"Jarvis," he says quietly, lying on his bed with his hands behind his head.
"Yes, sir?"
"What's the truth about Barton's condition?"
Silence, then Tony could swear he hears sadness in the AI's reply. "Deteriorating rapidly, sir."
"How rapidly, Jarvis?" Tony asks, swallowing the unfamiliar lump in his throat. Must be a cold. Ugh, I hate colds.
Another telling pause. "He will not last the night."
Tony expected this, but it hurts more than he thinks it should. He sits up slowly, feeling wetness slide down his cheek. Startled, he lifts a hand to his face. How long has it been since Tony Stark last shed tears? He can't remember. That's how long.
"Jarvis, could medical help him more if we moved him to the Helicarrier, or a hospital or something?"
"No, sir. He would only be miserable, and his condition is not reversible." Now Tony knows he hears sadness in Jarvis's tones.
"If Clint dies…" he lets his voice trail off as he considers that. Without Clint, Natasha will do what she does best – disappear. Whether from life or just the world, who knows? And without Clint and Natasha, Bruce will drift back into his safer world, in India. Tony has long suspected Bruce only stays because of Nat. He has a soft spot for her, for some reason.
Cap…without a team to lead, there'll be no reason for him to stick around. And Tony himself? Well, he'll go back to spending long nights in the lab, drinking too much, and trying to forget the family he almost had.
That thought pushes him off the bed and steers him down the hall, where two assassins keep silent watch over one another. And it suddenly occurs to him how much he'll miss Clint's annoying habit of dropping out of air ducts, sneaking up behind him, and freaking him out by standing on the very edge of the tower roof. He's going to miss the insults (the ones both given and received), and he's going to miss all the stupid, bird-brain stunts…
He slips inside the room and sees Natasha asleep, curled around the only anchor she has. Tony doesn't show feelings; hell, he doesn't have any feelings. That's just not his style.
But he pulls up a chair and joins Natasha in her silent watch, just like Bruce watches from across the room and Steve watches from the foot of the bed. Like Pepper watches, as she sits on his lap and curls into his chest for comfort he can't give.
And underneath the heavy tension and sadness, Clint's chest keeps rising and falling, against all odds and fighting a battle he can't possibly win.
Tony allows himself to drift off into his comfortable world of numbers and science, because that's a world he knows. He runs vitals and possible treatments by Jarvis, only to meet with the same grim answer every time.
But Tony won't give up - that's not his style.