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Chapter Text

Tony woke surrounded by soft warmth and the scent of grease. Opening his eyes, he found a superspy sprawled over each half of his torso. His head pillowed on a stomach rising and falling in a familiar, controlled rhythm. Warm fingers rested in his hair, and his feet sat in another lap. He most definitely did NOT want to move. He needed to, though. He couldn't take advantage of this, or they’d get tired of him and leave faster. It was too late to avoid getting attached, but maybe he could drag it out longer than -

“Stop thinkin’.” Clint grumbled. “Go ‘uh sleep.”

He opened his mouth to protest, despite how (surprisingly) adorable sleepy spies looked.

“Stop moving,” Natasha mumbled. He geared up to argue, to remind them that he was Tony Stark, and they didn't want to cuddle with him.

Then those glorious fingers carded through his hair. Someone rubbed his feet, and he didn't think he could move if he tried. His eyes drifted shut again to Jarvis’ gentle murmuring of the date, time, and place. A quiet order left Phil’s lips that for once he was all too glad to follow.

“Sleep, Tony.”

As soon as Tony’s breathing evened out again, Clint and Natasha’s sleepiness vanished. Phil sighed as every Avenger looked his way with identical hurt-puppy eyes.

“How do we convince him we’re here to stay?” Bruce asked.

“Well,” Phil replied, “Unpacking the duffle you keep under your bed might help.”

Bruce blushed. “We’ll just have to stay,” Natasha interrupted. “Or at least keep coming back.”

They settled in, knowing they would each have their chances, and Jarvis put Wall-E on, near silent. Tony may have slept for eleven hours already, but he wasn't waking up alone if they could help it. Not after his admission the night before, accidental as it may have been.

Chapter Text

“-tasha. Natasha.”

She opened her eyes to meet chocolate ones.

“She’s still out, what did you dose her with?!”

“I assure you, Mister Stark, it was nothing personal.” Her eyes slid closed again in acknowledgement - Tony wanted her to play dead. “We just need someone of your… expertise.”

“Like hell.”

“Ah yes, I had heard of your propensity for vulgar language when faced with torture. Raza was quite useful in figuring your… brand.”

“Raza is dead.” Tony said flatly. “Try again.”

“He is dead yes, but he wasn’t when we found him. We were disappointed our favorite son had so grievously failed.”

She could practically hear his eyes like it didn’t matter. “I believe Raza’s methods failed, so I’m not sure where your point is in all this. I mean, really.”

The dick trying to frighten Tony seemed to realize it wasn’t working at long last. It took every ounce of willpower Natasha possessed to let Tony get dragged away, out of sight, into danger. Her every instinct screamed at her to stop this, but she couldn’t. Not yet, not until the drug finished leaving her system. She remained unmoving, breathing deep and even as though she were still unconscious. Only when Tony was returned did she move, managing to catch him before he hit the floor. The guards met her eyes, laughing as they turned away. They would pay for daring.

She turned her attention to Tony, who had yet to say anything. It… worried her. Gently, she lay him down on the cold floor, and the sound that resulted was half utter relief and half extreme pain. Carefully controlling her breathing, Natasha checked him over.

Shirtless now, Tony’s back was a myriad of burns, but little else seemed to be wrong, so she carefully rolled him over, suspecting he would appreciate the cold more than he hated the roughness on his skin. “‘ks, Tasha,” he mumbled, sighing in slight relief.

“Of course, Antoshka,” she replied, and got a good look at his front. Broken ribs - at least three. Electrical burns. Cuts. He bled badly all down his front. “Anything internal?” She asked.

“N,” he replied, “th’k m’ ‘nkle’s br’ken.”

Natasha very nearly cursed out loud, closing her eyes. A broken ankle made things a million times harder. Tony wouldn’t be able to walk on that foot at all.

“Shud leave,” Tony said, his breathing beginning to even out. She opened her eyes and met his. The chocolate orbs were resigned.

“Like. Hell.” Natasha said, slowly and clearly, but Tony had passed out.

When Tony woke again, he was in significantly less pain. The cool stone had worked wonders on his back. Unfortunately, he felt like he was going to hurl. Opening his eyes, he looked around the small cell he and Natasha inhabited. Not much had changed. Blank stone walls. Cold. Empty. Reeked of death.

“You awake, Antoshka?”

Natasha sounded worried. Was he hallucinating?

“Sorta,” he breathed, and managed to roll onto one arm before retching. Nothing came up, of course - it wasn’t like they’d eaten recently. Small blessings. A familiar hand gently rubbed at his shoulders, carefully avoiding the burns.

“What do they want, Stark?”

“Help with some program - ‘s shit tech, no wonder they can’t do it,” Tony replied, turning back onto his back. He found himself staring up into the green eyes of the Black Widow. They examined him carefully.

“Y’ should go,” he said, reminded by the sharp pain of rolling over that his ankle was broken.

“Like. Hell.” She replied, and Tony blinked. Wait. What? “I am not leaving you here, Antoshka, you damn idiot.” She repeated.

“Should,” he insisted. This was ridiculous. If she got out, she could get help. She could… leave him here, if she wanted. Without any guilt. He’d told her to. Why wouldn’t she?

