Work Text:
Bruce’s face fell as Tony stepped into the lab, immediately standing up to turn him back around.
“Hey, Brucey,” Tony greeted, taking the hands on his shoulders as a friendly greeting rather than an attempt to steer him, “how long have you been down here?”
Bruce frowned. “Since you left three hours ago to get some sleep,” he replied, “which you should have done.”
Tony looked confused. “I did sleep,” he argued, “and now I’m back. Gotta work on the Hulkbuster armor upgrade.”
“Tony,” Bruce sighed, “you were up two days, you need more than three hours of sleep. Plus, you’re—”
“—Don’t start—”
“—You’re sick—”
“—Damn it, I told you I’m not having that argument again,” Tony snapped, turning away to cough harshly into his sleeve. “It’s just a cold. I’m fine.”
Bruce bounced on his heels nervously. “It was a cold four days ago,” he argued. “Now it sounds like a chest infection. And you’re really flushed.”
“Bring around you just makes me feel that way,” Tony snarked offhandedly, reaching for a tablet and his empty mug. “Seriously, it’s fine.”
Bruce reached around for the tablet, turning it off from the side when Tony wouldn’t hand it over. “You wouldn’t tell me if it wasn’t.”
At that, Tony at least had the good sense to look guilty. “I know,” he admitted.
“So you have to at least see where I’m coming from when I say that I’m worried about you—”
“—I know,” Tony cut him off, a bit harsher this time.
Bruce hesitated. “I just don’t want you to work yourself into pneumonia again,” he placated. How did he always somehow end up apologizing?
“I won’t,” Tony reassured, not taking the words into consideration enough for them to be an outright lie but also not thinking about them enough to put Bruce at ease. He wiped sweat from his forehead and coughed again into his thick flannel shirt, something unusual in itself to see Tony wearing in the workshop, this time finding himself feeling more winded afterwards.
Bruce slid a bottle of Nyquil across the workbench toward him.
“Meet me halfway?” he asked hopefully, and Tony unscrewed the child-lock cap.
“Deal,” he said, taking a swig straight from the bottle without measuring it and then easily switching his attention back to his tablet.
Another 12 hours passed, six of which Bruce spent napping on his arms in front of a prototype, before Tony popped out his earbuds and set them down on the table with a clatter. Bruce sat up, startled, and smiled a bit when he saw Tony rubbing his eyes like a tired child.
“Ready for another break?” Bruce asked, but instead of a grateful acceptance or a middle finger, Tony wavered in his seat, then began coughing again. He’d been pretty much hopped up on cough suppressants for the past several days
(Bruce had
told
him that that was the opposite of what he wanted to do, that he was gonna give himself pneumonia at this rate, but Tony had ignored him, which was SHOCKING)
but now they weren’t working anymore, and he couldn’t ignore the heavy tightness in his chest. Bruce was at his side instantly, teasing forgotten, and helped him to sit back down on the stool, holding him balanced as he tried to breathe.
“Tony,” he called, “you with me?” Tony nodded, still turned away and trying to calm the coughing enough to catch his breath. Bruce didn’t even need to touch him to feel the fever, but placed a hand across his forehead anyway and winced. “FRIDAY, what’s his temperature?”
“Nearly 104, Dr. Banner,” FRIDAY replied instantly, worriedly. “He muted all non-emergency medical alerts,” she said, an apology of sorts.
“It’s okay,” he replied, even though it really wasn’t. “Can you get his driver here and let SHIELD medical know we’re on our way?”
“On it,” FRIDAY said, clicking away immediately to follow orders. Tony looked up at Bruce and smiled blearily.
“Hey,” he greeted, “think I screwed up.”
Bruce chuckled. “Yeah, I think you did, too,” he agreed. “We’ll fix it.”
Tony nodded, allowing himself to lean into Bruce as he tried to get him up, but finding his legs uncooperative and weak, and the room spinning too much to really stand up.
“FRIDAY, is anyone else in the tower?” Bruce asked. “I can’t get him up alone.”
“I can,” Tony replied faintly, breathing hard despite having only moved to the edge of his seat. “Jus’ need a minute…”
“Captain America is on his way down,” FRIDAY announced after a short silence.
Tony objected weakly while Bruce thanked the AI for her help, and a moment later, the elevator doors opened to reveal Steve standing in the lab.
“What happened?” he asked, crossing the lab in long, quick strides. When he saw Tony, doubled over and flushed, too dizzy to sit up properly, he stood back and crossed his arms. “Don’t tell me you fell off the wagon,” he said distastefully, and Tony looked up at him to glare with unfocused eyes.
He choked on his response, turning away from both of them to cough painfully into his sweater, but offered the middle finger of his non-germ-shielding hand to Steve for his efforts to understand the situation.
“He’s not drunk,” Bruce replied, though that may have gone without saying at this point, “he’s sick; been sick. Happy’s waiting outside and I can’t get him up alone.”
Steve nodded, regretting his tone but not one to admit that out loud. Instead, he snaked his arm under Tony’s and helped Bruce heave him to his feet, where they momentarily took on nearly all of his weight before he slowly, like a newborn deer, remembered how to stand again.
“You’ve gotta stop doing this, Tony,” Bruce said, strained under his weight. “One of these times, it’ll kill you. You’re not exactly a spring chicken anymore.”
Tony gave him a questioning look and scoffed. “We risk our lives for a living, Brucey,” he replied, “how’s this different?”
Steve stepped in when Bruce genuinely had no answer. “Because this,” he said, gesturing to Tony’s entire form, “isn’t for the good of humanity. It’s just… risk without reward.”
If Tony’d had the air to explain that he saw so little of the reward, anyway, that he’d stopped being able to tell the difference, he’d have said as much. As it was, he just nodded, pretending that he’d change, knowing that neither of the people supporting him would believe it, anyway, and hoping that the aching in his chest would stop soon.