Chapter Text
It'd been a normal couple weeks. Tony had been in the workshop, he'd been called out as Iron Man, he'd teased Pepper about how perfectly she managed Stark Industries. It was all normal. Completely normal.
Well. Except for the whole Avengers-moving-into-Stark-Tower thing. That was... well.
They'd all apologized for everything, and been at least three-fourths forgiven on all sides, so that was something. They'd gotten used to each other, to the point that Rhodey barely blinked when Clint popped his head out of the vents above the kitchen to snag some chips. Cap could apparently swear a red streak when he was woken up just a little too early, which everyone could now throw in his face mercilessly and get a huge eye roll in response. Nat was a little crazy, but in good ways. And Bruce no longer turned green every time anyone mentioned Harlem.
They were beginning to trust each other. Which was... good. Tony just wished he knew at what meeting everyone had decided to get closer to everyone and why, exactly, they hadn’t invited him. He was the genius here, the one in control of the tower and everything, and yet it was the ex-criminals that were the first to start laughing around the rest, the first to relax and let down their walls. What was up with that?
He certainly didn't know, and after the suggestion of a "movie night" by Thor and Clint, wasn't sure he wanted to know. Like, Frozen? Really? Since when did the people who'd been fighting practically to kill watch Disney together and weep over the sad scenes in their mortal enemies' laps?
Tony had considered, for a moment, that Loki or some kind of so-far-incomprehensible magic force was responsible for the odd behavior of his team - oh, God, they were all his team now - but that was ruled out. Loki's magic, at least, had a definite residue or some sort, and Strange hadn't detected anything similar around Avengers Tower. He hadn't done a completely exhaustive search since Tony had kicked him out when he began asking why it was necessary - the so-called sorcerer had started furrowing his eyebrows in a completely patronizing way, and it had ticked Tony off - but it gave him a little more peace of mind. At least the team wasn't mind controlled or anything. At a certain point, he felt a little embarrassed for even considering it.
Though, really, when he saw Vision and Bucky bonding over being part-machine, clapping each other on the backs and both actually smiling, what was he supposed to think?
- - -
Tony realized about three weeks in that he was the only one who hadn't completely let their guard down around the rest of the team. Sure, he cracked jokes and snarked, but that was like breathing. The second Cap came near him to talk about anything other than fighting tactics or updates for training programs, Tony remembered something he needed to tinker on in the labs and fled.
No, he was not a coward. He was just- untrusting. This group, weirdly unguarded or not, would fall apart, he knew it. He remembered, all too well, the way they'd fought less than a month ago. He didn't want to be too attached to anything - anyone - when it all collapsed around him, when they all left him. So, for the most part, he kept to himself. Didn't stray from the penthouse or the lab, not even on team movie nights that oddly seemed more and more tempting the more he heard about them.
That is, he didn't stray from the penthouse or lab - except when he surfaced for coffee. And food, yeah, but mainly coffee.
That was his mistake, he was pretty sure. He should've brought coffee and rations downstairs in the lab. But no, he was the owner of this tower, and he'd be damned if he let his stupid insecurity keep him from his own kitchen.
And so he'd been working on the armor for hours, at some point, doing something with the thrusters, and he'd completely and utterly lost track of time. So when he saw that the battered clock in the corner said it was 3:43, he assumed it was 3:43 AM. Nobody, not even insomnia-ridden superheroes, were awake then (bar Tony, obviously, who took insomnia to a different level). And if they were awake, they'd probably hit the gym. The kitchen would be clear.
And so, Tony was caught completely off-guard when he stepped out of the elevator, ran a hand through his disgustingly greasy hair, and looked up into the eyes of every single Avenger who’d sided against him when it came down to battle. Cap, Sam, Scott, Wanda, Bucky, Clint. The whole package.
His first instinct, honed from fighting for far too long, was to run - but that was stupid. So instead he forced his tensed shoulders to relax as he walked to the coffee machine.
Why on earth was everyone awake right now?
Tony glanced out the window and got a piece of the puzzle. It was bright out. 3:43 PM, when the team ate snacks in the team kitchen, not AM, when nobody was awake. Right. This was why military time was a thing.
Tony risked a glance back at the group and saw them still staring. God, he hoped he didn't have motor oil on his face. That would be embarrassing. He fiddled with the knobs on the machine and started to get a cup when- wait. He could make this work. He would be more than that random rich guy who lived in his lab and didn't trust any of his coworkers. He would share his ambrosia, his nectar of life. That would at least keep them from hating him for a bit. Right? "Well," he said, trying not to wince when his voice came out hoarse from not being used for at least ten hours. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well. Anyone want some coffee?"