“Shan’t,” she replied. Tony scowled, despite the strange warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with his burns or his torn up t-shirt working as a makeshift bandage.

“Why,” he asked.

Natasha full on glared at him, and he shifted nervously. “You are my teammate - you are my friend, Tony.”

He blinked again. “You just want me for my money,” he accused - clearly he was feeling suicidal.

“No. Not for your tech, either.” She said, cutting off that thought before it began. Now Tony is truly bewildered.

“But… but it doesn’t make sense.” He insisted.

“Yes, you’ve said that.”

Oh. Really? Maybe it had something to do with the dark spots…

Natasha slapped the genius as he almost passed out again. “Breathe, damn it Stark!” He obeyed, trying to match her even in and outs. “You need to get up, Tony.”

He whined.

“Now.”

Begrudgingly, he sat and tried to work his feet under himself. Natasha seized the arm on his injured side and pulled it over her shoulder, sliding her gun (retrieved from the guard now flat on his back in their cell) into his other hand before slipping her left arm around his waist. “You’d better cover us, Antoshka.”

Tony nodded blearily, and she tugged him forward. She’d picked the lock and dealt with the nearest guards right before he had woken up, and she’d wasted too much time already. By the time they reached the door, the man was panting and wobbly. “Left,” he said at the entrance to their little dungeon.

It didn’t even occur to her to doubt him, and she took a left. A shout up ahead alerted her to a guard, but Tony’s arm swung up, the trigger pulled, and although he almost dropped it on the recoil, the bullet sank into the man’s chest.

“Good shot,” Natasha said, her own breath growing short as they rounded the next corner. Tony, despite being short, was made of muscle, and heavier than he looked.

“Thanks,” he said breathlessly, eyes and voice tight with pain.

Ahead of them, several more guards drawn by the gunshot run around the corner. Natasha props Tony against the wall and slides forward with the grace of a cat. She deals with the five men easily - they are not well trained, and there aren’t enough of them to matter. When she turns back, Tony has slid down the wall, gun resting in his lap, and a shiny new bullet taking up residence - in his other leg.

“Damnit!” she swears. She hadn’t heard the solo guard sneak up behind them.

“S’fine - go ahead, I’m fine,”

She snarls. “When we get out, I’m going to kick your ass, you dick! Back on your feet, dammit!”

Tony stares up at her with wide eyes, whimpering as she tugs him back up. Natasha forces her feet forward. They’re almost out, they’re almost out.

Rounding the last corner before freedom, according to Tony, Natasha finds herself staring down the barrel of a gun.

“‘Tasha, go, leave me here -”

“Like hell,” she replies, and waits for the shot.

It never comes, a purple-fletched arrow punching straight through the man’s elbow. He drops the weapon just as Tony’s injured legs finally give out, dragging her to the floor with them, but then Steve is there, lifting him. Natasha follows him to the quinjet, where Steve deposits the genius into Bruce’s capable (and slightly green, at the sight of his friend) hands. Steve goes to rejoin battle - she can hear thunder, Thor is probably pissed - but Natasha does not. She stays, letting herself be tired, and when her team rejoins them, letting her eyes fall closed.

Tony wakes up to fingers running through his hair and an angry litany in Russian.

“‘Tasha?” He mumbles, before coughing at the sensation of his dry throat. A straw is placed at his lips at once.

“I am going to kick your ass,” he hears, and blinks, red hair and green eyes finally coming into focus.

“Nah, you wouldn’t hurt me,” he says, and he will blame what comes out of his mouth on the drugs forever. “...y’ didn’t leave.”

She gives him the most ‘duh’ face in existence, and he drifts off into peaceful slumber with a content smile on his face.

Chapter Text

“Rogers! The sooner we leave the sooner we can get back.” Tony snapped, tense and on edge. Steve rolled his eyes, but followed behind him obediently. “Damn senators,” Tony muttered under his breath, on the edge of even Steve’s hearing. “Goddamn politics, curse Pepper for making me go to this - curse Rhodey too, he could’ve come up with something…”

The mumbling didn’t halt until the elevator hit ground level. Tony took a deep breath as the door slid open into the private garage where Happy was waiting.

It was like watching dominoes drop into place, one after another. The first to go were the downturned lips; they slid upwards into a weak parody of a smile. Then one side quirked up, and it was almost the trademark Stark smirk. Next Tony’s entire face lifted, crinkling the corners of his eyes and smoothing out his brow. His shoulders dropped from an angry hunch into the perfect posture of a prom queen, and hands slid casually into pockets after ruffling through brown hair, creating perfectly messy spikes. There was no trace of the black eye Tony had sustained in the last battle the Avengers had dealt with. Tony, instead of the shuffle he used around the tower, swaggered forward as though he owned the world, and Steve knew Tony was gone, buried beneath the mask of Stark.

Steve hated the public mask of Tony Stark, and more often than not ended up arguing with him when the night was over. Compared to the other man, he felt uncomfortable and frumpy in his three piece suit.

Tony slid into the waiting car and Steve followed, watching his friend carefully as they pulled away from the curb. “Sorry for making you come with, cap,” Tony said, absently staring out the window. “I know you hate these things.”

