Steve looked down, to make sure Hawkeye wasn’t going anywhere, and then looked back to Tony and extended his empty hand, hefting the knife with the other. Tony went still, eyes widening comically.
"Well?" his throat was dry, voice a croak, but Tony wouldn’t have heard him if he’d shouted. "Death or mercy?"
Tony shoved his hand out, palm open and down, no attempt at dignity or gravity. “Mercy,” he mouthed, as if Steve might misunderstand him, and that might have been of course after it. Tony was a kind man. Soft, a fool, but kind.