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This was a nightmare. Both a personal one- Tony really wasn’t a fan of aliens, for obvious reasons- and a PR one. How the hell was he supposed to explain why these.. these butter monsters were completely unaffected by the abundant security measures around Avengers Tower? How was he supposed to predict that there were creatures in the universe that could just melt, and resolidify at will? How was he supposed to blow them to bits with drones if they just fused back together like some kind of nightmarish oil-based hydra? (the monster, not the organisation.)
Fire seemed to be the only thing capable of keeping them at bay, which was horribly inconvenient seeing as there were only two avengers capable of harnessing that element, and Rhodey was in fucking DC. And he definitely wasn’t about to let Peter start swinging around the top floors of the tower with a homemade flamethrower, no matter how much the kid insisted.
“Tony?” Captain America’s voice came through the comms.
“Busy,” Tony replied. Cap knew that of course, he could see the tiny flashes of light in the dark sky that was Tony in the Iron Man suit whizzing around and burning the monsters to a crisp eight hundred feet above him.
“Tony. We can’t do damage to the aliens on ground level. Civilians have been evacuated and the tower is on lockdown. The aliens don’t seem to be capable of range damage, they need to engulf someone to actually hurt them. They seem adamant on attacking the tower, nothing else is sparking their interest, and they’re not smart enough to go attacking civilians to get our attention. I say we go inside, look over our options. You can’t kill them all yourself.”
Tony wasn't in favour of leaving his tower to get soaked in… alien guts? No, butter. Thinking of it as butter made it slightly more tolerable. Who would want their home and workplace to smell like a two-star diner? Not Tony, that’s for sure, but something about how Cap’s usually stoic, unwavering tone was peppered with grunts and wheezes made him reconsider. Coney Island fair scented tower it was, then. He signalled to Friday to open up the second floor windows so the Avengers could climb in, and flew through behind them into a conference room.
Natasha’s usually pristine hair was soaked through with the butter. Tony got the impression that she’d nearly been taken out, if her sigh of relief was at all telling. Bruce looked slightly green, but that might have been the bluish tint of his tired skin mixing with the yellow liquid to look a sickly vomit colour. Steve and Bucky had splatters of the goop in random places on their gear, but they were mostly clean. True professionals, those two. Sam and Clint, who had been in charge of evac, were chilling on the couch. They had finished their jobs almost an hour ago, content to leave the heavy lifting to the rest of the team for once. Steve was the first to speak.
“It’s late. They’re not going anywhere. Break for the night. Recuperate, and at be geared up at seven in the morning to go back out and finish them off.”
Steve was the boss, so Tony didn’t protest.
*
In Tony’s defence, he never meant for the tower to actually house people. Sure, there were a couple of spare bedrooms on his personal floor, and the Avengers’ rooms on the floor below his, but that was kind of it. The granite and marble floors, glass tables and concrete desks were picked for their sleek and minimalist style, not their comfort. Although it was nearing midnight, there were still a few hundred people in the tower. Mostly due to night shifts, but there were always a couple of late-night stragglers, usually employees that couldn’t keep their mitts off their ultra exciting projects. Plus twenty or so S.H.I.E.L.D agents. And Nick Fury of course, because if there was a god in this cruel world, he was intent on making Tony suffer.
Pepper had been a dream in sorting out beds for the lockdown prisoners. Scientists who were used to long nights and sleeping in uncomfortable places curled up in the padded chairs of the desk jockeys, who in turn rested their sore spines in the nap holes scattered around the labs. There were spare blankets in the donation bins on the ground floor, so the security guards that weren’t on the job made beds on the floor of the lobby. Pepper was his saviour. And for that, Tony owed her.
“I’m not dealing with the S.H.I.E.L.D agents. I’ve done my part, and quite frankly I’m exhausted from a full day of running your company. It’s your turn now,” Pepper said, shrugging off her jacket and making her way to the elevator.
Tony turned to the Avengers.
“You guys down to share rooms?” He asked. That earned him a smile and a small nod from both Steve and Bucky but glares from the rest of the team, and a tasteful, “Oh, hell no,” from Sam.
Tony huffed and pulled a chair out from the conference table. He slumped in it (there was a time and a place for impeccable posture, and this wasn’t it), and pulled up a map of the upper floors of the tower with help from Friday.
“Okay,” Tony muttered under his breath. “Twenty S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and seven spare rooms on my floor, plus Capsicle’s on the team floor, and couches. Twenty S.H.I.E.L.D agents, and eight bed spaces. Two per room, and two per couch. Friday, assign rooms based on personality and filter for lowest chance of conflict. Direct all S.H.I.E.L.D agents to their rooms.”
Tony was surprised at how easy that had been. Maybe he was actually capable of doing things without Pepper! Who knew?
The celebrations could wait until the morning. For now, Tony needed his beauty sleep. Early mornings were a bitch to his skin. He couldn’t imagine the butter was helping with that.
*
Of course, all good things must end eventually.
Someone was knocking on his door. Tony didn’t like it when people wanted his attention during sleepy-hours. He laid his head back down on the pillow and felt his eyes slip closed.
But the knocking wouldn’t stop.
“Boss. Your door.” Friday reminded him. Tony sat up with a groan.
“Yes, Friday, I got that. Who is it?”
