Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tony will insist later that it’s all the fault of a particularly tenacious doombot with a proclivity for pyrotechnics. The thing trails him the entire fight; the only reason he notices it at all is due to the yellow stripe on its belly, which none of the others have. He lets it live longer than he should because he admires its tenacity; the thing sticks to him like glue.

And then literally, it sticks to him like glue.

“Iron Man!”

“I’m fine. What is with this thing? It’s been stalking me the whole damn -”

Boom. Explosion. Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue; Tony’s armor had taken worse. The problem was, the way the thing situated itself meant that, when it exploded, a small piece of the outer casing pierced through an already weakened section of armor on the lower right side.

Tony was just glad his mic fizzed out, keeping his screaming off the open comms.

“Tony!”

“Fine, featherbrain,” Tony said, voice thankfully even. “Keep your attention on the bots!” His armor, as a red costume, made it much harder to identify injuries than other colors did. They had the same problem with Spider-man and other red suits. Blood blended in. In this case, the puncturing item was small enough and deep enough that no one would notice. Except the person it was lodged inside of, that is. “Look out for any with yellow stripes on them, in case they explode too.”

“Sir, your vital signs -”

“Not now, J, we’ll skip debrief and deal with it then.”

The rest of the fight was a cinch, really.

“Anyone need medical attention?” Silence. Steve nodded. “Okay, back to the helicarrier for debrief -”

“No can do, Cap. Pep’s going to kill me for being late as it is, and if we want to keep getting money from SI, I need to show. I’ll submit my report later. Ciao!”

“STARK -”

“Mute ‘em, Jarvis. And please ask Pepper to cover for me if cap calls? She probably won’t, since I am in fact skipping her meeting too, but hey. Better they gang up on me for the same reason than two different ones at two different times.”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis said, disapproval clear. “Perhaps you should seek medical attention?”

“Nah, just take me back to the shop. Auto. Have the kit ready.”

Jarvis’ silence made him wince, but he didn’t change his mind.

When Tony got out of the armor (in his shop, rather than on the balcony), Dummy caught him before he hit the ground. “Good boy,” he said. Dummy chirped and took him to the nearest workbench, where the first aid kit lay messily, already opened. “Blackout the lab, Jarvis.” The mirrored walls went dark, and he knew every entrance locked at the order.

Tony gritted his teeth, grabbing a leather work glove from the other side of the table. “First things first,” he said, and, shoving the glove into his teeth, picked up a set of tweezers.

It hurt. Tony knew it would, but he hadn’t expected the shard of metal to be quite so… stuck to his insides. Finally, after what felt like hours of stifled moaning and gentle tugging, a thin piece of metal with jagged edges sat on the table next to him.

“Sir!”

“‘m ‘kay, Jarvis,” Tony gasped, between quick breaths. He fumbled the tweezers onto the table and scrabbled for an unopened needle and medical thread. The stitching was almost a relief after pulling the sliver out. He snapped the thread off, setting the needle aside, and slid his fingers through the first aid kit until he encountered bandaging and gauze. He pressed the gauze tight against the wound, and used his teeth and his other hand to yank out a long strip of medical tape. Once the gauze was secured, he made another layer, and wrapped a few bandages around his waist, also secured with medical tape.

“Good enough,” he said, and Dummy dragged him over to collapse on his couch. “Wake me up… three hours…” he mumbled. A quick nap, and he’d fix up the armor. Fix his mistake. He hadn’t been good enough, so he’d gotten injured… come to think of it, he needed to look at one of Clint’s arrow prototypes and Nat’s armor first. Wouldn’t do to have someone else getting hurt because of him.

He woke up only because Dummy incessantly prodded him with packaged oreos. He tried to shove it away. He needed to finish working on the armor first… finish making sure this wouldn’t happen again. Tony groaned. “J’vis, make him stop,” he said.

“I am afraid you need the sugar, sir. Massive blood loss, as you may recall. I also highly advise drinking water, so that you do not collapse over the armor before you can finish.”

Jarvis… had a point. Better to eat before he started, so he could last longer once he did. “You know me too well,” Tony grumbled, accepting the package of cookies and pulling the fresh seal tab open. “The others?”

“The other Avengers returned to the Tower 8.3 minutes ago, sir. All are unharmed, though Agent Barton appears to have burned off his eyebrows, somehow.”

Tony smirked. “Get pictures.” He bit into a cookie.

“Of course. You may also wish to know that Captain Rogers is demanding to see you, sir.”

“Of course he is. I skipped debrief, that always warrants a lecture.” Still preferable to dealing with SHIELD medical. They always insisted on sedating him. Probably because he was a terrible, terrible patient. Still. Since Afghanistan, he was leery, to say the least, of medical procedures happening to his body without his awareness. It didn’t seem to matter that he was awake for the arc surgery, he still reacted by hating sedation. He shoved another cookie into his mouth to distract himself.

Dummy spilled half a glass of water on him, making Tony jump. He hissed in pain; his side hurt like hell. Such an inconvenient location; side wounds were the worst. Every tiny movement tore at the damaged muscles and skin. He took the glass and downed its remaining contents. “Do I have ibuprofen down here, Jarvis? Advil, Tylenol, something?”

“On the table to your right.”

Tony blinked and glanced at the table by the couch. “Oh, thanks,” he said, and swapped the empty glass for the full one standing there, gulping it down with three pills. He doubted they would help very much. He probably should have asked for morphine instead, but this would have to do. “Pull up the prototype for Clint’s explosive arrow upgrades and Natasha’s armor. We need to get it to take blunt attacks better without losing its resistance to bullets and knives.” He ate another cookie.

Jarvis did as asked, silent disapproval hanging in the air. Tony knew that as long as he kept eating cookies and drank enough water, though, Jarvis would maintain their temporary truce until he hit Pepper’s blackout limit. Three days, pfft. Amateurs.

Chapter Text

Tony finished the upgrades for Clint and Natasha in the early hours of the morning (probably… it was hard to keep track of time in his workshop. No windows.) and proceeded to look at the designs for his armor. He needed to find a way to strengthen the joints without losing much mobility; injuries like this were a liability in the field, and he didn’t want anyone on his team getting hurt because he couldn’t brush the pain away well enough. Maybe if he used small interlocking rings, kind of like chain mail, to cover the outside of the jointed areas? But then he had weight problems…

“Master Odinson would like to enter, sir.”

“Yeah, sure, great… wait -”

“FRIEND STARK!” Thor greeted exuberantly. “It has been many hours since the battle, and you have not sought rest or a meal.”

