Tony pauses, lets out a slow, measured breath, trying to regain his bearings, clasping his shaking hands together.
"Jarvis, I want...I want to speak with Sandhurst."
"Sir, I highly advise against it."
Tony's smile is small, "I know, J. But if I'm to move forward...I have questions. You know how well I deal with curiosity."
"Yes, I do."
Tony leaves it at that for a few seconds, moving about his workshop. Dum-E trails him like a lost puppy. It's strange to see that everything is where he left it, preserved. It'd been the same when he was in Afghanistan.
He starts throwing things around, just to create disorder at first. And then everything catches up to him, emotions spilling over from everything that JARVIS has told him.
The chaos reigns only momentarily, but at the end, his workshop looks like a tornado has passed through.
"Jarvis?"
"Yes sir?"
"I've been having some flashbacks, I don't know if that's the best way to describe them. After, everything, with my head and all that, with my memory a little scrambled...if I mention them, you'll be able to tell me where they fall on the timeline."
"Yes. I keep a constant record of your every activity, Sir, per request."
"I remember fixing something for Thor...a toaster I think? It's hard to recall, I've had to fix a lot of things for him, more than anyone else. Guy has a habit of breaking stuff."
"You outfitted a brand new toaster to handle more pop-tarts, approximately two years ago."
"There's one, with Natasha...she's re-teaching me how to swim, after I asked her, remember how I thought she'd say no? When you said the best course of action would be to straight out ask her?"
"That occurred approximately a year and a half ago."
"There's Clint and I, the first time I let any of them touch the arc reactor."
"A year ago, Sir. Both of you were kept for 2 days and six hours before you were rescued by the others."
"There's one, one with Steve and Coulson. The three of us were knocked out and when I woke up...they hurt them, J, and I just couldn't take it -"
"Nine months ago. You were held for seven hours."
Tony considers this for a moment, scratches absently at his head, slowly remembering.
"Last one. Steve. Steve and I were attending some shtick and there were fireworks and Steve...he and I were watching the stars..."
JARVIS hesistates.
"The event to which you are referring, the NYPD Annual Benefit Gala, occurred the weekend before Sandhurst began his campaign against you and the other Avengers."
Tony wishes he could turn back time.
He and Steve were so damn close...
"Jarvis, in the end, I told Steve -I gave him permission. To, uh, to put me away."
"...Yes."
Tony crams his shaking hands into his pockets.
"I think I need to go talk to them."
Then:
As Tony drops the dead man, he takes his gun.
When the man is on the ground, Tony clicks the safety off and fires two rounds into the man's head, the bang-bang of it impossibly quiet in the still room.
"Tony?" Steve's voice filters through the thick haze of fury, the voices in his head -protect, protect, protect-
"Stark, put the gun down." Coulson's voice is steel.
"Tony? Tony, come back to us. It'll be okay, come back."
Tony feels himself return to complete awareness, the thrill of getting free and getting even fading in his veins, the full power of his mind taking the helm once more.
He moves efficiently to both men, severing their bonds. Coulson tips forward and Tony grips him, helps him stand.
Feels Steve's hand on his shoulder.
"Tony, your wrists."
He looks down, at crimson hands. Wow. A little too much like his nightmares for comfort.
"Who taught you that neck snap?" Coulson. Color back in his face. Providing a distraction. Good. Distraction is good.
"Barton."
It's hard to think of what could have been. Steve knows this more intimately than most, having spent his early days out of the ice locked away in the gym, throwing everything he had at the punching bag, all the while thinking of Peggy and Bucky and the way that things might have happened in another world, in another reality.
He thinks of that now, of another place and time when he didn't agree, didn't take Tony's words as confirmation, where he placed the value of consent and trust above that of safety and the maintenance of life. Another realm where Sandhurst never existed and the normalcy and domesticity they'd grown to appreciate remained intact.
It's all too easy to see it, get lost in it, to wander in that other world where they weren't interrupted that night, where Steve rests on the warm ground, the grass, blinks in the star-lit night, feeling fireworks of his own, deep in his chest as the short hairs of Tony's goatee scratch against his skin as he finally tastes Tony's mouth.
In this other, perfect world, he doesn't let the pain and the worry cloud his mind. He fights the fury in his chest, because he'd be lying if he said he didn't harbor any anger against Tony, for running off without backup, for placing such a burden on Steve's shoulders when he'd kneeled there and gave him permission to lock him away, like it was so easy, like the choice didn't blaze and burn in his heart, an inferno of culpability and shame, the what-ifs beating hard in his head.
God, Tony...what did I do? What do I do now?
Then:
When Spiderman takes a hard hit and doesn't get back up Tony gets worried.
"Jarvis? Give me Spider Boy's vitals, will you?"
"Sir, he appears to be suffering from several broken ribs. Heart rate is slow."
"Well, damn."
Tony flies to the prone body. Pokes it. "Hey, uh, Spidey. Up, up, up, rise and shine, buddy. Stick around and I'll have to take a looksie under that mask. See who's been swinging around like Roger's and Tarzan's love-child."
Spiderman makes no move to stand.
"Jarvis?"
"He's still alive Sir, but deeply unconscious."
"Secure a room at the tower okay? Keep everyone out. The itsy bitsy spider is going to need a place to crash."
"I'm not sure this is a good idea, Sir."
"Jarvis, when has that ever stopped me."
"You're right Sir. Forgive me for trying."
Being back in the tower doesn't feel as strange as he thought it would.
There's a certain homesickness deep inside that slowly quiets as he roams his floor.
Running into Clint is completely unexpected.
They both freeze, two men separated by something not easily dispelled. It feels like they're back at the beginning, back when they knew nothing about one another, like all bongs forged through broken bones and blood and tears and sheer will have been dulled.
"Tony."
"Clint."
Tony wants to talk. Wants to say something. He wants, wants, wants-
His hands are trembling, and Clint looks down, face settling into the expressionless look that betrays turmoil more than any frown ever could.
Tony ends up walking away, heart speeding in his chest.