Pietro was slammed to the floor for the hundredth time.

He let out a quiet breath of frustration, not loud enough for anyone to hear.

"Try again."

For crying out loud, he thought to himself. Yeah, be an avenger Pietro. It's great!

"Come on." Clint encouraged, offering him a hand.

"How about I fight you Hawk?" Natasha smirked from outside the ring.

They were in a training room. He and Clint were sparring in a ring, bordered by ropes. And Clint was thrashing him. Pietro was struggling to resist the urge to just use his power and swipe the archer's feet off the ground. But Clint had told him he had to learn to fight without his power. The archer tried not to hurt him and when he did it was never deliberately.

"I don't think so Nat." Clint grinned. "Come on Kid."

Pietro took his hand, allowing Clint to help him up. The archer immediately swept his foot under Pietro's legs, tripping him over backwards. Instead of falling over, Pietro rolled over into a backflip, landing expertly in a crouch.

"Nice." Clint praised. "That was-"

He didn't get to finish his sentence. While he was distracted, Pietro leapt up, wrapping his legs around Clint's neck and flinging himself backwards. The move sent Clint crashing to the ground with a little grunt of pain.

"Oh, that was awesome." Natasha commented.

A surge of satisfaction ran through Pietro, quickly evaporating as he saw that Clint hadn't moved. Oh man… Have I hurt him? He sped over to him, crouching beside the archer.

"That was excellent." Clint told him cheerfully, raising his head.

"I didn't hurt you did I?" Pietro asked worriedly as Clint got up.

"You wish." Clint joked, nudging him.

Pietro smiled. It was good to see Clint making jokes and messing around. This was the Clint Pietro preferred. The smiling, joking Clint. Not the scared, uncertain man who had been there since his paralysis.

"Okay." Natasha climbed into the ring, swinging herself through the ropes. "My turn."

"Tony, what on earth are you playing at!?"

Tony jumped at the voice, smacking his head on the object he was lying under. "Ow…" He muttered, rubbing hand to his head.

He was working on an extra gun for the Quinjet, fumbling with some wires beneath the object. The gun was about the size of a single bed. He pushed against the floor, sliding himself out from under his 'project', and sitting up. Steve was stood beside him, looking down with a disbelieving expression. Tony kept his hand to his head.

"You couldn't have knocked…" He muttered.

"What are you doing?" Steve asked, crouching down beside him. "You need to rest."

"I've rested for like…" Tony shrugged, throwing his hands up briefly. "I don't know, four days? I think that's long enough." He went back under the gun, rearranging a couple of wires. "Anyway, I've got work to do."

"Work can wait." Steve insisted. "Tony, you lost more than two pints of blood. You know-"

"Yeah, yeah I know." Tony cut him off impatiently. "That's bad. I got it."

Steve sighed, pulling him out from under the gun. Tony echoed his sigh, sitting up.

"I can't sleep." He admitted.

"Have you tried?" Steve asked.

Tony gave a brief nod. "Yes. I just…" He sighed again, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "I have nightmares, okay?"

"Often?"

"Always."

"Have…" Steve paused, not wanting to anger him. "Have you considered getting some help?"

"I have. It doesn't work. Nothing works." Tony raised a hand to his head, running his fingers through his hair. "So I just… Stay up. I work."

"But you can't… Not sleep." Steve insisted.

"I go about three or four days." Tony muttered, standing up and walking over to a desk. He picked up a screwdriver, twirling it in one hand. "Then I just do a thing I like to call 'crashing'. 'S where my body shuts down and I just… Yeah… Crash."

"That's not healthy Tony." Steve told him as he came back over to the gun, pushing himself under it.

Tony murmured in agreement, fumbling around the underside of the gun. As he was tightening a nail, his hand slipped and the screwdriver hit a clump of wires. Sparks flew and Tony shielded his face with a hand before pushing himself out.

"Are you okay?" Steve asked worriedly; he had obviously seen the sparks.

"Yeah, fine."

Feeling a stinging pain on the back of his hand, Tony looked down. A large patch of skin had burnt off his hand, leaving raw flesh. Steve took hold of his wrist, gently pulling his hand over. Tony immediately snatched it away and Steve put his hands up defensively.

"Let me look."

"It's fine." Tony insisted, getting up. "Minor burn."

He walked over to a sink in the corner of the room, turning on the cold tap and holding his burnt hand under the water. Ignoring the pain, he brushed his hand over the injury. Steve leant on the wall beside the sink, his arms folded as he looked down at Tony's hand.

"That's not minor Tony." He murmured.

Suddenly irritated, Tony switched off the water flow, turning his gaze to Steve.

"Look," He began with a slight sigh. "I appreciate your concern- I actually do- but I don't need it. I can get by on my own."

Steve met his eyes with such a look that Tony almost frowned. What was that? Memory, grief, pity? Whatever it was, the sentence made Steve sigh.

"You don't have to."