Chapter Text
Friday, July 27, 2012 at 8:42AM.
Clint Barton AKA HAwkeye and Thor Odinson are arguing like children.
There is only one pop tart package left, and both of them want it. Steve hadn’t even heard of pop tarts until this morning, and he’s still not so sure what they are. Meanwhile, Bruce and Natasha sit in the living room, drinking coffee and having a civilised conversation. The more Steve watches them fight, the more he loses faith in this whole “Avengers” thing. Yeah, they saved the lives of hundreds of people mere weeks ago, however, the way they’re speaking to each other currently is so strange. It reminds him very much of him and Bucky and all of their buddies when they were teenagers, causing trouble left and right. At times like these, it didn’t hurt so much to think of his dead best friend, it was a dull ache that was overwhelmed with an intense amount of fondness for his new team.
“Guys, can you split it in half or something?” Steve asks them, rubbing his forehead tiredly as the pair looks at their leader. He shakes his head, gesturing towards the box, eyebrows furrowing briefly at the image on the cover. Steve honestly has no idea what those things are, and he has a feeling he doesn’t want to know. “We can always buy more, besides Bruce made breakfast as well. Half a— a poptart isn’t enough food.”
“There’s two in the pack,” Natasha calls out from the living room after a sip of coffee.
Mouth dropping open, Steve gestures between the two of them. “Then, why are you fighting over it?” he demands, placing a hand down on the counter in front of him.
Pausing where he holds one end of the packaged poptarts, Thor on the other end, Clint drops his gaze, something judgemental in his eyes as he looks Steve up and down. “I want two,” he says, as if it should be obvious.
Shaking his head, Steve holds back the urge to roll his eyes as he watches Thor win the tug of war for the treat, earning an indignant squawk from Clint. Trying to think of a way to change the subject, Steve glances around, and finds that they are missing a member of their team. “Where’s Stark?” he asks.
“Down in his lab,” Clint replies, frowning deeply as he watches Thor rip open the pack and take a bite of the poptart. “I asked, and J.A.R.V.I.S. said he’s skipping breakfast this morning.”
“But, he skipped dinner last night,” Steve says, lips turning down. “Has he been in the lab since last night?” When Clint simply shrugs, Steve looks to the ceiling for answers. “J.A.R.V.I.S.?”
“Indeed he has, Captain. I recommend someone bring him something to eat and inform him he should sleep.”
Holding up a hand, Clint waves off the AI. “Not it! He sure as hell won’t listen to me.”
Over the last few weeks since the Avengers moved into Stark Tower— renamed as Avengers Tower, Steve Rogers has found that he doesn’t mind Tony Stark all that much. Though the two of them have not spoken that often, he has a feeling that the first impression that he had of the man may have been a little off and blind. Steve cannot really blame Tony for being apprehensive of the Avengers Initiative nor the group of unlikely allies coming together, especially not when Steve himself felt the same way. It seems, however, that the whole team has come to realize that they work well together. Steve still is not Tony’s biggest fan, but he does think that they are on the path towards being friends. As of now they are… colleagues… partners in crime? Honestly, Steve doesn’t know, what he does know is that he wants to make sure the team is taking care of themselves, and that includes Tony.
With a sigh, Steve stands up, rounding the kitchen counter. “Doubt he’ll listen to me, but perhaps me being the team leader could help,” he mutters, not sounding very convinced. “What should I bring him to eat?”
“There’s some eggs and toast left,” Bruce speaks up from the couch, nodding towards the stove. “Bring him a plate.”
After filling up a plate with eggs and two pieces of toast, he grabs a fork, and heads towards the elevator. J.A.R.V.I.S. immediately takes Steve down to Stark’s lab. It seems the AI is eager someone offered to make sure Stark’s taking care of himself. It’s so weird to think that an AI could possibly have feelings, but Steve has noticed he seems to have quite a few.
The doors open, and Steve’s quite surprised at what he sees. There are papers, journals, pieces of metal, bolts and things of that sort laying everywhere. It looks like he’s working on a bunch of different things all at once. As he moves further into the room, Steve sees Stark laying on the ground on something with wheels under one of his suits, muttering to himself. The mess surrounding him seems to be some sort of organised chaos, one that Steve can’t figure out, but still, he’s sure Stark doesn’t have too big a problem figuring it out.
“Shit!” Stark curses after Steve hears a zap and a bright light flashes from underneath all the shiny metal. “Fuck. Stupid suit, work with me here. I know I sometimes overwork you, but I really would like some cooperation from your side. I swear, no more joy rides for at least a week… okay, five— three days . And, that’s me being generous—”
Steve sort of doesn’t want to interrupt, almost wants to listen to the man continue to ramble, a small smile making its way across his face. “Um, Stark?”
