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Stress wasn’t good for the baby.
It was something the doctor had said over and over again as Bruce tried to ply Tony with calming teas and herbal tonics. It was why Tony had done his best to cut down on the hours he spent in the smithy and did his best to get an appropriate amount of sleep every night. It was why he hadn’t donned his armor and gone out to face their enemy with his husbands.
Stress was a very hard thing to avoid in an active war, when foreign armies were quite literally sweeping right up to their front door.
It’d been hell, having to see Steve and Bucky off, to listen to the sounds of war and smell the scent of smoke and blood wafting through the castle corridors as the battle waged. Tony had never been one to sit in the background and wait for others to take care of things. He hated that others were in danger, risking their lives and dying, while he stayed cooped up inside. It was only the child inside of him who held him back from storming out to join his people and defend their land.
When news of their victory came, triumphant horns ringing out across the battlefield, it sent enough relief rushing through his body that Tony’s knees almost went out from under him. That relief was short lived, though, in the flurry that followed. As the last of the enemies were cleared from the battlefield and the many wounded began to be gathered for treatment or a merciful hurrying along, a small assembly of some of the kingdom’s most loyal knights burst into the castle, bearing Tony’s greatest fear incarnate.
Steve lay limp atop his prized shield, his body borne on the shoulders of Thor, Carol, and Sam, blood matting his light golden hair. Bucky followed after, all but dragged along by Rhodey’s arm around his waist, his right arm pulled across Rhodey’s shoulders. Bucky’s other arm hung mangled at his left side, dark blood dripping and staining the marble tiles of the castle floor. His eyes were wide and vacant, casting over the corridor, over Tony, without seeming to register any of it.
No. No, no, no, no!
Tony could barely remember the hustle to reach the royal bed chambers or Bruce’s appearance with a team of assistants, all working to save the lives and limbs of the men Tony loved. His stomach twisted painfully.
“Please,” he begged, laying kisses against each of their foreheads. “I can’t lose you. I need you here. I can’t do this on my own. Please, my loves.”
“Tony,” Bruce’s voice called, and Tony wanted to ignore him, but the note of alarm in the doctor’s voice told him he couldn’t afford to.
“What is it?”
He turned to look at the doctor, but Bruce’s gaze wasn’t on Tony’s face, but the growing dark patch staining his robes.
“Tony, your water broke. The baby’s coming.”