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Tony didn’t know what had driven him to hold his son like that, but had he known that would happen, he never would have allowed Harry to go on missions.
He understood why someone might fight out of guilt for the damage they had caused, but Harry hadn’t sold weapons of mass destruction that led to the deaths of innocents and the enrichment of terrorists.
Harry had returned with his suit created with FRIDAY’s help, stained with blood; yet, insisting he was fine, he had gone to his room, the one next to Tony’s, to shower and wash off, in his own words, some Nazis from his jacket.
Tony had agreed to give him a few minutes to change and rest, but then came the warning from FRIDAY.
Harry’s vital signs were rapidly deteriorating, showing all the classic signs of progressive hypovolemic shock and massive blood loss.
Tony would never forget the mad dash he made to Harry’s room and straight into the bathroom.
Fortunately, Harry was still conscious, but he was bleeding heavily, and the flow wouldn't stop.
“No, Harry!” Tony exclaimed, dropping to his knees beside him, grabbing towels, and, following FRIDAY’s instructions, wrapping a tight bandage around the main abdominal wound that was still bleeding.
Harry’s condition was critical.
“FRIDAY,” Tony ordered, resting Harry’s head on his lap as he cradled his son, “call for help and then let them in. Use facial recognition and track the ambulance from the moment the call starts until the end. If necessary, clear a path for the round trip to speed things up.”
“Yes, Boss,” FRIDAY replied, her tone grave, reflecting an awareness of the moment's seriousness.
Harry looked increasingly exhausted, while Tony rambled on about nonsense, anything that crossed his mind, just to keep the boy awake.
If staying awake was crucial for a head injury, it was just as important for severe external bleeding like Harry’s.
“Pepper’s going to kill me; I’m missing that all-important meeting on the budget for the new Shanghai branch. It’s not exactly new information, they’re just explaining the document they sent over days ago,” Tony rambled. “They aren't exactly quick off the mark, are they, champ? You know what else isn't quick? Those endless meetings Fury schedules for us Avengers every now and then. I’ve even seen Cap, saintly Cap!, roll his eyes during the speeches about responsibility and resource management. What do you say we skip it? I’ll take you out for the best ice cream in New York instead.” Tony studied his son’s face, noting any changes. Any signs of deterioration. “You still owe me a rematch, remember? You won last time because Thor tampered with my suit, but I can’t let an artifact used for scrubbing floors back in Cap’s day beat my super-high-tech armor, the kind that could make Cap think he’d woken up in a different century just from one of his beauty naps.” Tony swallowed hard, feeling a wave of immense relief wash over him when he saw the faint but genuine smile Harry gave him.
That relief turned to panic, however, when he saw his son’s eyes begin to close.
“Harry, no!” Tony exclaimed, tears welling in his eyes. “Don’t close your eyes.”
Harry forced his eyes open with visible effort, yet still managed a small smile at Tony, as if it were his job to comfort his father.
Tony cupped Harry’s face in his hands and, for once, made no attempt to hide just how terrified he was at the thought of losing him.
“Hey, you can be furious with me once you’re better,” Tony murmured softly, tears streaming down his cheeks. “You can even tell me I’m the worst dad in the world.”
“That’s not true,” Harry protested. “You’re an amazing dad.”
Tony smiled, letting out a tearful, watery chuckle. “Then you can yell at me about the super-expensive car I’m going to buy for your birthday, the one you won’t even use, because Stark Technology is the best and I’m not letting my son drive around in anything second-rate. I might even make you a custom suit.” Tony smiled back at Harry’s half-smile. “But you have to stay awake for me, okay, champ? Don’t close your eyes.” Tony swallowed hard. “I’m not ready to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me,” Harry mumbled. “You’re my dad.”
Tony sobbed, holding Harry’s hand the entire time they waited.
And when help finally arrived, Tony didn’t let go of his son’s hand.
***
Harry woke up in the hospital to the sounds, unmistakable to him, of the equipment monitoring his temperature, oxygen levels, and heartbeat.
“Ah, good, you’re awake.” A nurse with a gentle face walked in, smiling very warmly at Harry. “How are you feeling? Be honest, please.”
Despite the examples he had around him, meaning the Avengers, Harry gave an honest answer anyway.
“My head hurts a bit, but my arm is sore and I can’t move it.”
The nurse smiled, glancing at the arm Harry was talking about, though, now that he thought about it, he hadn’t actually specified which one.
“It’s not related to your accident, don’t worry.” The nurse nodded toward the affected area. “Someone was really worried about you.”
Confused, Harry looked down; his eyes widened instinctively when he recognized the profile of Tony’s face pressed against the green hospital sheets, his hand clasping Harry’s, thereby easily explaining the mystery behind the difficulty in moving.
Unable to help himself, Harry smiled, squeezing Tony’s fingers in return.
Squeezing his father’s fingers.