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"Fuck," Tony mutters in the small, confined space between them. His dusty face is illuminated by his phone on the ground.
"What is it?" He hears Stephen say from the other side, his voice coming out in a croaky slur. "Comms," Tony replies, "It's broken off. Can't call for help. There's no way for us to get out of here."
It happened so quickly. One slip and they're suddenly trapped under fallen rubble, unable to escape, so close to each other that their knees are touching and their breaths are mingling with the other's; Tony's surprised they aren't dead or crushed under already. Stephen doesn't currently have his sling ring in hand, and neither of them could blast their way out as doing so will only cause the debris to fall and crush them. They are painfully aware of the fact that the only way for them to even survive this is to wait until help arrives.
Basically, they're stuck.
Tony looks around him, trying to assess the situation they've put themselves into. There aren't many gaps, or any sign of light streaming in, the space around them is painfully tight, and the only light source they have is Tony's phone, glowing dimly from the cracked screen. He tries not to speak too much in fear of using up too much air, controlling his breathing before he starts to hyperventilate.
He looks over to Stephen, scanning his upper torso first, trying to see as much as he could in the dim-lit, small space, taking note of his pale complexion before his eyes land on the sorcerer's leg, pinned under the debris.
"Shit," Tony curses. He doesn’t realise that Stephen has his eyes shut until his head leans up by a fraction and his eyes open in slits. He follows Tony's gaze to his leg.
"Why didn't you say anything?" Tony tries not to let the wash of panic going through him take over his common sense. Stephen's response is slow, almost as if he's purposely delaying the end of his sentence.
"I… admit I didn’t realise at first.” That makes Tony question just how much is Stephen’s pain tolerance. He knows Stephen is well acquainted with pain, but to this extent? “Besides, I knew you'd react this way."
Tony shoots him a slightly questioning glare. Stephen returns it with a slow blink, expression blank.
"All panicky and… fretting," he shrugs weakly, gesturing vaguely in Tony’s direction.
Tony opens his mouth to argue, thinks better, and closes his mouth. He clenches his jaw. He doesn't have the time or energy to start a fight right now. Instead, he focuses on how to keep them both alive throughout all this.
He observes the area where Stephen's leg is pinned down.
“How long has it been pinned down?”
“As soon as it fell on us.”
“Shit,” he curses again. That means Stephen’s been bleeding out for a while now. "I'm gonna try and see if I can free i–"
"Don't," Stephen cuts him immediately, and beneath his words lay an urgency to it. "Move it and everything falls apart. Unless you want us to get crushed under, let it be."
Tony flicks his eyes to Stephen's, hesitant. Stephen holds his eye contact solidly.
“Alright,” Tony says, “Okay.” He looks around. “In that case I’ll–”
Stephen catches on quickly, ripping off the fabric of his tunic clumsily. Tony quickly takes it from his hands before Stephen could even try to wrap his leg. He wraps it above the wound in a knot; a hasty attempt at a makeshift tourniquet. He grabs a nearby metal rod of some sort, wraps the fabric around, twists it more than a couple times to ensure it’s tight enough, wraps the fabric around it again, and then finishes it off by tying another knot on top. Tony checks his phone and takes a mental note at the time.
Stephen gives his work a nod of approval. “Could’ve done it myself, you know.”
Tony huffs, but opts not to say anything.
A moment passes without an exchange of words, the sound of their breathing seeming louder now than ever before in the tight space. Just as Tony starts feeling slightly claustrophobic, Stephen breaks the silence.
“If…” he starts, but then pauses. Something crumbles in Stephen's eyes as he looks away. Stephen just stares at the ground for a moment, not really looking at anything. His eyes seem distant, far away. There's a desperateness in the lines of his face, sketched in the way his eyebrows pull tightly together. His eyes flicker close, face turning slack, and then a slow, conceding, weary sigh escapes him. "There's a slim chance we'd even survive this, Tony." Me more than you, is left unsaid, but both are aware of how heavy the words hang in the air.
"If I die," The word sends a flood of dread pooling in the pit of Tony's stomach, "It'd mean a larger chance for you to come out alive. Less air being used up."
"Don't say that," Tony's voice is stern, sharp but laced with underlying concern. "You'll make it out alive, Stephen. I'll make sure of it."
Stephen is quiet for a moment.
"It's not like I haven't died before," he says quietly, and the silence that follows is heavy.
Tony just stares, hesitant if he should reply in any way. Instead, he shifts awkwardly, moving over ever so slightly to get himself behind Stephen. He tries not to jostle around too much, but the limited space makes things difficult. Stephen sends him a curious look as he moves over.
Tony manages to get himself behind Stephen, hip touching Stephen's lower back.
"Lay down," Tony says lowly, and Stephen has his neck twisted in Tony's direction to frown at him.
"...What?"
"Lay down," Tony repeats. He nods at his lap. "Right here."
Stephen stares at him for a moment, before ultimately giving in as he moves to lay down, wincing when the movement jostles his pinned leg. With his height and their limited space, he's only halfway laying down, half draped over Tony's legs. Tony helps him–as much as he could with how tight of a space they are trapped under–hands maneuvering Stephen gently.
"Stay awake for me, yeah?" Tony mutters when Stephen has adjusted his position to a more comfortable one, hands reaching up to cup Stephen's jaw and pull back his sweaty curls. He runs his eyes across Stephen's face, sweaty and covered in dust and blood, lines pulled tight as he visibly tries to hold back the pain. Tony reads it far too well. He notes the scar on his cheekbone (again?), bottom lip, and across the bridge of his nose.
"You're gonna stay awake until the team finds us, okay?"
Stephen searches his eyes for something, and when he finds whatever that is, his eyes soften.
