The title of my autobiography (via wanna-see-my-groovy-mutation)
"I’m just saying, the guy’s clearly one flew over the cockoo’s nest, I mean, you saw him!”
"And I’m just saying you need to be keeping your opinions to yourself, Stark," Steve can’t even be mad. He’s too tired to be mad. He pinches his nose instead and glares across the table at his engineer. "Don’t you have holes to be patching in my ship?"
Tony puts his nose in the air and rubs his grease covered hands over his knees. “Fine, change the subject, see if I care. I wouldn’t have holes to patch up if you didn’t keep stealing the Alliance’s toys.”
Now that does piss Steve off. He stands to his feet, well aware of the fact that he dwarfs everyone in the room. “He’s not a goddamn toy!”
Tony has the grace to look apologetic and he holds up his hands. “A joke, fearless leader, just a joke. Your sense of humor really has taken a battering.”
"Go fix my ship," Steve orders.
Tony salutes. “Yes sir, Captain, sir,” and he leaves the room minus his usual bounce. He’s just as upset about all this as the rest of them, maybe even more so given what the Alliance had used the Red Room to do to his family. His coping methods are just downright shitty and they drive everyone around him crazy.
"Stark is right," Natasha says from across the room. She and Clint are passing each other grenades like candy. "You can’t contain him forever you know."
"I don’t…I don’t want to keep him contained,” Steve says, “he’s not our prisoner.”
"Maybe he should be?" Sam’s ever the practical one and he meets Steve’s gaze seriously. "Alliance want you dead and they’ll use him to do it. We know they put one trigger in his head, who says there aren’t more?"
"He’s not-" Steve shakes his head, the phantom feel of metal fingers around his throat an almost tangible ache. He’s lucky he heals so fast. "He’s not their man,"
"He’s not yours, either," Sam says gently, "he’s not the guy we went to war with, Steve. Lord knows I wish he was."