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The third seizure is the worst in a way, despite it being shorter and less violent than the other two. Tony's screams have tapered off into exhausted moans, but he is flushed with fever and largely incoherent in a way that puts everyone on edge.
Thor is holding up the best, but the occasional roll of thunder in the distance belies his calm exterior. Steve’s in Captain mode, so he’s likely compartmentalizing the whole experience, and Bruce has pushed his own emotions aside to focus on Tony.
It’s Clint that seems ready to fall apart, and Natasha is having more trouble than she’d like to admit holding him back while Bruce looks Tony over. It’s hurting them both, and Natasha suspects that part of the reason that Clint is reacting so badly is because none of them are exactly sure what happened to their favorite genius.
(Natasha remembers the robots, and the explosion, and then she woke up in a dark cell with a red-eyed Tony fumbling with the lock.)
Natasha breathes a tiny sigh of relief when Tony finally slips into unconsciousness. Though it probably isn't safe, she’s glad the man is getting some semblance of rest. Hers was the first cell that Tony had reached, so she’s seen firsthand the deterioration from tremors and red eyes to fevered flush and senseless babble in the time it took to get them all free. She may not know what happened, but she has some ideas, and none of them are good.
As soon as Tony passes out, Clint slumps in her hold, and everyone takes a moment to breathe before Thor scoops Tony up like a baby and starts moving, Steve in front clearing the path, Bruce behind in case he’s needed, and Clint and Natasha bringing up the rear.
Fortunately, whatever Tony had done while the rest of them were locked up had virtually destroyed the place, so they're able to move quickly, and the few enemies they come across are dead ones.
Not ten minutes after they're in the air, Clint has resituated himself by Tony's side, Steve is watching their archer with a dawning understanding, and Bruce has gone into that zone where he’s so focused on Tony he probably won't realize the others are there unless they get in his way.
Natasha is doing her best not to look at her best friend, who is hiding his own trembling hands in Tony’s, but she can't help sneaking a peek at him under her lashes. Clint’s face is an alarming shade of pale, and he doesn't seem to be hearing Steve’s attempts to draw his attention away from Tony. It takes the super soldier's firm grip on Clint’s shoulders to make the archer move once they've landed, and even then Natasha is not sure that Clint is truly aware of anything other than the man that Thor is carrying.
Natasha estimates that it's going to take about an hour for the news that Clint and Tony are together to make it through the entirety of SHIELD; she's happy for them, but she wishes that it could have happened on better terms.
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Tony is floating, maybe.
He’s not sure, though, and he’s not willing at the moment to open his eyes and find out.
Tony feels like he’s floating, and it’s such a nice feeling that he should probably be more suspicious of it. He isn’t, though, because it’s just so nice, resting in the cool dark where everything is nice and easy.
There’s no pain, and that's weird somehow, but not weird enough to matter right now. Right now, the only thing that matters are the firm, careful lines of heat along his body—against his legs, hips, holding his arms, in his hair.
(There’s something wrong with that, too, but Tony’s brain is too thick and syrupy to worry about what it is.)
If he was thinking clearly, that many hands (too many hands, really) on his body might worry him. As it is, they feel like anchors, preventing him from floating away.
He feels a flare of heat from somewhere, and then a greater wave; it carries him up, up, but it still isn't as bad as Tony thinks it should be. Someone grabs his flailing hands in theirs. They’re a man’s hands, calloused and rough, and Tony can almost remember who they belong to, except a sudden wave of exhaustion washes over him and even though he wants to fight it this time, sleep still pulls him under.
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Clint would willingly take a bullet for any of his teammates, but that doesn't mean he wants to share a bed with them.
(And despite his tabloid reputation, Clint is willing to bet Tony doesn't, either.)
So, even though Clint will do anything for Tony, and even though he knows that they are essentially snuggling for health reasons, he still sort of wants to stab Natasha every time the redhead shifts closer to Tony.
It isn't even that Tasha (or anyone else, for that matter) is touching Tony inappropriately. It’s just that, that spot right above where the arc reactor used to be? That is Clint’s. So is the left line of his body, where Clint likes to curl up at night, and his hands, slightly rough, but so warm against the back of his neck when Tony pulls him close.
Right now, Clint is pressed as closely as he can be against that line of Tony's body, but Natasha is nestled into his other side, and has placed her head over Tony’s heart. Thor is lying across the head of the bed, fingers running aimlessly through Tony’s hair and occasionally scraping against his scalp in a way that Clint knows his genius likes.
Steve is directly behind Natasha, but he’s somehow managing to hold one of Tony's hands across Tasha’s chest and has one of his feet under Tony’s right leg. Bruce, when he rests, lays on the other side of Clint at the edge of the bed, so he can get up periodically to check everything over. Bruce’s touches are gentle, careful things, and Clint would be lying if he said he wasn't comforted by a momentary flash of green eyes just after Bruce laid the back of his hand against Tony’s flushed forehead.
