This was going to be hard, Tony knew that. That was what the suit was for. It let him hold his ground instead of flinching back when Wicked jumped up and keep an even stare on her despite dropping his gaze behind his mask, unable to meet her eye, trying to swallow the lump in his throat that kept him from interrupting and insisting that if Pietro was going to die they were already too late. It only choked him and Tony sniffed, the sound echoing back in his helmet. That was probably a good thing, in retrospect. This climate didn't support a smartass. She didn't deserve that. The only thing Wicked deserved, above anyone else here, was an apology from Tony for being so inattentive, inconsiderate and self-absorbed. He should have known something was wrong.
Unfortunately, now they had to deal with that, and Clint wasn't fucking well helping. No, Avengers didn't abandon their own, but that meant the ones collected here as well. That meant doing right by Pietro and not getting themselves killed in the process and fracturing their strength further. How did none of them see that? Tony thought he was acting in everyone's best interest here, and he knew they were going to hate him for it, but that cold murder in Wanda's eyes was making him second guess his own motives. Everything he had done had been wrong so far, what else was new? Pietro was probably dead and he was trying to deal with that, the Tower was down and he was trying to deal with that, he let a dozen men die in the Cube and he was trying to deal with that. Maybe he was a little distracted, too.
He only managed a sharp inhale as Wanda stalked away, bristling and flexing his fingers in frustration as he watched her go. It was only when Cap intervened that his shoulders visibly dropped and Iron Man canted his head slightly in appreciation for always having the words when Tony couldn't find any. Not that these people wanted to hear from him anymore, anyway.