There’s a bang and Steve winces at the noise, especially when it’s followed by another string of curse words. Stark rolls out, rubbing his head with a pained expression. In his other hand, he holds a tool which he tosses to the side. Once he gains his bearings back, Stark looks up. His hair’s a mess, there’s grease on his face and hands, and there are dark bags under his eyes. “That hurt,” he says finally, pushing himself up off of the floor.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Steve apologises, tone sincere. “I thought you would hear the elevator.”
“S’alright,” Stark assures him, brushing it off with a casual shrug, wiping at his face as if to clear it of grease, only to smear it across his cheek. Steve almost laughs but holds it back, not wanting to annoy Stark. “What are you doing down here?”
“What are you doing down here?” Steve echoes Stark, placing the plate of food down on the only clear spot on one of Stark’s desks. “You’ve been here all night long. Why don’t you take a break?”
Giving another shrug, Stark snatches a rag from off of a random chair, and wipes off the grease and dirt from his hands. “I wasn’t tired. Besides, I had some things I needed to work on. Natasha came way too close to getting shot, Barton’s bow broke and he didn’t have a backup on him, amongst other problems.”
Furrowing his eyebrows, Steve glances at the mess. “So . . . that’s what you’re working on?”
“Well, yeah, I found a way to make Barton a hidden extra bow and I’m almost done designing Natasha’s new suit, planning to make it out of bullet resistant material,” Stark says, sitting down at the table Steve put food on. “What’s this?”
“Breakfast, Bruce made it,” Steve replies, “I figured you’d be hungry.”
Pushing the plate away, Stark reaches for one of his journals and begins scribbling into it with a short pencil that’s definitely on its last legs. “I’m good, Cap, you can leave.”
“You need to eat and sleep, Stark.”
“You’re not the boss of me.”
Steve crosses his arms. “I can’t just let you come fight with us if you won’t eat and sleep properly.”
“Fine with me,” Stark says, shrugging, “It’s not like I’m an actual Avenger anyway, just a consultant. All I’m responsible for is funding this whole project of Fury’s and making sure you fools don’t end up dead.”
Scoffing, Steve leans against the table. He has to refrain from rolling his eyes at Stark’s over-dramatization. “I’m not leaving until you eat.”
“Then, I guess you won’t be leaving,” Stark states simply. The two sit in silence for a few minutes like that. Stark scribbling notes as Steve stares at him. Then, just as Steve’s about to say something, Stark breaks. “Ugh, you’re the worst.”
To Steve’s great pleasure, Stark begins eating the food. He sits beside Stark, keeping his word on not leaving. He’ll wait until every bite is finished. “So,” he begins, “What are you working on in your suit?”
Looking up from where he picked up the fork, Stark raises an eyebrow, like he doesn’t fully believe Steve is interested in knowing. It upsets Steve a bit, that Stark thinks so little of him. “Nothing much,” Stark replies vaguely, taking a few bites of the eggs. “Just making some adjustments. I’ve been adding some new features which will hopefully make certain things during fights smoother.”
“Like what?” Steve asks, genuine.
“Well,” Stark begins, still eyeing Steve suspiciously, “There’s plenty of things to be done. I’m sure it wouldn’t interest you.”
Giving Stark a blank look, Steve says, “Humour me.”
Surprisingly, Stark only hesitates for a second before he begins to explain. He goes into great detail about the new features, explaining how they’ll help him in the field. Most of his reasons involve the other teammates, which shouldn’t shock Steve, but it does. He’s making an adjustment in the thrusters. One function they already have is going supersonic when he needs to go so fast, but only for a short amount of time. So, when Stark needs to fly over to Clint and scoop him up after he jumps off a building, he wants to ensure he’ll make it in time. This is just one of the many, many ideas he has, and Steve finds each one fascinating. Stark speaks with such passion about what he does, and it strangely inspires Steve.
After about forty-five minutes of nonstop talk, now finished with his food, Stark abruptly cuts himself off. “I’m sorry, I’ve been talking too much,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “When I do that, just interrupt me, I kind of . . . get carried away and forget. Anyway, you can head back up now. Let the others know I’m alive, though I don’t know how reassuring that news will be to them.” Brushing his hands off on his dirtied jeans, Tony stands back up. “Uh, yeah, so, thanks for the food.”
