Tony sat glumly at the kitchen counter, holding the bag of ice to his left shoulder. His left arm was immobilized by a sling, so he couldn't go tinker with his cars or work on the suit. This left him staring at the wall with condensation running down his good hand from the rapidly melting ice bag.

Throb, throb, throb.

He felt like he was in one of those movies where the action stops in the middle of some horrific scene with the main character getting completely fucked up and the voiceover says, "I bet you're wondering how I got here. This mess all started when…"

Tony snorted to himself and slid off the stool with a groan. He was in athletic shorts and a sleeveless hoodie—provided by Clint—and his bare feet hardly made a noise as he padded over to the couch.

Once he settled gently onto the couch, he looked down his nose at the loose threads of the ripped-off-hoodie that were tickling his left shoulder. Tony picked at them absently with his free hand, brain floating on a comfortable haze of pain medication.

Does that damned archer ever wear sleeves? Tony thought, giggling aloud. It wouldn't kill him to leave some of his clothing unmolested.

Though the meds were doing a fairly good job of numbing the pain of his recently dislocated and then re-located shoulder, Tony could still feel it. Even if he kept perfectly still, the joint throbbed and twinged with each breath. He felt his eyelids begin to drift closed and he jerked slightly to stay awake.

"Shit," Tony gasped, breathless after the quick movement and ensuing sharp pain. He had chased the others away with a bad attitude and the obvious desire to be left alone, so he didn't attempt to bite down on the pain. He breathed in and out through his nose, eyes squeezed shut, trying to get control of his body. After an indefinite amount of time, Tony fluttered his right hand randomly through the air, eyes still closed.

"JARVIS, how long until I can take another dose?"

His AI responded in a voice that was suspiciously compassionate, especially considering that that shouldn't be possible.

"Another two hours, ten minutes, and forty-two seconds, sir."

Tony grunted and opened his eyes to see the room dimming around him. Natural light from the large windows was blocked out as the windows switched to their shade mode. Artificial lights dimmed and then went out in the kitchen and living area.

Tony glared at the ceiling with no real anger, "I don't need a nap, I'm fine."

"Of course, sir." JARVIS had encountered this situation many times before, and no calculations had to be made to respond. "I shall leave the room in 'naptime mode' until you are ready to take your next dose. I will make sure someone wakes you to take your pain medication on time."

Tony mumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "Thanks," before he fell into a peaceful sleep.

This whole thing had begun earlier that morning.

.

Tony and Steve rode down in the elevator, companionable silence between them. They weren't the most talkative pair on the team, but they had figured out a balance. There was some respect, some teasing, and a little friendly competition.

Okay, Tony thought, there was competition.

"So how are you feeling today, Grandpa?" Tony asked.

Steve raised an eyebrow at him, looking like he was trying to decide if he should give Tony the satisfaction of a response.

"You know you just recovered from pulling your groin muscle, right? I don't know if you should be calling me old."

"That's not an old person thing," Tony grouched. "We regular humans have muscles that get pulled sometimes. Besides, sexy-time injuries are always things to be proud of."

Steve bit down on his lower lip, obviously trying to hold in a smile. "Right, of course."

Tony glanced at him suspiciously and then rolled his eyes. "Alright, who told you?"

The elevator doors opened to the wide expanse of the training room and Steve strode out of the elevator, flashing a smile at Clint.

"Was it Bruce?" Tony practically whined. "Clint? Natasha? So help me, I will revoke everyone's pantry rights if I don't get to the bottom of this."

Steve decided not to dignify the threat-laced tantrum with a response, and walked past Clint with a clap on the shoulder. Once Steve had passed the agent, Clint made eye contact with Tony and mouthed, "Bruce."

Tony narrowed his eyes and made a mental note to hide the scientist's tea stash.

Clint leaned down to reach for his toes, working through some gentle stretches before he began his warmup. Tony walked over to join him, placing his water bottle near the large floor mat.

Just as Tony reached down for his toes, Clint yelled, "Oh God, Tony, are you okay?"

Tony snapped up and glared at him, biting down on a reply. In the corner, Steve's bark of laughter turned into coughing as he choked on his gulp of water. Now he was harshly hacking to clear his lungs. It was hard to tell if the tears were from laughter or the choking.

"You alright over there, Spangles? I'm not sure if we can give you the Heimlich through all those abs." Tony grumbled, strapping on some wrist braces for hand-to-hand training. It didn't matter that things weren't supposed to turn violent in training, Tony knew that he was bound to get hurt if he didn't take some precautions. After all, his hands were important. He needed them to tinker and invent.

Steve coughed in response, eyes still watering. Tony didn't see any immediate threat there, so he turned a baleful eye on Clint as he continued stretching.

After a few minutes of stretching and warming up in silence, Clint and Tony made their way to the mat. They took it slow at first, working through combinations at half-speed to perfect the motions. As they warmed up, they sped up the patterns. Clint barked some instructions to Tony, making sure the smaller man knew what he needed to correct.

