Chapter Text
"I think of you from time to time
More than I thought I would
You were just too kind
And I was too young to know" - House of Memories, by Panic! at the Disco
Tony wakes up to the god-awful sound of a generic phone alarm. He groans and stuffs his head deeper into the pillow.
“Turn it off Jarvis,” He whines, muffled by the pillow.
Someone snickers.
The alarm is still beeping. There’s rustling on the other side of the room. A quiet, muttered ‘crap’. Something falls on the floor with a thunk, followed by a deep sigh.
The beeping is louder now.
Tony frowns into the pillow. He peeks an eye open, squinting in the dark.
This is not his room. Or the tower for that matter. It looks like a low rate motel room with too much furniture for the floor plan and peeling wallpaper. The low light makes it hard to tell, but Tony is sure the color palette includes vomit green.
Some might consider not being able to remember where you fell asleep a problem, or concerning, but Tony was unfortunately used to it. From blackouts in college due to a..variety of reasons, to pure exhaustion catching up to him in the labs. Now though, it was a common consequence of being an Avenger that missions usually ended in the team sleeping where they fell and figuring things out in the morning.
Moving back to the strange noises that woke him up…
“What’re you doing?” Tony whisper hisses across the thin gap between the two beds in the room.
Steve freezes, caught. He’s halfway out of the bed, leaning towards the floor and looking wildly unbalanced. He’s wearing a t-shirt and the pants of his field uniform. His hair is mussed from sleep and Tony thinks he sees mud or something else dark colored smeared in it.
There’s a blanket covered lump behind him in the bed, presumably another team member.
He looks up, wide eyed and a guilty expression on his face, “Sorry,” He whispers back, a phone is in his hand, open to the clock app.
“Why did you have an alarm set this early?” Tony asks, “It’s not even light yet. That’s insane. You’re insane.”
“The sun’ll be up in thirty minutes.” Steve defends himself.
“And you what? Just rise with the sun everyday?”
Tony shifts so he is also leaning off the bed, propped up on his elbows. They’re still whispering, it’s ridiculous. Like kids afraid to get caught at a sleepover.
“I like to go for runs,” Steve says, looking vaguely sheepish, “And I don’t need as much sleep as normal people because of the serum.”
Tony stares at him. How did he not know this? “How did I not know this?” He asks.
“It..never came up.”
“Hm. I’ll have to look into that. Hey, do you remember what happened?” Tony asks it casually, disguising his burning curiosity and growing worry that he can’t remember.
Steve gets this screwed up look on his face, “I think there was a secret base..thing? Experiments..”
Oh. So he’s not the only one having trouble remembering. Cool.
“Illegal?”
Steve nods emphatically, “Definitely.”
“All the best science is.” Tony says mournfully, Steve looks alarmed so Tony flashes him a grin. He gets the hint.
“If you boys are quite finished,”
Natasha’s voice startles them both. Steve startles, nearly losing his precarious grip on the bed and narrowly avoiding tumbling to the floor. Tony lets out an undignified squeak, freezing and trying to peer through the dark.
“..Natasha?” Steve uncertainly asks the room in general.
“Steve,” Her voice drifts over from the couch, a shadowy lump laying there that Tony assumes is her, “Some of us are trying to sleep.”
“Sorry, my alarm went off and woke up Tony too.”
“Unfortunately.” Tony adds, ignoring Steve’s tired look, “Have you been listening to our whole conversation?”
Something hits his shin, hard.
This time he nearly screams. Scrambling back as far as the bed will allow and clutching at his heart.
“What? What’s wrong?” Steve asks, panicked, but obviously not enough for him to get out of bed. Tony feels slightly bitter about that.
“Something just kicked me!”
“‘Scuse you.” A sleepy, slurring voice says. A mess of dark blond hair rises out from under a pillow, “I am a someone, not a something.”
“Clint!” Tony whisper yells, why he’s doing that instead of talking like a normal person remains to be seen, “What’re you doing in my bed? I’ll have you know I am in a committed relationship.”
“Hhhnngg,” Clint rolls over, taking over half the covers with him.
Tony turns back to Steve and Natasha. Steve looks faintly amused, Natasha is still a black blob in the dark. “Steve, do something.”
