I'll do whatever to make you happy (Stony)

Chapter Twelve: Wanda Maximoff

He watched in horror as Bruce hooked Steve up to several IV's, each needle finding its place in his arm, the heart monitor taunting him with every beep, the only thing confirming that he was alive. He didn't take his eyes off of the soldier, not even once. He didn't even move from the seat he once sat at when Natasha accompanied the stretcher Steve was laid on. He couldn't go anywhere when he didn't know the extremities of his injuries, and it sickened him. It sickened him how he sat here in this chair while his lover was fighting for his life, it sickened him he wasn't the one laying there, teetering between life and death.

"You should get something to eat, Tony. Maybe some coffee will help." Bruce advised. His eyes slowly moved from Steve's damaged form to Bruce, who put his hands up in surrender when he saw how cold and dead the geniuses' eyes were. "I'm not trying to force you to do anything, Tony. But sitting there might not be the healthiest option."

"You wanna talk about my health, when the person fighting for their life is laying there, broken, bruised and bloody." He spoke as calmly as he could. It was hard to even tell himself that everything was going to be ok, but he didn't know if it really was.

"Steve is going to be ok, Tony. I promise you that." Bruce spoke back just as calmly, trying to relax his friend. He knew that Tony was completely on edge, the poor guy hadn't left Steve's side.

"I should be in that stretcher, Bruce. I should be the one lying there, not him. Not Steve, he didn't deserve this."

"And you do?"

"Yes." He felt a prickling sensation behind his eyeballs, the faint feeling of tears staining his cheeks as they spilled forth from his tear ducts. He rubbed them away with the back of his hand, but more little water droplets took their place. He tried to control his emotions, he hated crying because it always made him feel weak. He hated the feeling of being weak, he was supposed to be strong in situations like this, he was supposed to be made of iron, he wasn't supposed to break down this easily. "If I had just gone on that mission, if I had just followed them then I could have done something. It's all my fault."

"Hey, Tony," Bruce said softly, causing the genius to look at him through teary eyes, "it's not your fault."

"Yes it is..."

"No, Tony, it's not. What happened to Steve is not your fault. They were manipulated into thinking they were going on a harmless mission, when instead it was a trap." Bruce sighed and stepped away from Steve for a bit, pinching the bridge of his nose, his fingers grabbing a clipboard which held information on the soldier. "The serum is working slowly to try and mitigate the damage to his body, although we can see the physical wounds they've done, who's to say it goes further than that."

A horrible wave of nausea washed over Tony at Bruce's words, his eyes falling back onto the blonde. "What exactly did they do to him, Bruce?" The good doctor looked at his worn out friend, his eyes full of concern as he glanced down at the clipboard again.

"Are you sure you wanna know, Tony?" The genius nodded his head and Bruce slowly listed off what was wrong with him. "He has a small concussion, his skin is raw at his wrist, bite marks on his neck, and lacerations to his abdomen. But as I said Tony, we can only see the physical, we don't know the mental damage these things have caused."

"I swear to God, these things are going to pay for what they did to him. He didn't deserve this." Steve really didn't deserve this. Despite what Bruce has told him, Tony still thinks that he is the one who deserves to be where Steve is. Steve has always been the kind hearted soul who would never turn his back from anyone. The guy who would gladly risk his life for someone else, the guy who Tony would do anything for to see him happy, didn't deserve to be reduced to this.