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“Stark, they could use some help clearing the rubble down here.”
Tony pauses mid-fight, his scan of the damage done after the, very short, mission halted as he looks toward the small crowd of rescue workers digging into the collapsed building that started this whole mess. Explosives set by amateur crooks who learned how to make them from some half-cocked website no doubt, but they got enough of it right, because the building came down. The Avengers had been called in on the bomb threat, had helped to evacuate as many as they could, and had even tracked down one of the idiot teens who'd set the explosives, but they hadn't managed to stop the actual explosion.
He nods to himself and heads back toward the ground and the building at Steve's suggestion, because his suit does give him added strength that can help lift a lot of the debris away. If he's got the means, why not use it? It's something he's learned over the years. If he has it, use it. And use it for good.
It's why the Stark bank account isn't as full as it used to be. Funds have found their way into employee pockets in the form of bigger paychecks, donations for medical bills, research grants, education grants, money put toward the Avengers, to city cleanup. He can't remember the last time he bought a ridiculously priced car or ate at an overpriced restaurant, and the thought of holding onto his money because he “might need it some day,” doesn't even cross his mind anymore. If he's got it and someone needs it…
That's what finds him here, in the Iron Man suit, tugging broken wood and stone apart and yanking pieces of building away from other pieces of building. He's got the means, and these people need the help. If only Howard could see him now.
He's interrupted from his thoughts when he catches sight of a flash of blue in the pile of browns and beige beneath him, the rubble having blended together into a mass of “stuff that needs moved.” The blue doesn't belong here. He leans in closer, has FRIDAY scan, and lets out a gasp when the reading comes back.
“Guys, I've got a person in here,” he calls out to the other crew and to the rest of the team, even as he works to carefully pull chunks of ceiling beams away from the blue to reveal more and more. A shirt.
He keeps going, following FRIDAY's guidelines on where to pull next so the rest of it doesn't cave in on the kid- He can tell now it has to be a kid, no older than 15 or 16, and all he can think of now is Peter, who missed this mission by the simple fact that he's on a field trip for school.
Digging until he can pull the young boy free, Tony lets his helmet slip away, studying the kid's face.
“Vitals don't look good, Boss,” FRIDAY warns him as he carefully extracts the kid and carries him down the mountain of rubble to the ground below.
Kneeling, he holds the boy and checks him over, noticing as soft blue eyes open and slowly find focus on him.
“You're…” The kid doesn't have much strength in him and Tony's heart is already aching for him.
“Shh, it's okay, kid. Yeah. I've got you. We're gonna get some medics to check you over, alright?”
The kid blinks, all too slowly for Tony's liking. The medics are moving too slowly for Tony's liking, too. He taps the kid's cheek until he opens his eyes again.
“There we go,” Tony says softly. “Stay with me, kid. Help's on the way. What's your name?”
The kid frowns, furrowing his brow. It seems like he's trying to remember himself. Then, with a soft sigh, he answers. “Ethan,” he whispers, voice already fading.
Tony leans in. “Ethan? Hey, Ethan. It's gonna be okay, alright? You're gonna be okay. Stick with me. Stay awake, okay?”
But Ethan's eyes slip closed again and this time, Tony feels the kid go limp in his arms. Heavy.
Dead.
He feels it in his chest first. Panic. Bubbling up and tightening, causing his breath to shorten a little. His eyes widen and he can hear his heart thundering in his ears. He reaches for Ethan's pulse, tries to find life in the boy, but there's nothing. He's already gone.
Tony lays the kid out on his back and deactivates the suit, pulling out his glasses quickly. “FRI, give me the right place to apply pressure for CPR,” he says quickly, and the HUD in the glasses comes to life, indicating the spot on Ethan's chest.
Tony sets to work, trying to get the kid back, to get his heart going, get some sort of breath coming. Anything. But as the seconds become minutes and the medics finally get to him, Tony's not getting a response. Ethan isn't waking up. He's not moving. He's not breathing.
Hands grip Tony under his shoulders, pulling him up and back before moving to settle against his chest and hip, his back pressing against someone. Arms hold tight, but he scrabbles, claws at those arms. He has to help.
Even as the medics start to work, Tony still struggles to break free. “He needs-”
“Stark, they've got him now,” Steve says at his back, his grip tightening slightly. “Let the medics do their job.”
Tony sags, leaning into Steve and gripping at the arm around his middle, the only thing holding him up as his legs lose all sensation. He watches as the medics look at each other over Ethan. Over the boy's body. They shake their heads at each other and start gathering him up onto a gurney.
Steve pulls at Tony's shoulder, turning him about until Tony's eyes meet Steve's. He grips the engineer's shoulders and ducks his own head, catching Tony's gaze, holding it.
