and then stop. "I am so, so sorry, Boss. I am so, so sorry."
Steve watches as Iron Man fights with renewed vigor. He'd been worried before, seeing as Tony hadn't responded to his many calls, but it seems like Tony's recovered now. He doesn't doubt that the guy needs medical attention, but Tony's fighting stronger and faster and more furiously than before. They're down to one King Kong left, and even though Natasha's broken a leg and Clint's breaths rattle in his chest, Iron Man is viciously beating the creature into the ground, nearly overpowering the monster by himself.
The fight finally ends when Thor stirs and blasts the monster with lightning, and Falcon—his broken-winged flight unwieldy and carrying Natasha on his back—returns. They've got no more ammo, but they manage to distract King Kong long enough to knock him to the ground. Iron Man delivers the final blow by sending a reactor beam through its throat.
"Maximoff?" Steve taps his comm. "Report."
"I have him," comes the reply. "I am holding him unconscious still."
"Good. SHIELD should be sending agents down there soon."
He finally allows himself a breathless smile of relief as he scans his teammates. Hulk limps out of the forest, already shrinking down to a shirtless Bruce Banner in purple shorts. Thor and Clint help Natasha steady herself on her one leg, and Sam wipes sweat off his forehead, examining his broken wing.
He turns to grin at Tony, watching as the Iron Man suit lowers itself to the ground, but that grin quickly fades when he notices how jerky it's moving. It's nothing like Tony's usual graceful descent.
"Tony? You okay?"
There's no response.
Steve's heart starts to beat harder in his chest, and the other Avengers look over to Iron Man, also noticing the lack of reply. He steps over to the suit, puts his hand on the armored shoulder.
"Tony?"
Silence.
"FRIDAY, what are his injuries?" Steve's hands scramble for the release latches on the suit. "FRIDAY? Open the suit, override code zero five two nine one seven six eight."
"I'm sorry," FRIDAY whispers as her only warning. "I'm sorry, Captain Rogers," and then the suit slides open and Tony pitches forward and crumples into Steve's arms.
Steve gently lays Tony out on the ground. The genius is unconscious, his body pliant, his mouth and jaw smeared with blood. He quickly runs his hands over Tony's body, trying to find all the injuries—probably broken ribs, fuck, there's so much bruising and blood everywhere—
Natasha crouches down next to him. She taps Tony's cheek, but there's no reaction. She presses her fingers to Tony's neck, an automatic action, one she's probably done a hundred times. But this time is different. She gasps and her face turns white.
"Tash?" Clint says, questioningly, his eyes snapping away from Tony. "Tash?"
Natasha's hand is shaking as she removes her fingers from Tony's neck. Steve is still scanning Tony's body gently with his hands, searching for more broken bones. She tugs at the inside of his elbow. "Steve."
"He needs medical attention." Steve feels like his voice is coming from far away. "He—Tony needs—"
"Steve." Natasha looks him in the eyes, and suddenly he knows. He knows. "There's—there's no pulse, Steve."
For a second there is just white noise, and then Steve's vision tunnels. "No," he says, no conviction behind the word. "No, that's impossible, he's—" He kneels over Tony and starts to apply chest compressions. He's panicking though, and he's pressing too hard, and he hears Tony's sternum crack beneath his hands. "No, no, no, no." He looks up at Natasha wildly, catches Thor's stricken face and Clint's pale one. "We have to resuscitate him."
Natasha swallows. "Okay," she says, "okay," and begins to pump Tony's chest with quick strokes. "Come on, Stark," she mutters under her breath. "You've survived everything, you stubborn son of a bitch. You can't die now."
She stops only when there's another crack beneath her hands, and Steve flinches.
"Fuck," Bruce says. He's a pale shade of green. "We need fucking defibrillators, we need a, a chest tube —Goddammit, Steve, why'd you have to press so hard—"
Natasha taps Tony's cheek again, and then slaps him hard, but Tony's head just lolls to the side on impact. His skin is wan, he looks feverish, sick. He looks...he looks….
Steve's throat is tight. He can't believe this is happening—not to Tony, out of all people, not to Tony. "I never told him—I never told him, we never talked, I hurt him, we never—I never—" He breaks. "I thought we had more time."
"Steve." It's Sam. There's a hand pressed to his shoulder blades, steadying him.
