It was quite a load to get off one’s chest when the person he was talking to couldn’t even hear him and the idea of repeating it all when Tony was awake and could react had his stomach clenching and a wave of nausea creeping up his throat. The strange thing was, if it was anyone else or about anyone else, he would do everything in his power to fix it. But Steve had woken from the ice with an icon’s image to fill and personal things always got shoved to the back.
“I’ll even… I’ll even let you hit me if you want, with the glove on and everything just, don;t you fucking die on me okay? I can’t… I can’t lose you.” Steve dropped his head into the crook of his arm and let out a soft noise of pain, torn between emotional and physical coupled with sheer exhaustion. Maybe if he slept he would end up waking up and it would all have been a bad dream.
Talk about an emotional rollercoaster. Though it was dramatic,
he had to give it that. For Tony to put himself to sleep that way,
he wasn’t expecting that much of a repercussion other from the
medics giving him a stern talking to once he was awake once
more. They should have known it wasn’t a killer dose, but was
enough to knock him out for a long time.
He was still dazed when he slightly opened his eyes, just partially
allowing the light to break through.
He could feel Steve resting by him, he felt the weight, the light
choked sob between words was audible enough even from his
perspective. All he could see once he had finally opened his
eyes, even just a bit, was a blond mop buried into his arm.
“You can’t get rid of me that easily, Rogers…”