“Oh grow up Tony, where was he supposed to sleep? The floor?” Natasha says.
Steve shrugs at him, sets his phone on the table, lays down and promptly closes his eyes. Apparently intending to fall back asleep, even after it was his alarm that woke them all up. Tony huffs and waits for a moment to see if they really are going to sleep and not just trying to trick him to sleep (It had happened an embarrassing amount of times already and Rhodey always laughed like a maniac about it).
Steve lets out a soft snore, confirming that he’s really asleep. Tony closes his eyes, feeling the day's exhaustion creeping back in and chasing away his previous alertness. He tugs at the blankets halfheartedly before giving up and just curls in on himself instead. He drifts off.
And is instantly awakened again it feels like. Only this time sunlight is filtering through the window, illuminating the truly awful color scheme(it really was vomit green). Somebody has opened the window too because a breeze passes over Tony’s limbs that have somehow uncurled and become askew across the bed.
He lifts his head. Steve is hunched over a cereal bowl, piling spoonfuls of it into his mouth at an alarming rate. Tony can clearly see that there is blood crusted in his hair and dirt plastered on his face. He spies the discarded boots of Steve’s uniform piled by the door with the rest of their shoes.
Natasha looks a bit more put together, but only by pure will. She’s lounging on the couch, tossing a knife, still dressed head to toe in her uniform. Mud is splattered across her limbs and her hair is pulled back in a stringy ponytail. Her eyes are glazed over, implying she’s probably zoned out, buried in whatever super spy thoughts run through her mind.
The shower is running, the drum of the water easily heard through the whole room. And above it Tony can hear..what is that? He frowns, sitting up, and then internally groans at the soreness of his body. Wait-
There it is again.
Tony strains his ears to hear the faint voice floating out of the shower.
“Uh huh..mhmm..his DNA. D-D-D-DNA, it’s in his DNA.”
“Is..” He says uncertainly, Steve looks up at Tony, cheeks full of cereal, “is that Clint?”
“Yeah. He doesn’t have his hearing aids in.” Natasha answers lazily, stretching like a cat and still managing to catch her knife.
“...bre-bre-breath awayyy.” Clint sings in the shower, voice cracking horribly on the high note.
Tony snorts. Steve grins.
“That’s what makes a man..mmhmm” He warbles.
Tony loses it, snickering uncontrollably into his shirt, falling back into a lying position. Clint can still be faintly heard through the walls. Natasha’s mouth has lifted up into a little smile.
“DNAAAAAA” Clint stretches the note out passionately.
Someone snorts. A spoon clatters. There’s a loud choking noise, followed immediately with gasping coughs. Tony sits up, narrowing his eyes. He zeros in on Steve who is red in the face and coughing with an uncontrollable grin on his face.
Milk is spilled on the table, cereal flakes float in it. His spoon is on the floor.
“D-” Tony splutters in delight, “Did you just snort milk through your nose?”
Steve waves a hand dismissively. Still coughing. Tony takes that as a confirmation.
“Oh my god.” He says in awe. Never having anticipated witnessing Captain America snorting milk.
“Disgusting.” Natasha says, scooting away from Steve.
The shower shuts off, barely a minute later Clint steps out. His wet hair dripping on his t-shirt and standing up in spikes. He looks wide eyed at Steve, still red faced, the milk on the floor and the knife that Natasha has recently lodged in the ceiling.
Bruce, who is honestly just a blanket covered lump in the bed, decides to wake up at that moment. He stirs and sits up, bleary eyed and rumpled, still encompassed in a ridiculous amount of blankets.
“Wha time ‘zit?” He yawns.
Tony stares at him, struggling to keep a straight face.
“Nice of you to join us.” Natasha says, completely deadpan.
Bruce looks wide eyed around the room, deliberates for a moment and lies back down. Grumbling under his breath about inexplicable teammates and missions gone wrong.
Natasha giggles, and then immediately looks surprised at herself. Steve’s resolve cracks next, his laughter filling up the room as Tony and Natasha join in.
“I feel like I missed something.” Clint says, only amplifying their hysteria.
…
A year later
…
Natasha wakes up to an empty medbay. Despite the setting, it was actually one of the more pleasant ways to wake up. Rested, without any obvious injuries, in a soft and warm bed with her own clothes on, and a feeling of safety flowing through her veins.
