Chapter Text
Tony laid back on the mattress, bandaged hands resting on his stomach. “Thor!” he rasped. “Hey, Thor! This one sucks. Let's try the next one.”
“I don't think he can hear you,” Clint said from beside him. The archer sat up and exaggeratedly waved both arms over his head at Thor, who stood at the end of the row of mattresses next to Natasha. Natasha saw Clint around Thor and said something in an undertone. At her words, Thor turned and lifted a hand in acknowledgement. The two of them strode over.
“He wants to try the next one,” Clint told them.
“Thank you,” Tony muttered hoarsely. “I couldn't have told them that myself.”
“I know. That's why I did it for you.” He smirked at Tony's glare.
Natasha stood with her hands clasped in front of her while Thor slid up between the beds. The demi-god smiled down at Tony before slipping his right arm under Tony's back and the other under his knees. “Ready?”
Tony gave him a vivid smile. “Of course. Come on, up we go. Next!” And Thor lifted. Tony bit back a groan of pain. He looped his left elbow around the back of Thor's neck for stability, keeping his fingers as relaxed as possible. Thor edged back to the foot of the bed, careful not to bump Tony's casted lower legs. Then he swept over to the next mattress and lowered Tony gently back down.
Tony breathed deeply and just rested there a moment. This bed was softer. He liked it a lot better than the last one.
After a little while, Clint crawled from one bed to the other and flopped down next to him with a sigh. “Too soft,” he commented.
Before Tony could reply, he noticed Bruce drifting over, finally returning from the bathroom. “Hey,” Tony grunted once he reached them. “Took you long enough. Here, lie down. This one's nice.”
Bruce hesitated and glanced at Clint, who wiggled over to make room at the side. Bruce eased himself down and hummed in surprise. “This is nice.”
Sandwiched between them, Clint crossed his arms. “No, it's not. It's too soft.”
“That's what you think,” muttered Tony. Then he frowned. “Hey, what happened to Steve?”
“He's still in the bathroom.”
“What a stick in the mud,” Tony groaned.
Bruce propped himself up on an elbow to look him in the eye over Clint. “You know, Tony, you really don't need to do this.”
“Oh, shush, Bruce,” Natasha spoke up from the foot of the last bed. “He's a billionaire. He can afford it no matter how many times you transform.”
Bruce sent her a frown, and she just raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Tony agreed, swallowing to clear his aching throat. “And since I'm paying for it, that means I get a say in which bed you get. Clearly you've never gone mattress shopping because you always have to try them all out. How would you know which one you like best if you don't?” He turned to Thor standing patiently at his side. “Next!” When Thor lifted him again, Tony felt Bruce's eyes on his face. Tony pointedly didn't let the ache show in his expression.
Bruce still looked guilty when he murmured, “Why don't I just get this one? Tony, I really don't think all of this is necessary....”
Thor paused at the footboard when he nearly ran into Steve. “There you are!” Tony rasped.
Steve glanced over Tony's face and frowned down at him. “I thought you were supposed to be resting your voice.”
“He is,” Clint said. “But since when has that stopped him?”
Tony preened. Then he looked up at Thor and pointed with his chin. “Giddyup.”
Thor didn't move. “Are you certain? Perhaps this is enough for today.”
Tony looked affronted. “Killjoy. I'm having fun. Next!” Thor didn't even twitch. Tony wriggled in his arms like he could swing himself out or somehow make Thor carry him the direction he wanted. “Come on, I thought you were my personal pony, at my beck and call and everything!”
Thor and Steve exchanged a meaningful look.
“Oh, no, you don't!” Tony cried, unable to get much volume out of his wrecked voice. “Don't you dare. No, no conspiring against my wishes with just a look!”
Thor and Steve swung around, Steve easily falling into step at the demi-god's right. They headed toward the end of the line of beds where they'd abandoned the wheelchair.
Tony's eyes widened. “Hey, no fair!” He aimed sad eyes up at Thor. “This is mean. I hope you know that. I want to try out mattresses! That was the whole point of this expedition. Bruce's got all messed up and we're replacing it. I don't want him to sleep in one of the guest rooms anymore.”
“It's fine, Tony. I don't mind.”
Tony twisted his head around to try to see Bruce behind him, but he couldn't quite manage it. So Tony just flopped his head backward, thinking to stare upside-down around Thor's bicep. That turned out to be a mistake. His expression twisted as overused, aching muscles in his neck protested. He would have said something, but he discovered that with his throat stretched out at that horrible angle, he couldn't actually get any sound out. He instinctively grabbed onto Thor's shirt to pull himself up and regretted it when a spike of agony shot through his hand and wrist.
