Life at the compound was far from normal, but it was lively again, and at the moment that was all any of them could really ask for, it was all Tony could ask for.

Yes, a thick tension continued to linger in the air, and certain members of the group refused to speak to him at all, but at least they were here and they were safe. Not to mention, Clint's wife and kids really made the place spring to life, Tony could see why Natasha was fond of them. Family life really did look good on the archer, there was no denying it.

Sam settled back in easily, and Scott also had no trouble acting as if he'd lived at the compound forever. The ex-criminals stupid humor usually broke heavy tensions, though it was really only because the others would stare at him in annoyance and forget any verbal match they had been having. He and Lang for the most part ignored each others existence, and Tony was perfectly fine with that.

Wanda didn't quite slip back into her role at the compound as easily, and for the most part she stayed confined to her room, on her own. She and Vision seemed to avoid each other, though Tony wasn't a hundred present sure they weren't seeing each other behind his back. He wasn't sure why they felt the need to hide it if that were the case, but they did.

Tony himself spent most of his time in the lab, working and reworking projects, anything to keep him busy and distracted. When he wasn't in his workshop he spent his time with Rhodey, who had been happy to finally leave the hospital and arrive at the compound.

The second the man had set foot on the property, Tony started work on anything that could possibly help his friend walk again. He had come up with a few designs before settling on the one that the man now possessed, and to his delight he seemed to be making progress with it despite having some problems originally.

It still made him sick to watch his friend stumble occasionally, or to witness the emotions that flashed through his face in the moments of realization, despite stubbornly demanding that he was going to be just fine.

None of it should have happened, and Tony couldn't deny that part of it was on him, but in the end he felt himself taking more and more of the blame. If he had of done this, or if he had of changed that, there had to of been something he could have done to prevent the accident that took Rhodey's ability to walk.

Rhodey never seemed to think so, in fact Tony was sure if he had brought it up that he would have been angry at the billionaire for thinking it, but Tony couldn't shake the thought.

Despite everything, however, a plus to the situation of them all being there together was that Rhodey seemed to get along with 'Caps' side of the team alright. Of course they bickered, but they seemed to be growing on each other the longer they were around one another, which was more than Tony could have hoped for.

Leaving his workshop for the first time in forty-eight hours, Tony hoped that not many people were awake yet. He simply didn't want the burden of running into them on his coffee run, but he desperately needed the boost that it offered.

He had tried to sleep at first, he really had, but the more he tried the more the nightmares plagued him and now he hardly bothered. When he could no longer function, that's when he slept, and thus far it was working out alright, though he knew he wouldn't hold out forever.

After filling the coffee maker and starting it, he tiredly pulled out a bar stool and sat down, leaning his elbows against the counter and rubbing at his eyes.

His head throbbed from lack of sleep, and the tiredness weighed his eyelids down as if they wished for some sort of relief. He allowed his consciousness to slowly fade away from him as he sat there, and slumped forward slightly.

You could have saved me, why didn't you do more?

It wasn't a minute later he found himself shooting straight upwards, Steve's voice rattling through his head with the same amount of clarity as it had the day he'd had the nightmare, or vision, or whatever it had been. His face flashing across his mind, though different from his dream, with the appearance he'd seen several days ago on the Raft, haggard and pale.

Tony wanted to scream, wanted to punch the counter and let out the steam that was building up inside him, burning in his chest. Why even now did the Super Soldier get to torment him, when he had done everything he could to get the man to see reason, and he hadn't? What happened to him wasn't Tony's fault, so why did his subconscious mind imply that it was?

Why was it that Tony had to feel like the bad guy, the one who deserved to take the blame? It wasn't fair.

Taking a shaky breath and clinching his fist in front of him, he watched it tremble, before reaching up and rubbing his eyes again, resting his hand across them.

"Ugh, I'm in the right for not forgiving you, Rogers, when you even haunt my dreams," Tony said to the air, dryly, "could you maybe not do that?"

Silence was his only reply, but in the silence Tony heard a noise shift behind him and whipped around, hands lifted to fight if necessary.

