Steve spends the rest of the day exhausted. It seems to be all his body is capable of, anymore. Like all his batteries wore out and he has no idea how to recharge them to anything significant. He remembers bits and bots of it, later on. He remembers the room being bright when he woke up for the first time after the panic attack, Tony apparently had JARVIS pull the curtains open, and the bright light had made him pull the covers over his head and groan. He remembers a plastic bottle of water, cold and slick with condensation being put in his hand and he'd pretty sure he remembers drinking it. Everything else is small flashes, like he never woke up enough to catch the details. He remembers being too hot and kicking off covers, and then too cold and wrapping himself up in them. He remembers a loud noise, like something being knocked over or dropped, but he doesn't know what caused it. He doesn't remember caring enough to ask.

He remembers noticing Tony, every single time he woke up, whether he was sitting in a chair across the room, or actually in the bed next to Steve, Tony never once left him for very long. For the first time in a long time, Steve feels a small glow in his chest, somewhere in among the dull pain and the sadness. It's a faint foreign feeling and he's not sure what he's supposed to do with it, so he tries his best to ignore it for the moment.

He finally feels awake now, for the first time in... he's not sure how long he's been in a state of half-sleep. Glancing at the clock, which says 2:17pm, he'd guess about sixteen or seventeen hours. He's not sure how he can keep sleeping, yet still feel like he hasn't slept in days. He sits up in the bed, and feels himself zone out, letting his mind pull him back to where he wishes he was. His chest aches as his memory re-plays moments of Bucky, when they were kids. How Bucky never once made him feel weak for all his problems, and he'd spend cold nights curled up around Steve in the orphanage making sure he was warm enough to survive the night. Steve owed Bucky more than he could ever re-pay him, and instead...

Steve closed his eyes. If he didn't open them, he wouldn't see reality, and if he didn't see it, he didn't have to deal with it. As long as he kept his eyes closed he'd be okay. He concentrated on breathing, feeling each individual expansion of his ribs as they took in air, and the collapse of them as he exhaled. He finds himself almost lost in the steady rhythm when he suddenly feels the bed bounce and it doesn't take a genius to figure out what he'll see when he opens his eyes.

Maybe it's because of that, that he waits a moment. He doesn't know what to say. How to explain himself, or how to express the thoughts surging through his head. The memories, the moments, the people. He doesn't know how to explain how his chest hurts, or how his bones ache. It seems ridiculous and impossible. So maybe, when he opens his eyes, to the familiar face of Tony in front of him, and Tony asks him how hes feeling, maybe the impossible feeling of it all is why... he doesn't say anything. He just kind of stares at Tony for a second before he glances down at his fingers, gripped in the bedspread. How would he even begin to answer that question? How does he feel? He feels like he's dying. Or losing his mind.

"So, that's the new thing?" Tony asks, not unkindly, smirking a little, "Not sleeping, but not talking?"

Steve just shrugs his shoulders.

"Okay," Tony says, leaning back against the headboard next to him, "I finished a prototype for a new kind of arrowhead for Clint. Wanna see it?" Tony picks a tablet up off the table next to the bed, the same one he had the first night. Steve nods, for lack of a better response. Tony grins, just a little and taps a few buttons, bringing up some blue-prints onto the screen and Steve waits for an explanation.

"What I was thinking was something like a super-powerful mini-taser." He starts.

Steve raises an eyebrow. He's never heard of a "taser" before.

Tony notices the expression.

"You don't think it's a good idea."

Steve stares. He almost wants to talk, but even small words feel like a battle and he's not in the mood for a fight. He just pulls his knees up to his chest. He leans forward and rests the side of his head on his knees, still looking at Tony. It takes a second more.

"Oh! You don't know what a tazer is." Tony says, eyes bright with comprehension, and Steve exhales with subdued relief. "It's a device, that delivers a really powerful electrical shock when it comes into contact with... anything, designed to incapacitate a person."