"Okay," he whispers.
Tony keeps up a litany of nonsensical ramblings to keep him awake, the occasional reassurance that they would get out of this soon, avoiding talking about their situation as much as he possibly could. Stephen acknowledges them with mumbled responses.
At some point, Stephen's eyes begin to droop, and Tony quickly taps his cheek repeatedly–gently but hard enough to stir him back awake. The adrenaline must’ve died off, and the blood loss is finally catching up to him, it seems.
"Hey. Hey, no. Wake up. Don't pass out yet," There's urgency in his voice. "say something."
Stephen mumbles something incomprehensible, and Tony holds onto the mumbled words like it's his last hope.
"Hurts," is the word Tony could make out, "It hurts, Tony."
Tony feels himself crumble.
"I know," Tony mutters back, "I know, baby. Just… just hang in there, okay?" Tony's voice comes out as a small whisper, not being able to hide his slowly growing panic. "I'm… I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"Not your fault," came Stephen's whispered response, slow but immediate. Tony can see him struggling to stay awake.
"It is," Tony says, "I could've… Fuck, I could've protected you better."
Stephen's trembling hand lifts itself slowly to grip weakly at Tony's wrist. "Don't blame yourself. If anything, it's…" Stephen's jaw tightens as he lets out a pained grunt, "If anything it's my fault."
Tony feels a flutter of alarm in his chest when Stephen's breathing begins to slow. He shakes his head. "No. Don't," he says desperately, shaking Stephen awake with more force than necessary. "Stay awake, Stephen. Please? Please, baby, stay awake. Stay awake for me."
He tries to shake Stephen awake again. Just then, he hears distant footsteps outside, and he jerks his head to the direction.
"Help!" Tony shouts. He looks around frantically, trying to find something to make noise, grabbing a metal rod to hit it against another piece of metal sticking out under the debris; not too hard to risk everything collapsing on them but loud enough to possibly alert the person. His breathing comes in short gasps as his panic increases, cursing under his breath when he notices Stephen has passed out. Stephen's breathing is faint, pulse concerningly weak.
Tony whistles as loud as he can, shouting until his voice is hoarse. "Help! Please!"
Some more faint footsteps, moving around quickly to find out the source of noise, before they get louder as whoever this is approaches them.
"Tony?" It's Natasha. There's relief in her voice. "God, Tony! Is that you?”
“Yes!” he shouts back.
“Who else is in there?"
"Stephen!" Tony responds, "He's unconscious! Get us out!"
He hears Natasha run away–hopefully to alert the others, but some part of him whispers sinisterly at him that she'd abandon them–and some time passes, long enough to make him think that Natasha had truly left them, before he hears several heavy footsteps come towards their direction. Dust falls down his head, several rocks clattering to the ground.
"In here!" Tony shouts, bending down to ensure Stephen's head is safe.
There's some muffled speech from familiar voices of the team, and when he hears rubble getting lifted off, Tony holds his breath.
He looks down at Stephen, running his hand down Stephen's hair, whispering assurances to unhearing ears; it's more for himself than Stephen, anyway. When light finally streams in and Steve's face comes into view, Tony squints up immediately. He's too tired to hide the exhaustion and panic in his eyes as he looks at Steve, but relief floods through him in massive waves.
"Are you okay?" Steve asks him, panting.
"Doesn't matter," Tony replies, "His leg. It's pinned down," Tony jerks his head to the debris pinning Stephen's leg down. Steve looks at it, notes the makeshift tourniquet, and quickly lifts off rubble after rubble to free it.
"How long has he been unconscious?" Steve asks.
"Not long," Tony replies, breathing in heaps of air as it isn't filled with dust anymore. He notices the paramedics and informs them of the time he applied the tourniquet, his estimation of how long Stephen’s been unconscious, and they lift Stephen up to move him to a stretcher.
Another paramedic approaches him and offers Tony a shock blanket. Tony shoots a glare at the man. "I'm fine. Just take him to the MedBay. Quickly."
Their ride to the MedBay was quick and filled with silence. Tony stays at Stephen's side the entire time, holding his hand and leaning his head down to mutter quiet reassurances.
When they arrive, Tony insists on being on Stephen’s side as they tend to his own cuts and injuries. When they’re finally finished, leaving the room to give them both privacy, Tony watches as Stephen breathes softly in his laid position on the cot, assuring himself that he’ll be alright, that they’re safe.
He can’t stop himself from feeling a pang of guilt as he looks at Stephen’s leg–lifted and in a cast, secure and treated, but broken all the same–and the knowledge that the sight might be something Stephen is familiar with makes the guilt intensify tenfold.
“It’s none of your fault, Tony,” Stephen’s croaky voice startles him.
“Stephen,” he says, and the relief is audible in his voice. “You’re awake.”
Stephen lets out a soft exhale, something that makes a gentle, faint noise.
“Hello to you, too,” Stephen greets back. “How are you? Are you okay?”
Tony has to stop himself from chuckling in frustration. Classic Stephen, being the doctor.
“I…” Tony considers it for a moment. “Could be better, actually. But I’m fine. I’m alright. You, on the other hand...” Tony leans closer to him, hands automatically reaching up to hold his trembling hand. “How are you?”
Stephen looks at him, flicks his eyes to his leg, sighs, and responds, “I…” He shrugs. “Could be worse.”
Tony hums out a chuckle. The relief that Stephen is breathing and awake and alive makes him smile. He can’t help it, he leans down to plant a kiss on his temple, laying his forehead atop Stephen’s gently, feeling the brush of their noses. His other hand reaches up to hold the top of Stephen’s head, smoothing out his hair.
“I’m just glad you’re okay.”