God, maybe it wasn't the caffeine or even that beer Clint was gulping like it was ambrosia, which it probably was though it wasn't even Tony's drink and he really could have used something stronger. That all occurred to him half a beat before the first bang from the kitchen, after he jumped up to follow and insist he could get it himself rather than being left to make conversation, instead squeezing his eyes shut then doubling over in pain, jaw clenched and arms tight across his chest, feeling like his entire skeleton was trying to escape.
The equation came together just in time for Tony to meet Pietro's eye, brow arched and mouth open with a question he didn't even care to ask before he noted casually, "Wanda, you're killing me." He wasn't sure yet how close that was to true, but it felt pretty spot on and if he started bleeding from his eyes or ports they'd know. All very scientific. In the case that he survived, it was worth noting for future encounters with the circlet that he should be more prepared. Otherwise and while they waited for pending results, why the fuck had Pietro left him on the stoop? Asshole. He could have told him to go away; that was reasonable.