Chapter Text
His eyes flash open, golden brown irises contracting around pupils, lashes, fluttering-
A neon sky. Bright blue, a florescent mirror of what it's meant to be. Tony swallows and instantly recognizes the shuddering pain, deep in his skin. His back, specifically. But he ignores this for now.
He's in… the jungle. Can that be right? Tony's been to Hawaii a thousand times, but this seems darker, like a shattered, broken version of it. Bugs and birds chitter, to the tune and rythm of the pounding of his head. His instantaneous need is to get out, to go, to run.
Stalks of grass bend and break nearby and Tony jolts, until the source of the noise is revealed: a yellow lab. It pants, drool spilling down the sides of its jewels. It smells like earth and musk and sand. Tony swallows.
The dog turns and patters back to the treeline.
It takes everything he has in him to stand, to prop himself against the bamboo. He heaves and coughs as he stands, and feels his upper back split open. He landed on something, something sharp- broken bamboo. He reaches around and touches the laceration, and his hand comes away hot and wet.
It's the chorus of shrieking that calls him to the beach, like a siren song. His feet are moving before he knows what to do or where to go, and he's following the path of broken grass and twigs and bamboo that the dog left in its wake.
When he reaches the beach, his jaw drops; sun blinds him as smoke and heat and the smell of blood fills his lungs. It's a scene of absolute horror: the plane, the mid section, is shredded beyond repair, laying in the sand like a sleeping cat. The engines are still on, sending shrill, haunting screams into the air as they spin and shudder out of control. Tony watches as people frantically run, distancing themselves with the plane as much as possible. Amidst the chaos, a teenaged boy reunites with the dog, the same one that lead Tony to the beach- but this peace is interrupted by the shredded agony of a man trapped beneath a slice of the plane. Instinctively, Tony feels he has to save this man, and he runs to his side. He's accompanied by another man, around the same age, and he's already working on pulling the trapped man out from under the plane.
"How can I help?" Tony yells over the droning wheezes the defeated engines continue to sputter. The man squints behind his glasses and grimaces.
"Help me pull him out?" He offers, and the trapped man convulses in pain.
Each of them grab one of the trapped man's hands, and they count down from-
"One, two, three,"
And they lurch forward, bringing the man out from under the heavy metal. Tony flinches when he sees the man's leg- bleeding heavily, in shreds of what it once was. The man shrieks before passing out from shock.
Tony leans down, grabs his hand, and squeezes it. "It's going to be okay," he whispers, because he knows this pain, that soul-obliterating pain that sends stars to your eyes, the darkness that consumes you. It's not much, but it's something.
"I can put a tourniquet on him. There's a woman down the beach, pregnant. I think she might be in labor, can you go to her?"
Tony freezes. Pregnant. Pregnant woman on the beach, in labor. There will be a baby here, here on this dirty beach, with smoke in its newly formed lungs and- and-
Pepper. He can't breathe.
"Hey, hey, look at me."
Tony tries to do as he's told.
"What's your name?"
"Tony," he manages, feeling as if he's about to pass out.
"Tony," says the man. "I'm Bruce. Can you help me out, Tony? I think that woman needs help but I need to work on this mans leg."
Tony nods, frantically, and breaks out running, leaps over stray bodies, rocks, luggage.
"Pepper!" He shouts. "Pepper!"
"Tony!"
A response is called out towards the water. Tony turns, and sees her, on all fours, rocking back and forth with her stomach in one hand.
"Tony!"
Tony runs to her, his Pepper, oh God, his baby, and there's blood on her face and she's clutching her stomach and-
"Its okay," he tells her, when he reaches her. His arms wrap around her and pull her close. "We're okay."
"Is the baby okay?" She wails, sitting up now, on her knees.
Tony has to compose himself.
"I don't know Pep. We'll find out."
She leans her head against his shoulder and sobs.
"Pep. Pep. We can't stay here."
She pulls away and wipes her cheeks. "Why?"
He caresses her cheek and pulls her in, kisses her forehead. "It's not safe here, okay? Here, take my hand." She does. Tony pulls her slowly to her feet. He steadies her, pulls her in to a hug.
