There was another long, blank silence from Iron Man after that obscure statement, hardly assisted by Steve's apparent guilt, like he had left soldiers behind. Only soldiers weren't 'it', and if any emotion manifested itself physically in Steve Rogers it was through a punch. The only other hint Tony got was that ginger touch, which finally moved him into action, stepping between Steve and the larger party to block the view with Iron Man's broad back as he took Steve's hand and carefully pulled at the hem of his shirt.
"Jesus," Tony breathed at the first shoddy stitches he found, the skin puckered and dark, and dropped the fabric, getting the picture. "Is there no doctor in this crew?" he demanded, rolling his shoulder back but stopping before he jerked a thumb at the party behind him and got anyone's attention. That wasn't what he really wanted to know anyway, and continued before Steve thought he needed to answer, "Come on, --jesus." That was a good part of the reason they were here, anyway, might as well put it to use; nowhere else would have such a secured, active medical ward that wasn't already crawling with the infected.