First, it was Barton.

Not even a day later, it took down Sam.

Later that very day, Natasha fell.

You knew that your time was coming; there was no way to avoid it, no matter how careful you were, and how much you distanced yourself. The stomach flu had found a home at the Avengers compound, and unless you were an android, a Hulk, or enhanced by super soldier serum, you were fair game.

"Tony, stay back," you groaned with a breaking voice, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of your shared bed. You had no idea what time it was, with darkness shrouding the grounds as you tried to focus on what was just outside of your window. It felt like you had just fallen asleep, but also like you had been asleep for years, with neither giving you the consolation of a satisfied rest. You must have tossed the blankets aside a million times, only to cover yourself up again moments later, and it had to have driven Tony away out of pure frustration, because he didn't answer your direction. With too fast of a turn, you meant to look behind you to see if he was still there, only to make yourself dizzy and sending your stomach into a new routine of flips that would make Olympic gymnasts proud. "Oh, god, here we go," you choked out, covering your mouth as you tried to flee for the bathroom with stumbling steps.

Tony must have heard the commotion, having been just on the other side of your bedroom door with his hands full of water, ginger ale, and saltine crackers for you, and a large tumbler full of coffee for himself; he knew that he was in for a long night as caregiver as soon as the first toss of the blanket happened. "Sweetheart?" he called out a little urgently, pushing the door open just as you slammed the bathroom door shut. "Ah, gotcha. It's here."

As disgusting as it was, you had to use the toilet to hold yourself up because if you moved too far away from it, you would miss when your stomach finally erupted and freed the beast living within it. The nausea came in waves, alternated with flashes of heat that left you pouring sweat followed by chills that left you shaking. The cool tiles of the floor helped when you warmed, but you had nowhere to run from them when you were cold. You were an unwilling servant to the porcelain throne.

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Just let me die, Tony."

"No can do, (Y/N), you know that." He knew that he was pushing his luck to do it, but he slowly opened the bathroom door and peeked his head through the smallest opening just to see you with his own eyes. When he got a full glimpse of you, he threw caution to the wind and hurried in to kneel at your side. "Oh, honey, you look like hell. What do you need? What can I do?"

"You can back up. Don't get so close to me, you'll catch it too."

"I think that's inevitable."

You wanted to try to convince him of how wrong he was, and that he still had a chance at survival, but your body had other ideas, leaving you unable to do anything but watch your life flash before your eyes as it erupted out of you.

Tony stood quickly to grab a cold washcloth, pressing it to your forehead as he looked away, his concern in every line of his expression. Sure, he felt bad for his teammates who had succumbed to the flu already, and he helped them when he could, but seeing you suffering through it was physically hurting him when he didn't know what to do to make it go away.

"Tony..."

"Yeah, sweetheart, what do you need?"

"I need to get back to bed...but I don't think I can stand up."

"I'm on it-" he began towards you, but you thrust your hand out with the little strength that you had, pushing him back. "What? I can carry you."

"No, get Vision."

"Why?"

"He can't catch this," you argued softly, each word only pushing you further into your fatigue. "I won't get you sick, and you've already gotten too close. I can't kill Iron Man, the world will hate me."

"(Y/N)-"

"FRIDAY, call Vision," you commanded, pointing towards the door. "Out, Stark. I mean it."

The gawk of pure hurt on his face was almost too painful for you to look at, but you were making him go for his own good, he just couldn't understand that. Of course you wanted him there; feeling this sick was the worst, and he was the only thing in pretty much the entire world that could even try to make it better. No matter how much you needed him, however, it wasn't worth him suffering through this too if he didn't have to, and certainly not for you. When he pushed himself up and backed away, his eyes never leaving you, you fought your own instinct to call him back, and watched him leave through a haze of tears that came not from his leaving, but the pure exhaustion you were under.

"Miss? I was asked to assist you," Vision called out from the other side of your door. "Might I enter?"