(Clint wants to tell Bruce to get some rest, that Tony wouldn't want the scientist to wear himself down, but the archer is selfish enough to stay quiet. It isn't as if Bruce would listen to him, anyway.)
“Okay,” Bruce breathes, as he crawls back on the bed, “the body contact seems to be working, though I have no idea why. He hasn't had a seizure since we left medical, and his temperature has come down slightly. At this point, I'm not looking a gift horse in the mouth.” Bruce shifts to get comfortable, and then Clint feels a reassuring squeeze against his hip. “If things continue to improve, I imagine we’re going to be here for another twelve hours or so. He’ll likely still be weak afterwards, but considering what he was like an hour ago, it's a miracle he’s made it this far.”
A relieved sigh rolls through the room as everyone thinks back to the ice packs and glassy eyes and vomiting and flatlines in the medbay…
Clint had literally pushed a SHIELD medic out of the way when Tony started seizing, and when they’d all managed to step in at once, everything stopped.
(With no better ideas on how to help their friend, the Avengers take Tony to the penthouse shortly thereafter.)
Tony shifts restlessly in his sleep and Clint runs a soothing hand up and down his side. He knows that everyone notices, just as he’s sure that both Steve and Thor can hear the promises the archer whispers into his lover’s ear, but when he looks up, everyone else has glanced away.
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Bruce is relieved when everyone drifts off over the next few hours, leaving the scientist to watch over his friend in peace. It's easier to catalogue the gradual changes in Tony’s condition when Clint isn't watching him like a hawk.
The good news is that Tony’s getting better. The bad news is that SHIELD still hasn't been able to identify the substance in Tony’s blood, and Bruce would bet every last penny he owns that Tony won't tell them a thing.
Not on purpose, anyway.
Unfortunately for Tony, the genius has always tended to mutter to himself, so Bruce has a very good idea about why Tony was in such a hurry to get them out, and a strong suspicion about why their captors had targeted his friend.
(The tabloids could say what they wanted to about Tony Stark; the Avengers know intimately just how willing their friend was to throw himself into danger on their behalf. For some reason, the bad guys of the world had yet to figure it out, either.)
A quick check shows that Tony is still warm, but not dangerously so, and the ruddiness in his skin has faded almost back to its normal hue. If anything, half of the reason their genius still feels as warm as he does is because Clint has draped himself over Tony like a blanket and is trying to crowd the other now dog-piling sleepers off the bed.
(Sleeping Clint versus sleeping Steve is a much more even fight than Bruce expected; watching the archer starfish and kick his way across the bed is something Tony needs to see.)
As if on cue, Steve curls closer and Clint’s right foot lands unerringly in the super soldier’s calf, hard enough that Steve’s head pops up like a startled chipmunk. By the second blink, the blonde realizes that Bruce is awake and the two of them turn to Tony.
“He’s out of danger now,” the other man whispers. “You could probably go sleep in your own bed, if you wanted.”
Steve shifts a little more, this time avoiding the foot aimed in his direction, and leans over to place a careful hand against Tony’s cheek. “Do we know what happened yet?”
“SHIELD’s got nothing, so unless Tony knows what they gave him…”
“Assuming Tony would tell us,” Steve finishes drily, because he knows the genius’ self-sacrificial tendencies as well as anyone. He takes the time to give everyone on the bed a once-over before settling back down. “I think I’ll stay here, just in case.”
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Tony is hot. Tony is hot and sweaty and maybe starting to smell and all he really knows for sure is that Clint has latched onto him like a baby koala and the other Avengers have boxed him in to where he can’t move a limb without hitting someone.
(It’s forty percent annoying, sixty percent endearing.)
Why are they all in his bed, though?
He blames overheating for the minute it takes his brain to recall the bunker, the two-bit scientists, and the syringe. He remembers the room tilting, and reaching out, hearing a crash. He remembers waking up on the floor to shooting pain and having just enough strength to stagger through the halls toward his friends. He remembers finding Natasha first, then Thor, but everything else is a smear of bleeding colors and burning.
At the moment, he feels like he got into a fight with a bear, but Clint’s face is pressed snugly against the curve of his neck in a way that Tony really likes and one of the archer’s arms has somehow wrapped around Tony’s back in a way that makes everything else worth it.
(And it worked, because everyone is with him, and alive, and hey, look, he managed to pull through, too. Take that, HYDRA wannabes.)
Tony should probably poke someone awake and let them know that he’s reentered the land of the living, but everyone around him looks a bit like Tony feels, so instead of kicking everyone (except Clint) out of his admittedly fantastic bed, he closes his eyes and lets himself drift off.