"Can't sleep?"

Tony's eyes met Clint Barton's with hesitation, carefully observing the archer as he walked to the table in front of him and sat down.

"No," Tony admittedly slowly, narrowing his eyes and shrugging with apparent indifference, "what about you, Legolas?"

"No."

"Reason?" Tony pried, curious as to the reason behind the archer's sudden friendlier behavior.

"A lot of em, I guess," Clint mumbled, shaking his head as he stood and took the coffee pot from the burner, smirking mildly. "I smelled coffee, for one."

"Hey, that's mine, bird-brain, back off," Tony hissed, but with no malice behind his words. They barely came out as more than a soft growl, as tiredness edged into his tone.

"Sounds like you need it more than me," Clint sighed, pouring two cups and handing one to Tony.

Surprised flashed across Tony's face as he glanced up at Clint suspiciously. "Alright, what do you want, or what did you break?" He shot, "or is this poisoned, are you that good of a spy that you could slip poison in it in front of me?"

"Shut up, Stark, and take the mug," he grumbled, thrusting it into his face.

Tony tentatively took the mug, wrapping his hands around it and enjoying the warmth that gradually worked its way through them. Slowly he nodded, taking a sip, "thanks Barton."

"Yeah, no problem," the man replied, reclaiming his seat tiredly, "I was just thinking, Wanda's right, you know?"

"Do I know?" Tony responded carefully, eyeing the man and taking another sip.

"We really should stop duking it out with each other, it isn't doing anyone any good," Clint replied, looking down at his coffee.

"Thought you hated me, didn't trust me," Tony remarked, quirking an eyebrow upward and looking squarely at the man in front of him, "you made yourself pretty clear on that."

"Well, maybe I overreacted, a little," a heavy sigh passed Clint's lips.

"Is this from Wanda, or Mrs. Barton?"

"A little bit of both, I guess."

"Well, if you're calling for a truce, I'm willing to consider that," Tony said, looking at the man before him, and he felt a small, genuine smile playing on his face for the first time in quite some time. "As long as you're not about to pull a Steve and go, 'oh, but by the way, can we rescue Cap?' Because if that's the case, I might have to throw you off the compound."

"You two really had it out, didn't you?" Clint tilted his head slightly.

"More than you know," Tony chose to let the topic change go, but silently wondered if the once S.H.I.E.L.D agent had actually been about to plea Rogers case.

"Why don't you tell me about that?"

"What are you, my therapist?" Tony scoffed, sitting his coffee mug down.

"Do you need one?"

"Barton, you're scaring me, what are you up to?"

"Tony, you look like you haven't slept in seven years," Clint started, shaking his head, "I really am not the kind of guy who is going to snipe at you from my nest while you suffer, much as I'm sure you think differently. You were nice enough to bring me home to my wife and kids, there has to be a heart underneath that tough exterior somewhere, and by the way, I'm not talking about the suit."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tony shrugged. "Me? A heart? You have to be mistaken."

"Yeah, right," the archer rolled his eyes, taking another drink, "but if you ever need to talk, I'm here, you know that now. Have fun brooding, tin man."

Tony watched as he stood and walked out, a light smile playing across his face once again. Maybe things were finally starting to look up for him, maybe they were actually going to get better. Having a decent conversation with Barton was definitely a step in the right direction, as far as Tony was concerned, he could only hope that things would get better from here.

Pulling himself to his feet and rubbing out some of the knots in his back, he put his mug in the sink before making his way back down to the lab, he still had more work to do.

Steve could feel his heart pounding in his head, and the pain behind his eyes was enough that he never wanted to open them again.

You have to, Rogers, you can't give up, open your eyes. He mentally scolded himself.

He felt disoriented, and it took him a moment to register where he was. When he finally tried to peel his eyes open painstakingly, the brightly lit room blinded him, making the pain worse.

Quickly he squeezed his eyes shut again, wincing deeply and moaning softly, before forcing them open and glancing around his darkly colored surroundings. The walls seemed to be made from steel or some other metal, and the laboratory equipment spread about caused it to feel smaller and more suffocating than it actually was.