“Busy,” Tony said, still immersed in his project.

Thor looked over the collection of red and gold metal bits spread across the workbench and frowned. “Did your armor take such damage that it requires such immediate mending?”

“What -” Tony turned his full attention to the thunder god. Sometimes he forgot just how perceptive Thor was - future kings were a nightmare. “No, I just want to be ready.”

“Is not rest and food a matter of readiness?” Thor asked, presenting a plate filled with pizza. Tony’s stomach rumbled. “Armor can only defend against so much. Sharp wits and physical condition must cover the rest, and there are some blows we simply cannot avoid.”

“...I need to finish this,” Tony said. “It isn’t good enough yet.”

“I am sure you are quite capable of multi-tasking,” Thor said, eyes sharp.

Tony brightened, taking a slice of pizza in one hand and turning back to his work with the other. “Oh, hey,” he said, “While you’re down here, could you do me a favor?”

“I am happy to assist,” Thor said, surprised.

“I wrecked an armor for the pieces I needed for this one… If you could take it to the Hulk room…” Tony said, mind already delving into the project in front of him.

“Master Jarvis?” Thor asked.

“The armor to which sir is referring is to your right, Master Odinson.”

Thor followed Jarvis’ directions and came upon a crumpled armor. One side was caved in. It looked as though it had faced heavy battle and dangerous blows. Thor picked it up to carry it to the smashing room, but paused. He brushed his fingers over burnished gold; the odd reddish stains did not feel or smell of rust.

Thor’s frown deepened. Had the man of iron been injured? Why would he not inform the team of this? It isn’t good enough yet; Tony’s words rang through his mind. Thor considered the man’s actions. Tony often pushed himself so hard that Dr. Banner was perpetually concerned for his health, and often took blows he need not in battle for the others’ sakes. Combine that with The Mission and the horrendous injuries Tony sustained… Thor believed after the lengthy lecture Captain Rogers had delivered, Tony would not neglect to mention wounds again.

And then it clicked. Thor had been raised to be a king; he must always look his best, perform his best, do his best. There was very little room for error when the fate of his entire race rested on the decisions he must make. Tony Stark had similarly been raised to rule the world, albeit more subtly. And Thor did not think that Iron Man had a Lady Frigga to teach him that perfection was an impossible goal. Odin had lately been attempting to correct many of his own mistakes on that front, though Loki did not see it - and Howard Stark had never done so.

Tony Stark believed he must be perfect, and that the consequences of anything less would be severe enough to warrant hiding injuries.

The wound must not have been terrible, as Thor had seen no signs of pain or discomfort on his friend’s face, but Thor would keep an eye on him nonetheless. He would try to run interference as well, to ensure that no one demanded more perfection of Tony than Tony already demanded of himself.

Perfection was a dangerous goal.

“Please inform me should Anthony require… or wish for further aid, Master Jarvis.”

Jarvis’ acknowledging silence had Thor smiling. Tony had at least one person on his side.

Chapter Text

When he woke up, Tony knew something was wrong, but he could handle it. No need to worry anyone, or anything. He could deal. It wouldn’t do to let them know he screwed up; he refused to ruin the best thing he’d ever had or experienced just because he’d made a mistake with the armor’s strength. So he got dressed in his favorite sweats and a t-shirt, ignored the sweat and chills (which, okay, why both at once), and made his way out to the common kitchen to get some coffee. Ignoring Hawkeye where he sat at the bar, Tony grabbed his favorite mug from the cup cupboard and made his way towards the coffee maker. It was full, and Tony decided to reevaluate his atheism, because look, there is a God. He wiped the sweat off of his forehead and set his mug at the coffee maker, watching it slowly fill. When the coffee hit the top, he pulled it away and chugged it. The uncomfortable heat was worth it for the shot of caffeine.

“...You okay, man?”

Tony turned sharply, almost falling over as the world spun a little bit. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, “totally fine. Perfecto.” He tried, anyway. It wasn’t, couldn’t, be good enough, but he was trying. He carefully stood, walking in the direction of the workshop. He felt Clint’s eyes following him from the bar and heard the man get to his feet and follow him.

This turned out to be a very bad thing when he collapsed halfway to the shop. No hope of convincing the archer that nothing was wrong after that, and Tony knew it. He was called Hawkeye for a reason, after all -- it was basically futile trying to convince him in the first place. Tony stared longingly in the direction of the workshop as Clint picked him up off the floor and shifted him to his shoulder. Clint would insist that he go to SHIELD medical and get treated, and Steve would bench him because he wasn’t good enough, and then the medics would drug him and what if he woke up with another hole in his chest? He wouldn’t put it past them, after Natasha’s impromptu needles and their rather forceful examination methods.

“...Aren’t you going the wrong way?” Tony asked after a few moments, when it registered that Clint was continuing on Tony’s path towards the workshop.

Clint snorted. “Like hell am I going to subject anyone to the horror of SHIELD medical. Bruce can do it.”

Clint was his new favorite. Sorry Thor. Tony relaxed instantly, making Clint stumble. “Sorry,” he said. “Don’t tell Cap either.”

“As if. Us non-super-powered people have to have each other’s backs, and I’m sure you’ll be returning the favor in the near future.”

Tony smirked - Clint got hurt almost as often as he did. Still… “Do we have to tell Bruce? The Hulk is such a mother hen.”

“However you managed to get hurt without us noticing, it looks like it’s gotten infected. Yes, we have to tell Bruce.”

“I hate getting doctored.”

“Yeah, but at least Bruce won’t put you out without permission,” Clint said, far too casually. He paused in front of the workshop to let Tony punch in the password.

“It’s my own fault I got hurt, may as well deal with it myself,” Tony mumbled.

Clint turned a sharp eye on the genius, watching his face. “Nah, it isn’t your fault. No one’s perfect, and it’s impossible to be prepared for the ridiculousness that is our lives.”

Tony was quiet, thinking about that. Clint lowered him to the couch, but didn’t call for Bruce quite yet.

“If I promise never to leave you alone with SHIELD medical - unless they’ve got their paws on me too, ugh - will you please promise me to tell someone when you’re hurt? I don’t care who - Bruce or Pepper, or me, or any of the Avengers, really. Jarvis works, but only if you don’t forbid him from telling anyone else.”

Tony shifted uncomfortably. “...Like with the little demon hummingbird.”

“Yep.”

Tony nodded. “Only if it needs stitches, a cast, or a concussion check.”

“Fair enough. Wait, no - poison, too. Or magic stuff.”

“Magic. Ugh.”