"Hey!" Someone shouts, beyond them. Tony ignores it until-
"Hey! Get out of there! Move! Move, the wing!"
And it's Bruce, the man from earlier, waving and pointing and-
The wing. The wing is about to fall.
It is going to fall on him and on to Pepper.
And it comes loose. It begins to creak, to snap, and as it does, they run, chasing safety through the rough sand. The wing collides with the sand behind them and they fall forward, and Tony guards Pepper with his own body.
All goes silent.
Pepper's hair rest gently on Tony's neck. His breaths become hers. Waves lap on the ocean beside them. The ringing in his ears becomes the hum of her voice.
"Tony? Tony, are you okay?"
And he can't answer, but he nods, eyes wide and concerned and full of worry. Pepper lays against him softly, her body on top of his.
"We're okay."
But they aren't. In fact, nobody is. There are easily a hundred dead bodies littered across the beach. More within the body of the plane. Everyone makes their place somewhere on the island- a piece of tarp, an old life raft from the plane, some kind of spot-saver they can use to claim land as their own.
Currently, Pepper is laying on the open sand with Tony's jacket as her pillow.
Tony, who's been nursing Pepper for as long as he possibly can, excuses himself, stands, and heads to an unoccupied section of the broken plane.
When he's certain there is no one else around, he weeps, deeply, openly.
He has to get it out before he goes back to Pepper.
He weeps for the losses.
He weeps for the fear.
He weeps for the pain.
He's still bleeding, and he can't bother anyone to sew him up. They're all having their own separate issues.
"That doesn't look too great," says a voice behind him. He wipes his cheeks and turns.
"What's that?"
It's a woman, a redhead. She smiles, gently, blue eyes glinting with a sadness he recognizes.
"Your shoulder. You're bleeding. Turn around."
Usually, Tony only takes orders like this from one woman, but he understands, and turns for her. She inspects his wound.
"It's gonna need stitches."
"I know," he admits. "I found a sewing kit. I was gonna do it myself-"
"Let me do it." She offers, holding out her hand. "It wouldn't be my first time."
Tony's weak enough now that he slumps down against the luggage and doesn't fight it.
He hands the girl the sewing kit he found. "Sewers choice. You could do standard black, blue-"
"What about red and gold?" she jokes. He laughs.
"Oh."
"You didn't think I wouldn't recognize you, did you? I never took you for the humble type."
She threads the needle with red thread. "No offense."
"None taken." He doesn't even flinch anymore. This doesn't hurt, not as much as it could, at least.
"So what were you doing in Germany?" He asks. "You sound North American."
The woman pulls the thread through the skin of his back, pulling it together in a pinch.
"Nothing really. Work. You?"
Tony sighs. "I was getting… my dad."
"Howard? Wait is he-"
"Dead. He's, ah- he died before we got on the plane."
Her lips tighten, apologetic.
"I'm sorry to hear that."
There's a sad silence that follows. Tony wants to clear it out of the way.
"What's you're name? You clearly already know mine."
She pulls the last loop through his skin and ties it off.
"You can call me Natalie. Natalie Rushman."
Tony smiles and holds out his hand to shake hers.
"Nice to meet you," he says, drifting to sleep against the luggage of the empty section of the plane. "Natalie."
His eyes close, and the women's smile fades.
As she leaves the plane, she feels a tinge of regret- perhaps she should've been more honest. Perhaps she should've told him- but no, that's not the point. Well, it was, but it certainly isn't now.
"Agent," says a voice behind her. She turns to see him, half bloodied but still looming and powerful. He's still wearing the same goddamn trench coat.
"He's definitely sick," she admits. "I saw the marks on the back of his neck. I don't think he's noticed yet."
The man sighs.
"So we need to pay somebody a visit."
The redhead looks around, checks that they are alone.
"Be careful, Fury. This little game that we're playing won't be a secret for long. We can't do that yet. But I have an idea."
Fury walks to the edge of the ocean and gazes at the horizon. Smoke drifts and sways behind him, and the dim blue of the sky highlights his profile.
He turns back to her and smiles, just slightly. "Whatever ever you say, Miss Romanov."