Work Text:
Tony couldn’t remember the last time he’d had such a horrible migraine.
It started as a dull ache behind his right eye. He knew that was usually the precursor to something worse, but he’d also known he’d have a while before it hit. Those new plans for S.H.I.E.L.D.’s tri-carriers weren’t going to finish themselves. And, if he got caught up doing maintenance on the team’s equipment after that, well, nobody could fault him. Their safety meant a hell of a lot more than a hypothetical headache he might have sometime in the future.
Maybe not dimming the fluorescents, though, had been a mistake. Also, letting his prescription medication run out, like an idiot. God, what he wouldn’t give for a tablet of Imitrex right now. Or two. Or ten. He squeezed his eyes shut as his vision blurred. The pressure in his head was damn near unbearable.
He needed to do something about this now, while he still had some function. Within the next hour or two, that would change. Quickly.
“Hey, J?” Tony heard his own voice from a distance, trying his best to ignore the ice pick someone had so rudely jabbed through his eye socket.
There was barely a pause before his AI replied, in a tone that was equal parts compassion and exasperation. “I took the liberty of contacting your doctor. They will be calling your prescriptions in presently.”
A truly embarrassing sigh of relief escaped his lips, but Tony was past the point of caring. “Oh my God, I love you so much.”
“I aim to serve, sir.” There was affection in the AI’s tone behind the amusement.
The entire right side of Tony’s vision blacked out for a moment when he tried to blink his eyes open again. Luckily, J.A.R.V.I.S. had already dimmed the lights down to practically nothing, or he might have thrown up his entire digestive tract. His stomach lurched. He managed to stumble his way to the couch along the wall in the lounge area, feeling along blindly with both hands.
And of course, because it was shit on Tony Stark day, the call to assemble trilled through his ID card.
He swore, if he’d had any less self-control, he would have cried.
Instead, he groaned – dangerously close to a whine -- and levered himself back off the couch, idly wondering if he could swing by to pick up his meds on the way to whatever the fuck they were doing. Could he fly through a drive-thru?
Cautiously, he cracked his eyes open again. This time, it was an even worse idea than it had been before. His right peripheral vision was gone. Nausea roiled in his gut. So violently, he couldn’t swallow it back, and he only just managed to lunge for the wastebasket he knew was next to the couch. Luckily, he’d known, because he couldn’t see the damn thing.
His intestines didn’t make an appearance, but it felt like a near thing.
He collapsed fully onto the tile floor after, panting. Head a miserable, throbbing mass of pain and misery. There was an annoying, trilling beep going off somewhere in the vicinity of his pocket, and Tony slapped for it, head reeling. Who the-
Oh God. The call to assemble. How the hell was he going to assemble?
It didn’t matter. Tony had to get up. His team needed him. He placed both palms on the floor, trying to push himself up slowly, but even just that minor shift left his world spinning.
Blindly, he reached for his com and slapped it on. Steve’s voice filtered through it, loud and booming, and Tony regretted his entire existence, because God, it hurt so bad.
“Iron Man, we could use additional air support. What’s your ETA?”
Tony managed to work himself into a sitting position, suppressing a whimper as he leaned against the side of the couch. He couldn’t fight like this. There was just no way.
“Iron man, respond. Status report!”
Tony swallowed hard. He struggled to form a response, thoughts a jumbled mess. It was so hard to think past the fog.
“No can do, Cap. I, uh…don’t think I’m gonna make this one.” His voice sounded wrong, even to his own ears. Head throbbing in time with his heartbeat. And the Avengers were about to have another crisis to deal with, because Tony was positive there was a bomb about to go off in his head. That was the only explanation for the agony tearing through him, like shrapnel. Had the shards in his chest somehow made their way into his brain?
Steve was talking. Right. He was supposed to be talking to Steve.
“…if you don’t answer me in five seconds, I’ll have half of S.H.I.E.L.D. over there before you can--“
“Call off the cavalry, sweet cheeks. I’m fine,” his tongue felt heavy and useless. “Migraine. It’ll pass.”
A pause. “How bad is it?” Tony could hear fighting in the background. Cap’s shield, bouncing off something metal. “Tony?”
Steve made it a point not to use their real names over the com frequencies. Something about professionalism on the field, or some garbage. He must really sound like shit if his boyfriend was breaking that now.
He mustered up his best, ‘look at me, I’m so put together,’ voice, the one the press ate right up. And there was next to zero chance Steve was going to buy it, but that wouldn’t stop him from trying.
“Don’t worry about me, sugar plum. I’ve got this.” Tony tried to open his eyes again, as if to prove a point even though no one could see him. And oh, oh no, that was a mistake. Frantically, he grasped for the wastebasket, dry heaving into it.
Oh, he did not have this. He did not have this at all.
