Chapter Text
Steve’s socks were wet and it was making him grumpy. Blisters were forming on the inside of his feet, and paired with Tony’s incessant talking, Steve was getting a headache.
Snow was falling in wet flurries, soaking through Steve’s uniform and Steve had to repress the urge to shiver. He couldn’t imagine how Tony was holding up; the suit had malfunctioned when they crash landed and he was wearing only his thin under suit. A bruise was beginning to purple the left side of Tony’s face, a small cut across the temple, a dried streak of blood down his cheek.
“… cross-reference the altitude adjustment because that should not have… if I see that dim witted Neanderthal again I’ll…”
“Tony!” Steve snapped, unable to take the ache that was pounding his skull with every word.
“Do you ever stop talking?”
Steve could feel Tony’s glare on the side of his face, but Tony remained blissfully silent. A pang of guilt turned Steve’s stomach and he abruptly stopped walking, running a hand over his face.
“You got a distress signal out to the team?” Steve asked, thumbs pressed into his eyes before looking over at Tony. Tony’s hair was damp with sweat or snow flurries – probably both – and he was biting at his lip, like he was trying to prevent his teeth from chattering with the cold.
“Ay ay, Captain. Provided they’ve seen it and Clint’s not taking his sweet time in the shower, they should be here in about an hour. At least, according to Jarvis.”
Steve nodded. “We should stay put then, so they can find us.”
A crease formed between Tony’s brow and he mumbled something under his breath before saying in a more understandable voice “…with the velocity of our fall and the fact that our coms went caput when we crashed, the only place we know for certain that Jarvis had contact with the team was about…” Tony squinted and pointed in front of them “…at the top of that hill?”
Steve followed the direction of Tony’s finger to a rolling hill dotted with trees about a half mile off.
“I mean,” Tony started with a shrug, “they’ll find us here if they have eyes, but what else to do we have to do? I’m not a fan of sitting around freezing my ass off.”
“Alright,” Steve grudgingly agreed. Tony had a point, walking would definitely keep them warmer than standing around would, and it would give them something to do to pass the time.
“Lead the way.”
Tony gave a sharp nod, his hands balled up inside his shirt sleeves for warmth, and again started walking. Steve followed, his legs feeling stiff with cold.
“For the record, we’re never accepting a mission by ourselves again. This blows.” Tony started rambling once more and Steve groaned under his breath. “I mean, how were we to know they could open up a freaking portal and send us to the middle of wherever we are. Damn. Jarvis better have sent them the right coordinates or he’s getting turned into a toaster… no scratch that, he’d just burn everything. Ugh fuck it’s cold.”
The sun was low in the sky and Steve could see their breath in tiny clouds with every exhale. At least the snow flurries had begun to die down, only the occasional flake hitting Steve’s face.
They were approaching the edges of a forest, the occasional trees becoming more frequent and closer together, the setting sun casting long shadows over the path they were walking. A bird cawed and took flight, making both Steve and Tony jump as it rustled the branch it had been sitting on and snow slid to the ground.
Tony huffed a laugh when they realized what had made the noise, glancing back the way they had walked – probably checking if he could still see the scattered remains of his suit – when a loud crack echoed around them.
Steve’s first thought was that a branch had broken with the weight of the snow and he took another step before noticing Tony stumble in his peripheral vision.
“Uh, Steve,” Tony’s voice was tight and Steve turned around, prepared to lecture Tony on how
walking had been his idea, but the sight that greeted him had the words turn to ash in his mouth.
Tony’s hand was pressed over his abdomen, his eyes wide and face pale. Steve’s brain felt like molasses, trying to process what he was seeing when he noticed bright red blood drip from Tony’s hands, leaving a stark droplet in the snow.
“Tony.” The name left Steve’s mouth in a whisper, and he moved forward just in time to grab Tony as his knees buckled. “Tony, oh my god, what…”
Shaking hands lifted away from Tony’s abdomen and Steve could see the precise wound of a bullet hole, just under the right side of Tony’s ribcage.