Clint nodded, taking that as the agreement Tony intended. “Jarvis, call Bruce, please. Tell him he’s got a skittish patient to deal with, so bring the sedative.” His voice was light, teasing.

Tony’s lips twitched. “Jerk.”

“Bitch, please. You know you love me.”

“Who knows why. You eat my nachos and leave your dirty socks in the kitchen.”

Clint smiled. “Want me to stick around while Bruce does his thing?”

“Psh, if you’ve gotta go, go,” Tony said. “...But I think Dummy’s feeling neglected, since you haven’t played fetch with him for so long.”

“Just as much of a drama queen as his daddy, huh?” Clint said, shaking his head sadly and moving to play with the eager bot. “And Tony, next time you need stitches, I can show you how to do it properly, without a robot helper who’s probably the reason you’ve got an infection. Bet Bruce could too.”

Tony grumbled under his breath about meddling archers, but he nodded anyway.

Chapter Text

“-in his workshop.”

Bruce blinked and looked up. “Sorry, Jarvis, could you repeat that?”

“Of course. Sir would like to request that you join them in his workshop.”

“Why didn’t he just come up here?”

“I believe because Agent Barton is present as well, Dr. Banner.”

Bruce frowned. Clint in the shop rarely ended without some sort of explosion. “I’ll be right down,” he said, and proceeded to clean up and save his work.

Bruce entered the workshop sedately. No fear, no rage…

And then he saw Tony and everything in him slammed immediately towards panic and fury. Tony had taken his shirt off, and Bruce could easily see bandages beneath the thin undershirt he still wore - not to mention the sweat beading Tony’s brow in the cool space. Clint, playing with the bots, had one eye on the resident engineer as he fiddled with a blueprint.

Bruce figured he had the archer to thank, since it was highly unlikely Tony would have let Bruce know about the injury on his own.

Friends, hurt, his instincts roared, and he saw a momentary flash of green. Closing his eyes, Bruce took a deep, steady breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know,” he said, eyes still closed, “I would really appreciate knowing about potentially deadly injuries before they get infected.”

“Yeah, well,” Tony said.

Bruce opened his eyes and sighed. “Undershirt off.”

“I knew you wanted to get me shirtless!”

Bruce rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything, as Tony was complying. “Clint?”

Clint held his hands up in surrender. “No injuries.”

Bruce eyed him suspiciously. “Hm.”

“It’s true!”

Tony hissed, managing to get the undershirt off. Bruce groaned at the mess of bandages, blood, and general yuck that the action revealed. “You and I are having a very long discussion on how to clean and bandage wounds properly,” he said. It wasn’t a question.

Tony winced and nodded.

Bruce sighed and moved forward, pointing Tony to a nearby stool. “Sit. Clint, come here and catch him if he passes out.”

“Not going to pass out,” Tony grumbled, as Clint obeyed.

Bruce ignored him and got to work untangling and unwinding masses of sticky bandaging. He tried his best to be gentle, but he suspected he wasn’t going to be able to accomplish anything without taking some of Tony’s skin with it. Tony was quiet, which was more worrying than if he’d been talkative, letting out small huffs of breath and whines when Bruce hit a particularly stubborn patch of bad bandaging.

Bandages eventually successfully removed, Bruce stared at the revealed infection surrounding the ragged stitches. He closed his eyes and breathed for a moment, trying to push aside the smell of blood and infected flesh.

“Tony. No one will blame you for getting hurt. Next time, tell someone.” He opened his eyes and glared. Bruce double-checked to make sure Tony didn’t get the wrong message at the same time. He worked with the billionaire often enough that he was intimately acquainted with Tony’s perfectionism and tendency to blame himself for everything and anything that ever went wrong.

Tony nodded meekly, sensing that this was not the time to push.

“Do you consent to having Clint listen to my diagnosis?”

“...Yeah.”

“Okay. Listen. The wound is, obviously, infected. I would like to apply topical antibiotics, but oral are also an option. The stitches will need to be removed and redone. I also would like to take a tissue sample and blood sample to see how bad the infection may have gotten below the surface. If it’s bad enough, it may require surgical debridement - the removal of infected flesh from the area. In that case, I highly recommend letting someone put you under, or at least on some form of painkilling drug. At a glance, though, I don’t think that will be necessary; I’m more likely to recommend mechanical debridement at this stage.”

Tony hesitated. “Blood and tissue samples, you said?”

Bruce nodded.

“Fine,” Tony said, and Bruce left to get the necessary supplies. He knew there wasn’t a chance in hell that he could pry Tony out of the workshop right now, so he’d have to make do with cleaning a table off to do the work.

“I’m putting you on bedrest for at least three days, at which time I will let you know if you’re allowed off of it again.”

“Bruuuuuce…”

“Don’t ‘Bruce’ me, mister. Next time tell me sooner.”

Tony whined. “Don’t tell Cap.”

“That’s up to you, but either Cap or Phil needs to know that you’ll be unavailable for Avengers calls for a few days.” Bruce watched Tony.

“Fine, tell Phil I’m unavailable. I’d rather give as few details as possible.”

“I’ll tell him you are injured, and if he wants to know more, he’ll have to come to you.”

Tony nodded, letting Clint lower him onto his bed. Hawkeye saluted, and promptly vanished. Probably into the ventilation system, Bruce mused, considering the wary looks Tony kept giving the ceiling. Bruce moved around the room, putting a tablet and phone in easy reach of the bed, along with a tall glass of water. “Jarvis, let me know if this runs out,” he said. “Tony, drink as much water as you can to try and deal with that fever. It’s still minor, at least.”

Tony nodded, grumpy.

“Good. Let Jarvis know if you need me. I’ll go talk to Phil, since it seems Clint’s glued to you for the moment.”

“He’s a good bro,” Tony said, and now Bruce knew the drugs in his system were still there. Tony might think so, but he’d never admit it sober.

“Yeah, he is,” Bruce agreed, tucking Tony in as the billionaire’s eyes fluttered closed. He turned and left the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

Chapter Text

Phil pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand. The other was trapped against his side with a thick file folder of paperwork. He didn’t have time for this. He had the exact opposite of time for this. He would probably need to put together a sick bag for Tony like he did for Barton on top of the paperwork. Of course, he doubted Nerf weaponry and old copies of Ranger’s Apprentice were likely to keep the billionaire still for nearly long enough.

Taking a deep breath to fortify himself, Phil knocked on the door.

“Come in,” he heard Tony shout. Entering the room, he found Tony playing Mario Kart on a massive screen; probably against Jarvis since no one else was present. Or Barton, Phil revised, noting a few telltale signs of a hasty entrance into the ventilation systems.