That’s the other thing - this is an SI deal, not an Avengers one. There isn’t a reason for Steve to be here. Tony had said something about good publicity, and yeah, that was true, but SI had Iron Man for good publicity lately. He came anyway, since Tony had seemed sort of desperate when he asked, but… what was he here for?

“No problem,” he said aloud. They rode in an oddly comfortable silence the rest of the way to the event, and Steve saw a little tension he hadn’t noticed was there drain from Tony’s shoulders. Suddenly, it clicked in his head.

On the battlefield, Tony actually did (mostly) what Steve said; much to just about everyone’s surprise. He obeyed orders well except on the rare occasions where he saw a better option, or something extra Steve didn’t know about, and then he was usually right - even if it always led to the rest of his team having heart attacks. He trusted Steve to have his back in battle. That mask, which slid across his features as easily as the Iron Man - it was just another suit of armor, and this was just another battlefield. Tony wanted Steve to watch his back, to help him deal with the vast myriad of enemies he had in the political world.

Steve felt resolve wrap him in familiar arms. He would be damned if he left a friend alone on the battlefield. The equally familiar arms of guilt patted him on the head. How many times had Tony taken him to these, only for Steve to disappear halfway through to some remote balcony, only to reappear again a few minutes before they had to leave? He certainly didn’t want to count.

The limo slid to a stop in front of the massive Museum of Modern Art, and Steve almost laughed. Tony knew he had wanted to see the place for a while. He probably assumed that Steve would end up drifting off halfway through the night and enjoy the art. If he hadn’t realized, then he probably would - may still, at least for a few minutes. Even Tony made trips to the bathroom that seemed a titch too long occasionally.

When the door swung open and Tony stepped out, he looked very small for a moment against the numerous camera flashes and shouts of, “Mr. Stark, what do you have to say about -”

Steve slid out behind him, smiling sheepishly at the increase in photos. He hated this, but he thought maybe Tony hated it more. Tony’s spine straightened and a familiar spark entered his eyes as he laughed his way through the insults and jeers through the front door.

Just because they were finally in the event didn’t mean it stopped. By the end of the first hour, Steve lost count of the number of senators, actors, actresses, politicians, and models approached them. Tony laughed with them all, remembered to ask certain senators about their grandkids and certain others about their grandmothers. He knew which actors had dogs and which had cats, and he remembered all of their names. More than a few floundered when their, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you don’t remember” was met with an affectionate, “Ah yes, Matthew!”. He never forgot a name.

Steve was somewhat frightened by how much Tony knew. He got by on what Tony referred to as good old fashioned charm; he smiled and listened well, and offered sincere good opinions to the people he spoke with. He and Tony would drift apart, but he noticed after about a half hour or so Tony would tend to drift back into his circle to introduce someone, or foist a drink on him, or get him to tell that story about the Doombots one more time.

He wondered why he’d never recognized the call for backup before, and obliged. Treating the party like a battlefield also infinitely expanded his patience, it seemed. He ducked out once for about a half hour in the middle of the evening, but that was it, and he noticed Tony slip away for about the same length of time just as his return caused enough distraction that the billionaire could do so.

Tony seemed very surprised to see him still present when he got back, and it made something ache in Steve’s gut. “You can go home, you know,” Tony said in an undertone. “It’s no biggie, I can handle these idiots.”

“I know,” Steve replied, “But you asked me not to.” And he went back to pandering to the wealthy and famous, pretending Tony’s mask hadn’t cracked just long enough for a glimpse of shock to peek through.

When the party finally ended and they slid into the limo, Steve got the chance to see something he never had before. It started at Tony’s eyes; they lost their laugh lines and his brow furrowed slightly, more from exhaustion than anything. The bright smirk got lost with a massive yawn, and his whole face sort of droopingly relaxed. “Home, Happy.” Tony said, voice rough and dry and tired.

“Sure thing boss,” Happy replied, and the limo pulled away from the curb. Tony stretched out along the seats, loosening his tie and eyeing Steve warily for a few minutes before his eyes drifted shut. Right there in the car, the genius managed a catnap in the thirty minutes it took to get back to the tower. Happy tapped on the glass as they pulled into the garage, and Tony woke with a start.

“We’re here,” Steve said simply. He let Tony get out first, ready to catch him if he collapsed, because it looked like he actually might.

“Workshop, J.” Tony said when they were in the elevator.

“Go to bed, Tony,” Steve said gently. “Your workshop will be there in the morning.”

Tony eyed him for a long moment, and then nodded, and the elevator began the long journey upstairs. The doors slid open on Tony’s floor first and he stepped out. He hesitated, and just as the doors started to close, mumbled, “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” Steve replied, and the doors clicked shut.

Tony changed into his pajamas slowly. It felt as though something had changed tonight with Steve. Like they had come to some sort of unspoken understanding.

It felt good, like coming straight off the battlefield, high on adrenaline, knowing everyone had lived this time.

Chapter Text

Clint watched as Tony easily dodged another lazer blast from the giant evil robot of doom of the week. The thing was huge and very strong, but speed was somewhat lacking. “I’m bored,” the genius complained.

“You’re playing keep-away with the biggest damn bot I’ve ever seen, and you’re bored?” Cap sounded incredulous.