Steve’s mind was still trying to process what had happened, his thoughts moving from molasses into overdrive, when he heard a rustling noise behind them and on pure instinct whipped out his shield just as another crack echoed through the trees. The bullet hit the shield with a deafening clang, and Steve turned, keeping the shield in front of him and Tony, every instinct suddenly in battle mode.
He could just spot a figure - crouched low on the ground - behind the trees at the edge of the forest, the glint of metal in their hand as another loud crack sounded, another bullet ricocheting off Steve’s shield.
“Stay here,” Steve hissed at Tony, even though he knew Tony wasn’t going anywhere. He shouldn’t leave him, Steve’s brain screaming to stay beside him, but he had to take out the threat before he could help Tony. He charged toward the forest, a shout ripping from his throat and he could see the look of surprised panic on their attacker’s face at being spotted. The gun lifted once more but before he could shoot, Steve released the shield, it’s aim flying true and hitting the gunman in the head. He went down like a puppet with its strings cut, but Steve didn’t slow down, his heart slamming in his chest as he retrieved his shield.
Blood was pooling around the gunman’s head, and Steve wasn’t sure if he was dead or unconscious, and he frankly didn’t care. What did make him stop was the emblem of Hydra, glinting on the pocket of the man’s shirt.
“Shit,” Steve swore. Whenever Hydra was involved, there was bound to be more than one. He whipped his head around, eyes and ears sharp to any indication of more threats, but the only thing he could hear was the sound of Tony pained breathes behind him.
Strapping the shield to his back, Steve turned and quickly made his way back to Tony, knowing his teammate was his first priority and he’d deal with anymore threats when the came.
Tony had fallen to his side on the ground, his face ashen and his breaths coming out quick and irregular. He was still pressing his hands to his abdomen but blood was dribbling onto the snow, pooling around him in a way that made Steve’s stomach twist. A quick look at Tony’s back revealed there was no exit wound, and Steve had spent enough time in the war to know that wasn’t a good thing. The bullet was still inside Tony.
“Steve,” Tony gasped, eyes blinking up at him when Steve fell to his knees beside Tony.
“Did…”
“I got him, Tony, shhh,” Steve said quickly, his voice hoarse. His throat felt tight and his hands hovered over Tony, only for a minute, panic clouding his thoughts before his field training took over. “Try not to talk okay, you need to save your energy.”
Tony didn’t respond, just squeezed his eyes closed as a shudder shook through his body. Steve laid a gentle but firm grip on Tony’s side.
“I’m going to roll you onto your back, okay? I need to put pressure on the wound to keep it from bleeding.”
Tony nodded, his face screwing up as Steve gently turned him onto his back. He moved Tony’s hands to the side, blood already beginning to well up and pool in Tony’s already saturated shirt.
“It’s okay,” Steve said in as soothing of a voice as he could manage. “You’re going to be okay.”
Tony let out a shaky breath and Steve lifted Tony’s shirt to further assess the damage. The bullet hole was neat, the skin puckered where it had entered, blood sliding out at an alarming rate. Tony’s ribcage twitched sharply as he tried and failed to take in regular breaths and Steve wasted no more time, both his hands covering the wound and pressing down firmly. Tony jerked under him, trying to pull away from the pressure and Steve knew this had to be incredibly painful, but he held firm, not letting Tony go anywhere.
“Fuck,” Tony cursed in a quiet voice. Sweat was beading on his brow despite the cold, his face nearly the same color as the snow around them. “Getting shot sucks.”
Steve huffed out a laugh that was more nerves than anything, pressing down even harder when he warm blood continued to slide between his fingertips.
“Ow, shit, Steve.” Tony’s hands grabbed at Steve’s arm, fingers pressing in tight enough to bruise.
“I’m sorry,” Steve said, voice cracking. “God, Tony, I’m so sorry. I need to stop the bleeding, you’re still…”
Tony’s eyes fluttered closed, his mouth a thin line.
