Don't breathe.

Don't try to breathe.

So long as you don't try, you won't realize you can't.

Fire.

She was a cruel mistress, raking fingers tipped with glowing embers down his left side and across the small of his back, engulfing him within her burning rage.

She was sparking pain, pressing jagged over constant dull ache.

She was excruciating, tormenting, agonizing.

She was welcome.

Because beyond the fire, lay the terror, and Tony would rather feel the mass of agony that was his body, than have to acknowledge the heavy press of water, and the silent screaming need for oxygen that was tearing at his throat for release.

His mouth was pressed tight, so as to not swallow more of the disgusting water.

So he wouldn't be tempted to scream.

To breathe.

His eyes were clenched closed, to protect against the sediment floating in the water.

So he didn't have to see the bubbles of his own breath escaping.

Ghosting over his face like a gentle caress.

Bubbling up his nose.

…Waiting for the sparking burn of the battery wired to his hea-

Don't think about it.

He'd done what he'd had to.

He'd saved her (god he hoped he'd saved her).

And now, even trapped on his back beneath so many tonnes of w-(don't think about it), trapped on his back, held immovable by rock and engulfed by fire in a haze of inky blackness- even now, he knew it was worth it.

Even with this (don't think it) - even knowing he would die like this, cold, alone and hurt, it was worth it.

It was worth it.

But some small part of him wished it wasn't.

His free arm trembled with pain and exhaustion, weakness sapping what little strength he had left, and his intended push became more a caress as his hand scraped along the surface of the rock, before dropping listlessly to his side.

He wasn't the type to just roll over and give in. Wasn't ever going to just let go and accept whatever providence had in mind for him.

Never say never. Not even when never is a small boulder pinning you to the bottom of a river.

It wasn't over until it was over, and no one would ever say Tony Stark wasn't a fighter.

But everyone had a breaking point.

His apparently was- Steve?

Centered in a soft haze of arc-reactor blue glow, Steve was floating several feet above Tony, and slightly to the left. His arms where cross over a glorious expanse of bare chest and light grey sweats clung loosely to his trim waist.

Becoming aware that Steve was talking, Tony dragged his attention away from well-defined abs to listen.

"It's okay, Tony. You don't have to fight anymore. You don't have to be so strong. I love you…you can let go now." Compassion and understanding infused his lover's soft voice, and blue eyes offered no reproach as they bore into him.

Tony quirked his head, answering, "Really? That's what we're going with. Some grand delusion you are. What's with the glowyness? And really- You're not even wet. Also, my eyes are closed and we're talking under water. Come on, you can do better than this."

Steve's eyes narrowed and he stalked forward, hands going to his hips, "It's hardly my fault that your mind wants me to pander to you. I'd much rather tell you to get up off your ass, Tony and fight."

"Better. Still not great though." Tony mocked, "Could use a little more of the disappointed eyebrow, maybe some cursing for effect."

Steve was suddenly looming close, his eyes raging blue beneath sopping wet blond hair plastered across his forehead. His hands found Tony's face, trailing over closed eyes and down to his clenched lips. Leaning in close, he breathed, "Prove that you fucking love me, Tony Stark. Fight."

Tony spasmed wildly at the sudden shock, and Steve pulled away. His Steve. Not some delusion, and Tony lunged after him. His hand finding skin and determinedly locking on.

Steve's eyes burned brightly in the darkness of the water, as he leaned down and pressed his lips to Tony's.

And breathed.

The sudden influx of oxygen to his starved mind brought Tony back from the brink of passing out, and he immediately recognized the lips on his.

Well, recognized them as definitely not belonging to Steve.

Small, soft and delicately bowed. Feminine.

The airflow cut off as his rescuer started to pull away, and panicking, Tony tightened his grip on the slickly soft material beneath his hand.

She eased away from his exhausted grasp, her hands gentler than Tony would give credit for as they trailed across his chest. As she slowly floated upward, she kept contact with his extended arm, lingering at his fingertips for a moment.

Tony watched as Natasha, a dimly silhouetted shape a few feet above him, kicked for the surface and out of sight.

God, he might actually get out of this alive.

And it would be so worth it.

Kicking upward in as straight a line as possible, Natasha pushed for the surface with haste, urged into greater speed by her spasming lungs.

Bursting through the still swirling water into fresh air, she didn't even waste her first breath, spinning until she saw the water darkened hair of her partner about to descend back beneath the water. She shouted "Clint!" knowing he would hear what she was saying without needing to expand.

The five and a half seconds it took Clint to propel himself through the water toward her, were sheer torture, having to just wait, while below Tony lay desperate for breath.

As soon as Clint was close enough, Natasha began to speak, quickly, not pausing for breath, "He's almost directly below us, pinned by a rock. Alive – we need to breathe for him."

And then she dove, trusting that Clint would follow.

Somehow, the presence of the rock was almost a godsend in locating their trapped team mate. Even at the depth and darkness of the near bottom, its sheer size allowed a massive dark shadow to mark its location.

