Give him back to me, or so help me god

Chapter 8: The Rescue

"So they haven't found anything?"

Even the small tablet in Steve's hand felt too heavy. His exhaustion seemed to be tripling with every photograph he flipped through, weighing down on him as he sat, sprawled up against the hallway wall. What had once been the Raft – his friend's prison – was nothing short of gutted.

"Not yet." Rhodey said, his eyes never leaving the opaque glass that was currently separating the team from Tony. "The damn thing was too big to dredge up so they're sending divers down instead."

The genius was still in his chair, eyes fixed on the mirage of screens around the lab. He hadn't moved in hours. Hadn't spoken. Hadn't done anything but breathe and watch those screens. Rhodey hadn't taken his eyes off of him though since returning from the wreckage of the Raft – as if he were afraid the man might disappear between one minute and the next.

Steve buried the crippling thought that he may have already – and there was nothing any of them could do about it.

"And?" Steve prompted.

"Nothing concrete yet." Rhodey went on. "They're only bringing up the bodies now, and it will take some time to-" his voice faded – just for a minute – but his eyes never left the man on the other side of the glass. "Identify them."

Across from them both – sprawled across the bottom of the staircase that lead up to the lift – was Clint. He kicked out at the concrete wall. Hard.

"How hard can it be to spot the corpse of a teenager – you'd think it would stand out-"

Bruce stood near Rhodey – leant up against the glass. Clint's words seemed to hit him physically. His chest caving in and eyes scrunching shut as a wave of green passed over them.

"Clint." Steve cut him off. The word wasn't wasn't harsh – just as Clint's hadn't been intended to be. Steve could see that much. Could see between the sarcasm and rage to the father who was coming apart at the seams as he watched another parent loose his son.

No. Clint wasn't coping.

Tony was barely surviving.

And the rest of them were not far behind.

"How's May?" Steve asked, turning to Sam who was leant up against the wall by the stairs, only a foot or so from Clint.

Sam gave a small, tense, shrug from behind his folded arms.

"She's not blind – she knows something's up – but she's hanging in there." He said. "I think having the other kid around is helping."

Bruce's pulled his eyes from Tony's forlorn form and glanced at Sam.

"Other kid?"

"Yeah – Ned. Peter's friend." Sam added. "He's practically living at the apartment now." He attempted to curve his lips into something of a grin, but the movement looked painful and fell far short. "Kid's a little Stark in the making – keeps hacking into satellite feeds and facial recognition data-bases when he thinks I'm not looking."

Clint's foot collided with the concrete wall again, harder this time. Steve was starting to worry he might break the foot – and then worried even more that that might be exactly what Clint intended to do.

"You should tell him not to bother – we got it covered."

All eyes fell on Tony and the variable sea of screens that were each broadcasting a different set of information – a different trail. A different glimmer of hope that was fading with every passing hour.