"Son of a bitch," Tony said as the taste of copper hit his tongue. In hindsight, it probably hadn't been wise to grab Steve like he had: grabbing his shoulders had given him plenty of room to flail one of his hands straight into Tony's lip. Like a punch, only more accidental.

Didn't make it hurt much less.

Actually, that probably wasn't true. If Steve had been trying to punch him, it would've given him more than a little split lip. This had been an accident; Tony had startled him, and he'd instinctively tried to protect himself. Trying to get away.

Tony held fast, though. He was the only thing keeping Steve from a sudden intimate encounter with the floor. Because that was the last thing he needed.

Not that Steve seemed to realize it. No sooner had Tony grabbed him than he started trying to break loose, twisting and pulling and tossing his full weight this way and that. Had he had more of his wits about him, Tony had no doubts he would've been able to get away.

Luckily, whatever it was making Steve so sick seemed to be putting a damper on a lot of his usual strength. Besides, Tony Stark was no pushover himself. With Steve of not-so-super human strength, or maybe even a little less, and his own adrenaline coursing, he managed to keep a grip on him. After readjusting his hold to Steve's wrists to prevent anymore accidental right hooks, he started trying to maneuver Steve to a better, more manageable position.

Weak as he was, though, Steve was still putting up a hell of a fight.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tony saw Thor step towards them. "No," he said, his tone suddenly serious. "The more people coming at him, the more defensive he'll get, the harder he'll fight. I've got it."

As if to prove his point, he suddenly let Steve pull all he wanted. He was pulling off to the side, and Tony moved with him, spinning him around and using his own momentum to push him against the wall beside the doorframe. The suddenness of Tony's turnaround caught Steve by surprise, and Tony once again used that to his advantage, barring his forearm across Tony's chest to pin his arms between them. His free hand went to Steve's brow, pushing his head back against the wall and holding it there.

He was alarmed at the heat against his palm. Definitely a fever.

Even though he was clearly incapacitated, Steve kept fighting, straining against Tony. But Tony was using his whole body to pin Steve in place, and in his state, Steve had no chance of getting loose.

"Calm down," Tony said sharply, his face mere inches from Steve's. "I'm not going to hurt you, but I need you to calm down before you hurt yourself."

Steve wasn't really listening, though. When he couldn't get his arms loose, his body loose, he tried at the very least to raise his head, especially when the others came closer. His eyes darted wildly at each and every sound, and Tony had never seen those gorgeous baby blues so scared.

Not for himself, anyway.

"Steve, it's—hey, don't look at them, okay? Look at me. Steve, just look at me." As he spoke, he pushed Steve's head back to the wall and forced him to meet his eyes. And finally, after Steve's wide-eyed gaze had settled on him, he saw some sort of recognition spark. A small hint of something through the haze he was in. "That's it. That's my boy, eyes right here. Try to focus on me."

Steve's jaw set tight; sweat slicked Tony's hand against his head, but then, there it was.

"Tony." He sounded genuinely surprised. Surprised, confused…nervous. "Tony, I don't…I don't know—"

"No, no, no. No more getting worked up," he said, brushing his thumb through Steve's sweat-dampened blonde forelock. "You're alright. You're just fine."

The words had barely left his mouth when Steve's eyes widened. Tony knew the look – and the decidedly greenish tint Steve's face had taken on – and immediately stepped to the side just in time to avoid getting thrown up on by one very sick, very pitiful-looking Steve Rogers.

"That's…" He stopped before something mean slipped out. Pepper would've been proud. And as much as it was in his nature to antagonize, he didn't believe in kicking a man while he was down. Especially when that man happened to be a certain super-soldier for whom he had a very strong affinity.

Who the hell was he kidding? He loved the guy.

"That's something for the maid to clean up in the morning." That seemed like a much nicer way to go. And at the time, he was all about the nice. And supportive. Very supportive. Emotionally and physically.

No, literally, he was holding Steve up. Whatever strength he'd had left seemed to have left him, and had it not been for the arm Tony had wrapped around his chest, he would've fallen flat on his face. As it was, Tony waited until Steve had finished feeding the birds, so to speak, and then pulled his arm around his shoulder and started trying to move him away, preferably to his bedroom.

Only, Steve could barely manage to drag his feet inches across the ground, and Tony couldn't very well pick him up. The guy was, after all, six feet and two inches of solid muscle.

Reinforcements were in order.

"Thor—a little help?"

Thor had been waiting just off to the side, so it didn't take him long to come around on Steve's other side and lift the man up like he weight two pounds instead of two-hundred forty.