“Harley Keener is knocking on your door, sir. Would you like me to open it?” Friday asked. Tony’s eyes went wide. Of course he thought designating rooms was easy, he had fucked it up. And wasn’t that just how everything in his life went?
At Tony’s hurried request, the door swung open to reveal a lanky, six-foot-something boy wearing nothing but his Hello Kitty pajama pants, death-gripping the pillow in his arms.
“To-ny,” Harley slurred, his voice heavy and deep with lethargy. “There’s people in m’ room.”
Pepper tutted from where she lay at Tony’s side. With a dramatic sigh, he heaved himself out of bed to sort out yet another problem. If he wasn’t a billionaire, Tony would probably never stop complaining about how he wasn’t paid enough to deal with this shit. So what if he forgot the kid was staying over? He’d only been here a day and Tony had spent most of that day saving the world from oleaginous potential overlords. It wasn’t his fault.
Except it was, and that meant he had to help. He gently guided the kid by his shoulder back to the room he was meant to be staying in. It was the nicest guest room in the penthouse, specially decorated for Harley (not that the kid knew it), with sky blue walls and plants on every surface to remind him of home. And in the middle of it, sitting cross legged on the king sized bed with a hand full of Uno cards each, were Nick Fury and Maria Hill.
So much for getting Harley his room back.
Tony frowned and shut the door gently. Desperate times, he reasoned.
“Do you mind sharing a room with someone? Promise it’s only for one night.” He asked.
“S’long as the room has a bed in it, I’on’ care,” Harley mumbled, releasing his vice grip on the pillow for a second to rub aggressively at his eyes. Tony let his shoulders drop in relief and directed him the other way down the hall. He had been meaning to introduce his chil- no, his mentees eventually, and this seemed as good a time as any.
*
Harley stood fixed to the ground in shock next to Tony as the man explained the situation to the other kid- no, the angel sitting on the queen sized bed in the middle of the room. He had what looked to be a Physics textbook open on his lap in front of him, and Harley thought he heard the angel mutter something like, “Flamethrowers are dangerous, Peter. You could get hurt. Look where playing it safe got you. I couldn’t do my homework ‘cause I was too stressed and you- you smell like bad movie popcorn and guts,’ under his breath when Tony stopped talking
Harley gently lifted Tony’s hand off his shoulder and turned to face him.
“Go. I’m good here,” Harley said softly. Tony shrugged at him, and threw a strained smile at Peter that Harley roughly translated to, “Be on your best behaviour or we’ll be talking about this later.” He was well acquainted with that particular look.
Harley brushed it off and went to sit on the bed. He stuck his hand out to shake Peter’s.
“How do ‘ya do?,” He asked, his accent laying thick in the back of his throat. Peter shook his hand with a surprisingly strong grip, and his cheeks flushed a colour that reminded Harley of the baby pink irises that grew in his backyard back home.
“Good. Name’s Peter. Parker.”
“Nice to meet you, Peter. Parker. What’re you up to?” Harley flashed his most charming make-old-ladies-swoon smile, and Peter chuckled.
Harley felt himself relax. Peter’s laugh felt like a cold drink on a hot summer’s day, cooling him down on the inside while his face grew warm. It was light, and refreshing, and... he had missed the answer to his question.
“What was that, darlin’?”
Peter’s blush grew darker, and he squirmed for a second until he realised what he was doing and stopped abruptly.
“Physics homework. It’s boring, and it sucks. D’you wanna watch a movie or something instead?”
God, his voice was just as pretty as his laugh. Everything about Peter was pretty. He had really fluffy bed-head that reminded Harley of a pom pom, that he just wanted so badly to run his fingers through, and Harley could feel the blood in his cheeks heat himself up enough that he could just melt into Peter’s chocolate river eyes.
Harley was staring, and clearly Peter got the wrong idea.
“Or, or we could just go to bed, if you wanna, I just thought since it’s not that late-”
Harley’s eyebrows furrowed, and Peter’s sentence trailed off. They stared into each other's eyes for what felt like ten minutes, though it couldn’t have been more than a couple of seconds. Harley imagined being engulfed by liquid bronze as he tried to swim in the thick swirls of brown and gold in Peter’s irises.
He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, and mumbled,
“Yeah, movie sounds great. What’ve you got?”
Peter smiled at him and pulled up the covers so Harley could get in properly. He pushed himself up against the headboard, arranging cushions behind him to support his back during the movie.
“Already got one open,” Peter said, scooching up next to Harley under the covers and laying his laptop between them. “It’s a classic.”
Harley smiled as the opening credits of Clueless began to play. Peter had great taste.
*
“Morning, lovebirds,” Tony said gleefully.
Harley groaned and grabbed his pillow tighter, pulling it flush to his chest and burying his face in it to shield himself from the light.
Except, the thing in his arms was something much harder than a pillow, and the scent of chemical coconut filling his lungs was definitely of a shampoo.
His sentient pillow groaned, pulling him closer and mumbled, “Five more minutes, Miss’r Stark.”
“No can do. Aliens are dead, and Clint made breakfast!” Tony’s jubilant tone didn’t falter. Harley raised an eyebrow at the man.
“What’d he make?” Harley asked sceptically. He hadn’t met the Avengers many times, but even he knew not to trust Clint’s cooking.
“Butter croissants!”
Harley stiffened, and Peter let a puff of breath that warmed Harley’s chest and mumbled,
“Oh, hell no.”