Tony woke up feeling amazingly good, if disconnected and vaguely fuzzy. He had to work at it, but slowly his senses returned. First there was smell, sharp and strong, like disinfectant and cleaning supplies, nearly blocking out the soft smell of soap and tea to his left. Then he could taste and it was worse than the smell because his mouth was full of stale morning breath with an undercurrent of blood. Some sheets were cocooned around him, but that was all for touch. He felt grateful for that, even though he wasn't sure why. The sound of steady typing prompted him to open his bleary eyes and turn his head.
He'd half expected to see Steve, like he always did when he woke up in a hospital. He tried to not be disappointed when that turned out not to be the case and failed. Miserably.
Instead he woke up to see Bruce, hunched in one visitor's chair, gray curls spilling onto his forehead as he typed something into a scuffed computer from the early 2000's that rested on the other chair. No matter how many times Tony'd offered him a new one, he wouldn't get rid of it. Something about sentimental value. He could sympathize; it was the only reason Dummy wasn't scrap metal either, some days. Bruce didn't look like he'd been there more than a few hours, but it was always hard to tell with him.
"Hey," Tony croaked, his voice less than a whisper. He tried again, a little louder, "Bruce."
Bruce looked up quickly, his fingers pausing on the keys. "Tony?"
Tony then lost track of him for a minute, because, hey, movement can be hard to follow sometimes, okay? After a minute Bruce loomed back into view, now with a clipboard in hand, and said, "Hi. You've, uh, been out for a while. You need anything?"
Tony blinked at him owlishly and considered that. "These are some good drugs," he decided at last. "Can I have some coffee?"
"No, we don't want to thin out what blood you have left," Bruce said, laughing in that near silent, huffing way he had. "You shouldn't suffer from caffeine withdraw too badly though, seeing as you haven't had it for five days."
Well. Five days was a long time to be unconscious. "That bad?" he asked quietly, unable to gauge the damage himself through all the medication.
"Worse."
They sat in silence while he took that in. It wasn't like Tony hadn't made a will. He had. Pepper got all his stocks and ownership of Stark Industries, Rhodey got War Machine and a ridiculous retirement fund, and the Avengers got an even split of his personal properties, money, and responsibility for the AI's. That wasn't even counting what went to his charities, including a war veteran fund he still denied having anything to do with. So, it wasn't like things weren't squared away if he died. But that didn't mean he was prepared for it.
"We only got him to leave a few hours ago," Bruce said, interrupting his thoughts.
"Who?" he asked absently while he struggled into a sitting position.
"Steve. And by 'leave' I mean he was dragged out while he was half asleep by Coulson and Thor. Just thought I'd let you know." He moved to help Tony sit up while he spoke, then sat back down in the visitor's chair.
Tony decided to play dumb. (Pssh, play?) "Oh. Why?"
But Bruce truly was a wise man. "Because we've all seen the way you look at him, Tony," he said, his mouth curling into a small smile.
Panic warred with the mind numbing drugs. In the ensuing chaos he babbled, "Of course I look. Have you ever seen him? He looks like an Aryan god, which is ironic, considering. You must have looked too. Unless you prefer shorter brunettes with snarky mouths and no sense of self preservation. Oh my god. You're dating me, minus the intelligence and charm and plus a fuckton of arrows. It's okay. I'm flattered really, but I don't feel that way about you."
Bruce was still puzzling through that particular tangle of logic when a voice called from the window "I'm going to ignore all of that," Clint said, pulling himself into the room, "but only because I need to say sorry for for nearly killing you."
"It happens," Tony said airily, waving a dismissive hand. The drugs had won.
For a while they sat there, talking about nothing, switching topics whenever a new one popped up in Tony's head because he had even less of a filter between his brain and mouth when he was drugged than when he was drunk. At some point, Tony offered Clint a hit from his IV of pain medication, and Bruce turned down the offer for him.
Eventually the conversation dwindled as Tony drifted off to sleep. They tucked him back under the covers and left.
"So, that's how we're playing this?" Clint asked as they wound their way through the twisting halls.
Bruce sighed and shrugged his shoulders next to him. "You know he'd check himself out in a heartbeat if we told him."
"He's going to try that anyway."
"I know."
Author's Notes: Sorry I've been gone so long. I had inspiration with my original novel as well as a bunch of financial aid stuff to fill out. I'm going to be half dead during Freshman orientation tomorrow. Hey, you know what would perk me up afterward? Seeing comments from y'all. Seriously, it's always nice to hear your thoughts.