Clint realized after Steve and Rhodey left that it might have been better to go get his own breakfast while they were still there to sit with Tony. He shrugged it off and decided it wouldn't be the end of the world to leave Tony alone for like ten minutes while he went to the cafeteria. After all, there were nurses nearby and monitors that would beep shrilly if anything was awry.
And indeed, nothing happened while he was gone. Tony remained absolutely still in the bed, the ventilator continued breathing for him, and the nurse checked on him once while Clint was absent. Clint settled in his chair and began eating, periodically glancing over at Tony. It was getting creepy, how unnaturally immobile and silent he was.
Then in one glance, it looked like Tony's eyes were open slightly. He immediately did a double-take, but Tony's eyes were closed just like they had been all along. Clint humphed at himself and continued chewing. Great. Now he was seeing things.
A few hours later, he turned to take the photo of the readings and when he turned back toward the bed, he could have sworn he saw Tony's fingers move slightly. Clint stared at Tony's hand for nearly five minutes but there was no sign of life. Then he tried prodding Tony's hand; no reaction.
The next time the nurse came in, she was accompanied by a woman who looked like the nurse Steve had been chatting up the day before. He debated whether to say anything, but decided there was nothing to be lost in asking. "Excuse me, I have a silly question," he said when the second nurse stopped near him to watch the regular nurse do her duties.
"What's that?" she asked with a small smile.
"Is it possible that he moved his hand a little while ago? He hasn't moved for days and I'm not sure that's what I saw, but it seemed like he moved."
She looked thoughtful. "Let me check his chart. Amber, may I?"
The nurse-Amber-handed her the tablet she'd been using to enter her observations.
Maybe-Nikki skimmed the information quickly. "He's been on a paralytic and a sedative, but the doctors decided to wean him off the paralytic starting this morning. It's unlikely he's moving already, but it's possible."
A paralytic. That explained the uncanny stillness. "How long will it take until he's fully off the paralytic? What might happen when he is?"
"The last small dose will be administered tonight, so it will have worn off completely by this time tomorrow. You're likely to see him make small, involuntary movements, but he might also respond to some touch. He won't react fully to outside stimuli until he's also taken off the sedative."
"When will that be?"
"If he doesn't start fighting against the ventilator, they'll probably start reducing the dose of sedative sometime tomorrow. That's how it usually goes, at least."
"Why is he on both?"
"The paralytic keeps the body from fighting against the breathing tube, primarily, and the sedative makes sure the patient isn't awake and freaking out about not being able to move. It also allows the body to have more energy for healing itself if the patient isn't trying to be awake and interacting with their environment."
"He must be doing pretty well if they're willing to take him off it," Clint said neutrally, hoping for a positive answer.
"He's doing better than he had been," maybe-Nikki said cautiously. "They usually try to withdraw those medications as soon as it makes sense to, in order to minimize the side effects."
"Thanks for the information," Clint replied thoughtfully.
After the nurses left, he stared at Tony, debating. Rhodey would want to know, would want to be there in case Tony did start moving or even woke up, but once Tony did wake, nothing short of the world ending (and possibly not even that) was going to get Rhodey away from Tony's side, and who knew how long Tony would need to be in the hospital.
It was the best news they'd had so far and Clint thought he might burst with the anticipation of sharing it, but he waited the nearly six hours until Steve and Rhodey returned to the hospital before he told them.
And if, while waiting, he periodically squeezed Tony's hand just to see if there would be a reaction, well, no one else was there to comment on his optimism.
.
Just as predicted, for the rest of that day and through the night Tony never really responded to his hand being squeezed, and not for lack of trying. His fingers would occasionally twitch and his eyes move behind his eyelids; it wasn't conscious on his part, but they rejoiced to see it.
Clint found it more difficult to sleep that night. Tony was still sedated and wasn't going to wake up, so what was he expecting to happen? In any case, Rhodey had the same problem, and they were both awake in the early hours while Steve took his turn to sleep. Steve, of course, seemed to have no trouble sleeping whatsoever.
There was occasional conversation but mostly Clint and Rhodey sat in companionable silence. Rhodey never let go of Tony's hand.
The day utterly dragged by, the optimism of the previous day worn away by the drudgery of their vigil until even Tony's periodic twitching lost its novelty. They hoped for some sort of update from the staff about Tony's status now that he was off one medication, but Nikki evidently wasn't working that day, none of the other nurses would tell them anything, and the doctors never stayed long enough to be asked.
Doctor not-Bruce finally paid them an evening visit to explain that Tony was remaining sufficiently stable that they were going to cease administering the sedative following that night's dose. "He might continue to be given smaller doses at night to guarantee he is resting comfortably, but during the day he will be more aware of his surroundings. Also, even though we will no longer be giving him the sedative, it is very possible that he will not wake up enough to acknowledge you in the first several days," the doctor cautioned. "He remains very ill, and that exhausts the body."
"We understand," Steve said confidently. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. He's still got a long way to go."
.