“You need to go take a nap, Stark,” Steve says, crossing his arms with a frown. He has no idea why Stark’s apologising, everything he said was so interesting, and if Steve hadn’t wanted to hear it, he wouldn’t have asked. Honestly, he didn’t even realize how much time had gone by. “Sleep is important.”
“I’m not doing anything today, it’s fine,” Stark replies, waving him off dismissively. “Don’t worry about me, Cap.”
“Actually, we were planning on having a movie night tonight,” Steve responds, grabbing Stark’s dirty dish from off his desk. “Get some sleep so you can stay up and watch whatever horrible movie Clint chooses.”
Giving a shrug, Stark picks a tool up, spinning it in his hand. “Ha, yeah, maybe,” he says, his smile quickly falling from his face as he clears his throat. Steve tilts his head curiously, wanting desperately to know what Stark’s thinking. “I’ll just have to see how much I get done.” When Steve gives him a look, Stark laughs again. “And, if I’m not still sleeping.”
“Alright,” Steve replies, nodding before he turns and walks back towards the elevator doors. “See you later, Stark.”
“Yeah, yeah, Rogers.”
Friday, July 27, 2012 at 7:56PM.
Tony didn’t sleep.
He considered it, for about half a second, then he thought of an idea on how to improve Natasha’s Widow’s Bite’s and changed his mind. Now, he’s sketching out the design for them, smiling as he knows how happy Natasha’s gonna be when she finds out she’ll be able to shoot them further than before. He drops the pencil when the ache in his fingers is far too present to ignore. Tony flexes his fingers, checking the clock to see he’s spent hours working on this. Yawning, Tony rubs his eyes, thinking that maybe he should finally listen to Steve and go to bed before he passes out in the middle of his lab.
As he gets up, he remembers the invitation Rogers extended earlier. Obviously he knows Rogers didn’t mean it, he doesn’t really want him there, none of them do. Still, this could be his chance to show them he’s not the person they think he is. Perhaps if they hang out with him more, they’ll learn that, they’ll realize he’s changed and is doing better. At least, he hopes so. It might even open the door up to him joining them for more movie nights. Though Tony isn’t a big fan of the whole “family bonding” stuff, he wouldn’t mind seeing the team a bit more.
After he stretches, back cracking, Tony heads towards the elevator, hoping inside and surprising himself when he tells J.A.R.V.I.S. to bring him to the communal floor. He very well might fall asleep during the movie. Nerves wrack Tony and he has no idea why, it’s not as though these people think highly of him. They won’t be expecting him to show up, they probably wouldn’t care if he was there or not. So, he continues on.
The doors open up, and as he steps out, he’s about to say something, announce his presence, but then he hears his name being said, and it’s not directed at him. Tony shuffles away, hiding behind the wall right beside the elevator. All the Avengers are sitting around in the living room, boxes of pizza and chips on the table as they spread themselves over the couches and floor. It looks as though they settled on some sci-fi movie from the ‘90s, Bruce currently on the floor setting it up.
“I thought you told Stark to come,” Barton says to Rogers, mouthful of popcorn.
“I did,” Rogers says.
“Knew he wouldn’t show up,” Barton replies with a scoff, still shoveling popcorn into his mouth. “He thinks he’s too good to spend time with us. I guess when you’re rich you don’t need any friends.”
“I doubt that’s why he didn’t come,” Rogers says.
“Oh, please,” Barton says with a laugh. “He doesn’t give a shit about us. We’re just the annoying people he works with. I’m tired of it.”
“To be fair,” Bruce begins, “We haven’t really given him the chance to hangout with us more. The only time we see him is out in the field. Maybe he doesn’t feel welcome.”
“This is his tower, not ours,” Barton responds, “Whatever. I don’t want to get to know him anyway, seems like such a dick.”
Turning on his heel, Tony immediately heads to the stairs, needing to get out of there as soon as possible without alerting them of his presence. He knew it was a mistake, thinking he could convince them he’s a good guy, because honestly he’s not. He needs to stop pretending he can make friends, that anyone could possibly like him, let alone love him. Tony’s meant to be alone, and that’s fine. He just wishes Rogers wouldn’t have invited him in the first place. It would save him some pain, though it’s clear none of them care about how he feels.
When Tony gets back down to his lab, the first thing he does is pass out on the couch, trying not to let it all get to him.
Saturday, July 28, 2012 at 11:12AM.
The moment Tony steps out into the communal floor, he knows it was a mistake.
