"Fuck." Yeah, that pretty much said it all. Clint had given him a pretty sketchy version of what had gone down on their mission, but the main point was clear. Cap was hurt, bad, and Tony needed to get to the helicarrier now. Pepper was on a business trip to… well, somewhere… so without a word to anyone Tony donned the latest version of his suit and took off from the roof of his tower to fly to the aerial SHIELD base.
He would deny it on pain of death, but Tony couldn't get there fast enough. Sure, he and Steve may have butted heads about… well, let's be honest, everything. But there were moments, however few and far between, when Tony had to admit to himself that somehow, against his will, Steve had managed to worm his way into his affections. They were a team of dysfunctional misfits, and the man out of time was easily the most dysfunctional of them all. It was impossible to continue hating someone so desperately sad and lonely, no matter how much they reminded you of your painful past. So, in spite of himself, Tony had found that he had actually come to respect and care for his leader.
His heart beat faster as he recalled the fear and worry Clint had failed to hide from his voice, and he wished, not for the first time, that he could fly even faster. He felt a sudden understanding of what had driven his father to spend years searching for the soldier after he went down; at the moment Tony was pretty sure he would do just about anything if it meant he would get to the Helicarrier and find out everything had been blown way out of proportion. Because, really, this was Captain fucking America they were talking about. If he could survive seventy years frozen in a block of ice he could surely survive whatever had happened on his latest SHIELD mission. Sure, he had been hurt as much as any of them on their missions over the years, but he always bounced back faster, more completely, and without any complications. Obviously Clint had just been overreacting, and when he arrived in Medical he would find Cap already up and doing just fine.
Oh, how he wished he had been right. As soon as he strode into the med bay it was apparent that things were serious. Clint was crouching in a corner of the waiting area, his face carefully schooled to appear nonchalant but the paleness of his skin and the constant movement of his hands belying his anxiety. He was covered in blood from his face to his boots and he hadn't even bothered to put away his bow, but had instead discarded it on the chair next to him. That alone set warning bells off in Tony's head.
A nurse went rushing by, carrying a few bags of blood that Tony instantly recognized as Cap's own, part of a supply they'd been stockpiling for just such an occasion as this. He grabbed the arm of the next person to run by, who he vaguely recognized as one of the staff physicians. He looked annoyed and distracted, but as soon as he recognized Tony he stopped and turned to face him. His face looked grim.
"Mr. Stark. I assume you want to know how Captain Rogers is doing." At his answering nod, the doctor sighed. "Not well. He's losing blood faster than we can put it back in him. He's in surgery now, and we haven't even had a chance to do much for the burns. Our first priority is to get him stabilized. As soon as we know anything more I'll send someone out to update you. Now if you'll excuse me." Without another word he disappeared behind the sliding doors into the OR.
With nothing else left to do but wait, Tony went to sit in one of the chairs near his distraught teammate, who still had yet to acknowledge his presence. Tony left him to himself, not really in the mood for conversation, and settled in for the long wait.
...
It was hours after the fact that Bruce saw the messages from Barton and Stark. Even with the latest version of the Stark phone Tony had give him before he left for his trip to South America, his service was spotty at best. He moved around the hut mechanically, completely exhausted, putting together a makeshift dinner. As much as he loved the work he did on these trips, part of him was beginning to think he was too old for this.
He finally settled in at the small table and began to check his voicemails. Clint's was first, and within seconds Banner's stomach was in knots.
Bruce, it's Hawkeye. Tony said I should call you. I'm in Med Bay, with Steve. It's bad. Stark said it might be good for you to be here, since you know more than anyone else about the serum. I don't know, he thinks maybe they'll need your help. Anyway, call us when you get this.
He quickly played the next message, which did nothing to ease his worries.
Banner, seriously, you need to get your ass back up here yesterday. Cap's been in surgery for the past four hours and they're about out of blood. Fury's sending a jet your way; it should be there about 2am your time. Tony's voice turned even more serious. I know you really care about whatever it is you're doing down there, but we really need you up here. You may be Cap's only chance. You better be on that plane.
Banner looked at his watch, which read 1:18, and immediately began throwing his few belongings into his bag. His heart was pounding in his ears and he could feel the Hulk shifting restlessly beneath his carefully controlled calm. It wasn't anger that he felt, however, but fear. Fear that he would be too late, fear that even his vast knowledge wouldn't be enough to help their leader, fear that he would arrive only to find that Steve was already dead and that their team, their family, would be no more. He would never forgive himself if Steve died because he was outside of cell range.
It didn't take him long to pack – there was always the possibility of being called back early from his work in case of an emergency – and within ten minutes he was in the rented Jeep and speeding toward the tiny airfield. He got there about the same time as the quinjet did, and he left the Jeep on in his rush to get back to SHIELD HQ. The jet didn't even come to a complete stop as he leaped through the door and took his seat behind the pilots.
An agent he didn't recognize approached him with a file in his hands. "Dr. Banner, I'm glad you received the message. I've been instructed to give you this." He handed him a tablet filled with info on Steve. "This is everything we know about Captain Rogers' physiology and the serum. And this," he handed him the folder, "contains his chart and scans from today. The doctors will keep us updated as we fly. Last we heard he was out of surgery but he's still in intensive care and they'll need to go back in as soon as he's stabilized. The main concern right now is blood. They've burned through his own supply and are giving him regular blood. The biggest worry is that he'll bleed out the serum and with it, his healing abilities. We're fairly confident that would return with time, but that's time he may not have without accelerated healing. But we may have missed something. We'll be there in three hours, so if you could take that time to look over the files we'll relay any information to the doctors at HQ."
Bruce nodded, turning immediately to the medical charts. No one had told him what had actually happened, what damage had been done, and he read through the chart with a sinking heart. Second and third degree burns, severed arteries, lacerated organs, possible damage to the eyes, risk of paralysis, amputation, coma…. The list went on and on. Fighting down nausea, Bruce closed the file and turned to the tablet. He scanned the information, looking for anything he didn't know. It was going to take a miracle to pull Steve through this unscathed, let alone alive.