“I’m with Tony, this is so last Friday,” Clint agreed. “This thing’s slow.”

“Don’t be angry your opponent has such a weakness,” Natasha snorted.

Tony sighed, doing another barrel roll in the air. “Should be in the strike zone in ten minutes.”

“You’re only a mile out.” A flash of silver drew Clint's eye. “What the-”

“Thing’s damn slow, haven’t you - holy fucking shit, what the hell was that! Barton, did you see -”

“Saw, but I’m not sure what it was.” Clint tried to process what he’d just seen. It was small silver, and insanely fast. “It’s coming back -” he said, seeing it emerge from beneath the massive robot’s arm.

“Hurt like a bitch, whatever it - Jarvis, dodge that-.”

There was a collective silence. Tony just admit to being hurt. Tony. Stark. The king of unruffled, unadmitted pain. “Iron Man, report status,” Steve demanded. Clint waited tensely for the reply to come, terrified that his teammate wouldn’t reply.

“Sending footage to SHIELD - watch it in slow mo, see if they can figure out what the hell - shit! Barton -”

Clint closed his eyes, breath hissing from between his teeth. “It’s too bloody quick, I can’t hit it -”

“Did you just say - well then. Jarvis, take con, see if you can keep up.”

“Passcode for autonomous use of the suits?”

“Ghost in the system.”

“Control assumed; primary goals?”

“Take down the robot, and don’t let that thing hit us.”

“Confirmed.”

“Iron Man, report status.”

“I’m fine. Jarvis has control of the armor, I’m trying to figure out what hit us.”

“I’m reviewing the footage,” Clint said, pulling it up on his hi-tech phone where Tony had sent it. “I’ve slowed it two hundred times, I’ve almost got a visual… there - what the hell?”

“What is it?” Tony demanded.

“It looks like a hummingbird.” Clint stared at the little thing - its wings blurred into a silver streak and that beak looked sharp.

“A… hummingbird.” Natasha hesitated.

“A hummingbird. Moving at something like the speed of sound - actually, closer to the speed of light.” Clint was pissed.

“Barton. That thing hit me, and it is not a damn hummingbird.”

“I believe the item in question is made of vibranium,” Jarvis interjected, “based on the resonation of the metal against the armor. Incidentally, the armor has been breached in four locations. Instigating back up oxygen functions and increasing speed.”

Tony cursed in the armor. “Jarvis, you didn’t have to tell them that!” Clint caught a glimpse of silver from… the same arm? “FUCK -”

Silence. Clint’s heart jumped to his throat. “Iron Man, report! God damn it Stark! Cap, I need your shield.”

“Hawkeye -”

“NOW!”

“‘m good,” Tony coughed out. “Knocked the wind out of me -”

“It’s coming back!” Clint swiped the shield out of the air, hearing his teammate yelp in pain over the comm. “DAMMIT!” It was his job to watch his team’s back, to hit the things that couldn’t be hit, screw whether it was even visible or not. He’d taken down invisible drones moving the speed of sound, he could hit a damn flash of silver! He threw the shield down and pulled a monster of an arrow from the quiver. It was more like a crossbow bolt; a full six inches longer than the shield and barbed, this arrow was made specifically to take down the Iron Man himself if he ever went rogue. Tony had given it to him and refused to take no for an answer. (“I’m good,” the billionaire had said, “but there are some impressive hackers out there.” “I’ll never use this on you,” Clint had replied, “but I won’t say no to new gear.”) He heard another gasp over the comms, the rest of the team clamoring. trying to figure out what to do.

“Good thing this thing is focused on the guy in armor, at least,” Tony groaned.

“I estimate the armor can take three more blows before no longer capable of flight,” Jarvis said, sounding upset.

Three. Clint strapped a bundle of five explosive arrow to the inside of the shield, using a grappling arrow for rope, and the big one to the outside of the shield.

“Shit!”

Two. He lifted the shield, strapped to the arrows, up onto his bow.

“Gah!”

One. Compensate for air current, predict the pattern, compensate for shield drag and added weight... “Caw caw, motherfucker,” he snarled, and let fly.

It was a perfect shot. The arrow didn’t do any damage, but the edge of the shield it was attached to sank into the side of the fist-sized bird, along with the explosive arrows. “Tony, duck!” Clint yelled.

Jarvis took the armor down just before the arrows exploded, destroying the small silver bird from the inside.

Clint released a breath as cap caught his scratched shield as it fell. The only reason the explosion worked was because although the thing was plated in vibranium, its insides weren’t.

“Holy fuck, Hawkeye,” Natasha said.

Clint grinned (he made Widow swear in awe! He wins ALL THE THINGS), and swung himself down to earth while the Hulk and Thor went to town on the giant robot. He ran to where the Iron Man armor was sprawled out on the pavement and pried open the helmet.

“Nice… shot…” Tony gasped, tears of pain leaking from the corner of his eyes.

“I need a med evac NOW!” Clint yelled into his earpiece, receiving an affirmative from Coulson before beginning to remove the armor.

“Jarvis, exoskeleton,” Tony breathed, and the armor fell to pieces, making the process much quicker, until Clint had successfully removed Tony from the armor. Which had been pierced straight through on five separate occasions. Jarvis had dodged at least three quarters of the thing’s attacks.