Phil dropped the stack of paperwork with a thud that made Tony flinch. “How bad?”

“Not that bad.”

Phil just gave him a look.

“Okay, sorta bad. It got infected or else it would’ve been fine.”

“How long are you out of commission?”

“Just today,” Tony said.

“Let me rephrase,” Phil said, “How long did Bruce say you would be out of commission?”

“...Few days.”

“This will be filled out,” Phil said, tapping the stack of paperwork. “In triplicate, with blue ink.” He provides a box of pens. “After which time, you will receive the Barton goodie bag. Adjusted to fit your personality, of course. Attempts to escape before completion of the paperwork backlog or the doctor gives the all clear will result in a revocation of rights to the goodie bag, and you will then be tied to the bed. Any questions?”

“What’s the goodie bag?” Tony asked, sounding a little wary.

“Barton’s typically contains Nerf weaponry, fantasies intended for ten-year-old boys, and graphic novels. Usually along with pudding cups. I have yet to decide what to put in yours. I’m sure Jarvis and I can come up with something suitable.”

“Can I have Capsela in mine?” Tony asked, hopeful.

“Capsela?”

“It is a construction toy brand consisting primarily of gears and motors in spherical plastic capsules that can be connected to form various static or dynamic toys suitable for land or water, Agent Coulson,” Jarvis spoke up.

“No.”

“What? Why not?”

“I’m not letting you build another AI just because you’re bored.”

“But -”

“I will put nothing but works by Simone de Beauvoir and Vladimir Nabokov in your goodie bag,” Phil threatened.

“Oh, cool! Just make sure you get me the original translations. And can you throw in a copy of the Odyssey? I haven’t read it in a while.”

Phil blinked. “I’ll keep it in mind, though I’m not sure why you prefer the Odyssey to the Iliad. And I could be convinced to get LEGO kits, but nothing with mechanical parts.”

Tony sighed and reached for the first page of paperwork. “I’ll be more careful not to screw up in the future if this is the consequence,” he grumbled, staring at the rather large pile.

Phil paused and let that run through his head a few times as something in his stomach dropped. “I expect you to do paperwork regardless of injuries, as I do the rest of the world,” he said at last, turning to go.

“Wait. Is that all?” Tony looked startled, braced. A blue pen hung limply in his fingers.

“Next time tell someone,” Phil said, and left, closing the door behind him. “Barton.”

Sure enough, Clint dropped out of the vents, something like silk-covered steel in his eyes. “Sir.”

“I can understand Stark’s issues with medical. However, I can’t understand why he wouldn’t even mention the injury to Bruce before infection started.”

“He’s a perfectionist.”

Phil felt the pieces click together in his head. “Oh, Fury and I are overdue for a very long discussion,” he said. Howard’s demands he could do nothing about, but SHIELD’s constant demands for perfection in everything, all the time, constantly, while dangling the title of Avenger over Tony’s head…

Fury was not going to enjoy this particular discussion.

“I’m putting you in charge of assembling Tony’s goodie bag.”

Clint lit up with glee. “Jarvis, get me LEGO model sets, one of those super long range remote control cars with cameras that SHIELD uses, and a copy of one or two of Tony’s favorite books. Also, a pack of those tiny chocolate donuts.”

Phil rolled his eyes and left. It could be worse. “Make the LEGO sets Star Trek, Jarvis,” he requested. Stark may prefer Star Wars, but that’s what he got for failing to inform anyone that he was injured.

“Of course, Agent,” Jarvis replied, and Phil could practically feel the amusement radiating off of him.

Chapter Text

Steve was pretty sure someone (or maybe something) was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled every so often. When he turned around to check, though, there was nothing. Blank walls. Empty hallways. The toaster popping.

He caught his first glimpse of whatever was watching him just after lunch, when his nerves were high and he felt jumpy as hell. Steve actually grabbed one of the guns Natasha and Clint stashed everywhere and had it trained on the tiny item before it vanished around the corner, too quickly to see.

“Cap? You okay?” someone asked behind him and he whirled, only to lower the gun when he saw Clint behind him with his hands up.

Taking a deep breath, Steve let it out again in a great whoosh of air that drained some of the tension from his shoulders. “Yeah, just… really jumpy today.”

Clint nodded in understanding, though Steve swore he could see the corner of the archer’s mouth twitching. “Don’t forget to put that back; Natasha’s picky about her weapon stashes.”

Steve nodded, and Clint moved past him into the kitchen. He felt a prickling on the back of his neck again and turned slowly.

Sitting behind the corner of the couch was a tiny remote control car. A camera was strapped to the top, focused up to stare on Steve’s face. Steve stared at it, and it stared back. Slowly, it backed under the couch. Steve approached and peered under the furniture just in time for the car to shoot out from under the other end and go flying down the hall.

What the hell?

“Jarvis, what is going on?”

“I am uncertain what your question refers to, Captain.”

Steve sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Nevermind,” he muttered. Jarvis definitely knew - Jarvis always knew - so why…

Unbidden, Steve’s mind dredged up memories of the last Avengers movie night and the odd AI called HAL in the movie they watched. Slowly, Steve retreated to his bedroom. Just how much of the tower and its functions did Jarvis control? SHIELD?

He needed to talk to Tony because Steve was pretty sure that his AIs were turning evil.

As he closed the door to his bedroom, he spotted the remote control car hovering in the corner of the hallway.

“Jarvis? Where’s Tony?”

“Sir is in his bedroom.”

“Thanks.”

Clint managed not to laugh until Steve had vanished down the hall in the direction of his bedroom, at which point he just about suffocated from the force of his own full-bellied laughter. He wasn’t sure what he expected Tony to do with the remote control car, but Clint certainly wasn’t expecting him to use it to stalk Captain America until he blew.

After his laughter abated, he stood from where he had slumped against the countertop to continue on with his quest for the perfect sandwich. He spotted the tiny remote control car by his shoe at once, and watched its camera twist quizzically to the side.

That was all it took to set him laughing again. Chuckling, Clint eventually managed to get up and start working on his and Tony’s lunch.

It was late that afternoon when Steve risked opening the door to his room again, carefully peering around to see if the little car was present. He had contemplated just destroying it, but if he was right, he didn’t want to piss off their resident evil AIs. Seeing no sign of it, Steve set out in the direction of Tony’s bedroom at a quick pace.

He heard the squeak of tiny wheels behind him and subconsciously started moving faster. He was practically running from the tiny robot at this point. Finally Steve reached his destination, quickly entering Tony’s room and closing the door behind him.