During a short water break, Clint clapped Tony on the shoulder.

"You ready to try some non-choreographed fighting? We can see how your instinctive responses are coming along."

Tony swallowed his mouthful of water with a nod and a wink. "I think I can take you."

"Oh please," Clint said.

Things were going great—and by great, Tony absolutely meant that he wasn't unconscious, until Clint managed to get him into a headlock.

Tony grunted and tried to force his way out of the hold. This one was modified, and nothing Tony attempted was working. He was running out of options, so he aimed a stomping kick to the inside of Clint's upper thigh—nothing high enough to do any damage, but high enough to warrant a flinch.

As it turned out, Clint didn't flinch so much as fall, his leg slipping out from under him with a yelp.

"Fuck!" yelled Clint, in obvious pain.

Tony barely heard it, because, as Tony dropped out of his grasp, Clint landed on Tony's side—hard. The impact knocked the breath out of Tony, and his left shoulder dislocated with a sickening thunk.

Tony's vision whited out for a moment, and he would have screamed if he had any breath. The pain washed over him and his stomach lurched. Clint scrambled off of him, heavily favoring his left leg, and rolled Tony onto his back.

"Hurts—don't feel—" Tony gasped out, trying to fight back the urge to vomit.

"Are you going to hurl?" Clint asked, never one for tact.

Tony swallowed reflexively, nodding. Clint gently rolled him onto his good side just in time for Tony to gag up his meager breakfast.

At least I didn't opt for a huge meal this morning, he thought.

By that time, Steve had rushed over with a bottle of water and a towel. He poured some water on the towel and wiped Tony's mouth with quick, gentle motions before offering him the bottle.

"Help me sit up," Tony said. He was panting with the pain, but his stomach was no longer rebelling. He took the water from Steve in a shaking hand and swished it around in his mouth.

Ew, pukey taste. Gross.

"I texted Bruce," Steve said, his tone laced with concern. "At least, I think I did. I don't quite have the hang of these new-fangled phones."

Tony choked out a laugh and winced as the motion jarred his shoulder. "If your text didn't go through, I'm sure JARVIS notified him the moment I went down."

"Of course, sir," the AI intoned. "Dr. Banner is on his way."

The elevator doors slid open and Bruce bustled through, his medical kit clutched in his right hand and his cell phone in his left.

"Steve, I got your message," he said. "What happened? God, Tony, again? I need to put you in a plastic bubble."

Bruce pushed the medical kit into the Super Soldier's arms, not looking to see if he had it. His focus was on one thing now—his patient.

"It looks like the shoulder is just dislocated, Doc," Clint drawled. "He's making a huge scene, but I imagine he'll be right as rain soon."

"Dislocations are nothing to laugh at," Bruce muttered, kneeling beside Tony and gently manipulating the joint. Tony went white as the movement brought new waves of pain, but he focused on a point on the wall and tried to keep his face blank.

Bruce helped Tony into a more upright seated position, maneuvering Clint to support his back.

"Okay Tony," Bruce mumbled as he worked, "I'm going to get your arm into the starting position, so no crazy pain yet."

Tony winced as Bruce arranged his upper arm in line with his torso, gently pressed against his ribs. His elbow was bent at a 90-degree angle, and Bruce held Tony's left hand with both of his.

"Geez your hands are cold," Tony chattered nervously. "I'm glad you're only touching my arm."

Bruce shot him a look that made it clear that he knew what Tony was up to.

"Tony, I know this isn't pleasant, but the pain is short-lived," Bruce said.

He slowly moved Tony's forearm away from his body.

Just pay attention, Tony thought as his heart rate galloped in expectation of the pain. Learn from this so you can help somebody else out—it's less noble that I'm learning as a distraction, but whatever—SHIT

Tony's rambling thoughts were cut short by a grinding sensation and another burst of eye-watering pain. Tony yelled as the joint sunk back into place, panting as the pain began to subside.

"Oh my God, you suck," Tony breathed to Bruce. "But also I love you, and thank you."

"Would you like us to give you some privacy?" Clint asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Let's get him upstairs," Bruce said quietly. "We can get his arm in a sling and apply some ice. Plus, pain killers."

"Yes! Meds!" Tony cheered wearily.

He sat up a little straighter as he remembered, "Clint, is your leg okay?"

The archer looked faintly embarrassed, but gave them a straight answer. "You kicked me in an old knife wound. Old enough to be healed over, young enough to still ache like a mother."

"A knife that far up your inner thigh?" Tony asked, mock horror plastered all over his face. "Don't tell me you've been running with a bad crowd."

Steve chucked as Clint looked Tony straight in the eye and said, "They were aiming higher."

"Fair enough," Tony said, giving an exaggerated shudder. He turned to Bruce, holding his injured arm protectively across his chest. "Thanks for patching me up, you know, again."

"Anytime, Tony." Bruce said with a smile. "But let's try not to make a habit of it."