The alarm in Steve’s voice was palpable. “Tony. I need you to be honest with me. Scale of one to ten.”
The last time one of his migraines had landed him in the emergency room, Steve made him promise to tell him when they got beyond a certain point. It was well beyond that point now, but all of it happened so fast. It hadn’t been nearly this bad even an hour ago.
“Um.”
Another pause. Tony could tell Steve was switching from their private com frequency to the team one, likely barking orders that hopefully did not relate to Tony and his stupid migraine in any way. Because this did not need to rank among saving the world in importance.
“Tony.” Steve’s voice was thick with worry. “Talk to me.”
“You know, I’ve always thought that whole number scale system was trite and meaningless.”
“God damn it, Tony.” He swore he could hear Steve clenching his jaw. “Sit tight. I’ll be there as soon as we’ve wrapped up here, okay?”
Tony didn’t need a babysitter. He was about to tell him so when a sudden stabbing pain, as sharp as a thousand daggers, assaulted his brain. He wasn’t sure if he screamed. But speech was a thing that did not happen for a while after that.
He wrapped both arms around his head, curling into himself. Gripping his skull, with all the force his fingertips possessed. Maybe if he squeezed hard enough, some of the pain would go away. Or, he’d squeeze too hard and then he’d die. His stupid head would never hurt again after that. Distantly, Steve’s voice continued in the background. Panicked, though Tony couldn’t have repeated a single word his lover said if his life depended on it.
Oh, God. The pain. It was all he could see. All he could think about through the ringing in his ears. Tony knew he’d made some shitty decisions in the past. Hurt a lot of people. But he tried to be good. To be better. Where had it gone so wrong? What had he done to deserve this?
Some part of Tony – the rational part – knew he was just being dramatic. It was a migraine. He wasn’t karmically doomed, or spiritually destined to suffer. That was bullshit. Something people said when they wanted to feel sorry for themselves.
But he’d never felt agony like this before. Never. Not through a lifetime of migraines, the torture in Afghanistan, or any number of other injuries he’d suffered.
Tony forced back a sob, drawing his legs up to his chest. He wanted to pass out. Oh God, he’d never wanted anything more in his life than he did to pass out, right now. Maybe if he banged his head on the floor hard enough? There was a coffee table somewhere to his left. It had corners. Those were sharp enough to knock him out, right?
His joke about there being a bomb in his head had been just that before. A joke. Tony wasn’t laughing now. There was a bomb, a dagger, or, hell…even that ice pick he’d thought about, digging around in there.
And it wouldn’t stop. It wouldn’t leave him alone.
There was a buzzing in the background. White noise in his ears. A bleeding, aching throb deep inside his mind. The fingers on his right hand tingled. He couldn’t feel his toes.
He needed it to end. He didn’t care how.
A very distant part of Tony understood the spectacle he was making. He’d bitten through his lip. Tasted blood. And the whole thing was stupid. It was just a little pain. Why couldn’t Tony handle this? He could handle this, right?
Except now, he couldn’t see at all. His vision was entirely black on one side, and the rest? An indefinable blur. He couldn’t see, it hurt so bad, and he was so...so fucking scared.
He felt blindly along the floor. Managed to find a table leg. Desperately, he fumbled to grasp for the top of the table, but he couldn’t pull himself up. His hands were sweaty, his fingers were numb, and they slipped off every time. If Tony could just get to that corner, everything would stop. He could bash his temple into it, and everything would cease to exist. Temporarily, or permanently. He didn’t care which, if it stopped the pain. And wow, what a fucking thought. That was crazy. He was crazy.
Eventually, he gave up, gripping his head between both palms. He dug his nails in. Tore deep, sharp gashes down the sides of his face. It distracted from the horrible, piercing torment splitting his skull, if only for a moment.
Someone was rushing toward him, footsteps thundering down the stairs, and it was horrible. Didn’t they understand that every noise was ripping him apart? Tony wanted to tell them to piss off. To keep it down and leave him alone to die. All he managed when he opened his mouth was another sob, so he clamped it shut. Wrapped both arms around his head so the world couldn’t see what he had been reduced to, by none other than an evil fucking headache.
Pathetic.
Blessedly, the footsteps stopped, and then there were arms around him, pulling him onto a pair of rock-solid thighs. Tony buried his face in them. They smelled like Steve. Steve was here. And God, even just the thought made him cry harder. He crawled into his lap, clutching fistfuls of his Captain America uniform with a white-knuckled grip.
Steve could knock him out. He’d do that for Tony, wouldn’t he? He tried to ask him, took a shuddering breath. Another. And another. He was breathing too hard now, too fast. Large, hiccupping sobs tore free with every breath.
He bit his tongue, hard enough that he tasted blood, because this did not need to happen. He was not going to humiliate himself.