“Tony, I think your AIs might be turning evil,” he said breathlessly. Turning around, he discovered Clint and Tony grinning at him.

“Not exactly,” Clint said, trembling with contained laughter. Tony snickered and Steve zeroed in on the remote control in his hands.

Oh. He’d been had.

Wait. Back up. Since when did Tony ever do anything in his bedroom, let alone his bed? “...Okay, I’ll admit that’s hilarious, but what on earth are you doing?” Steve asked, confused. Then he noticed the bandages wrapped around Tony’s torso. Tony tried to tug his shirt down to hide them, but it was too late.

“Tony! Why didn’t you tell anyone you were injured?” Steve asked. “When did this happen? Are you okay? You need to stop being so reckless with your health -”

“Get out.”

Steve blinked and took a step back. “Huh?”

Clint glared. “Get. Out,” he repeated. He moved to stand between Tony and Steve. Steve stared, taking in Clint’s folded arms, Tony’s hunched posture, and the glare on the archer’s face.

Shoot, how had he screwed up this time? He backed off quickly. “Hope you feel better soon,” he said to Tony, and fled.

Safely in the kitchen, Steve started to think and pace. First off, Steve thought, since when were Tony and Clint so close? The two Avengers were constantly bickering and messing with each other, and despite their regular pranks on the rest of the team, the two never quit snarking. Mid-fight it was a coping mechanism, but when they kept it up outside of battles and debriefs, Steve just sort of assumed they didn’t like each other much. Trust each other enough to fight together? Yes. Get along as individuals off the field? Not so much. Steve hadn’t realized they were close enough for Clint to get mad at Steve for upsetting Tony. In fact, if Steve hadn’t been willing to leave so quickly, he had little doubt Clint would have broken his hand trying to deck him. Apparently they were a lot closer than he thought.

Now that he was considering the possibility that they were friends, their banter reminded him - almost painfully - of the way he had been with Bucky.

Setting the unlikely friendship aside for the moment, though, Steve returned his focus to the bigger issue - Tony was injured and hadn’t told anyone. Well, hadn’t told Steve; apparently Clint knew. Bruce probably did too, since Tony was staying in bed and the bandages were neatly wrapped and clean, from the brief glimpse Steve had gotten. Why hadn’t Tony told him, though? He needed to be less reckless with his health, or he would get himself killed one of these days! It drove Steve nuts the way Tony would so recklessly put his life on the line and fail to mention injuries or problems with the armor sustained during battle…

Oh, Steve thought. Tony was incredibly protective of the armor, and incredibly defensive of his own abilities to create it and make it work efficiently. The worst arguments they’d ever had usually involved Steve’s desire for Tony to stay a little more out of trouble and Tony’s insistence that the armor could take it. It was a circular argument; Steve insisted that Tony was just human, he couldn’t bounce back like Steve or Thor, and Tony insisted that Steve was just flesh and bone, whereas Tony had the suit for protection. Both sides had valid arguments, but Steve and Tony had yet to find a middle ground. If Tony was perceiving the injury as a failure of the armor, he would probably think it was his own fault he got hurt. Of course he wouldn’t tell Steve, not when they already had an ongoing argument on the subject.

Idiot! That was the point of a team!

“Rogers.”

Steve froze in his pacing, looking up to meet Natasha’s gaze. Right, he ticked off Clint. Which meant dealing with Natasha.

Chapter Text

Natasha waited as Steve changed into sweats and a tank. He was taking longer than usual; she wasn’t sure if it was fear of her or contemplation of his latest mistake with Stark making him slow. Either way, she was satisfied; Steve needed to think about how the things he said came across.

She let her eyes follow Steve as he came to join her on the mat. He settled into stance across from her, clearly wary. She inspected her nails, which were currently painted a deep, rich red, and then took her stance as well.

Steve moved in on the attack first, and they started sparring as Natasha easily blocked. After about ten minutes of warm up, easy back and forth, Natasha went on the attack. Steve was pinned in a matter of seconds.

“Are you aware of how you have disappointed me today?” she asked.

Steve groaned. “I pissed Clint off?”

“Try again.”

“...I pissed Clint and Tony off?”

“Do you understand why?”

“I was thinking - I really just wanted to ask Tony if he was okay and ask him to be more careful with his life. But - he’s so protective of the armor. Did he…”

“You’re close,” Natasha said, finally letting him up. “You need to understand that Tony Stark has spent his entire life in front of a camera.”

“So?”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “So, Rogers, literally the entire world has judged him for every mistake he’s ever made, and continues to do so. Tony Stark has had to be perfection incarnate since he was four years old. Any average four year old spills juice and throws a tantrum, and they get a timeout. Tony Stark spilled juice and threw a tantrum and it was splashed across every tabloid in America. He went to high school as a ten year old, and in college he was still an awkward fifteen year old. I don’t know if you recall, but being fifteen sucks, and I can only imagine it’s worse when you’re Tony Stark. If it wasn’t for James Rhodes I’m not sure Tony would have survived. And that’s never stopped, even to this day.”

Steve frowned. “But - surely he knows we don’t care if he screws up sometimes. We’re friends.”

“No,” Natasha corrected gently, “We’re coworkers Tony doesn’t think would stay if we stopped getting our paychecks or cool toys. Of course we would, but convincing him of that is proving to be quite the adventure.”

“...He thinks the reason I’m mad isn’t because he’s hurt. He thinks it’s because it was his fault he got hurt,” Steve said. “Idiot.”

Natasha nodded in agreement. “Let’s just say if I ever got sent back in time, I may have a few unpleasant discussions with Howard and Maria Stark. If the quantity and quality of time spent on someone is the measure of their love and care, Howard verifiably loved you more than his own son. That makes it even worse when you’re the one doing the scolding.”

Steve winced and paled.

“According to Tony’s file - his paper one - one Edwin Jarvis was his primary caregiver. The family butler, Steve, saw him and took care of him on a more common basis than anyone else. I don’t think anyone else ever encouraged him or gave him praise in any way. And though I am convinced Edwin loved Tony like a son, from Tony’s point of view, he was still paid to be there. Like everyone else in his life, except Rhodes, at first, and Tony quickly found ways to ‘pay’ him to stay around.”

She could see Steve’s eyes widening, knew he was thinking of all the presents, the whole floors Tony gave them.

“Tony Stark is a perfectionist, and trust me, Cap,” she said, just to drive the point home, “He’s blaming himself far more than any of us ever could, often before we even consider the possibility.”