“Good job, J,” Clint breathed, tearing his shirt to shreds. The worst wound was the initial one, on Tony’s stomach, but he wrapped the others before applying pressure there, trying to staunch the bleeding from the giant hole. Tony had two matching holes in his right leg - which explained the spluttering boot jet - one in his left shoulder, and a glancing tear through the flesh of his left side.

Tony grabbed his hands. “Don’t - don’t let them touch the reactor,” he said desperately, “Barton, don’t -”

“I’ve got you, Tones,” Clint swore.

Tony’s eyes fluttered closed. The last thing he heard was Clint screaming.

“I need medical here ten minutes ago - dammit Stark, if you don’t open your eyes I’ll replace all the coffee with decaff, do not test me -”

Tony blinked his eyes open to a dark room, lit only by a pale blue glow. He slid his free arm - the right arm, must’ve done something to the left - up to tap against glass. Reassured by the familiarity of the gesture, he struggled to sit up.

“Easy, hot shot,” came a familiar voice, and rough hands helped him into a seated position.

Tony closed his eyes for a moment and focused. Right - crazy fast mechanical hummingbird and a worried archer.

“That -” he coughed, and Barton gave him water through a straw. “One hell of a shot.”

Barton nodded. “Didn’t know if I’d make it,” he admitted. “That thing was fast.”

“I couldn’t hit it, even with the armor,” Tony mumbled, taking note of the archer’s unkempt hair and tired eyes. “What’re you doing here?”

“You asked me to stick around. Least I could do after taking so long to shoot the damn thing.”

“‘s not your fault,” Tony said.

“Used the arrow meant for you. Came in handy.” Barton ran a hand through his hair.

“How long’ve you been here?” Tony asked, curious.

“Three days. I’ve gotta go call the others and let ‘em know you’re awake.”

“Clint,” Tony said. The archer paused with his hand on the doorknob, surprised by the use of his first name. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

“And don’t touch my coffee, jackass.”

Clint flipped him off and left, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Tony grinned a bit to himself. Jackasses had to stick together, after all.

Chapter Text

Thor did not understand why his fellow warriors worried for the Iron Man. He was a strong, true warrior; if ever he faltered, he had fellows there to catch him. It mattered little that the supposed genius knew not.

He did not doubt his friend’s intellect, only the single-mindedness of it, or Tony Stark would not doubt their loyalty.

He was entirely on board with proving to the man that he would not be leaving anytime soon, however, but was uncertain of how to handle the matter. His shieldbrothers and the deadly lady Natasha (who was far scarier than any of them had any hope of being) had emphasized that to try and force such a thing would not be wise. Thor, however, had little idea of how to approach the matter subtly. It was times such as these he found himself missing his brother’s sound (if often mischievous) advice. He doubted any of the shieldbrothers would understand, however; they had never known Loki as Thor had once known. He suspected if Loki’s mind healed enough and he was be granted an opportunity to redeem himself they would all care for him just as Thor had.

Ironically, the archer and Stark would likely get along with the Loki he remembered best, with their penchant for pranks and clever tongues.

“Avengers Assemble!” the speakers blared, drawing Thor from his thoughts and back into the world of the living. With a boisterous laugh he seized his hammer and planted a kiss on his fair lady Jane. Striding to the balcony, he remembered to grab the small communication device Stark had provided each Avenger with before throwing himself into the sky.

“Follow me, big guy,” Stark said, joining him in flight, and shot forward.

“Are we to have a race, then?” Thor challenged.

“Sorry, no - don’t want to smash too many windows, you’d get all cut up in my wake.”

Thor laughed easily; he could recognize a jest in the Iron Man’s voice much more easily now that he had practice. “The windows must be a mighty foe indeed then, Lord Stark.”

“I told you, it’s Tony.”

When they hit the edge of the city, Thor frowned. “Are we leaving the city, then?”

“Yep. We’ll get there faster than the others can manage; we’re headed overseas. Middle East.”

Thor did not think to question the tense tone of Stark’s voice, but merely grinned. “So it is a race!”

He knew that under the mask, Tony would be smirking. “Keep flying until you hit land again, and I’ll point the right direction from there.”

Thor grinned, and took to the skies.

At the end of the race, they came upon the sight of battle only to find it deserted.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Stark grumbled.

“A trap, then.”

“Undoubtedly. Want to spring it with me?” he gestured to the cave ahead of them.

“Most certainly!”

Stark was quiet as they entered the cave system, which Thor quickly realized was much larger than expected. Stark, however, navigated the chambers with ease.

“I haven’t been here in a long time,” Stark murmured.

“Under what circumstances have you been here before?”

“Unwilling ones. This is where I built the first Iron Man, with a little help.”

“I would know of the grand warrior who helped you in your time of need!”

“He wasn’t a warrior. He was… he was a healer. He was called Yinsen.”

Thor was beginning to suspect there may not be a battle here at all; not one that could be fought with hammer and lightning, at least. “A fine name,” he said.

“I planned for him to live. He planned to die.”

The heavy footsteps of Iron Man were slow as they ventured deeper into the maze, Thor’s firm beside him.