“I know, I know. Fuck. I trust you, I just…” Tony words cut off when he groaned, convulsing against Steve’s hand. Steve continued to put pressure on the wound, watching Tony’s throat twitch as he tries to swallow. His breathing was becoming more irregular, and Steve could see the muscles above Tony’s collar bone, the hollow of his throat, pulling hard with every breath. Tony gives a weak cough and blood flecks his lips.
“Stay with me, Tony,” Steve ordered in the most commanding voice he can muster.
“Trying,” Tony grunted, eyes squeezing shut before cracking open. “Steve… I can’t, hngg, breathe… I…”
There’s a wheeze to every word, Tony’s breaths quick and erratic. Steve noticed a disproportionate movement in Tony’s chest, an unequal rising with every breath, the left side moving more than the right.
“I think the bullet might have punctured your lung,” Steve said, trying to control the panicked shaking of his voice. The reality of the situation was slowly seeping in, and dread was pooling like ice in his stomach. If the team didn’t get here fast… Steve pushed the thought from his head. He refused to go there. Tony was going to be okay, he had to be okay. “Try and take slow breaths, okay?”
Tony’s eyes were wide and frightened but he gave a small nod. Steve started taking exaggerated breathes that he was sure Tony could see, and Tony tried to copy, a hitching wheeze interrupting the rhythm.
“Good, Tony. You’re doing so good. You…” Steve swallowed thickly around the lump in his throat. “Just keep breathing, just like that. Perfect, you’re doing perfect.”
“You sure know… how to make a guy feel good,” Tony mumbled, words coming out choppy and pained. His hand was still squeezing Steve’s arm, fingernails digging in almost painfully.
“Fuck it’s cold.”
Steve had to agree. The sun had almost set, the air temperature dropping noticeably, steam rising from the sweat on Tony’s face, the blood that still managed to slip from under Steve’s hands.
“Just hang on, okay? We’ll get you warm, as soon as the team gets here, I promise. All the hot chocolate you can drink, sound good?”
Tony gave a small nod. “Spicy hot chocolate?”
“Whatever you want, Tony. Anything you want.”
Tony’s fingers tightened at those words before falling to his side, and the lack of touch stirred a renewed panic inside Steve.
“Come on, Tony, stay with me.” Steve felt the hot prick of tears in his eyes and tried to blink them away without success. “Hey, did I ever tell you about when I got shot in the war? Right in the ass. Bucky made me drop my drawers right there in front of everyone. It was a sight to see, I’m sure, Captain America hobbling to our campsite without pants on, shot in the ass. They had to dig the bullet out, and let me tell you, I never got to live that one down. Captain America’s great war wound was a bullet in the buttocks.”
A small smile pulled at Tony’s lips, the tiniest huff of a laugh and Steve felt traitorous tears slide down his cheeks.
“The worst part was, the scar ended up looking like a smiley face. Bucky got a kick out of that.”
Tony’s smile turned into a grimace as he tensed against Steve, his fingers digging into the ground beside him. His lips had taken on a bluish hue that Steve did not like, his skin waxy and ashen.
“I’m…” Tony stopped, taking in a jagged breath. “I’m sorry I, fuck, I talk so much. I’m sorry…”
“No no no no no,” Steve murmured, wishing he had a free hand to caress Tony’s cheek, his brow, hold his hand, something to give him comfort. “I shouldn’t have said that, earlier. I was cranky and you didn’t deserve that.”
Tony shook his head. “I had a crush on you, you know. Since I… since I was seven.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut, suddenly unable to talk around the painful lump in his throat. “Had a poster and ev… everything. You were…”
Steve’s eyes shot open when Tony trailed off, noticing the tears tracking down from Tony’s eyes.
“I…” Tony’s throat worked but no sound came out, only the wheeze of every short breath. His eyes were half lidded, and Steve felt he could almost see the fight going out of them, a resigned look on his face.
“Hey,” Steve barked sharply. “None of that. You’re staying with me, you hear? You do not get to die today. The world needs Tony Stark.”