She gave it a few moments of silence, watching the implications sinking into Steve’s brain.

“And he’s right, in a way.”

“What?” Steve asked, startled.

“We demand his perfection. SHIELD wants his tech, in perfect working order, on their perfect timeframe. The Avengers want Tony in perfect working order whenever we are called into the field. We expect him to understand and work well with all of us. We expect him to stay healthy, and work with SHIELD, and run SI, and remain an active Avenger, and continue coming up with new and improved technology. And none of us are great at showing how normal it is to get injured doing the job we do, so Tony sees every wound as a mark against him. A tally towards what he sees as the inevitable moment where the money and tech aren’t enough to keep us here.”

Steve’s eyes grew to the size of saucers. “Fuck,” he breathed.

Natasha nodded, point taken. “Go shower, Rogers, and figure out how to fix it.”

Steve nodded and left, thinking deeply.

Natasha watched him go, satisfied with his easy compliance. She wasn’t quite done with him - he’d probably be leaving their next few training sessions with bruises - but for the moment she was satisfied that he understood the problem, at least.

Maybe she should see if Rhodes could come visit for a few days. A get-well present for Tony. Phil would probably help pull some strings...

Chapter Text

“What can I do for you, Captain Rogers?”

“Steve is fine, Phil,” Steve said, not for the first time. “And it’s about Tony. Did you know he was injured?”

“Yes, I was duly informed, though Tony won’t give me the details,” Phil replied, shuffling some paperwork on his desk. “Of course, that is his right to medical privacy at play. I’m fairly sure Clint and Bruce know, but they both are choosing to respect that as well.”

Steve sighed. “I’m glad he told someone, at least,” he murmured, though he could admit to himself, at least, that he was upset it hadn’t been him. “There’s one other thing, as well.”

“Yes?”

“I recently noticed that Tony is not listed as an acting Avenger in any of the files I’ve encountered.”

Phil looked up sharply. “What?”

“He doesn’t show up as an official Avenger anywhere, even though he undoubtedly is one.”

Phil actually frowned. “Well, now,” he said.

“...Well, what?”

“It seems my upcoming meeting with Director Fury is going to be very informative.”

Steve blinked. “Um. Okay? I just wanted to get Tony’s status fixed…”

“Oh, I’ll take care of that.”

Steve pitied whatever poor idiot had made the error, because he’d never seen a look quite like that on Phil’s face before.

“Natasha,” Phil said, not looking up from his paperwork. His earlier meeting with Captain Rogers had already put him behind on the schedule. He had a feeling this would be even worse in terms of time. Natasha Romanov rarely, if ever, requested help with anything, and when she did, it was only because a second pair of hands was necessary.

“What would it take to get a leave for Colonel Rhodes?”

Phil frowned and looked up. “Why?”

Natasha scowled. “Because,” she said, and he saw something soft in her eyes.

“I see. Stark’s feeling down, then?”

Natasha nodded, sighing and letting go of the uncaring facade. “I think Colonel Rhodes can probably help us figure out how to get him to stop blaming himself for things out of his control, too. He has been friends with Tony for a long time, after all.”

Phil felt one of his eyebrows twitch in an attempt to move. Natasha almost sounded jealous for a moment there. It seemed Clint wasn’t the only one far more attached to the billionaire than Phil had foreseen.

Aw, his little assassins were all growing up and learning to play nice. The paperwork was going to be horrendous, but he supposed he could handle it.

“Fine. I’ll get Colonel Rhodes, if all my paperwork is done by four. I’m a bit behind schedule, though.”

Natasha sighed. “Fork over the ones I can forge for you.”

Phil handed her a rather large stack and smirked internally. It wouldn’t do to let his agents know he was proud of their progress, after all. They’d crawl back into their shells faster than the junior agents hid from them.

Phil almost groaned aloud at yet another knock on his door - no, on the vent cover in his office - but managed to restrain himself to a mere sigh.

“Clint. You need to start using doors. You’re going to get yourself shot by overzealous junior agents one of these days.”

Clint dropped out of the vent easily. “As if they’d actually manage to hit me. Hey, Tasha.”

“Clint.”

“Thanks for the backup. Steve get a clue?”

Natasha snorted, but nodded.

“What did you do?” Phil asked.

“Nothing that will cause more paperwork,” Natasha replied, sweetly.

Phil decided he didn’t want to know, because ‘sweetly’ and ‘Natasha’ together in the same sentence did not bode well. Still… “Please tell me you didn’t kill a national icon.”

“I did not kill a national icon... just bruised him a bit,” Natasha said.

“Is that why he came to ask me about Tony’s status in the SHIELD systems?”

“What about Tony’s status?” Clint asked, eyes narrowing.

“It’s being dealt with.”

“Is it Fury’s fault? Can I blame him anyway?” Clint asked.

“It’s being dealt with,” Phil repeated, snapping a folder shut. “Shouldn’t you be getting back to Stark?”

“He’s asleep,” Clint said. “Jarvis’ll tell me if he looks like he’s waking up or anything.” He exchanged a glance with Natasha. A conspiratorial glance.

Damn, hopefully mutual death of his boss and his two highest-level subordinates didn’t occur anytime soon. He’d probably get fired. “If you get caught, I’m not helping with the paperwork. You’ll be doing it all yourselves. By hand. With a quill. In a basement. With one dying bulb to light the room. On decaf, with the shit creamer.”

Clint pouted at him, but Phil stayed strong.

“I’ll throw in some rats, too, then?”

Clint stopped pouting and changed the topic. “So, anyone have any ideas on how to keep Tony entertained? Because his goodie bag isn’t going to take long to get through, the rate his mind moves at.”

“It’s being dealt with,” Phil said again, and felt the corner of his lip twitch at the mock pout Clint gave him, though this time Natasha smirked, since she was in on the joke.

“I came in here to help. Instead I’m just feeling very attacked. I don’t have to take this.”

Phil offered him a pen, and Clint fled back into the vents. He turned back to Natasha, who was the picture of a demure indentured paperwork helper. “And don’t come back without butterscotch cinnamon pie!” he called.

The muffled reply was indistinguishable, but Phil was pretty sure there was pie in his future.

Chapter Text

Rhodey entered, passing Phil headed out of the Tower. They exchanged polite nods, Rhodey’s with a bit of gratitude in it. It was always nice to get a leave, even if only for a few days. And because his idiotic best friend went and got himself injured. AGAIN.

Mysteriously, Phil was carrying a covered pie tin. Rhodey shrugged it off; stranger things had most definitely happened, and would happen again, and would continue to happen until all the insane people he called friends died (probably not of old age).