“-ark- ordinate- lost si-”

Tony tensed, as Thor frowned. “Is that the captain?”

“Yeah… we should be able to get a signal down here, I boosted the -”

There was a loud boom behind them. Sharing a glance with the genius, Thor turned on his heel and strode back the way they had come, Stark close behind. When they rounded the corner that should have led outside, they came up against a wall of stone.

Another loud boom echoed from behind them.

“Shit,” Stark said, carefully controlled. Too carefully. Thor had heard that tone on the battlefield before, from both his mortal and immortal allies. That was the tone of a man coming up against his demons and struggling to keep them contained.

“They mean to trap us,” Thor said thoughtfully. “The others are on their way, however, and I doubt they will leave us for long; and between the two of us, I imagine we can take down a few measly boulders.”

“If - if I attack you -”

“You will not harm me, Tony,” Thor assured. “You have, I would imagine, spent far more of your hatred on rocks.”

Tony choked out a laugh.

Tony, initially, had planned to fly out to the site on his own, until Jarvis reminded him exactly where those coordinates lay. A trap; had to be. So he took Thor. If there was anyone who could get out of an ambush, it was Thor.

He was starting to get the hang of this whole team thing. Tony told Jarvis to notify the rest of the Avengers, and he and Thor took off running.

He nearly laughed when Thor noted that they were walking into a trap.

He nearly cried when the demigod eagerly followed him to spring it.

He was entirely shocked when Thor seemed understanding of his need to speak.

He panicked when rocks started falling. Tony and caves had… difficulties these days. Not quite on par with his hatred for water, but unpleasant anyway. He could handle being in a cave, but being trapped in said cave was an entirely different story. And it had to be here, of all places.

Sometimes Tony hated being an Avenger.

Vaguely, he realized Thor was talking to him, and started to pay attention.

“-tween the two of us, I imagine we can take down quite a few boulders.”

“If - if I attack you -”

“You will not harm me, Tony,” Thor said. “You have, I would imagine, spent far more of your hatred on rocks.”

Tony had to laugh a bit at that. “Not exactly how it works, but yeah, fair enough. We need to hit the right places though or we’ll bring the whole mountain down on top of ourselves. You may be able to survive that, but I’m not sure my armor can.”

“I do not know if even I could lift a mountain,” Thor replied, raising an eyebrow, “and that would make for a rather long eternity buried beneath it.”

Tony felt his breath start to ease a little bit. “The ancient Greek myths include a guy whose job is to hold up the sky by carrying the mountain it rests upon.”

“He must be a fine warrior!”

“I think hardened criminal would be a more accurate description, but yeah, I guess.”

Distracting himself was actually working pretty well. Huh.

“Tell me where to strike this rock.”

Crap, there goes that plan. Tony sighed, very aware that they were wasting time - and oxygen. Carefully, he examined the rockfall in front of them, finding weak points and structural issues. “It’s like playing Jenga with ultra-high stakes,” he grumbled.

“What is this ‘Jenga’?”

“It’s a game. We’ll play it when we get home.”

“What sort of game?”

“Well, see,” Tony said, explaining as he continued to consider the rocks, “there’s a tower of blocks; each player takes a turn removing a block until the tower falls. The person who knocks the tower over loses; the person with the most blocks begins the next round of the game. It continues until only one player is left.”

“So it is a game of balance!”

“Uh - yeah, I guess,” Tony replied, a little surprised. “Hit here and stand back.”

Thor obeyed, and a sheet of rock cascaded down around their feet, rolling and rumbling ominously. Both men froze, Tony panicking, because if he had miscalculated…

The rocks settled. Tony breathed a sigh of relief - and quickly realized the tiny little hole in their plan. They had limited oxygen in here; his suit had a small backup supply and filters, but he could only do so much.

And they were about to fill the minimal air with a lot more dust.

He almost cried, again, but instead he sighed and started calculating the next point to break. “Hey, tell me about Asgard or something,” he said somewhat desperately as he tried very hard not to think about the last tour he took of this cave.

Thor did.

When Tony stumbled, Thor stopped talking. “Tony?” he asked.

“Running out of breathable air for my damaged lungs,” Iron Man replied, shortly and clearly. That in itself was worrying.

“How long before you are knocked out by it?”

“Hour? Hour and a half, maybe. Suit’s filters are doing a good job. How much of the mountain did they dump on us, anyway?”

“Quite a lot, apparently. They seem to believe you near-impossible to kill, based on the effort put into this.”

“Yeah, they tried before and it didn’t go well.”

“Who is the enemy?”

“Terrorist group known as the Ten Rings. They’re sort of pissed at me because I ruined their plans to take over the entirety of the Middle East.”

“Ah, so they are similar to HYDRA.”

“Yeah, just less technologically advanced and more bombs and hostages.”

Thor hummed an affirmative, easily striking the next point in the stone where the Iron Man directed.

When Iron Man inevitably sank to rest against the wall, Thor grew uncertain. He was beginning to feel short of breath himself, and he did not know where to hit properly.

“Can you get out?”

“What?”

“Can you get out - ignore the collapsing mountain, can you break free.”

“I could.”

“Well then, go.”

Thor frowned. Now he began to see where the problem lay. “I would not leave you here alone, St- Tony.”