“Hey, look- Look at me, Stark. You did everything you could. It's not your fault.”
Except he didn't save the kid. Tony tries to turn his head to look back, but Steve pulls him into a hug. Tony buries his face against Steve's shoulder and he can feel himself shaking, rattling apart.
“It's not your fault,” Steve repeats, a hand gently against the back of Tony's head, fingers pulling through his hair. He knows there's so much gel, dirt, and grime there, between Steve's fingers and his hair, but the gesture soothes all the same.
Tony's shoulders shake and he hiccups, coughing around a heavy sob. He brings his arms up, gripping tightly to Steve's upper arms.
He knows he has to look ridiculous right now. He must be a sight. The news cameras must be having a field day with this.
Tony Stark Loses Kid, Loses Mind
If he doesn't see at least one rag with that headline, he might actually be disappointed. He's proud of coming up with it, on some strange level in the far back of his mind.
“It's not your fault,” Steve's voice reminds him once more, pulling him to the present, the pain, the ache in his chest.
“I couldn't save him,” Tony whispers, voice strained and broken.
“None of us could,” Steve tells him softly. “It's not your fault.”
Tony lets out another weak sob and turns his face against Steve's shoulder, out toward fresh air, away from the warmth and protection of Steve. He can hear the world around them. The people murmuring, the things they must be saying.
He thinks again of Peter, who's at some museum today, happy and safe. His kid is safe, but Ethan's parents lost their son today. And that burns in his chest and makes him want to scream, but there's nothing left in him at this point.
He feels drained and heavy and weak, letting his hands slip away from Steve's arms and his own arms gently rest atop Steve's.
Still, Steve holds him, shushes him, reassures him.
“It's not your fault.”
God, but what if he could have done something? What if he could have-
He thinks of the Accords, the whole reason behind his agreeing to them back then. They're useless now. Scraps of paper and broken contracts tossed to the sea when Tony told the government basically to shove it in favor of his team. All too late, but he got them back.
Then, there's the woman. The woman who approached him about her dead child. How much this moment echoes his past. How much it hurts.
He just wants people to be safe. That's all. He just wants them to be safe.
“I know you do, Tony,” Steve says, and Tony hadn't realized he'd been babbling, his words tumbling free like a waterfall, emotions spilling from his lips in a haphazard torrent of words he doesn't remember giving permission to be heard.
“I'm sorry,” Tony whispers, turning to rest his forehead against Steve. “I'm so sorry.”
Fingers continue to pull through his hair. The world continues to murmur. Steve's hold continues to keep him on his feet. Life continues.
For all but Ethan.
Tony finally takes a slow, heavy breath and steps back, looking back at Steve with an exhausted expression. He doesn't want to be here anymore. He doesn't want to be under the watchful eyes of the world through the lenses of all those cable news networks. He wants to be home, buried in work, or a blanket. He hasn't decided yet.
Steve seems to understand his unspoken request as he nods softly, taking hold of Tony's shoulders with one arm and turning them both, guiding Tony away from the building, away from the rubble, away from Ethan.
“I've got you,” Steve tells him, his voice softer than Tony's ever heard it.
He must look bad if Steve is being this gentle with him.
They get to the jet and Steve settles Tony into a seat, sighing as he crouches down in front of him, taking Tony's hands in his own.
“It really isn't your fault, Tony,” Steve says again. Tony's starting to think maybe he'll be able to believe that someday. “You did everything you could.”
“But he's still dead,” Tony whispers, hanging his head and staring at his feet. “I couldn't save him.”
“He went knowing Iron Man was fighting for him,” Steve offers. “Maybe that's enough for him.”
Tony looks up at Steve, his breath catching in his chest as another wave of sorrow fills him. He shakes his head. “I've never been enough, Steve.”
And that's something for another day. Tony knows it. His feelings of inadequacy go back to his childhood. He had one good therapist working with him on it for a while, but times change. He changed. He stopped going. He isn't better.
Steve looks stricken as he studies Tony's face, trying to understand what's going on in his thoughts. It doesn't seem to work, but Tony sees the sadness there. Sadness he put there. Of course.
Before he can apologize or back pedal, Steve is pulling him in for a tight hug, dragging Tony to the floor of the jet with him. Tony sinks into the embrace, trembling as more tears spill from his eyes, and Steve's grip tightens.
“You're enough,” Steve tells him, whispering the words into his hair as he wraps his arms around Tony's shoulders. “You're enough,” he says again, pushing the words into Tony's temple as tears fall down his own cheeks. “God, Tony, you've always been enough.”