“Welcome back, Master Rhodes,” Jarvis greeted easily.

“What’s shakin’, J?”

“Agent Barton, I do believe.”

Rhodey snickered. “Fear, cold, or caffeine withdrawal?”

“I do believe ‘laughter’ may be the word of the day, Master Rhodes.”

“Is that a good sign, or a bad one?”

“It is difficult to say.”

Rhodey sniggered, making his way through the Avengers floors in the direction of Tony’s room. “It is good to be home,” he said.

“RHODEY!”

He braced himself. The following impact was less ferocious than usual, making him frown. “Oi, what’s with the lackluster glomping?”

Tony smirked at him as he pulled back. Rhodey noted that Clint Barton was lingering in the doorway, his eyebrows scrunched together. “Rhodey, save me! Clint tried to tie me to the bed!”

Rhodey’s eyebrows shot upwards. “Is that so? I knew you had an epic bromance ongoing, but I didn’t realize you liked him that much,” he directed to Clint.

“He’s going to rip his stitches,” Clint grumbled, pretending he wasn’t the color of a cherry as Tony spluttered incoherently and promptly tried to escape.

Unluckily for Tony, Rhodey had a lot of practice being quick on the uptake. “What stitches?”

“Now you’ve done it,” Tony told Clint before he was hoisted up onto Rhodey’s broad back. “Seriously, Rhodey? I’m not nearly fragile enough to need a piggy-back ride.”

“Need I mention the rave of -”

“NO!” Tony yelped.

“I have a deep interest in this matter,” Clint said.

Rhodey grinned at him. “Well -”

“SPRING BREAK -”

“My lips are sealed,” Rhodey said.

Clint pouted, but followed Rhodey and Tony back towards Tony’s bedroom.

“Rhoodeeeeey,” Tony whined. “I’ve been in bed for almost a week already! It’s awful! Bruce keeps giving me this… this look, and Clint doesn’t play fair!”

“Neither do I,” Rhodey pointed out.

Tony sighed. “True, true. Why do none of my friends play fair?”

“You are resistant to being looked after. We learned.”

Tony grumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?” Rhodey asked.

“What is it with people trying to take care of me? I’m a grown man! I’m perfectly capable of - ow, ow, ow, that smarts.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Rhodey asked sweetly.

“I hate you.”

“What is your social security number, anyway?”

“Low blow, bro.”

Clint snickered.

“Do you always stick this close to Tony?” Rhodey asked.

“Only when injured or in medical,” Clint said cheerfully. “We have an agreement. Tony tells someone if he’s got worse than scraped knees, and I don’t leave him alone with doctors.”

Rhodey nodded sagely. “Nicely done. That’s how I got him to the doctor’s all of college. Plus I bribed him with Tootsie pops.”

“Tootsie pops, noted.”

“I hate you all.”

Rhodey could feel Tony’s smile hidden in his shoulder, though, so he wasn’t fooled.

Dumping Tony onto his bed - carefully - Rhodey proceeded to turn, cross his arms, and raise one eyebrow.

“That’s the Pepper face, I call foul play,” Tony grumbled. When Rhodey kept staring, Tony sighed. “Okay, so I got injured, thought I took care of it, said injury got infected, Bruce fixed me up, and I am perfectly fine.”

“You sure about that? Because I distinctly remember the last time you told me you were fine, you were actually dying.”

“Is anyone ever going to let that go?”

“No.” Rhodey said. “And no fun-vee, ever, ever again.”

“I’m right there with you on that one.”

“Just be glad I didn’t tell Mama about the dying thing.”

“Right, did I ever thank you for that?”

“You don’t need to, you dolt. Though you should call her, it’s been a while.”

“She’s going to nag me about finding a nice girl again. Italian, honey, so that she can get you fed up proper,” Tony said in a slightly higher tone of voice, clearly meant to be Mama Rhodes.

Someone snickered behind Rhodey, and he turned in surprise to find that at some point, Clint had found and retrieved Natasha Romanov and a pie.

“Fork me,” he said, holding out a hand. Tony mimicked him.

“Now now, set a good example for your little brother,” Natasha admonished.

Rhodey rolled his eyes, and then, because he wasn’t suicidal, added a please. Natasha obligingly handed them each a fork and a piece of pie.

“I thought you were bribing Phil with this,” Tony mumbled around a mouthful of butterscotch and cinnamon goodness.

“Made two,” Clint mumbled back. “‘Sides, Phil doesn’t take bribes.”

“Except from you, because for whatever reason you’re his favorite.”

“Still not bribes.”

“Suuuure,” Tony drawled.

“Stop talking with your mouth full,” Rhodey said.

Silence followed, and Rhodey took the break to give his best friend a good once over. Slight flinches now and then when he tugged at his side too hard, but a truer smile than Rhodey had seen him wear in a long time. Overall, in good shape.

They finished the pie, and Clint and Natasha left - Clint still snickering.

They were quiet for a long moment.

“So, how’ve you been, Tones?” Rhodey asked.

“Good, Rhodey,” Tony said, with a soft smile. “Really good.”

Rhodey grinned at him. “Well, that’s a nice change.”

“Yeah, it is. And I should definitely get bonus points because Cap and I are sort of getting along now!” Tony said brightly.

“Sort of?” Rhodey said, sharply.

Tony blinked at him, confused by his sudden temperament change, because of course. “Well, yeah. Definite improvement from before.”

“Oh, is that so.”

“Uh… Rhodey?” Tony looked up at him with warm brown eyes. Rhodey tried to force himself to relax. Tony wasn’t fourteen and trying to convince Rhodey that going from Tony and Rhodes to Tones and Rhodey was a good idea anymore. Tony could totally handle Captain America. But that didn’t mean he should have to, and screw it.

“I’m fine,” Rhodey said, aware there was a somewhat maniacal glint in his eye, “I just think Captain America and I should have a talk.”

“No, oh no, I know that look - Rhodey.”

“Hmm?”

“Rhodey, do not punch Captain America in the face for already resolved insinuations.”

“What kind of insinuations?”

“None. There were no insinuations.”

Rhodey smiled at him. “Okay. Whatever you say. I’ll just talk to Clint first.”

Tony groaned. “Why everyone is so convinced I’m the bad influence, I will never understand. Please don’t burn anyone’s underwear, or put jello powder in the showerheads, or -”

“Is he worthy of burned underwear? Because the football team deserved what they got.”

“Sure, but the cheerleaders didn’t.”

“Yes, they did.”

“No, they didn’t.”