Tony was almost completely concealed in the overhang of the rock, all light obliterated by the angle of the afternoon sun that tried determinately to pierce the murky water.

There was no possible way he could see them as they approached, indeed, until they were within a few feet of him, they'd might as well have been invisible.

Yet, he met Natasha's outstretched hand with his own, only his lack of strength stopping him from dragging her to his side.

Natasha went there willingly anyway, her hand trailing his arm and shoulders to find his face before she pressed more air upon him, breathing into his mouth as she ran gentle fingers through his hair, checking for injury.

Clint turned his attention to the rock.

Although calling it a rock was hardly doing it justice. Small boulder would be more accurate.

Tracing his hands over its surface, Clint found he was unable to reach from one side of it to the other, meaning it was larger than his arms span. Its surface was rough and jagged, as if it had once belonged to another much larger rock, and had been shattered off. The water had not yet had time to erode it smooth.

Careful of sharp protruding areas, Clint followed its edge down and under, finding that the rock was flush against the mud on his side; he was unable to feel Tony at all.

Swimming around to the other side, he did the same, finding the base of the rock with blindly navigating hands.

He didn't know whether to be glad or worried when he encountered the soft flesh of Tony's leg, rather than the slimy mess of muddy river bed.

Having an idea of exactly how the rock was sitting on his friend, and where Tony's lower limbs where most likely to be trapped, Clint set his weight against the far side of the rock, and pushed.

And promptly sunk down to his thighs in soft gluggy mud.

A second, and third attempt from different locations yielded no better results.

His lungs screaming for air, and feeling the back kick as Natasha pushed for the surface beside him, Clint shoved off in her wake, trailing her bubble stream upward.

"Will it move?"

"Not from beneath. The mud's too thick, I can't get any traction."

"He needs more air. I need to surface faster."

"We could both-"

"No. First priority is get that rock off him. Re-breathing will only last so long."

"What about Steve and the others?"

"SHIELD will have already informed them"

"Any ideas?"

"Can we lift it from above – both of us?"

"Doubtful. Although, with the buoyancy of the water, it's worth a shot."

"Down, try to lift it. Surface. Breath and then back down to breathe for Tony."

"Go."

Diving beneath the surface yet again, Natasha swan downwards, feeling Clint's descent beside her and slightly behind.

Reaching the rock, she steadfastly ignored the desperate need to reach for where Tony was pinned, knowing he was probably reaching back.

Finding a decent grip on the slick, yet jaggedly surfaced rock was difficult, but with Clint kicking in place beside her, she strengthened her hold and made three popping noises in her throat.

On three, they pulled.

The rock didn't even quiver.

Somehow she knew that a second attempt would prove just as futile, but was unable to help herself from tying anyway.

"We're not going to move it with just ourselves."

"Can we use something to leverage it – a branch or a pry bar?"

"I don't think so. The mud is too deep, we'd never-"

"-Can we help! Do you need anything?!"

Natasha turned to the bank, and shouted back to the crowded bystanders, unsure which had called out, "No, Thank you. He's trapped beneath a rock-"

"Can a few of us come out and help you lift it-" Someone else called.

Clint immediately went to thoughts of Tony accidentally being stood on, or someone grabbing, pulling, and injuring him more, or a dozen other unpleasant scenario's.

Natasha was obviously entertaining thoughts of the same nature as she answered, "No! We've got help coming. Just stay on the bank-"

Knowing the assassin had the crowd well in hand, Clint dove.

Finding the rock was almost ridiculously easy the second time down, even without Natasha to guide the way, and within seconds he was by Tony's side.

A hand reached out, only becoming visible in the murky water seconds before it would have collided with his face, and Clint was quick to capture it within his own.

Finding wet tangled hair with his other hand, he leaned closer, and without hesitating, pressed his lips to Tony's, breathing out much needed oxygen.

As he began to pull away, Tony's hand started to tug weakly, but with determination, within his grasp. The Ironman activation bracelet twisted coldly against his hand as he wrapped his fingers around Tony's wrist in reassurance, and Clint suddenly wondered if it could possibly be that easy.

Ironman.

Following the path of Tony's arm up to his shoulder, and across to the matching appendage on the other side, Clint trailed down he far arm until it disappeared under Tony's back at about the elbow region.

He gave it a gentle tug.

The ensuing bubbling, gasping scream would haunt Clint's nightmares for the rest of his life.

Unable to see, and please god don't let Tony's arm be severed and needing to know, but not daring to touch, and having to help, but not knowing how, and not being able to see…

Clint pat Tony's heaving shoulders, running a soothing hand over his chest, trying to gentle his quivering spasms.

Tony went still beneath his hand, and rigid.

And Clint realized he was touching the arc rector, while Tony was trapped underwater.

Feeling guilty and wrecked, Clint kicked for the surface.

Before he did anything else to traumatize or injure his friend.

A/N.

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