It lasts about two seconds.
Empty medbay. Empty.
Natasha didn’t want to sound..attached, but she could usually count on at least one person to be waiting for her to wake up. More recently that number had increased by four members usually, which only made this situation even stranger.
Her boys had a habit of getting attached. No matter how much they tried to ignore it.
She’s in the tower’s medbay, the room familiar enough for her to distinguish from S.H.I.E.L.D. medical or a public hospital. The other bed in the room is rumpled, someone else has been here recently and it hasn’t been cleaned. She looks at the counter, it’s mostly clear, but a few tools litter it haphazardly, a drawer isn’t quite closed. As if someone slammed it and it bounced back open.
Natasha frowns. Things are adding up. She starts moving. A dull headache throbs in her right temple, and exhaustion makes her limbs heavy, but she manages. Nothing can keep the Black Widow down for long.
She’s unsteadily (but quickly regaining balance) crossing the room when it hits her. Swiss cheese.
‘You’re ok Nat.’
Hitting Clint. Her stupid coffee creamer.
‘Get Bruce.’
Watching TV. Steve being slightly off.
‘What’s wrong with him?’
Tony freaking out. That phone call.
Her team. She needs to find her team. Her boys.
Natasha takes a deep breath, clutching the doorframe. Compartmentalizing. She shoves the panic and terror into a box, locking it and throwing away the key. Something she is well practiced in by now.
Her legs shake with her first steps, she forces them to be steady beneath her. She had a mission, no time to be weak. She’s rushing towards the nearest elevator. Taking note of the darkened windows, it’s nighttime.
Her internal clock is going to be so messed up after this.
Come on Natasha. Clint. Where is Clint? Where would he be?
She loves her team dearly. The Avengers being her second true family, but Clint is her priority right now. They’ve known each other much longer, he’s saved her more times than she cares to count, and she him. The trust they share is rare and born out of hundreds of missions suffered through together.
Clint first. Then the team.
It’s horribly selfish and Natasha hates herself for it. You don’t have favorites in your family. But it’s CLINT.
The tower is huge, she curses Tony’s extravagance vehemently. It’d take her forever to comb the whole thing. Luckily she has a few spots flagged as common hangouts for Clint.
With a quiet chime the elevator doors open, letting her onto the suite floor. She doesn’t wait for them to open wide enough before she’s pushing through and bolting down the hallway. Her socked feet pound against the carpet, sending shocks of nausea and dizziness to her brain.
Most people would’ve fumbled with the door handle, losing valuable time, but Natasha is not Most People. She bursts through the door in a split second, scanning Clint's living room while already moving towards the bedroom.
She needs to be more careful. She should slow down, assess her options calmly. Recklessness got you hurt. It got others hurt.
Clint’s broken wrists flashes in her mind. Steve trying and failing to hide his worry. The empty medbay.
Clint isn’t in his bedroom. Or the bathroom. She checks the closet, under the bed. Yells into the vents. She combs the living room and kitchen again.
Nothing.
Fine. Ok. Next room.
A half baked plan in mind and false calm covering her facial features Natasha goes to her suite. The door is ajar. SHe doesn’t remember leaving it that way. She pushes the door open cautiously.
Blankets are piled on the floor in an abandoned nest in front of the TV. A melted ice cream tub is on the counter. Chip crumbs and marshmallows litter the floor. The TV is still playing quietly.
“Clint?” She asks, looking around.
No one answers and she shoves down another wave of exhaustion. Copying her motions from her previous search she combs through the suite. Yelling into the vents again and hoping Clint has the presence of mind to answer if he hears her.
Even if Clint isn’t here she wonders why no one else has heard her. There are three other people here besides her and Clint. Surely someone should be around.
Where is everybody?
Natasha clears the room, already deciding where she’ll look next. The lab. She’ll look in the lab. Clint spends a decent amount of time there, she faintly remembers someone mentioning him being there sometime in the past few days.
Besides Clint she can count on Tony or Bruce being down there. They practically live in the lab. Tony retreats there in times of distress without fail, and it’s safe to say that the past few days have been distressing. As for Bruce, he was the most likely candidate for formulating a cure and it stands to reason he would be in the lab to do that.
