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Tony Stark was born for grand entrances. He reveled in the attention, basked in the quiet admiration of those he passed by.
The plan was set. Arrive at the hospital, sweep through the automatic doors (although double doors would have had a bigger impact. It always did), and stride in, demanding to see one Steve Rogers.
Tony prided himself on this plan for a few reasons. For one, as much as his entire being was boiling and crackling with rage from his recent discoveries about SHIELD, his first choice was to get to DC to check on the good Captain.
J.A.R.V.I.S. could handle the encryption and hacking while he was gone, after all. J was awesome like that.
The trouble with Tony deliberately organizing a plan of attack is the simple fact that it never goes well. Impulse and flying by the seat of his pants was more his gig, after all. It's for this reason that all grand and dramatic entrances were scrapped, and he made his way into the hospital inconspicuous as he could, dressed down in a hoodie and slacks.
The nurse's station wasn't very forth-coming about Steve's status, and the guards were kind of a red flag.
Tony had seen the footage, with security at SHIELD so conveniently compromised. He didn't want to think about the footage. Sometimes, the Battle of New York still seemed too fresh, too close to home. He didn't want to think about the destruction, the lost lives, the betrayal...
Now, he was starting to think like Steve.
Tony made his way to Steve's room, casual, but braced for what was to come. He knew Steve could take more than the average man- he'd seen it. He saw Steve fight, stabbed, shot, thrown off buildings, leaping through glass to defend against countless invading aliens. Miraculously, Steve never looked too worse for wear.
Except.
"Christ, Cap," Tony uttered, momentarily blindsided by the sight of Captain America, pale, bloodied and bruised, looking somehow...vulnerable and small, hooked to wires. Like a normal man, not a super soldier.
"On your left," Steve's voice came, soft and fond, and it was only then that Tony realized Steve had company. An unfamiliar man slept upright next to Steve's bedside, like he'd been sitting vigil, watching over Steve before he'd fallen asleep.
The man's mouth twitched, before he settled back into a fitful rest, like the words were something intimate, familiar.
Tony's attention was so focused on this stranger, cataloging, trying to work out the backstory by sight alone, that he didn't see Steve lift a hand, eyes opening, a little hazy, placing a finger to his lips.
"Steve," Tony turned, stepping closer. "What the-"
"You saw," Steve's head rolled a little. "Of course you saw. The internet. It's...something, huh? Tasha..she's something, too."
"I think I'm more a little put off by your total hypocrisy," Tony folded his arms. "Couldn't call to check in? A little assembly required? No back up?"
"I had back up," Steve sounds like he's trying to be snippy, but it's clear he's drained on so many levels. "Great back up. Covered. Totally covered."
"Damn right," Steve's unknown companion slurred, groggy from sleep. "Totally owned." He lifted a fist toward Steve, then dropped it. "Maybe later."
Steve managed a smile. "Sam Wilson, Tony Stark. Tony, Sam. Iron Man, Falcon, Falcon, Iron Man."
Tony looked Sam over. "No strays, Cap. We've already got a hawk. We're Avengers, not an aviary."
Steve's following sigh seemed too shallow, too strained for Tony to consider pressing the matter, but it was enough for Sam to lean over, press a comfortable hand to Steve's shoulder, companionable.
"Check his file, later," Steve's eyes close. "Might want to reconsider."
Tony took a step back. Cap looked like hell, but he always bounced back. He knew Cap had been through things he couldn't even imagine, but there was something different. Something that seemed to have sucked the spirit out of Steve.
"Cap," Tony moved forward again, cautious. "Look..."
"Thanks for coming, Tony," Steve cut in. "I...it's good to see you. A familiar face. I trust you to have my back."
Beside Steve, Sam Wilson's jaw clenched, flexing, but he remained silent, moving only to adjust the music at the end of Steve's bed.
"Trouble Man?" Tony shifted gears. "Really? I've been trying to get him into the classics. You know, the good stuff."
"This is good," Steve curled his fingers. "No, this is good." His expression was tight, pained, lost for reasons Tony couldn't imagine digging into.
I know some places and I seen some faces
I got my connections, they take my directions
What people say, that's okay, they don't bother me, no
"Cap?" Sam's voice is low, and Tony would be a little rankled at the nickname, except....this Wilson guy was worth looking into.
"I'm good," Steve assured him. "Too much going on in my head. Let's go over the list."
Sam regarded Steve, then nodded, taking out a small notebook, reading a checklist out loud, before pausing, glancing at Tony, assessing. "Hey, Stark, how about some input? Know any good Thai around here? I'm going to grab some coffee." He rose, stretched, and made his way out.
Tony raised a brow, but came around to the other side of the bed, taking a seat. "Fill me in."
With that, Steve let out a soft laugh, a little too bitter for Tony's taste. "That's the point."
"Wasn't talking about the notebook, Cap."
Steve sobered, eyes distant, closed off in a way Tony knew too well.
"I hear you broke SHIELD," Tony tried for levity.
"SHIELD was already broken," Steve murmured. "Can we not..."
"Yeah," Tony shifted. "How about..."
"Sam," Steve pressed. "Tony. Look into Sam."
"...You got it, Cap."
The two fell into silence, wordlessly fighting for balance.
"...You should have called," Tony said, low.
"It was my fight," Steve says. "Like...Mandarin was yours."
"Personal?"
"Soon, Tony. I'll...soon, okay?"
Tony nodded, flipping the notebook open again. "I call dibs on showing you Rocky."
Steve's eyes slid closed again.
"Right," Tony says. "Or that. They must have you on the good stuff..."
He received no answer as his teammate dropped back into sleep, only standing when Sam re-entered the room. "Hey, Wilson.."
Sam paused, holding cups of coffee. "Yeah?"
"How do you feel about Rocky?"
Sam broke into an easy grin. "Love it. No chance we can edit out Rocky's triumphant steps run?"
"Not a chance," Tony snagged a coffee from Sam. "Now, context. Lots of detail."
Sam's grin widened, and he sipped his coffee, relaxed, humming.
Tony narrowed his eyes.
Sam Wilson.
Falcon.
Worth a look, it seemed.