They glanced at each other with widened eyes, which was a little uncalled for. "I thought you didn't want anyone touching your machine," Steve said, and Tony shrugged.
"Eh. I'm in the mood to share. Any orders?"
They called out what they wanted, first hesitantly and then eagerly. Cap, the one person Tony suspected would want his coffee chock full of cream and sugar, actually wanted the darkest coffee Tony had ever made - and that was saying something. Tony bit his lip and just barely avoided commenting on that.
They pushed cups toward him across the kitchen island, and Tony made sure to fill their cups up generously. As they oohed over how good their drinks were, Tony began to smile. This could be good. Maybe the team wasn't so bad after all. Maybe-
He was so busy thinking and hoping, not to mention working the coffee machine, he didn't hear Bucky come near him with his mug. "Hey," the man said, and pressed the mug into Tony's hand. "Can I have-"
Tony had no idea what happened. One second it was just Bucky, Steve's supersoldier friend, and the next second everything in him screamed. The assassin was too close, his metal arm was right there , he'd killed his parents-
Tony had forgiven Bucky for that, or so he'd thought. He was brainwashed, and it wasn't right to blame him for something Hydra made him do. Nobody in their right mind blamed the weapon fired, they blamed the criminals behind it, and that was all HYDRA. And, plus, the guy was always wracked with guilt about it. So Tony didn't trust him, yeah, but he'd forgiven him.
Maybe he hadn't realized just how deeply that distrust ran.
Bucky handed him something, and the mug was ice-cold but the tip of the metal finger that touched him was even colder, and Tony had been doing well but he couldn't hold back the full-body flinch that shot through him like ice water.
This man had killed his parents.
He didn't realize his fingers had spasmed until he heard the sound of shattered ceramic hitting tile.
Time sped up again - when had it slowed? - and Tony stared with dawning horror at the shards of mug on the floor. Did they see, oh God, don’t panic in front of them, why did you-
Bucky looked terrified. “I’m- No, wait- I-”
Somehow, Tony managed a smile as he tried to ignore the echo of a gunshot playing in the back of his head. "No biggie," he said easily, swiping a nearby broom and dustpan. In seconds, all the crystal-white pieces were gone. "Sorry about that."
Bucky looked like he was a second from bolting, clutching his metal arm to his chest. "I- I'm so sorry. I didn't realize- I shouldn't have gotten so close-"
Tony glanced at the remaining Avengers, who were staring at the two while pretending they weren't. "Uh, no. It wasn't anything you did," Tony said quickly. Truth. It was only Tony's stupid buried fears coming to light, that was all. Bucky didn't look very reassured, so Tony added, "I, ah, don’t like being handed things. It’s a pet peeve." Lie, and not a great one at that. But Bucky looked a little less spooked, and something like understanding flashed across his face.
"Oh. Well, uh, I'm sorry for-"
"It's fine. You want your coffee or not?"
"Uh, sure."
Tony raised a haughty eyebrow, trying to at least maintain a fragment of his usual genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist facade. "’Course you do, this stuff is delicious. Pass me another cup, darling." Looking a bit chastened, Bucky nodded and did so. After he’d finished fixing everyone with a drink, Tony forced himself to stay and at least attempt to contribute to the team's small talk about a recent fight.
Hey, he tried, he did, but it was hard. They all kept staring at him, or at least he imagined they did. And the sound of a gunshot he'd never heard kept repeating, over and over and over, and Tony eventually excused himself. He felt their hard gazes as he turned toward the elevator, and once he was surrounded by its blank chrome walls, Tony tore his hands through his hair. Of course he'd screwed up again. Evidently, when it came to this team, he couldn't do anything right.
(He wasn’t there to see Bucky lean in toward the Avengers present and whisper, “Hey. I think Tony might get flashbacks when people hand him things. He’d zoned out for a moment, and, just, make sure not to do it, okay? He’s been so damn nice to us all, letting us into his tower and everything even though we- we’ve done so little to deserve it, and I don’t want any of us to mess that up. He’s a good guy, and he doesn’t deserve that. Hear me?”)
(Tony didn’t see the Avengers’ solemn nods. He never would’ve expected them, either.)