Tony coughed, more blood staining his lips. “I don’t think they do.”
His voice was barely a whisper, and Steve knew he was crying openly now but he didn’t care. It was mean, Steve knew, but he pushed even harder on Tony’s wound, trying with all his might to get the bleeding to stop. Tony’s eyes opened with the renewed pressure, a grimace on his face.
“You suck,” he coughed, and Steve knew he was barely hanging on to consciousness. A sound in the distance had Steve’s head snapping up, renewed hope soaring in his chest when he saw what must be the quinjet, and Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen a more beautiful sight.
“I’ll make it up to you, I promise,” Steve said with a laugh, turning his gaze back down to Tony.
“When you get better, I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
“Better,” Tony breathed, just before making a horrible choking noise, his chest convulsing. Grass and snow and leaves stirred around them as the quinjet landed a few hundred feet off, but Steve barely noticed, his stomach turning to lead as Tony’s eyes closed.
“No, no, no, Tony, no, come on,” He let up a hand, fingers fumbling for Tony’s wrist, only slightly reassured by the thready pulse under his fingertips, so fast, too fast. A wet sounding breath escaped Tony’s lips, a shuddered inhale aborted like something was getting in the way, and Steve shouted, somehow aware of his team approaching, hands on his shoulders, someone kneeling beside Tony, beside him.
“What happened?” A voice, female. Natasha, Steve registered, vaguely aware that all he could focus on was keeping pressure, holding Tony’s blood in his body like that was the only thing that mattered in the world. “Steve!” His cheek stung and Steve blinked. Natasha had slapped him, an urgent look on her face. Bruce was at Tony’s head, fingers on Tony’s carotid, lips moving wordlessly as he looked at his watch.
“Shot… he was shot. There was… someone in the woods. They shot him and I,” Steve swallowed. “I wasn’t fast enough, I couldn’t…”
“Hey,” Natasha gripped his chin, firm enough to be painful. “Save Tony now, wallow later, got it?”
Steve nodded, the buzzing in his ears starting to clear.
“Heart rate one-forty,” Bruce was saying, mostly to himself. “Something seems to be obstructing his airway, could be blood or his own tongue. We need to get to a hospital now.”
Clint appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, the hover gurney that Tony had designed beside him. Thor was just behind it.
“Okay, Steve, you keep pressure,” Bruce commanded and Steve nodded. He could do that. It would take an army to make him stop. “Nat, Clint, on three I want you to lift Tony onto the gurney. We need to get back to the quinjet before I can do anything.”
Natasha aligned herself under Tony’s shoulders, Clint at his feet. They counted to three and Tony was up, off the ground and onto the hover gurney, a choked moan escaping him at the movement. Steve faltered only a moment, a fresh wave of blood sliding under his fingers at the lack of pressure.
And then they were off, back towards the quinjet as fast as they could go with Steve keeping pressure on the wound. A sense of relief washed over Steve when they boarded the quinjet, they were safe here, they had equipment, Bruce could save Tony, could keep him stable enough that they could get to a hospital.
“Jarvis!” Bruce was shouting, opening the drawers that held the medical equipment with a loud bang while Clint basically threw himself into the pilot’s seat. “Find the nearest trauma hospital and get us there as fast as you can. Tell them what’s going on and to activate a massive transfusion protocol and have it ready when we arrive.”
Steve tuned the rest of the conversation out, very aware of the fact that Tony had stopped taking anything that could be called an effective breath, his chest convulsing and hitching under Steve’s hands.
“Bruce!” Steve shouted, “he’s not breathing!”
Bruce looked frantic, pulling equipment out and handing it to Natasha before turning back to Tony. He paused only briefly, taking a deep breath, schooling his face into a mask of calm. A stethoscope was around his neck and he slid it up to his ears before putting the diaphragm against Tony’s chest, first on the left side and then the right.
“I think his airway is blocked, he needs to be intubated. Natasha grab me a laryngoscope, ET tube, and ambu-bag please. Uh, CO2 colorimeter if have one also. Steve, keep pressure. Thor, once I’m in I’m going to need you to give manual breaths, slow and steady, okay?”