“Shh, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” Steve’s voice was barely a whisper. To Tony, it still sounded like a marching band slamming around in his skull. “I’m gonna take care of you, it’s okay.”
His voice soothed, even as it hurt. And Tony tried so hard to shut the fuck up again, but he just couldn't do it. His cheeks flushed with shame, even as he clutched at them, as if that might keep his brain from leaking out of his skull, which was very clearly shattered, it hurt so bad.
Steve draped something over his head. Bundled him up into his arms. Then he started running, and the movement was agony. Tony saw stars behind his closed eyelids.
Even that wasn’t enough to put him out. Go figure.
He couldn’t remember much for a while after that. Bright, agonizing lights. Steve, holding him tight. Someone jabbing something into his arm. Something that finally, finally made the pain recede.
Tony was a mess. His breath hitched, coming in harsh, hiccupping gasps, he’d been crying so hard.
Steve cupped his face. Wiped away the tears.
“There, that’s better. You’re okay.” His voice sounded thick. Strangled. And his eyes were red rimmed, as if he’d been crying, too. “You’re okay, sweetheart.”
Tony’s face felt hot. He wanted to die. He wanted to find the nearest hole and bury himself in it. He wanted -
Steve kissed the top of his head. Passionate. Fierce. “Don’t you dare.”
Tony’s voice was thin, thready. Broken, and Steve hushed him. Climbed carefully up onto the mattress.
“I don’t know how it got so bad.”
Steve kissed him softly. “Shh…”
“I knew it was coming, but it wasn’t supposed to be that bad…”
He wrapped his arms around him, pulling him close. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“What about the battle?” Tony choked. “How did…”
“It wrapped up quick. I left Nat in charge of clean-up. They’ll come visit later, if you’re up for it. We’ll be here awhile. The doctors want to ask you some questions. Run a few tests.”
Tony shut his eyes, let his head drop onto Steve’s chest. He didn’t want to smash his own brain against the pavement anymore, but the pain was still awful. Enough that he felt vulnerable. Exposed. Terrified, that all these people saw what a mess of a human being he really was. Sure, this was probably just another day at the office for them. They worked at a hospital, for fuck's sake. But he wasn't any old average joe off the street, crying over a headache. He was Tony Stark.
Even if any of his fellow patients hadn't recognized him, surely a few of the staff were bound to talk. He wondered how many of them would sell this to the press, confidentiality laws be damned. And after Steve had rushed him in here, in full Captain America regalia? He could see the headlines already.
Tony had to move to Siberia. Assume a new name. Dye his hair. He’d look terrible blond.
There was a nearly imperceptible knock on the wall next to the cubicle. A nurse walked in. Older, with kind eyes and a warm smile. He wanted to shrink away from that kindness, but then she stepped beside the bed. Fussed with the IV in the back of his hand.
There was nothing mocking in her expression. No derision. No acknowledgement of who he was. She’d likely just seen a more intimate, vulnerable side of Tony Stark than his own mother had, but she never faltered.
In her gaze, he found only compassion. Compassion, and an earnest desire to help.
Tony blinked at her. Stared.
“I’m glad to see you looking a little better. How is the pain? Scale of one to ten, ten being the worst you’ve ever felt.”
Tony scoffed. “You people and your numbers.”
The admonishment in Steve’s tone was light, teasing. “Tony.”
“I, uh.” He hadn’t been entirely joking before. The number system was trite and stupid. But Steve was giving him that look. “Seven?” Before it had been a three-hundred and ninety-five, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
The nurse frowned – as if that answer genuinely upset her. “Let’s see if we can fix that. Okay?”
Tony nodded hesitantly – he would very much like to fix that -- before he remembered that anything resembling head movement was a terrible idea. He pressed the heel of his hand to his eye, taking a shaky breath.
“Tell me if it gets worse.” Steve rubbed slow circles into his temple as the nurse left the room. The lights were dimmed, but all light was a hell-scape. “I don’t want to see you in that level of pain ever again.”
Tony hummed thoughtfully. “There are people who’d pay good money to see that, you know. Sell tickets. You’d make a killing.”
Steve’s fingers stilled for a moment before resuming their soothing circles, and Tony sighed with contentment, because he never wanted them to stop. His eyes fluttered, and he sank further into the mattress. He almost forgot entirely what they’d even been talking about. Then Steve gazed down at him with dark, haunted eyes. Kissed his forehead. So tenderly, it nearly brought tears to his eyes all over again.
“I’d take on every last one of them if it stopped this from hurting you.”
Tony leaned into his palm. He couldn’t bring himself to speak. To voice what he felt, safe in Steve’s arms. But maybe they didn’t need words. He buried his face in his chest, overcome.
His lover’s shirt was soaked, saturated with tears, but he seemed to pay it no mind. And Tony let the super soldier card soft fingers through his hair, wondering what he ever did to deserve the way he loved him.