Chapter Text
Somebody kill me.
Tony groaned into what was probably a pillow. His body hurt everywhere, shoulders stiff and back screaming in hellish pain. For a brief moment, it felt like those times in Afghanistan, where he had all but a nice and dusty floor to sleep on, but the warm leg twisted over his accompanied by soft snoring rushed the panic away before it could even peek out.
"Friday, remind me why I made the terrible decision of sleeping on this horrid couch," he grumbled. His joints screeched at him as he sat up. I. Am. Old.
"Because you and Mr. Parker decided to play Mario Kart at 11:07 pm and fell asleep at 3:42 am, right before your character was thrown off Rainbow Bridge."
Oh, right.
“Wait, what? He threw me off?” Tony glared at the kid sprawled out on the narrow end of the orange couch. “Little shit. I picked Yoshi and he got jealous.”
“I told you to choose the purple one.”
“What the everloving—”
Tony shifted his glare over the back of the couch. Loki’s returning stare was of amusement.
“Jesus, that’s it! I’m gonna buy you a bell,” Tony stated. He gently lifted Peter’s scrawny leg from his knee and stretched – ow pain, ow pain, said his muscles – before getting off the couch. His gaming remote tumbled to the floor. “And you wanted me to pick Waluigi. Waluigi. Friendship revoked.”
Loki huffed, stabbing at his half-frozen waffles. He was still trying to figure out how some things were supposed to be food and seemed pretty keen on getting to understand. Even if sometimes it made him beyond irritated. He did not understand toast, for example. Or tacos. Or cheesecake. Or cookies. Or pop-tarts, definitely not pop-tarts, which had made for entertaining debates with Thor.
Tony snorted at his bemused expression. “Just pour some milk and granola on a bowl before you give yourself an aneurysm.”
“Your ‘milk’ is foul.”
“Oh great, another one who thinks milk is murder. You gonna tell me the Earth is flat, too?”
“What? Quit speaking nonsense, Man of Iron.”
“You already working on your anti-vaccination petitions?”
Tony felt more than saw Bruce opening the fridge behind him, probably to dig out the eggs and the milk in question. He always made pancakes for breakfast when he was around in the mornings. Speaking of which…
“Friday, give me hours.”
“8:50 in the morning, boss.”
Cripes.
Vision’s hand suddenly stretched out to grab Loki’s uneaten plate of (mashed) waffles and started to bring out pots and pans to help with breakfast. Water was already boiling on the stove and Tony could bet that was Bruce’s tea.
“I think what Loki means is that he doesn’t really like milk,” Bruce said.
“Sacrilege.” Loki’s eye-roll was so damn near perfect, Tony envied it. He turned to the living room. “Up and at it, Spidey. You’re late for school. Don’t want Aunt May on my ass again.”
There was a low, dragged out groan from the occupied couch, a flash of feet – one with the sock on and the other in a sneaker – and Peter was up. Tired and disoriented, but still up. Maskless, even. Took him a while, but he’d finally decided at least some of the Avengers should know who he was in case of emergency. And what better half of the Avengers than the ones that were legal?
Discounting Loki, but Loki... was Loki.
“I was under the idea that schools closed during weekends,” Vision mused, closing a cabinet.
Bruce smiled at him when Tony raised an eyebrow, that exasperated yet fond smile he had really missed. “Tony, it’s Saturday.”
“Oh. Is it?”
“Yes, boss.”
Damn, I am really off track.
“False alarm, kid. Go to your room, catch some Z's. Or would you rather I drive you back home? I’m sure May will want to check up on you.”
Peter yawned in response and sat on his self-claimed bar stool. It was his favorite spot in the kitchen, for some reason. Did a lot of homework there, listening to Tony and Bruce’s heated science arguments. Tony supposed it was because of the vents’ entrance right over it. Easy access to a tall, dark place and whatnot. Freaking spiders and their spider-lings.
It also reminded him of someone who had a bad habit of sneaking around in vents and he didn’t know how to feel about that.
“Nah, I’m good, Mr. Stark. I wanna be awake for… you know.”
Tony watched him rub his eyes, and for a brief moment, was reminded of how young he was. “For what? Adventure Time reruns?”
All noise in the kitchen stopped at his words. Even Loki wasn’t unperturbed.
“Uh, no…?” Peter frowned at him. “Mr. Stark, you do know what day today is, right?”