Sucking in a breath, he glanced at the wires running from his body, his eyes falling on the IV in his arm which he was tempted to try and rip out.

His stomach gurgled, making anguished sounds, but Steve didn't acknowledge it as he tried to shift slightly, only to find that his limbs were still strapped down and agony tore violently through his body.

He was still trapped in this nightmare, and it turned out it wasn't a dream at all.

"You're not going to start struggling again, are you, Captain Rogers?"

The familiar voice sent shivers down Steve's spine, and he froze entirely. He didn't dare open his eyes and refused to move, not wanting to acknowledge the man before him. Silence stretched out but a moment, before the voice spoke again.

"Really, Captain, do you think ignoring all this is going to make it go away?"

"No, but it might make you go away, General. I'd imagine you have better things to do with your time," Steve countered, rather quietly.

"Do I? Like cleaning up the messes you and your friends make?" Ross droned.

"I feel you're less concerned with that than you make yourself out to be," Steve shot back tiredly.

The older mans chuckle made Steve cringe slightly, but he lifted his head to defiantly stare at the man in the face.

"Observant, aren't we? You aren't even supposed to be the intelligent one of your group, but it seems you see what the others missed," the calm tone the man spoke with was grating to Steve, because he was in control of the situation and they both knew it.

"Well I would, being on this side of your obsession, wouldn't I?" Steve said roughly, trying to squash the pain and ignore the fact that he was trapped. However it seemed that ignoring it didn't change the fact that there was no way out.

It wasn't as if he hadn't tried, he had tried to get out the very first day. He fought with all of his might when he'd realized what was going on, he made it out into the corridor, but he knew he was too weak to keep fighting for long with his injuries. He'd yelled for help, hoping that Tony hadn't left yet, but no one had came and he could only assume that no one had heard him. The alternative wasn't a pleasant thought, and so he refused to entertain it, self inflicted misery was the last thing that he needed.

It wasn't but a moment later that he had felt a pinprick on the back of his neck and his entire world had went black, and from there it began to spiral out of control. The scientists here did what they could to keep him as weak as they possibly could, so he would be unable to interrupt their work.

When he had awoken the first time his entire body felt like nothing more than dead weight, he couldn't move, could barely think, it was a wonder that his body even remembered to breathe on its own.

They drained blood out of him daily, and he knew they were researching the serum, Ross himself had told him as much not even a day after his imprisonment.

That wasn't so bad, but the other experiments? To see what limits that the serum truly had? They were that bad. To Steve, it was torture, but everyone here seemed to call it science.

"The Super Soldier, maybe not as strong as everyone imagined, hm? If I'm able to keep you down, how good are you, really, without your shield?"

Steve stared forward, reminding himself that he had nothing to prove to the twisted man before him who proclaimed him a criminal.

"You're not going to be able to do this," Steve murmured, shifting his eyes back up to meet Ross's.

"Really?" Ross shot indignantly, "and just why is that, Captain?"

"Better men than you have tried."

The moment the words left his mouth, he could tell it was a mistake by the rage that flooded the General's face, his face flushed red and he took a step forward.

"Let me tell you something, Rogers, I've come this far and I've done too much, I'm going to recreate the perfected Super Soldier Serum if it's the last thing I do, even if I have to drain you of every ounce of blood you have just to do it."

Swallowing, Steve bit back the retort that rose into his throat. He shook his head, wincing when the world began to spin slightly at the movement.

"You can try," he offered, "but I can guarantee you, it won't happen."

"We'll see about that, won't we?"

Steve glanced up, slightly startled as the scientists entered the room once again, while Ross smirked in amusement at the sight of Captain America flinching.

"Have a good day, won't you, Captain?" Ross remarked with a cool laugh as he exited the room.

The sarcasm wasn't lost on Steve as the scientists began their 'work', causing agony to rip through his body once again. He wondered silently how long he would actually be able to take this, before trying to steel himself against it.

He could do it, he had to, what other choice did he have? Steve Rogers would fight to the last breath, no matter what.