Steve furrows his eyebrows and makes a look close to disgust.

"No, no, it's used for good purposes. At least, it's supposed to be. They don't permanently hurt you or anything, they just paralyze you or knock you back a bit. Women usually used them in self-defense."

Steve relaxes.

"I want to give one to Clint because I think it's a good base weapon I'm surprised he doesn't already have. You know, it's an arrowhead that would be enough to knock someone out, without risking fatal damage. Which seems to me like a clever idea, but I'm not the sniper of the group, so maybe my opinion doesn't count."

Steve smirks slightly and nods in agreement. It almost feels like Tony's words are gliding around him and he has to focus really hard to catch the actual meanings. Regardless, Tony continues on, his fingers gliding over the tablets screen, flipping the blueprint around and showing each little nuance of his design.

"Turns out, it's much freaking harder to create one than you would think, so I've been fiddling with it for a good week... or two. Don't know, kind of lost track."

Steve gives a small disapproving look and Tony grins in reply. They both know Steve thinks Tony spends too much time down there, but they both also know there's really nothing Steve can do to stop him, just let him know he doesn't like it.

"However, I did finish this one." His fingers flick around and bring up another arrowhead, this one thinner and more triangular than the one before. "This one was incredibly easy and only took a few hours. It bursts into flames upon delivery."

Steve acknowledges the words, but he can feel himself zoning again, his brain tuning out the world around him and memories keep flashing back across his vision. It makes his stomach churn, and he doesn't know how to stop it. How to bring himself back into the moment. He gives his head a shake and blinks a few times, and that seems to help, but not a lot.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Tony asks as he reaches out and takes one of Steve's hands in his own. Steve is suddenly acutely aware of his surroundings, the warmth and strength in Tony's grip is like an anchor, and Steve curls his fingers around Tony's silently asking him not to let go.

Tony must be pretty good at non-verbal communication, because he doesn't make any attempt to remove his hand, just lets it lay in Steve's lap. He doesn't say anything, doesn't bring any attention to the contact, just gives a little nod, and uses his other hand to flip through designs on his tablet. He explains each in simple terms, Steve's attention on him. Even if it is in silence.

A couple of hours later, the tablet has been set aside and the TV has been turned on. Tony found a channel that was running a marathon of old Looney Tunes cartoons, and Steve had been mesmerized in a matter of minutes. He spoken a word and Tony had let go of his hand after a while, to turn the TV on. He could tell most of his rambling was going in one ear and out the other, and he decided to give Steve time to just exist, and television seemed like a fairly good distraction, as long as he didn't put something on like Jersey Shore or anything.

And Steve seemed to relax, he curled up on his side in the bed, head resting on a pillow next to Tony's thigh, and watched Tweety bird attempt to escape from Sylvester like he'd seen cartoons a thousand times before. Tony vaguely wondered if it would really help or not, but Steve seemed okay with it (not like he was going to say anything), so he left it. He sat next to Steve, still leaned back against the headboard, and gently ran his fingers through Steve's hair.

Despite the fact it had been a few hours, their positions didn't change much. Steve had stretched out a bit, now lying almost sideways on the bed. Tony had gotten up to go to the bathroom and get himself and Steve another drink (This time it was a bottle of Naked. He figured it was as close to eating something as Steve was going to get right now). He came back into the bedroom and handed the bottle to Steve, who took it without any indication of interest, and when Tony had taken his seat in the bed, leaned back against the headboard, Steve had adjusted, so his head was resting on Tony's thigh. Steve had sighed contently, apparently grasping and grateful for any contact he could have, and Tony didn't say a word, didn't have the heart or desire to say 'no,' so he just opened his own bottle, and let his fingers tangle in Steve's hair.

Tony wondered how long it would take before he heard Steve talk again. He wondered if mutism was a step in the wrong direction, and he wondered what it would take for Steve to talk again. What he would say when he did. It didn't really matter. He wasn't going anywhere.