“Is it your birthday? Shit I thought I had that memorized already—”
“It’s the fourteenth,” Bruce enlightened. He kept cracking the eggs, but his tone was clipped.
Vision didn’t look much better. “Today, the once fugitive team of former Avengers returns to the country, in order to sign the renewed Accords.”
Shit. Shit.
Rain poured outside when Team Iron Man (plus the Hulk, Thor and Loki) were ready and assembled in the common room of the Avengers facility. The TV was on, switched to some news channel, a weatherman describing the exact storm going outside.
Tony wouldn’t’ve had it more cliche than this. Yes, morning started out as beautiful as his mood. Yes, now the rain mirrored how drastically it had shifted. You’re kidding me . He was half inclined to dump the tea he was holding on one of the Asgard brothers, considering they were the closest things to gods he had in his life. And who do you curse when shit happens? Exactly.
2:49 pm, his wristwatch read. Eleven minutes. Eleven minutes until those doors opened.
Natasha stood against one of the kitchen counters. As always, her red hair was perfect and her leather jacket was immaculate. She’d arrived at two o’clock sharp and had barely said a word since then. Tony was actually thankful for that. He was not in the mood to get into a discussion about his so called ego and the consequences if often arose.
He was already feeling like shit (read: self-conscious and scared as fuck) enough as it was.
He glanced at his reflection on the mirror across the room. Ergo. Slim-fit Hugo Boss, black, an indigo-blue tie snug around his neck and tucked into the vest. Blue tinted Armani shades to hide his ever so permanent bags. Look your best when you're at your worst.
“… So I take the tank, drop it right off at the general's palace, drop it at his feet. I'm like, ‘Boom, are you looking for this?’"
“I once did something like that!”
Tony smiled at the sight of Peter and Rhodey, on the couch, laughing and sharing crime-fighting stories. He knew the kid did a lot that the Colonel didn’t, but his enthusiasm didn’t seem deterred. Quality trait inc: humility.
“He’s a good kid.”
Tony looked at Natasha for a moment. Her green eyes were searching.
“He is.”
It was followed by the same silence it had hung in the air until then. 2:52. She pushed herself off the counter, arms still crossed, and rounded the kitchen island to stand closer to Tony. He had the sudden impulse to activate his emergency wrist repulsor and blast her back to where she was before. He sipped at the cup of tea Bruce had brewed for him instead.
“How did you convince him to stick around?”
Here we go.
“I didn’t.”
He saw her raised eyebrow from the corner of his eye.
“That’s an ominous reply.”
Look who’s talking, he wanted to say, but he was still not in the mood for this kind of self-destructive discussions. Checking his watch again – 2:53 – he moved closer to Peter and Rhodey, taking a seat on one of the other couches and blatantly disregarding Natasha’s irked expression.
Thor and Vision were already engaged in a conversation, something about the stone in his head again – reasonable, it pertained to the reason Team Cap was signing the Accords – and Loki, fully dressed in his Asgardian drapes like his brother, fiddled with his scepter on the other end of the same couch Tony and Bruce sat on. The good doctor seemed to be avoiding Natasha’s presence as well. Kind of ironic – he’d somehow made peace with a Norse god who had wanted to unleash the Hulk and spread terror, but he refused to talk to the woman he’d once had a chance with.
“You’re not gonna catch up?” Tony asked, pointing at the aforementioned redhead with his teacup.
“We already did.”
“… And?”
Well, it was a matter of time before I lost him, too.
“And nothing, Tony.” Bruce clasped his hands, taking a deep breath. “Indeed, I wouldn’t have signed the Accords at all when this whole fiasco went down. You know what went on between me and Ross. With him in control? Never.”
“Right—”
“But I never would have fought you, either.”
Tony could only stare. Bruce’s mouth quirked in a faint smile.
“The Other Guy wouldn’t have, I mean. Not you.”
“But you did sign the Accords. And you’re here.”
“Yes, because you were in charge, this time,” Bruce said. “I trust you, Tony. If you were the one to amend and dictate the main rules for the Accords, then I know it’s something safe for me to sign.”
“You don’t know that—”
“Yes, I do.”
Tony bit his lower lip, gulping. He was… at a loss for words. Something that happened once in a fucking blue moon.
He cleared his throat. “So, what? She thinks you shouldn’t have signed them?”
“No, Tony, she betrayed you.” Tony’s head swiveled so fast he almost got whiplash. “She was supposed to help you and she turned on you without good reason. That bothers me.”
