I can't believe I already have people begging for the next chapter! I love you guys, thank you! I had this in the working, I was just polishing it up. So here is chapter three, and you'll have to be patient for a day or two for the next chapter. And thank you again to my reviewers, and followers, and to all those who put this in their favorites, it means a lot! So here we go!
"Just...keep...breathing..." The delirious mumur was so quiet that Steve almost didn't hear it above the morning sounds of the woods around him. But he just barely caught it. He waited and sure enough more words followed it, tired sounding and so slurred that Steve couldn't even understand what the person was saying. He made his way towards the sounds and finally found what he'd been looking for. Tony Stark lay against a tree, arc reactor glowing weakly and flickering now and then, face bruised, a bullet wound in his gut, scratched and beaten bare arms, torn clothes, and slightly mangled looking leg. God, he was a mess. But he was alive. Which was more than Steve had expected when the man had been attacked and thrown from S.H.E.I.L.D's helicarrier without the suit.
"Tony..." Steve said gently, placing a carefully light hand on the other man's shoulder. Tony jumped, and his pained brown eyes snapped open, searching Steve's face for a moment before recognition dawned in them.
"...Capsicle...?" Tony breathed, his voice low and raspy. It was almost unrecognizable, but Steve's heart still danced happily at this sign of life.
"Yeah, it's me." Steve's hand moved carefully to trail fingers over Tony's face, cupping the man's cheek gently. Tony's eyelids fluttered tiredly, and he let his head sag against the Captain's hand. He was starting to fade out. After almost two and a half days of waiting and hurting and fighting to stay conscious, he just couldn't do it any more. But it was OK, because he'd been found.
Tony forced himself to stay awake just a little longer, and looked the good Captain over. Fuck, aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Tony thought to himself, taking in Steve's disheveled appearance. His patriotic suit was dirty and torn in a few places, mask thrown back, face covered in dirt too, a cut adorned his lower lip, his blond hair was unwashed as well and wild as hell, and his baby blues were shining with a mixture of worry, compassion, joy, and open affection. And Tony had to admit to himself, that this was the most beautiful sight he'd ever laid eyes on.
"Let's get you outta, here, kay?" Steve asked, fighting down the suddenly overpowering urge to kiss his friend. To just press his lips against Tony's and assure himself that this was real, and Tony was alive and well(sort of). And, little did he know, Tony wanted the same thing. Hell, if he'd had the energy, the brunette would have done it already.
Steve picked Tony up with the upmost care, one arm slipping around the man's slumping shoulders, the other beneath his knees. He stood slowly, shifting Tony gently against his chest, cradling him close, and Tony let his head sag against Steve's shoulder.
"...no...hos-hospitals." Tony spoke up suddenly.
"Alright, I can do that." Steve assured him, making his way through the forest and back towards camp.
"And...no-no recovery room either." Tony pressed.
"Wha- I'll see what I can do about that one, Tony. I guess Bruce can patch you up, but Fury won't like it." Steve said. Fuck Nick Fury. Tony thought. There was no way he was putting up with a hospital or the damn recovery room. And that was final.