“Yes, they did.”

“I’ll tell Mama Rhodes.”

“She’s the one who bought me the firestarter.” Rhodey grinned, watching Tony give up and bury his head in his hands.

“I hate you,” Tony mumbled once more.

“Yeah, I love you too, bro.”

Chapter Text

Rhodey left Tony safely - for now - asleep in his room to hunt down a certain super-soldier. First, though, he needed details, so he could get revenge properly. Tony was too nice to do so himself. “Jarvis?” he asked. “Where’s Barton?”

“You called?” Barton said, grinning, as he swung out of a vent behind him. Reflexively, Rhodey fell into stance and tried to kick him in the face. Barton ducked out of the way.

“Don’t do that,” Rhodey said. “But more importantly. What exactly is going on with Tony and the Captain?”

“Uuuuuuuuuuuh,” Clint said, “That is the question of the century, right there. You should probably ask Tony.”

“He reacted with vehement denial that anything was going on at all.”

Clint sighed. “Basically, Steve and Tony are like oil and water, in that they are not naturally friends. They’re working on it, though. It doesn’t help that their first meeting didn’t go well. And was influenced by an evil, magical staff of doom. Plus, Steve does this thing where he turns into an overprotective mother hen every time one of us gets injured - even if it’s just bruises. Not even bad bruises. Tony being Tony, though, he takes the concern as a personal affront against his abilities.”

Rhodey stared him down, because there had to be more to it than that.

“...Also they may have insinuated to each other that they were worthless while influenced by said evil, magical staff of doom? And Steve forgets that Tony was actually the leader of a multi-billion-dollar corporation for well over a decade and thus very capable of taking command and making necessary decisions mid fight.”

Rhodey glowered. “Oh, he’s going to remember when I’m done with him.”

Clint stepped aside, eyes wide. “Jarvis,” he whispered, “get me pictures. No. Video. I need this on video.”

“Lt. Col. Rhodes prefers to deliver reprimands in private, Agent Barton.”

“A formal reprimand? Well, damn.”

“Ten-hut!”

Steve leapt to attention at once. Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes nodded in satisfaction, and Steve felt a small bead of sweat trail down his spine. This was the man who had been Tony Stark’s best friend for almost his entire life and had worked his way up through the ranks of the military at a nearly unprecedented pace just so he could work directly as the liaison to Stark Industries.

Tony really did surround himself with extraordinary people, Steve thought.

“It has come to my attention that recently, your evaluations and treatment of your teammates has been somewhat questionable.”

Steve blinked. This was a different line than he was expecting.

“Consider this a formal reprimand and reminder of your teammates’ skills and backgrounds, soldier.”

“Yessir,” Steve said automatically.

Lt. Col. Rhodes softened just a tiny, tiny bit. “I will make allowances for your… unusual circumstances. However, after this discussion, I fully expect you not to make the same mistakes again.”

“Yessir.”

“Good. Now take a seat. This is going to take a while.”

Steve leaned against the doorway to Tony’s room, watching his team. Tony was right in the middle, looking like a content cat surrounded by several captured canaries. Clint was to his left, munching on popcorn. Bruce was to Tony’s left, looking a bit uncomfortable, but also cheerful, like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to run or not. Natasha was on Clint’s other side. Thor sprawled across all of their feet, and Phil (on Bruce’s other side) was impatiently poking the thunder god with one foot while he tried to free the other from underneath his massive form.

Thor laughed and rolled over - right off the bed.

Steve couldn’t have stopped himself laughing if he’d tried, and he didn’t. Instead, he claimed the now empty space and smirked at Thor, who simply beamed at him.

“OI,” a voice from underneath Thor grumbled, and Thor shifted over to lean against one end of the bed, revealing Rhodey. “First you shove me off the bed, then you roll on top of me?”

“I apologize, son of Rhodes,” Thor replied cheerfully. “However, I must say, I blame the son of Coul.”

Steve raised an eyebrow at that, but didn’t comment. Phil’s feet were dangerously close to his stomach at the moment.

“Yeah, okay,” Rhodey said. “Nothing’s ever Phil’s fault, he can take the blame for once.”

“Sorry,” Tony said. “I’ll get bigger beds.”

“Friend Anthony, why do you persist in apologizing for things which are not your fault?” Thor asked, sounding genuinely confused. “No one would have a bed of such size as to fit eight persons, not even Fandral.”

“When Thor’s right, he’s right,” Clint agreed.

Murmurs of agreement ran through the group.

“Wait,” Rhodey said, “wait. You’re only noticing this now? And you’ve been living with Tony for how long?”

“Rhodey!” Tony yelped.

“It’s like, his primary issue! The issue from which all other issues stem, and thus it must be combatted with extreme prejudice!”

“Oi!” Tony sounded annoyed now.

“Seriously, I knew ten minutes after I met him -”

“We agreed never to speak of that again -”

“You’re right,” Steve said suddenly, derailing the conversation.

“...Huh?” Tony asked.

“We should have noticed, and we didn’t. Sorry, Tony. That’s our bad.”

Tony gaped at him, then at the others as murmurs of agreement ran through the room again. “What just happened?” he asked.

“Everyone agreed to stop letting you think things are your fault that aren’t,” Natasha said. “Like getting injured. Generally, that’s one of our faults for failing to cover you. Or just shit going wrong, like it does.”

“What she said,” Rhodey said, nodding as Natasha reached around Clint to poke at Tony’s mostly-healed side for emphasis.

Tony grumbled at her, but relaxed when Bruce started rubbing at his scalp.

“Indeed. And as far as the SHIELD work goes, consider all projects suspended until further notice,” Phil cut in.

“What?!”

“You agreed to work with SHIELD, but quite frankly, you’re doing more work than most of our full-time scientists, and that’s on top of SI work and Avenging. All project deadlines will be renegotiated, pending my approval in the future. Not Fury’s.”

“Wait, when did that happen? Why didn’t I hear that conversation?” Clint demanded.

“Formal reprimands are best given in private, Agent Barton.”

Clint pouted. “First I miss out on Rhodey getting revenge on Cap for Tony, then I miss out on you reprimanding Nick Fury. Can’t a guy catch a break?”

“Clearly your skills in espionage are faltering. Shall I arrange some training sessions for you?” Phil offered, a tad too politely.

“No! I mean, nah, that’s fine, it’s cool.”

Steve started laughing, grinning widely as Tony, Thor, and Bruce did the same. Even Natasha was snickering quietly, Rhodey beaming as he watched them all.

Steve’s team protected their own, and they only got better at it with practice.