"No, you don't get it." Steve is crying, he never cries. "I hurt him, I never apologized for it, he just let us back in, let us walk all over him, I never, I thought—" He still remembers the fear, the pain, the resignation in Tony's eyes when he held the shield over him in the Siberian bunker. He thought it'd be his worst memory of Tony, all of that pain as he fought someone who used to be a friend. But no. This is much worse. This is so much worse.
There's a low growl, and Steve jerks his head up to see Bruce turn away, hands gripping his head. Green colors the muscles of his body.
"FRIDAY," Steve chokes. "Why didn't—why didn't Tony—"
When FRIDAY responds, her voice is empty. Mechanical. "Boss set protocols in place in case of his death mid-battle. The AVALON protocol allows me to take control of the suit without regard to the pilot. He designed it to prioritize his teammates' lives over his own. It is the one protocol for which no override exists."
"You could've said something," Steve says. His hands are limp, still resting on Tony. On Tony's body. "Why didn't you fly him to a hospital, why didn't you—"
There is none of the reprimanding that Steve expects, only hollowness. "I could not. I could not, Captain Rogers, or I would have."
Tony is still lying there on his back. His lips are parted, his eyes are closed. If not for the paleness of his face, the stillness of his chest, the blood smeared on his cheeks, he could be asleep.
Steve's head spins. "He doesn't get to die," he says. His voice rattles out of him like a death knell. "He doesn't get to do this to me."
"Steve," Natasha says, her voice trembling slightly, and isn't it ironic—a team member comforting the captain.
"I thought we were getting better." He settles back, his thoughts dull. "I thought we were getting better."
"How long." Clint clears his throat, tries again. "How long was Tony—" He motions.
"Fourteen minutes," FRIDAY answers. There is a long pause. Steve knows what everyone is thinking: fourteen minutes. There's no coming back from this one.
"We were getting better," Steve whispers. He thinks back to the movie nights, the camping trips, the dinners that Tony had eventually started to attend. "We were becoming...." He doesn't say a family, he doesn't say like how we used to be .
"I know." Natasha's eyes are haunted as she gently cups Tony's face, rubs blood away from his chin with a thumb. The gesture is so gentle that Steve almost expects Tony to open his eyes and make some snarky comment about the Black Widow having emotions. But, of course, he doesn't.
Thor kneels down next to Tony's body. He places a gentle hand on Tony's shoulder and tips his head.
Steve suddenly wants to howl at the injustice of it all. They had just gotten back together, it's only been a fucking year. He hadn't seen Tony in so long, and then they just had so much to work through, and now Steve will never get another chance—
He lowers his forehead to Tony's chest. The bones underneath his hands are clearly broken, lumpy and uneven. "We were getting better," he whispers again, his tears soaking into Tony's blood. His hand finds Tony's, but Tony's fingers stay limp in his own.
He remembers the shield crushing the arc reactor, remembers leaving the base, remembers returning to the compound and Tony calling him "Rogers" and then calling him "Steve."
This time, there is nothing he can punch to fix this. There is nothing he can do to bring Tony back alive.
"I never told him," he whispers again, as if he even knows what he would've said or if he ever would've said anything. His voice cracks. "I never told him."
He grips onto the front of Tony's shirt. Maybe if he screams loud enough, Tony will wake up. Maybe it'll be like their very first battle together, when everyone thought he was dead and then the Hulk roared and Tony opened his eyes.
Steve has always viewed Tony as invincible; it is so, so easy to forget that Tony's just a man inside the suit. And this was such a stupid fucking battle too. Steve had always imagined Tony would go out in a burst of glory, doing something he loved; or even singlehandedly saving the world.
But instead he's lying in a clearing and probably died choking on his blood and he died and nobody knew. He died, so fucking alone, and nobody even knew.
He catches Natasha's eye and says hopelessly, "I don't know how we're going to recover from this," but what he really means is, I don't know how I'm going to recover from this.
He's lost people before. Hell, he lost everyone he knew when he woke up in a new century. But this time he has lost someone who did not deserve to go—not like this.
"How did he die, FRIDAY," he says listlessly, but FRIDAY does not answer; she has gone.
He places a hand on Tony's chest and prays the hardest he's ever prayed that it will move, and Tony will look him in the eyes and laugh and say, Relax, Capsicle, this was just a silly prank for revenge.
But, of course, Tony does not move. And Steve cannot bring himself to either.