"Knock yourself out," Tony snapped, answering for you. He flung the door open to allow Vision in, leaving without another word and slamming it closed behind him with a bang that would echo inside of your head for days before you saw him again.

~~~

"It's soup, (Y/N), not poison. Eat."

"Steeeve, I'm tired. Go away."

"This is my mom's recipe. It always works for everything, and trust me, I used to catch everything. Now, open up. I'm not leaving until you try it."

"You're such an ass," you growled, pushing yourself back to sit against the headboard of your bed. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest in defiance, but ultimately opened your mouth hesitantly to allow him to feed you. "I could do this myself."

"But you're not, so here I am." His hand was unfalteringly steady as he lifted the spoon full of liquid up for you to take, watching you for even the slightest spill like a doting parent. It was a little endearing to see his concern, but you would likely never tell him that. You didn't want to encourage this behavior, after all. You also didn't want to let him know that he was right, and that the soup felt like a miracle after just the first taste.

~~~

A mere two days later and you were trying to rejoin the land of the living, venturing out of your room for the first time since the plague hit. You weren't without reservations, though, making a clear effort to not touch anything along the way to the kitchen, and watching for any of your teammates who might have fallen ill while you were quarantined. After Nat, you had heard that Rhodey was fighting death at the same time you were, but Tony hadn't reappeared for even his best friend. It was your fault, of course, but you simply wanted to spare him from feeling like you were, and you meant the best; maybe your delivery sucked, but your intent was honest.

"It was the soup, right?" Steve smiled, greeting you as you entered the room. He was sitting on the side of the table farthest from you, but even with the distance, you halted with a hand up to keep him back. "Feeling better?"

"Yes, um, much better...thanks," you stammered slightly, looking around the room cautiously, "thank you, for helping...even when I didn't want it."

"Of course," he answered just as hesitantly, "but what's wrong? You're acting weird."

"Am I?" You tried to sound innocent and truly unknowing, but deep down you just wanted to run. Your skin was crawling and all you could see were the germs and sickness on every surface just waiting to make you sick again; you had never felt so ill, and you were in no way willing to risk going back. However, before you could lock yourself away forever, you had one thing to fix, and one person to find. "Have you seen Tony?"

"Lab, I think."

"Great, thanks again, Cap." But before he could reply, you were already on your way to find Tony. You did a perfect job of keeping your hands in your pockets as you hurried, taking the quickest route that would take you past the least amount of people. Even though you were doing so well keeping it together, you could feel that you could break at any second; it was probably just the fact that you had been locked away for a few days and that you still didn't feel fully like yourself, but the feeling wouldn't shake. You could see Tony's shadow through the lab window, and it was suddenly the only place that felt safe, making your steps push even faster until you all but stumbled through the door. "Tony?"

"Stay by the door."

"Why?"

"Because...I...oh, shit...look out," he gasped, pushing his way past you and towards the door that he wanted to give you safe distance from this very risk. You side-stepped fast enough for him to fly by, but you were quickly behind him despite his continued insistence that you stay back. Suddenly, seeing Tony as the next victim of the flu took away any fears that you had about catching it again, and all you knew was that you needed to be there to help. He barreled into the hallway bathroom and let the door close itself behind him, not locking it to keep you out in his urgency.

"Sweetie, I'm coming in, okay?"

"Ugh...no...I'm okay..."

"You sound fantastic."

"Go away, (Y/N)...I don't need you...either."

"Tony, I'm sorry, I was just worried that this is exactly what would happen, and I was just trying to protect you from it," you tried, slowly testing his resolve by pushing the door open the smallest bit. "I get it that you wanted to help me, and I'm so sorry that I didn't see how worried you were too. I get it, okay? Please, let me come in." This time, his only response was an all-too familiar sound of agony and he couldn't fight back. You pushed the door open and quickly knelt next to him, a gentle hand on his back to try to soothe his anxiety.

"Go..." he urged again, but he couldn't stop retching long enough to say any more. His body slumped in his own defeat and inevitable exhaustion, leaning back against the wall to look at you with sunken and sad eyes, and a pitiful pout that crushed your heart to see.

"I'm sorry that I let my own fears and weirdness about germs and being sick push you away, it wasn't what I was trying to do. But I'm not about to let it get in the way of helping you, I promise. If I get sick, then we'll just need two buckets."

"Okay," he whimpered, letting the pout continue as if he could see it breaking you down. He would normally never give in so easily, and you knew it, so when his shaky and weakened hand raised up for you to take, you didn't hesitate. "Can I ask you one thing, though?"

"Of course, anything."

"Do you think that Cap has any of that soup left?"