“Really? Bros before hoes, you’re gonna go with that argument?”
Bruce laughed, and Tony smiled. It sounded damn good, especially after the hell that had transpired. Silence fell upon them again, but it wasn’t the awkward type anymore.
“You were just trying to make sure no more fatal casualties happened. And because Steve has trust issues—”
“Not to mention his undying love for Barnes—”
“Rhodey,” Tony deadpanned. Peter was snickering behind the mask.
“And because Steve has trust issues with the government,” Bruce continued, louder, despite his own smile, “And his own morals, he couldn’t compromise. Even though he should have, for the collective good he claims to fight for.”
“You’re kind of contradicting yourself there, Brucey, you too have issues with the government—”
“I had issues with the government. Which you managed to solve. Through your supervised Accords. And you managed to ditch Ross, too.”
“Well, it was nothing, you know, I...”
“The last time we engaged in a significant conversation,” Loki suddenly said, scepter gone, “You radiated threat. You spoke proudly, confidently. You strutted. What extinguished that fire, Stark?”
The answer came in form of more silence, thick and tense. Tony let the question turn rhetorical, let the others assume it was the Civil War some of them had not been present for.
Nobody knew about Siberia and Tony intended to keep it that way.
“Boss.”
“Yes?”
“They’re here.”
Oh, God. Indeed, the clock read 3:00 pm.
There was a collection of eye-contact amongst the group, before they all, slowly and grudgingly, stood. Tony could already feel the tell-tale signs in his chest of a panic reaction – his shield hit the arc reactor – and the sudden lack of oxygen worsened at the sight of shut windows – he was going to kill me.
He was going to kill me.
A small hand – well, smaller than his – touched his shoulder, and Tony was met with the concerned look of Spider-Man’s mask. Immediately, his chest loosened a tad. Peter was young, so young, but he looked out for Tony like nobody else did. Different from yet alike to Pepper and Rhodey.
With everybody but Bruce and Rhodey with their backs to them, Peter took the chance to hug him tightly, like Tony was anchoring him . How is this kid even real? He hugged back, hesitant and awkward – like that would ever change – but tears were already pin-pricking at his eyes, and he so did not need that now.
“Alright, kiddo, we’ve been over this, I don’t do hugs,” he said, but his voice cracked and outed him. Rhodey looked at him like he wanted to haul him over his back and take him out of there. Tony wasn’t opposed, but unlike some people, he fulfilled his duties.
Peter pulled away, nodding his head, Spider-Man eyes still conveying worry, but he made his way to the entrance hall to greet the incoming team, where everybody was already standing. Tony took a deep breath.
“Tony,” Bruce whispered, because Friday had turned off the TV and there was the familiar, metallic whirring sound of the doors opening down the hall. “Tea.”
Right. Tony took a gulp of it, a big one, shared a nod with Bruce, and placed himself on the middle-front spot the group had left for him. Next to Peter and Bruce, and far away from Natasha. Perfect.
For a moment there was just silence, the anticipating kind. Then, to join the sound of heavy breathing, came steps, multiple steps, echoing over the tall walls and ceilings, growing closer and closer and closer . Peter’s breath hitched next to him – spider senses – and there were shadows to match those steps, until—
T’Challa came first. He was in his civvies, not even in a suit, and that sort of eased Tony a little, seeing how comfortable the wakandan felt towards him. After all, he was the one Tony had been communicating with when the Thanos dilemma called for one last Assemble, the one he had discussed Accords matters with, the one who hadn’t gone against his choices on said Accords and merely relayed Team Cap’s conditions with neutrality. They weren’t exactly friends, but they weren’t enemies either, so Tony’s returning smile to the king was nothing if not genuine.
The rest of them trailed right after him. They all came. Wilson, Barton, Lang. Maximoff. She looked poised, self-assured even. She tried to meet his eyes, defiant as ever, but the two members that came last required more of his attention than a spoiled, insolent teenager did.
He had a beard. Tony almost didn’t recognize him, but where there was a one-armed, rumpled up soldier, there was Rogers. Out of all of them, he was the one Tony forced himself to make eye-contact with.
I’ll be damned if I ever give him the satisfaction of watching me suffer.
Rogers eyed him back with a strange expression in those blue eyes, like forlorn and fond at the same time, and Tony really didn’t know what to make of that.