He could almost feel the scathing glare. “I’ll be fine.”

“I have no doubt, but you would be trapped with your nightmares. That is no way to leave a shieldbrother.”

Tony seemed to be scrutinizing him, the mask of Iron Man tilted slightly to the side in consideration. “Suit yourself,” the genius said at last, but Thor thought he could detect a hint of relief in the mechanical voice.

“I shall.”

Thor was only barely awake when he heard the sound of movement from the other side of the pile of stones blocking their exit, and he knew without a doubt that the Iron Man was unconscious.

“I need oxygen over here now!” the commanding voice of the captain ordered, and heard agents scrambling to reply. Steady hands sought his pulse, and Thor opened his eyes.

“I am merely winded. Check our metal friend; he has been ‘out of it’ for some time.”

Natasha nodded and quickly moved to the armor. Thor closed his eyes again and yawned.

(Tony invented a wii controller that could stand up to his crushing grip the next week. Thor was overjoyed, and believed that the message had been received. He would not leave Tony behind.)

Chapter Text

Bruce and Tony communicated in equations and holograms and small machines crafted to make coffee and find slippers. They spent their time seeing how far they could bend the laws of physics and finding the best ways to make things explode. Thor said they spoke the language of the universe.

Bruce’s eyes followed Tony, who was rambling at Jarvis again after almost three hours of near-silent concentration on piecing together a tiny little device with an unknown purpose. Most people only got to see the side of Tony that rambled and filled every tiny little silence with his own voice, but Bruce was lucky. He got to see Tony surrounded by the sounds of machines and technology and creation, no urge to fill that space with words. Bruce got to see Tony so concentrated on making sure Hawkeye’s arrows detonated perfectly that he spent days in a haze of grunts and mathematical terms Bruce could only just follow.

Bruce got to see the genius part of the billionaire philanthropist, and it was astounding.

Tony’s technology, his mind, were decades ahead of anyone else currently living. Bruce found equations explaining brand new laws of the universe buried on servers beneath labels like “dangerous” and “too much for little minds” because if Tony knew anything it was the impact his mind had on the world. He found codes for AI’s left unfinished and stored, most of them one programming line away from being true people. He was allowed a glance at Jarvis’ code, and found all the intricacies of a human mind spelled out in binary, gaps left for Jarvis to learn. He found unpublished papers, four more PhD’s than he thought Tony possessed, and then a few more under various aliases. And that only scratched the surface.

But although Bruce appreciated Tony’s genius, there was something else he appreciated even more: Tony was not afraid.

Tony stared Ross in the face and said he could go screw himself, because Bruce was Tony’s, and he didn’t like to share. Tony antagonized terrorists, poked the man who was Hulk with electric prods, sparred with the Black Widow, traded insults with gods, and walked away as though it was nothing. He stared down the entire world through the lense of a camera and laughed, and he did it all alone.

Tony Stark was always alone. From pictures of him as a child through adulthood. Various figures joined him in images, but Bruce knew the stories underneath (betrayal, politics, business), and really, only three of them counted: Edwin Jarvis, Pepper Potts, and James Rhodes. Happy floated somewhere in the in-between, along with many of the other SI employees, because although Tony may not know them each personally, he did consider them his.

And no one, no one, touches Tony Stark’s stuff. Which led to some interesting situations. Like now, for instance.

“Bruuuuuuuccccce. Bruce. Brucie-bear. Brucie.”

“No, Tony.”

“But I haven’t even told you yet.”

“No.”

“But -”

“I’ve learned it’s best to preempt you when you come with that tone of voice, because chances are I’m going to get drawn into whatever crazy scheme you’ve come up with.”

“I’m going to do it anyway.”

Bruce groaned, finished his equation, and turned to face his “science bro.” As crazy as this was probably going to be, Bruce would rather be there than hear about how Tony almost died again during the aftermath. “What, Tony.”

Tony looked suddenly very vulnerable. “Um… Steve said I’m supposed to… sweep?”

“Yes. And?”

“IdonknowhowtoIneverdiditbefore.”

“Sorry, what?”

“I’ve never swept in my life. Not sure I’ve ever even seen a broom, though I have an abstract sort of idea that they exist.”

Bruce blinked at the billionaire, who was shuffling his feet in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “Huh. Right. Not even at summer camp?”

“I went to rich people summer camp.”

Bruce stared at Tony, completely surprised by the fact that someone hadn’t ever seen a proper broom in their life. The silence stretched for a long moment as he tried to figure out how to respond to that.

“Nevermind, I’ll just -”

“No, hang on, I can show you, I was just trying to wrap my head around the idea that you’ve never seen a broom before.”

“I pay people to do stuff like clean,” Tony whined. “My cleaning staff are awesome, okay? Even Natasha is convinced they’re clean. Why can’t they just do what they do, I’m providing jobs, it’s a public service!”

Bruce set aside his work, sensing this was going to be a problem they would need to discuss for a prolonged period of time.

Tony squirmed when Bruce just sort of stared at him after he decisively did not ask for help figuring out how to sweep. Jesus, he felt like an idiot. It seemed the world had finally decided to throw something at him that he didn’t know. Couldn’t he just engineer a robot to do this for him? A little vacuum robot, maybe?

