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Breathe.
What?
Stark, stay with me. Keep breathing.
What's that supposed to mean? "Keep breathing?" No, he plans to give up breathing in favor of absorbing carbon dioxide like a goddamn plant.
He gives Steve a look to tell him what a dork he's being, but when Steve looks back his eyes are wide with fear and pain and his forehead is creased so deep he can't recall what he looked like before. What is going on? What is wrong?
He tries to sit up and sees the blood all over his front and Steve's hands and arms and the air comes out of him in a whoosh and he falls back against the pavement.
That is what's wrong.
Oh, he thinks, oh goddamn. That's his blood. But what's it doing out here? Shouldn't it be on the inside, shouldn't...
He raises his head up again for just a moment before gravity gets him again and takes in Steve, crouched over him in his street clothes with his hands buried deep in the mass of blood and sweater that's forming Tony's chest right now.
Shit, he thinks sadly, because there's no saving the sweater now. Not this one. Not his Jeffrey Banks with the cables and the sleeves that are stretched just enough. He loved this shirt.
"It's fine," Steve tells him. "It looks worse than it is. Just hold still..."
What the hell is going on? Somebody must have shot him. But why? And where are they? Steve doesn't look concerned about follow-up fire. No matter. He's gonna find the person who did this and then he's gonna punch them so hard it'll leave a fist-shaped dent in their face.
At least Steve is here, he thinks, and although this isn't really what he had in mind when he was wishing Steve would touch him, beggars can't be choosers. It was... nice?
But he looks up and sees the expression on Steve's face. Well, doesn't exactly see, because everything is kind of blurry and dim, but he can hear Steve take a big deep breath that rattles with mucus like he's crying and he can sort of make out Steve turning his head and wiping at his eyes with his shoulder.
You actual piece of garbage, he thinks unhappily. Only ever thinking about yourself. Lying here in your own entrails while Steve tries to keep you together and still you're daydreaming about that time he went to jump over something and you were staring right at his butt and...
And holy shit is he dying?
His mouth is so dry and his arms feel like they're made of lead but he manages to grab hold of Steve's arm and hangs on tight. He can't die like this! Yeah, it simplifies a lot of things, but he hasn't finished getting everything in order. And what about his big showy... everything? He had it all planned out, was gonna go out in a big flashy meaningful way, saving the city or the country or preferably the planet, make his being here actually have meant something good for once. Which he could have done a couple of times now, if stupid Steve would stop stupid saving his stupid fucking life.
He squeezes Steve's arm as hard as he can and hopes maybe this time Steve can save him again.
"I can hear you panicking," Steve says. His voice is husky, which Tony always loved to hear 'cause it made him think of STOP IT YOU GODDAMN MONSTER STOP IT. "Knock it off."
He would if he could but he's apparently a horrible sex fiend who can't even die without thinking about how much he desperately, desperately wants the moral compass of the team to look at him that way--wait, no, he means the panicking, stop the panicking. Easy for him to say, he doesn't have that voice going constantly in his head but no, shit, Steve's antidepressants, of course he understands, Tony is the worst friend-acquaintance-coworker
"Stop it," Steve says, and leans in so close he flinches out of concern that Steve's gonna headbutt him into unconsciousness, not that that's not necessarily something he wants and oh god shut up shut up shut up. "Stop panicking or I am going to punch you directly in the sweater."
"No," he manages to gasp. "Not the sweater."
As Steve leans back out again he smiles a little worried smile and it feels like something in his chest is growing. It might be his heart. It might be the bullet wound.
"I thought..." Steve says, and it sounds a little like he might be crying, "...I thought violence would be the answer."
It usually is. Tony opens up his mouth to tell him that and nothing comes out. That's... different. He tries again. Still nothing. Maybe he just doesn't have enough air in his lungs. He tries to take a deep breath and instead of words he hears a gurgle. What is this?
"Oh god." Steve leans back and he opens his mouth and shouts or screams or yells, "SAM!"
Which isn't exactly what he wants? If he's gotta die he'd rather do it alone with Steve like it's the end of a terrible movie, but then again Falcon has saved his hide multiple times, so if he turns out to be nearby then maybe he'll get another chance at this. And let's be honest... that's what he wants, no matter how often he jokes about longing for the sweet embrace of death.
No. Has he joked about longing for etc. etc. in front of Steve? Doesn't Steve take those antidepressant pills? Please don't let him have joked like that in front of Steve. What kind of asshole is he that he would joke about wanting to die against somebody who might very well want to die? He can't remember if he has or hasn't. He can't remember very much at all. He can't even remember what it is like to not be drowning in his own blood.
Oh, there's Sam. Hey, Sam, he wants to say, I'm drowning in red tape here, except instead of red tape it's red blood because I am dying, you see. And he would say that, he really would, but Sam looks frightened and he feels bad about that and also he is dying.
"What's going on?" Sam demands. "What happened to him?" He rolls up his sleeves and plunges both hands into Tony's chest and now there's two men with their hands in him and this wasn't really what he had in mind when he envisioned a threesome including Steve and Jesus Christ Tony really a sex joke now when you're one foot in the grave?
"I don't know," Steve says. His face is all red and sweaty and is he crying? "We were just walking when he went down..."
Do not make a sex joke, he tells himself wearily, trying to focus on Steve's face. He coughs up a bunch of fluid and tries to sit up in case that will help get the blood out of his lungs but as far as he can tell he doesn't move. At least, he doesn't think he does, but then he is incredibly dizzy and it feels like he's spinning around and around some mysterious pivot point in his head.
"All I know is that something's wrong with the arc reactor."
The rest of the world keeps spinning but he freezes in place. The arc reactor. His fucking arc reactor. There was no bullet. There was no shooter. There was just him and the arc reactor and dozens of small fixes while he made plans for another, better reactor. Him and Steve and Sam, and an arc reactor that must have finally imploded.
Sam says something to Steve and Steve moves around and now his head is on Steve's lap? He thinks? But it's hard to tell because his vision is getting awfully dark. Sam must still have his hands in Tony's chest, on the arc reactor or something, but he can't feel it right now, he can't feel anything but a big slimy knot of anxiety holding him down.
He keeps his eyes on Steve's face, or the blur that used to be Steve's face, because at this point that's all he can do. He's vaguely aware of someone coughing, and something wet splattering on him and Steve both, but he's not sure, he can't think who...
He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die. But maybe if he does, then Steve will--even though he knows perfectly well CPR does nothing for, you know, the implosion of self-contained arc reactors set in people's chests--maybe Steve will try to save him and maybe he'll give him the rescue breaths...
You worthless horny son-of-a-bastard, he thinks. But as he's thinking it the blur that is Steve leans down and he thinks he feels Steve's lips brush his forehead and for a moment he feels the most profound sense of wonder, right before he doesn't feel anything at all.