There was a moment where nobody said anything – nobody knew what to say – but Tony was Tony.
“Did you have a disagreement with the Gillette corporation?” he blurted. Nice going. “That’s one hell of a bird’s nest, Rogers.”
In all fairness, he expected the indignation that crossed most of their faces, like they didn’t think he’d ever be so disrespectful towards their captain. He did not expect Rogers’ answering chuckle.
“Months of exile in Africa will do that to you.” Tony didn’t reply. “I can see you yourself look as prim as ever.”
Tony gave him his best press smile, but he still said nothing. He was upright and still on sheer concentrated power of will, otherwise he’d have already spun on his heels and legged it. Flashes of a red, white and blue shield aiming for his head came to mind, and he had to take a deep breath in order to not accidentally call for the suit.
“You didn’t call,” Rogers stated. Ah.
“I’m allergic to outdated technology.”
Behind him, Rhodey coughed to hide his laugh. Rogers’ reaction wasn’t nearly as pleased. He broke eye-contact, and for a moment, Tony managed to breathe.
He nodded at Bruce. “Dr. Banner.”
“Captain Rogers.”
“Mr. Stark,” T’Challa begun. Tony turned to him. “I would like to thank you for your efforts to finally bring us all into agreement regarding the Accords, and for housing us despite—”
“What the fuck.”
Tony almost jumped at the sheer rage in Barton’s voice. The archer strode forward, past Wilson and now next to Barnes – who still looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here, and Tony kind of related to him at the moment – and pointed an accusing finger at someplace to the right.
“What. Is. He. Doing. Here.”
Loki raised his eyebrows, but other than that, he didn’t react. Nobody took the initiative to reply. Really.
“He’s reinforcement.”
Barton’s glare was piercing. “Reinforcement. Nat, how the fuck did you allow this?”
“I wasn’t consulted,” Natasha replied. Her coldness was obviously not directed at the archer.
The entirety of Team Cap, excluding T’Challa, looked affronted. Rogers was no longer attempting to look amiable, steel gaze and furrowed brows in place.
“You called Loki as reinforcement?” he accused. His voice was chilling. “Stark.”
“You were made aware of our circumstances, Rogers. We need all the power we can get—”
“So you decided to recruit a mentally unstable, reckless murderer to protect the planet he once wanted to destroy?” Maximoff spat. “Oh wait, that makes sense.”
Rhodey bristled. Deep breaths, Tony reminded himself, wanting to crawl into a hole and die.
“How on Earth were you put in charge of the Accords, Stark?” Lang scorned.
“You don’t get to say anything, you don’t even know what you’re here for!” Peter shouted, angrier than Tony ever heard him.
Deep breaths.
“You’re one to talk, how old are you?! Twelve?!” Wilson retorted. “You’re a kid and he dragged you into this mess!”
“I’m sixteen, asshole, and I’m here because I want to! Don’t you dare bring Mr. Stark into this!”
Deep breaths.
“Loki has redeemed himself in our eyes—” Thor tried to explain, but nobody was listening.
“You brought a sixteen year old into this?!” Rogers barked.
“He’s here on his own, Steve, calm down,” Bruce defended, already looking a little green.
Deep breaths.
“See? See?” Barton turned to Rogers, finger now pointing at Tony. “I told you we shouldn’t trust him. We should never have trusted him in the first place, not after these goddamned Accords, not after Ultron, not even for the Avengers initiative! He doesn’t care how he fucked me up, he makes me team up with that alien fucker, after everything he did to us, after everything he did to me, like the soulless bastard he is—”
Deep—fuck no, what.
“Oh, does it bother you that I allowed someone who fucked with your mind onto our team without asking you if you were okay with it first?” Tony snapped, switching eye-contact between Barton and Maximoff. Everybody froze at his words, suddenly and slowly realizing their meaning as they saw who he was glaring at.
Are. You. Kidding. Me. He turned to Rogers, who was wide eyed and speechless, all the ice and cold of Siberia in his eyes.
“So, so sorry.”
He slowly sipped the rest of his tea, watching their mixed reactions of anger, confusion and dawning realization. He smiled.
“I trust you’re all familiar with the accommodations, but if I were you, I wouldn’t get too comfy.”
With that, he turned on his heel, handed Vision the empty cup, and did what he needed to do since he first heard these traitors were coming back: he got the hell out of there.
He could swear Bruce was smirking when he left.