He slept for about eight hours, waking up from a terrible nightmare at about four in the morning. After that, he started working on one of his cars, not feeling up to working on anything for Iron Man considering his dream detailed his time in the cave. Fixing up his cars is mindless work. It’s easy, he’s been doing it since he was in diapers, so he never has to think about it too much. Which leaves him to daydream, and he can make sure he doesn’t think about Yinsen or anything like that. On these days, the ones where he has severely bad nightmares, the kind where he wakes up with a scream, and J.A.R.V.I.S. has to speak to him until he stops sobbing and shaking, are extremely difficult. Tony can’t shower on these days, he can’t speak to others for much longer than five minutes and the pain from his arc reactor feels so much stronger.
So, really he should have known not to come onto the communal floor. However, he’s been spending the last seven hours in a daze, and didn’t think anything of it when he told his AI where to bring him. Unfortunately, it seems most of the Avengers are on this floor. Barton, Natasha and Thor reside in the living room while Bruce and Rogers are in the kitchen. Bruce is sipping coffee as he explains something to Rogers, who nods along while putting away dishes. The three in the living room seem to be playing some sort of board game, and from the looks of it, Barton is winning, Natasha’s losing, and Thor is confused. Tony hopes no one will pay him any attention.
Tony heads into the kitchen, moving around Rogers and towards the cupboard. He takes out a cup and fills it with water from the tap. Ever since his bad dream, he’s felt the start of a migraine. It hadn’t escalated very far, however now it’s starting to hit him. If he doesn’t want to throw up or worse, Tony needs to find his pain meds as soon as possible. Most likely, they’re on his floor in his bedroom’s nightstand because he usually takes them and then crawls into bed. Which, despite the fact that he had extremely bad nightmares last night, sounds really good right about now.
Unfortunately, Barton speaks.
“So, Stark, where were you last night?”
Pausing and swallowing a large gulp of water, Tony winces at the pain that shoots through his temples like miniature lighting bolts in his brain. “I was in my lab, working on some new designs.”
“Working on your suit, sounds about right,” Barton says with a laugh that doesn’t sound all too real and pointedly ignoring the elbow to his side he receives from Natasha. “Too busy to hangout with us regular folk, huh?”
“Oh, uh, actually , I was working on—”
“You know, what? Whatever , Stark,” Barton interrupts him, waving him off. “Obviously you don’t want to get to know us, and that’s fine. Not like we can force you to.”
“Clint,” Bruce says softly, frowning as he looks at Tony.
“What? We’re all thinking it.”
Honestly, Tony feels as though he can’t think about anything right now besides the way his head pounds and his stomach churns. Swallowing thickly, Tony opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to explain. He wants to tell Barton that he’s got it all wrong, but this migraine is hitting him hard, and if he speaks he knows he’ll throw up all over the floor, which is the last thing he wants to do right now. Tony doubts they’d like him more if he embarrassed himself so badly in front of them.
“Don’t be an ass,” Natasha says and Tony’s not sure if it’s directed at him or Barton because now he’s turning away, heading straight for the elevator.
As the doors close, Tony thinks he hears someone saying his name, maybe Rogers, however, he can’t be too sure. He keeps his eyes squeezed shut the whole ride, covering his mouth as the movement makes him feel closer to throwing up. “J.A.R., make sure to have all my blinds and lights off, I need it pitch black,” he tells his AI, sighing in relief when he knows not to reply and just follows the instructions.
The doors open back up, and Tony stumbles his way through his floor, tears pricking in the corners of his eyes as he walks over to his bed. Tony flops forward, blowing a harsh breath out when his head hits his cool pillow. He pulls his blanket up over his body, waiting and making sure he won’t be throwing up before he takes his pain meds.
Once he’s sure his stomach has settled, Tony reaches out and pulls open his nighttable’s drawer, pulling out his pill bottle. He pops two into his mouth, reaching out for his glass and taking a huge gulp of water. It takes about half an hour to kick in, so for now all Tony can do is wait and hope he falls asleep so he no longer has to suffer through the pain. Tony shivers, squeezing his eyes tightly as if that’ll help the migraine go away faster.
“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. whispers, “Sorry to bother you, but Captain Rogers is requesting access to your floor.”
“Denied.”
“But, Sir—”
“Denied, J.A.R.”
“Captain Rogers is worried about you.”
Tony scoffs. “I’m sure he is. Tell him I don’t need a babysitter 24/7.”
“Sir—”
“No.”
“As you wish, Sir.”
Saturday, July 28, 2012 at 11:31AM.
“I’m very sorry, Captain, but I cannot allow you access to Mr. Stark’s floor.”
Steve frowns. “How come?”
“Sir is going to sleep.”
“Oh,” Steve says, leaning against the wall in the elevator. “Okay, uh, just take me back to the main floor, then.”
“Yes, Captain.”