Oh, wait. Cap vetoed that. But, wait a sec, since when did he actually listen to cap?

“Nevermind, I’ll just -” he started, but Bruce cut him off.

“No, hang on, I can show you, I was just trying to wrap my head around the idea that you’ve never seen a broom before.”

“I pay people to do stuff like clean. My cleaning staff are awesome, okay? Even Natasha is convinced they’re clean. Why can’t they just do what they do, I’m providing jobs, it’s a public service!”

Bruce set his work down, like he knew this was going to turn into a full-blown rant. Unfortunately, his scibro also decided to preemptively cut that off.

“But your cleaning service is only here, what, twice a week? And with the way this group is, we need to sweep up the remains of the kitchen table on a daily basis.”

Tony subsided, because, well, true.

“Besides, it isn’t like sweeping is hard. It’s just dusting the floor.”

“...dusting?”

Bruce sighed, and Tony felt himself flinch, ever so slightly. Bruce’s eyes narrowed.

“Dusting, right, great! Hey, do I even own a broom?”

“Tony.”

“What?”

“What issue am I tiptoeing around here?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tony lied.

“Sure, Tony. Come on, I’ll show you how to sweep.”

And that was that. No anger that he didn’t know something. No frustration that Tony needed his help with something. Just understanding and an explanation. Huh.

And Bruce was right; sweeping was really easy.

(Tony wasn’t sure what sparked it, but Jarvis said Bruce unpacked his unofficially named “go-bag” that night. Tony couldn’t stop grinning for hours.)

Chapter Text

The monster of the day was enormous, and could create dozens of little copies of itself that were smaller - but fast as hell. The Avengers were getting nowhere. The little ones made it difficult at best to get to the larger creature, and the monster itself had skin so thick that they were dealing almost no damage. Even Thor’s lightning was brushed off like an annoying fly.

The only one dealing any damage was the walking armory - Iron Man. Tony was rather proud of himself for that. The monster seemed to be somewhat vulnerable to heat (excluding electricity), and repulsors and missiles could provide that without any trouble. And, bonus, Tony could fly. The mini monsters couldn’t.

Still, with only one Avenger dealing real damage to the main monster, it was slow going. All the others were dispatching numerous mini monsters with ease, eyes regularly straying to watch Tony where he hovered in the air, worried about the man antagonizing the monster.

Tony took little notice of them. He swept through the air at high speed, ducking claws, and planted a missile in the things spine, watching in fascination as an odd liquid slipped out from beneath its rubbery, tough as hell skin. “It’s flammable, try fire on the little ones,” he reported, receiving affirmatives from all the others.

“Jarvis, do I have a flamethrower in this model?”

“Yes, sir.”

Tony closed his eyes for a moment, trusting Jarvis to keep them moving and out of the thing’s reach, and watch fire bloom across sand behind his eyes. “Fuck. Do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m gonna light it up, guys. Watch out.”

“Roger that,” Rogers said, and Tony almost sniggered as he swooped in low and turned on the flames.

What he had foolishly neglected to consider was that the thing went berserk the second it caught, and the flames spread quicker than a wildfire during a drought. He heard multiple teammates scream at him as he got swatted into a building.

And then the world shattered around him into screeching metal and flickering flame.

What felt like years, but could only have been moments later, Tony started to piece things together. He blinked as his HUD cleared a bit; his left side was pinned beneath twisted metal and concrete, and his visibility was obscured by smoke. His suit filters were good, but against thick smoke and the dust of a settling building, they would eventually give way. He had maybe four hours; the dust would probably settle by then, but there was no way of knowing when the smoke would clear. To top all of that off, the rubble pinning his side was putting enough pressure on his chest that he couldn’t quite draw a full breath, and considering his already reduced lung capacity, well. When his filters stopped working, so would his lungs.

His comm crackled in his ears, but nothing useful was distinguishable from the static. He caught a few words - “-make Hulk - shift - fourth and -” but none of it was any good, and it faded quickly, the comm unit automatically shutting down in order to protect his ears as it detected its damaged parts were irreparable without human intervention.

Tony closed his eyes against the rubble around him, gritty with dirt and smoke; it was an all-too-familiar scene, and air was too precious for him to have a panic attack now. His team had better hurry and -

Huh. His team. His team, who apparently there was no question of their coming for him.

Tony wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Sure, they’d gotten him out of some tight scrapes, but should he really trust them so much? In all his life, there had been Pepper, Rhodey, Jarvis, and Obadiah. Pepper broke his heart, though they were still friends. Jarvis Tony built himself. Obadiah tried to have him killed. Rhodey… well, he’d never really betrayed him, since Tony planned to give him a suit from the beginning, but, there had been some road bumps. Anyway, the point was, trusting people didn’t go well for Tony.

And here, suddenly, these super powered people invaded his life, and boom. Trust. Clearly Tony was an idiot.

He yawned. A tired idiot. He’d probably use less air if he slept, which would prolong his supply. He couldn’t do anything to get out himself, and stupid or not, he trusted that his team was coming for him.

Tony grinned and didn't open his eyes.

Clint was going to give him so much crap about sleeping on the job.