Tony took it as a bad sign when Steve didn't protest. In fact, he didn't say a word – not a thing, not the whole way to the bedroom. The closest he got was a soft groan when Thor laid him out on the bed.

"I'll go get the kit," Bruce said. It took Tony a second to realize what he was talking about – his brain was overloaded, trying to deal with everything that was going on – but then he nodded, and Bruce ran out of the room. The first aid kit, with the thermometer and the bandages and the cold packs and the pills and all the other stuff that they could use to fix this. To fix Steve.

In the meantime, Tony needed to get Steve settled, and preferably out of all of these layers. Sitting down on the bed beside Steve, he slipped an arm underneath his back. "Up you go," he said.

Steve groaned, but he didn't even have it in him to help Tony get him upright. He slumped forward against Tony's shoulder as soon as he was sitting up, a strangled moan breaking from his lips as his arms curled around his belly.

"You gonna be sick again?" He just had to be sure.

Mercifully, Steve shook his head against Tony's shoulder.

"Good. Now, let's get you out of some of these clothes." Had the situation been any less dire, Tony probably would've at least smirked at that. Instead, his lips stayed set in a hard line as he hooked his fingers in the hem of Steve's black long-sleeve sweater. "Here we go. Up and over," he said as he peeled the shirt off, leaving Steve's white undershirt on underneath.

He got it off Steve's head alright, but getting it off his arms proved to be tricky. The right one went relatively easy, but as soon as he started pulling on the left one, Steve winced.

It caught Tony by surprise for only a second before it hit him. "You're shitting me." Brows knotting, Tony pulled the sweater the rest of the way off and grimaced.

Steve's whole upper arm was red. The white shirt was soaked with it, from the shoulder to the hem of the sleeve.

Steve flinched when Tony reached for it. "Hey, easy. I just need to get a look at it."

"It's nothing," Steve said, lifting his head up off Tony's shoulder enough to look him in the eyes.

Tony matched his gaze for all of about three seconds, and then, "Yeah, I don't buy it. Hold still; let's see what's behind sleeve number two."

Carefully, he peeled back the blood-crusted fabric, revealing a gash that reached all the way around the outside of Steve's bicep. The wound itself, he guessed, wasn't too bad. Bad, yes – the sucker was deep enough to expose torn muscle and long enough that Tony could barely put his hand around it end to end – but not too bad. He'd seen, had, and dealt much worse.

It was what was around the wound that was really disconcerting. Blue veins, raised and gnarly, crept out from around the edges in a way that reminded Tony too much of when he was being poisoned by the palladium core of his chest piece.

He guessed it looked that way for a reason.

"And you didn't mention this because…? Just a little 'hey, fyi, that creep Doom got me in the arm, and oh, by the way, I think I might be poisoned' would've done just fine."

Steve actually looked guilty. "I didn't think—"

"That goes without saying," said Tony. Cue another disapproving look from Bruce, who was just walking back in with a big white box tucked under his arm.

"No, but I—"

This time, it wasn't Tony that interrupted him, but round two of what was left of his dinner's comeback tour. Luckily, Clint had apparently seen it coming, because a trash can appeared in Steve's lap courtesy of him just in time to avoid what could've been a very messy turn of events.

"Atta boy. Get it all out," Tony said, rubbing Steve's back and trying to ignore the way his own stomach churned uncomfortably.

He could've sighed in relief when the heaves finally stopped their abuse of his ailing boyfriend, only he was too busy trying to figure out why Steve had suddenly gone limp. Easing him back onto the pillows, Tony took one look at the closed eyes and ashen skin, and cursed.

Steve was unconscious.

Bruce, being the closest thing to a medical doctor on hand, was there in an instant, checking Steve's vitals until he looked up at Tony.

"He's okay. He's just passed out," he said.

Tony bit back any biting retorts in favor of a question. "How long before you know what's wrong with him?"

"I'll need to run some tests," Bruce said, and then he put a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Hey…he's gonna be alright."

Tony nodded, although he would be the first to admit it wasn't his most convincing performance. "Of course," he said. "He's Captain America, super soldier. Tough as nails and all that."

He talked a good game, Tony did, but inside, he was a bundle of nerves. Steve was Captain America. Captain America, who didn't get sick. Captain America, who healed like lightning. Captain America, who always lived to fight another day.

Captain America, who was the only person Tony had ever felt so deeply and completely connected to.

Steve was Captain America, but more importantly, Steve was the man Tony loved. He would be okay; Tony would make sure of that.

But for now, all he could do was let Bruce do his thing and wait until the smoke cleared.