Waiting for Tony to wake up was one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of Clint's life. He'd had a lot of experience with watching and waiting, but there he was waiting for the right moment to do something. Here, there was nothing for him to do.
Rhodey, on the other hand, had some idea of what to watch for and knew that Tony wasn't going to do anything dramatic until at least afternoon. He still watched Tony like a hawk, though, and clutched his hand as if Tony would get lost otherwise.
Steve paced the room, the hallway, and then the entire floor. He did best when there was something to arrange, tactics to plan, and none of that was useful here. Occasionally he wondered why he stayed but that thought never lasted long. He needed to be there, to prove to anyone who doubted that he still cared about Tony despite everything that had happened between them. That was politics; this was family, or the closest thing to it that he could claim.
Tony definitely began to react more to his environment as the hours passed. Once or twice Clint could have sworn he tried to turn his head toward them, but either the breathing tube or sheer exhaustion prevented it. Sometimes he seemed to be listening to them talk, and Rhodey swore that Tony squeezed his hand a couple of times.
When Clint and Steve returned from retrieving lunch, Rhodey claimed that their departure had made Tony furrow his eyebrows as if puzzled or concerned and that the expression left his face when he heard their voices again. Clint was skeptical, but Rhodey looked so pleased he didn't want to be the one to rain on his parade.
As it turned out, Rhodey was right to be optimistic: Tony attempted to open his eyes less than an hour later.
He didn't make it far. There was just the barest crack between his lids before his eyes were closing again and he clenched his hands in pain or effort or both. Then he seemed to be trying to make a noise, but the breathing tube was in the way and he choked in the attempt. "Tony, Tony, calm down, don't fight the tube. We're here and we'll stay here. You can try again in a little while," Rhodey reassured him, holding Tony's hand in both of his.
Tony stilled and didn't stir for the next hour.
.
At first the sheer amount of noise suddenly invading his quiet cocoon was overwhelming, too many types of sounds hitting all at once for him to have any hope of interpreting any of it.
After a while he could filter out the background noise, the mechanical-type sounds that he didn't recognize but at least he could determine they weren't important. The other noise, the voices, that was important, especially when he realized he knew some of those voices.
Eventually the voices resolved into words, most of which were still beyond his understanding-along with where he was and why-but the cadence was soothing and the tones reassuring.
Any sort of response was beyond him and he knew it, but he yearned to see the faces that belonged to the voices, so he gathered himself for an attempt.
His eyelids felt weighted with lead and he could barely move them. His hands clenched as he fought for sight and his breath hitched painfully. He groaned in frustration but his groan was stifled by something in his throat and he gagged reflexively, unable to feel anything else now that he was aware of the invasion. All his throat was pain and his senses decided that was quite enough and shut down for a while to recover.
As soon as he was aware of the voices again, he resumed the attempt to lift his resistant eyelids. He made it a little farther and fisted his hand in triumph. Then there was a hand holding his and he had a moment's thought that there was a way he could try to communicate, but the thought flitted away and was lost.
On his next attempt, his eyes opened far enough that the influx of light was abrupt and painful and once again he couldn't cope with the input and his ability to process anything went offline temporarily.
When he opened his eyes again after that, all he could really see were shapes and the contrast between light and dark. Also he couldn't hold it for long but at least he didn't pass out this time so he heard joy in the voices as they flowed over him. Once his hand was free, he moved his fingers experimentally, just able to form the shapes he had remembered sometime between his previous waking and this one.
After that he needed a rest. Next time, though . . . next time, he thought he could do it.
It took two more attempts to communicate with the voices.
The first time, his vision was clear enough to make out the room surrounding him, and he had just enough time for three things to pass through his mind. He recognized Rhodey at his bedside. He was confused by the absence of anyone else that would correspond with the voices he thought he'd recognized before. And he realized it took far more effort to keep his eyes open than it seemed like it should.
The next time he surfaced from the oblivion, he heard all three voices he'd heard before and he knew it was the right time if he could muster the strength.
He took his time peeling his eyes open, listening as Rhodey argued with someone (Barton, his mind finally found the name). He didn't pay attention to what they were arguing about, that would have taken too much time and energy.
As his eyes adjusted to the light, he became aware of a broad-shouldered person standing at the end of his bed, watching him. Rogers. That was the other voice he'd heard. He'd have to ponder later about why he, of all people, was there. And Barton, for that matter.
His right hand was being held, so he shifted his gaze to see. Rhodey, of course. He tapped Rhodey's hand with his fingers and his hand was released as all eyes in the room focused on him.
He couldn't lift his hand much, but it was enough.
Steve was puzzled when Tony began moving his hand and fingers in odd ways. Both Rhodey and Clint seemed to know what he was doing, though, and they broke into matching grins when Tony's hand stilled.
"Yeah, you sure did," Rhodey said, sounding a little choked up. He patted Tony's hand. "Go back to sleep, we'll be here."
Tony gave a brief thumbs up as his eyes closed again.
"What-" Steve started to ask.
Clint answered, "He spelled 'I made it'."