Thor nodded, and made eye contact with Steve. Steve didn’t think he’d ever seen Thor look so nervous.
“Okay, here it goes.” Bruce took the metal scope from Natasha and positioned himself just behind Tony’s head. He tilted Tony’s head back to an almost unnatural angle, sliding the metal scope into Tony’s mouth and pulling upward.
“Tube, please.” Natasha handed Bruce a clear plastic tube with a guide wire in the middle, and Steve had to avert his eyes as Bruce slide the tube down Tony’s throat. When Steve looked up again a large bag was attached to the end of the tube which Bruce was squeezing in a slow, rhythmic movement. Tony’s chest rose and fell with each squeeze, and Steve glanced at Bruce hopefully.
“We have color change,” Bruce announced, and motioned for Thor to take over, Thor’s large hands squeezing the bag with surprising delicacy. Bruce fastened a strap around Tony’s face, securing the tube in place before wiping a shaking hand over his forehead, and Steve could see the sweat beading on his brow. “Damn it, I don’t get paid enough for this.”
Natasha was already moving, pressing electrodes to Tony’s chest, something on his finger. A small hologram appeared beside them, displaying what Steve assumed were Tony’s vitals. The numbers meant nothing to him, but Bruce’s face tightened as he looked them over. He listened to Tony with the stethoscope once again, the expression on his face only growing more grave.
“Steve, I need to get a quick look at the wound, okay?” Bruce’s voice was gentle, like he was talking to a scared kitten. Steve shook his head, unwilling to let up. Some part of his brain was telling him this was the only thing keeping Tony alive; that if he let go, Tony would bleed to death in an instant.
“Hey.” Gentle hands on Steve’s arm, and Steve looked into Natasha’s wide eyes. “You’ve done so good, Steve. You’ve gotten him this far, now let Bruce help him, okay?”
Her fingers rubbed a soothing circle on Steve’s arm, and Steve blinked, aware of fresh tears on his cheeks, and swallowed thickly before reluctantly pulling his hands away.
Bruce was there, shining a light on the wound and prodding gently at it, causing Tony to twitch and try to jerk away. Thor stuttered his compressing of the bag in surprise, and Tony’s eyes fluttered open only for a moment.
A fingers threaded through Steve’s and he took in a shaky breath, realizing he hadn’t since he’d stepped away from Tony. He looked down to where Natasha was holding his hand, her fingers giving his a reassuring squeeze.
Bruce nodded, stepping away. “Okay, Steve, back at it.”
That was all the direction Steve needed to disentangle his fingers from Natasha’s press back on Tony’s wound. Only this time Bruce had given him a damp cloth to put between Steve’s hands and Tony’s skin, with the explanation that it would be more occlusive than Steve’s hands alone. Tony flinched under the pressure, but his eyes didn’t open.
“His lung is definitely collapsed, a tension pneumothorax most likely,” Bruce was saying and Steve had no idea what any of that meant, but felt slightly calmed by the evenness of Bruce’s voice. “Nat, I need scissors and a fourteen gauge needle. Clint, ETA?”
“Five minutes,” Clint shouted, and Steve wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or worried. Five minutes was barely any time at all and yet… so much could happen in five minutes. A person could die in five minutes. Steve had seen it happen.
“Come on, Tony,” Steve whispered, willing Tony to hear him. To push through, to fight this and live.
Bruce was cutting away Tony’s shirt, exposing the arc reactor, such a startling contrast against Tony’s pale chest, stained with blood.
“Dammit,” Bruce muttered, fingers tracing the edges of the reactor. Steve felt the urge to slap his hands away, knowing how private Tony was about it, but the more rational part of his brain knew that would serve no benefit in helping Tony. “Why is it so big?”
“What’s wrong?” Steve managed, renewed worry settling into his gut. Bruce ran a hand through his hair, upending his shaggy curls into disarray.
