There are over three dozen men, two contingents of Stark-knockoff security bots and a bomb between Steve and his baby boy. The bots fall easily to edge of his shield. He doesn't think too hard about what he did to the men, though he'd taken a fierce joy in it at the time. The bomb... could be dealt with. Later. When his son is out of harm's way.
Peter is bawling his eyes out when Steve bursts into the room. Whether it be from hurt, hunger, tiredness or the sheer terror of being stolen from his family and locked in a dog crate, Steve has no idea. He doesn't have time to calm his baby down, either, barely has time to make a cursory inspection for injuries (none visible, thank god). He just swaddles him up in the towel that had been left in the bottom of the crate and tucks him against his chest. He tries not to bleed on Peter, but it's kind of hard with what feels like half a dozen bullets lodged in his torso.
SHIELD is screaming in his ear. They can't disable the bomb, he has to get out now. Steve holds his son close and pushes past the pain, pushes himself as hard as he is physically capable.
They leave the warehouse at a dead run. Outside, the block is totaled. There's an office building tilted ominously over a bus station. Others have been left in ruins, and it's one of those bombed-out skeletons that Steve dives into, careful not to jostle Peter too much.
The bomb goes off. The normally choking dust and ash that follows the utter destruction of an old warehouse like that is drowned out by the rain. Steve is grateful for that; Peter's been through enough today without having that crap sucked into his tiny lungs.
The baby is still wailing, so Steve props himself up just a bit, precariously supported by one arm and an elbow, because he cant' seem to get himself up off his knees. "Hey," he coos, "Hey, shh, Papa's here. Papa's here now baby boy, everything's gonna be alright." He doesn't know how reassuring he is, however, because he's crying (from relief? regret? He doesn't know) and blood is flowing freely from the corner of his mouth. Still he tries his best, until Natasha and Clint are suddenly there with him, calling for med-evac with increasingly distant voices.
You'll be okay now, baby boy, Steve thinks, because his mouth isn't working properly anymore. He closes his eyes.
Ultimately they remove 9 bullets and countless bits of shrapnel and debris from Steve's body. He spends nine hours in surgery and gets put in a recovery room with his husband.
"Dumbass," is the first thing Tony says when Steve wakes up, "you fucking idiot, isn't it bad enough that one of us is full of holes? Did you feel left out or something? Because I was totally fine being the only member of the 'shot and left for dead' club, I did not need you to sign on as well."
Steve smiles and looks over to where Tony is frowning ferociously from the next bed. "At least we'll match now," the blond quips, and before Tony can sputter out a response asks, "Where's Peter?"
"Bruce and Betty have him," his husband replies. "He's safe. HYDRA won't dare try anything with two Hulks to look over him."
Steve nods and sinks back into his bed with a sigh. His son is safe. His husband is recovering. Steve himself will be right as rain by the end of the week. Not the worst ending to this hellish story. Certainly not as bad as some of the ones he'd come up with when he found Tony bleeding out on the floor next to an empty cradle.
Steve makes sure to catch Tony's eye when he says, "I love you."
Tony smiles. "I love you too you goddamn lunatic," Tony says fondly. "Now go back to sleep."
Steve does, secure in the knowledge that everything is going to be just fine
[So this got a little longer than expected. Sorry!]