She dismisses the elevator in favor of flying down the stairs, it’s incrementally faster and she can’t bear to stand still. Even in her haste she barely makes a noise as she skips stairs and darts towards the lab door. On her way past the windows Natasha takes a passing glance in and feels her spirits sink, there is no one in view.
Even so, she inputs her code on the pad, practically ripping the door open and rushing in.
“Clint? Tony?” Her voice echoes in the lab, it’s dark, “Bruce?” Her feet carry her forward without her permission.
A dark spot catches her eye and Natasha lets out a quiet gasp. There’s a puddle of…something on the floor. Between two workstations. Tinier spots are splattered on the cupboards.
“What…?” She whispers, crouching down.
Her heart is in her throat. It looks like blood. It is almost definitely blood. She touches a spot that’s still tacky, bringing it to her mouth to taste. Instantly she spits it out, expelling the iron flavor that’s on her tongue. Blood. Without a doubt.
Natasha feels sick. More than just the exhaustion and nausea ringing through her. She doesn’t know what’s going on. Why…? What? Her brain is struggling to compute, it’s slow and sluggish, still foggy from the virus. She shakes her head furiously, trying to understand.
There’s nothing for her to examine. Just a rapidly drying puddle of blood and a frightening splatter on the cupboards. It looks like a murder scene, Natasha’s seen plenty of those but this..this is her team.
It’s not enough to be this panicked. Natasha knows this, looking over the badly lit scene for a second time. There are no smears where someone was dragged away, the puddle is already almost dry. Not nearly enough for someone to die of blood loss.
Still.
Where is everybody?
She gives up on checking the rest of the lab, there is a new sense of urgency driving her forward. Her heart is thumping hard in her chest. The blood rushing in her ears.
The tower looks like a ghost town. Nobody is wandering the halls, Natasha’s footsteps echo endlessly in the hallways. No lights are on, giving it a dusky, abandoned look. It sets her on edge, she is no stranger to the dark but this is something different. The tower is her home, usually full of chaos and light, it shouldn’t be like this. Even if it is nighttime.
Her body forces her to stop halfway up the stairwell, lungs gulping for air. She can feel the pumping of her veins as her body tries to keep up with her. Natasha curses herself for going all the way down to the labs, it’s so far from anywhere else. Stupid. So stupid.
Where is everybody?
She’s never felt so small. Not during the battle of New York, not when Clint brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D. for the first time, not even trapped in the Red Room. Even during all those times, she had a clear answer for who was waiting for her at the end of the mission. In the Red Room it was Yelena, she would get out and bring it down so Yelena could escape. Then it was Clint, Phil, then Fury, Maria too, all waiting at S.H.I.E.L.D. for her to come home.
Now she had her team. Clint, Steve, Bruce, Tony, Thor. Her boys.
They’re waiting for her to wake up. Somewhere. Somewhere in this tower. They have to be. That’s just how it is, you get injured, sick or go on a mission and the team is waiting for you to come back. Always. She didn’t always believe it at first, still doubted sometimes(like now) but her boys were consistent. They are here. Somewhere. She just can’t find them right now. That’s all.
“That’s all.” She whispers to herself.
Natasha takes a deep breath, resuming her sprint up the stairs. It’s uncharacteristic for her to be acting this way. She is marble. Unbroken, and unbreakable. The perfect actor and weapon. She shouldn’t be feeling so fragile. Natasha has become soft, attached to her team.
It’s frightening, to experience this worry when she is so used to spending her life detached. But, she thinks, it’s not all bad.
She bursts through the door into the hallway of conference rooms on the common floor. They use them for mission briefings, mainly because they’re so close to the kitchen.
Just on the off chance she glances into each one as she passes. But they’re all dark and empty. Fine. It’s fine.
She skids into the kitchen, already straining to see around the partition wall towards the common room. Her eye catches the clock over the oven, 4:06. About an hour before dawn. If they’re not there she is going to be worried. Extremely worried.
Her eyes strain in the dark, even as she is jogging closer. Natasha slams a hand on the light switch, unable to wait any longer. She gasps.