“I believe the bullet has punctured Tony’s lung causing it to collapse, and there’s either blood or air filling up his chest cavity, which runs the risk of compressing his heart, and God only knows what it could do to the reactor, if only Tony had thought to tell me, you know in case of getting shot…”
“Bruce,” Natasha said sharply. “What does that mean?”
“Sorry, I…” Bruce’s voice shook, and Steve realized how difficult this was on Bruce as well. He wasn’t a trauma doctor and yet it seemed he was constantly being forced to assume this role, and Steve couldn’t imagine how hard that was on a man who tried to avoid stress. Steve attempted to give him an encouraging nod.
“We need to relieve the pressure in his chest with a needle aspiration, and the normal placement for that is here,” Bruces fingers slid down from Tony’s clavicle three rib spaces, bumping up against the edge of the reactor. “But as you can see, there’s a giant metal electromagnet in the way.”
“So adjust,” Natasha said matter-of-factly, gripping Bruce’s hand and moving his finger and inch to the right. “Since when do we do anything by the book anyway?”
“I trust you,” Steve said and was surprised there was no shake to his voice. “And I know Tony does too.”
“Aye,” Thor boomed from his place at Tony’s head. “You are the most skilled Midgardian doctor I have known. I do believe Tony would trust you to do this.”
“Indeed, Doctor Banner,” Jarvis intoned from the speakers above him. “I have limited scanning abilities on this aircraft, but Miss Romanoff’s adjustment should be suitable for a needle aspiration.”
“Okay,” Bruce said, mostly to himself, taking in a deep breath. “Okay. Um, iodine first.”
He painted an orange square on Tony’s chest, allowing it to dry before taking the needle from Natasha. Before he could do anything further, Tony’s chest convulsed against the table, an alarm sounding as the numbers showing his vitals flashed red.
“Shit,” Bruce swore, “shit, Natasha, hold him still!”
Steve felt his heartbeat in his throat, a strange ringing in his ears as everything seemed to gray out into only Tony and the fact that he was dying, right here before Steve’s eyes and he couldn’t do anything.
“Doctor Banner, I suggest you hurry,” Jarvis said, and Steve could hear a strangely panicked note in the AI’s voice. Tony’s convulsion stopped and he fell unnaturally still, but the numbers on the screen continued to flash red, the alarm still sounding around them.
“Two minutes out,” Clint shouted from the front, and Steve prayed for the first time since he’d been defrosted in this new century that this wasn’t it. That this wasn’t how Tony died.
Bruce’s hand was surprisingly steady as he pierced Tony’s chest with the needle, driving it into the space between two ribs, just over an inch away from the arc reactor. Blood immediately shot out of the metal tube with alarming force, covering Bruce’s hands and sliding down the side of Tony’s chest and Steve was sure something had gone wrong, nobody could loose this much blood and still be okay, and just when Steve was sure Tony was going to bleed out through that tiny tube, the blood was replaced by air, sounding almost like someone had set off a gas compressor in Tony’s chest.
And to Steve’s great amazement, the alarms died down and the numbers on the hologram stopped flashing, and Tony’s chest began to rise and fall a little more evenly with each breath that Thor gave him.
“Oh thank God,” Bruce said in a shaky exhale, beads of sweat sliding down his temple as he secured he needle in place with tape.
“One minute!” Clint shouted and it was then that Steve noticed Tony’s eyelids had opened a crack. He eyes flickered between them, his look glazed, a pained pinch between his eyebrows.
Natasha must have also noticed Tony’s gaze because she crouched down beside his head, a hand gently caressing his cheek. “Amore mio,” she whispered and Tony’s eyes fluttered closed once more. “You’re okay. Sleep. We’ll be here with you.”
Steve felt numb as they landed, the ramp of the quinjet lowering and medical professionals rushing in. He was pushed back by someone in scrubs, and he found himself sinking to the ground, back pressed against the cold metal of the quinjet, head pressed into his knees.
His eyes felt hot, but the rest of his tears refused to fall.