Thor came to a halt when he noticed Tony's distress, and Steve edged his head back up with a warm palm cupped around the nape of his neck. Once up, Tony yanked his arm out from behind the Asgardian's neck and cradled it carefully in his opposite hand, burying his flushed face against Thor's chest. The arms around him flexed and gripped him a little tighter.
“Yeah, okay,” Tony muttered once most of the pain passed and he got his voice back. “I guess we can go.”
Tony felt Thor start walking again, and he didn't protest when he was lowered gently into the wheelchair. Steve questioningly held out the folded lap blanket he'd snagged off the seat. Tony glanced down at his chilled, bare toes where they stuck out of the cast and lifted his arms out of the way in invitation. Steve spread the blanket out onto his lap. Bruce leaned in and carefully tucked in the edges to keep it away from the wheels.
“You realize,” Tony muttered to him while he was fussing, “that we're not done here, right? We're coming back tomorrow to try out the rest.”
“Okay,” Bruce agreed even though it didn't look like he believed Tony. “But if you decide you want to wait a few extra days, that would be okay, too.”
The store employees, kept away from even Tony's money by respect for the Avengers and Natasha's glare, bowed and gave a few tentative goodbyes as the group left. Only Clint, trailing along as the rear guard, bothered to give them any sort of acknowledgement. Clint's tone didn't sound very happy to Tony, but he was hurting too much to really listen.
-----
Tony started struggling in earnest the moment they dragged him, naked, into the room and he saw the cross laid out on the ground. “No, no fucking way! You've got to be fucking joking!” He fought and twisted, but his hands were roped behind his back and his feet were tied together, and there really was nothing he could do. It took four of them to shove him to his knees, untie him and press him back-first onto the cross. Their hands were everywhere over his bare skin, and they had to lean their entire weight into the grips on his arms and legs to keep him still.
The cold tip of a nail touched Tony's left palm, and he froze before whipping his head to the side. His eyes couldn't get any wider as he stared at the hammer, lifting higher and higher, and he just knew this was going to hurt like a mother. He didn't want to watch this, but he couldn't look away, either. The hammer hung in the air, pausing for an infinite moment on the upswing. Then it came down and slammed the nail through his hand – hitting once, twice, four times.
Tony wailed and writhed. His fingers involuntarily twitched and curled inward with each hit. “Oh, God! Oh, GOD!” His hand was on fire. Oh, Jesus, his hand had been impaled. These crazies were honestly nailing him to a fucking cross.
His mind hadn't fully processed the pain and shock before his right hand shot white-hot blades up his arm. He screamed. Tears squeezed out of his eyes and slid down his temples into his hacked-off hair. Shivering, he barely registered the people holding down his arms sliding cautiously away. He didn't fight them.
Someone pulled out a longer nail, if that was possible, a monstrosity of steel that was at least eight inches. It had to be, if it was going through both of his feet and into the wood deeply enough to hold his weight. (No, no, do NOT calculate how deep that needs to be or exactly how many pounds per square inch of pressure it could hold up.) Tony flinched and screwed his eyes shut, unwilling to watch this time.
-----
Tony fell asleep on the drive back to the Tower, slumping over until his head rested on Thor's shoulder. Steve, sitting on Tony's other side, smiled as he felt the expansion of Tony's ribs smooth out and slow in deep rest.
Sitting opposite them in the limo, Bruce breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the lines of pain on Tony's face finally eased away. Then he glared at Natasha. “What was that about? You know it's a bad idea for him to go past his next dose.”
Her face remained serene as she watched him have a minor meltdown. “Maybe so. But it's a worse idea to coddle him.”
Clint, his face serious, nodded. “With injuries this bad, it's easy to want to do everything for him. We all want to protect him, Bruce. But we can't hold him back, either.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “I know that! Don't you think I know that? I worked as a doctor for years.”
“Yes, as a doctor,” said Natasha. “That's not the same as a friend or a teammate. An objective outsider is exactly what you're not.” She paused, her voice coming slower and heavier with meaning. “Despair is the biggest obstacle right now. Fighting that is just as important as the prescriptions and the medicine.”
Bruce stared at Tony's sleeping face. Eventually he let out a sigh and with it, all his frustration. “He just looked so hurt and exhausted.”
Thor wrapped an arm around Tony. “Indeed. He thought it was hidden, but I felt him flinch each time I lifted him. It pained me to do as he asked.” His eyes scrunched closed, and when he opened them, his drawn face was old and ageless, his tone weary. “I can only be glad he is not as bad as he once was.”