Steve and Tony are leaning together on the couch, Bruce curled up next to them. Clint is sprawled on the floor, a hastily made and blood smeared bandage covering his head. Tissues and cough drops litter one side table while the other one has three empty syringes on them.
Clint lets out an obnoxious snore, Steve sighs heavily in his sleep, almost as if in response.
She covers her mouth, not daring to make any noise.
Bruce startles awake suddenly, light seeming to have distrubed him. He snorts, rubbing a hand across his face, blinking heavily. He spots Natasha, still halfway in the kitchen, sweaty and probably looking all kinds of panicked.
She lets her hand fall to her side, wiping most of the raw emotion off her face.
“Nat..?” Bruce says, an unsure but hopeful look on his face. Exhaustion is plain on his face and Natasha wonders if he’s slept at all in the past few days. He looks her up and down, obviously worried.
“I remember.” She reassures him, “It worked. Whatever you did.”
Joy and relief break out on his face, “Thank god.”
Natasha is still standing in the middle of the room. Feeling frozen.
Bruce notices, a kind expression on his face. He starts to carefully get up from the couch, “You ok?”
“Yes.” She answers on autopilot, still staring at the sleeping figures. She sees Bruce raise his eyebrows out of the corner of her eyes. “I..um..I woke up in the medbay and couldn’t find anyone.”
“Oh.”
“There’s blood in the lab.” Natasha says, peering at him to gauge his reaction. She’s feeling more and more stable the longer she gazes at her team. Seeing them alive and safe.
Bruce winces, something like regret passing over his face, “You saw that?”
“Mmhmm.” She nods. A wave of vertigo passes over her and she sways, Bruce’s hands shoot out, grabbing her elbows.
“Whoa, how’re you feeling?” He starts walking her over to a chair. She lets him.
“Fine. Just a little tired.”
“Anything I can fix?” Bruce asks, taking her avoidance in a stride.
“No.” She shakes her head, smiling at him, “No, I think I’ll just sit here till they wake up. You should rest though, you look like crap.”
Bruce laughs, “Thanks,” He says sarcastically, “I think I’ll go back to sleep then.” He cocks her head at her, unsure.
She leans back, bringing her legs up and hugging them. She gives him another nod, which he returns, he dims the lights before sitting back down, almost instantly falling back asleep. Leaning against Tony, who is in turn leaning on Steve.
Clint snores again. Natasha rolls her eyes, tugs a blanket off the chair next to her and throws it at him. He doesn’t wake up, but he does roll over, putting his wrist cast on display.
Natasha settles in to wait for morning. Keeping watch.
…
Several hours earlier
…
Natasha’s body is reacting to the virus physically, confirming that this is not simply a mind disease. Something that Bruce had suspected but had no chance to verify. Now it is constantly in the back of his mind, urging him on in his work. Her lungs are filling up with fluid, a response when the body detects a toxin.
JARVIS is running the fifteenth test of Bruce’s (extremely) rushed cure. Even with the time limit, Bruce is sure this is the correct path, and JARVIS will pick up on any dangers.
Clint is going to be fine, much to Bruce’s relief. His skull is in one piece, though it may leave a scar. It took Steve holding Clint’s hands down, 45 minutes and a whole lot of yelling to get him patched up and even now it looks like a five year old’s work.
Bruce gulps down the last half of his cup of cold coffee. He hasn’t slept since yesterday, coffee is his only chance to stay awake. Tea isn’t cutting it anymore.
A quiet ding echoes from the screen and Bruce looks up, ready to go back to the drawing board.
‘Solution Successful’ The holograms proudly proclaim.
Bruce drops his mug. He laughs breathlessly.
“Oh my god. Oh my GOD! Jarvis! Synthesize that!” Bruce points to the solution like a maniac, “Right now, a batch of ten!”
“As you wish, Dr. Banner,” JARVIS says, sounding distinctly pleased, “ May I inform Ms. Potts of your progress?”
Bruce runs his hands through his hair, a grin stretched wide across his face, “Yes. Yeah, do that Jarvis. Thank you. What’s the ETA on those vials?”
“Two hours sir. Side effects include exhaustion, nausea, and dizziness, but should only last for two days.”
“Perfect.” Bruce couldn’t care less about the side effects, “Run it.”
Maybe things would turn out after all.