Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Every inch of Tony’s body hurt, but it was nothing compared to the emotional torment that raged inside him. He felt raw and torn apart. As if it weren’t bad enough that he’d been the cause of so many deaths and had to carry that guilt, the moment he tried to do the right thing, the whole world went to Hell. The loss of the Accords, the fights with Rogers and Barnes, the loss of that friendship right along with Clint and Natasha’s, Rhodey , finding out that Barnes had been responsible for his parents’ deaths and Steve had known … He wasn’t sure how any one person was supposed to bear it.

Tony lay on the ground, partially in snow, and stared at the shield Steve had left behind. The icy cold of the stone floor seeped into the metal of his battered armor and eased some of the physical pain, not that it mattered. The blood on Tony’s face hadn’t so much dried as it had frozen. He felt drained and exhausted, but the aches of his body and the roiling turmoil of his emotions kept him from sleep.

Despite all the pain, a transcendent kind of numbness had overcome him. He couldn’t even think about getting up, about moving. It wasn’t like it would make a difference, anyway. His suit was fried, and surely Steve and Bucky had taken the Quinjet. There wasn’t anywhere he could go.

He’d have to get up eventually, of course. He knew that, in a distant sort of way. He’d probably have to scavenge for parts from what was in the Hydra base to at least get a message out for a pickup. God, but there would be Hell to pay for this entire, massive clusterfuck. Somehow, he’d have to scrape up the energy to deal with it all, to try and hold things together when they did nothing but fall apart.

Tony’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment.

He was so tired of the struggle.

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed since Rogers had left him there, dragging Barnes off with him. Hours, at least. In all honesty, Tony couldn’t even bring himself to care. 

The sky outside dimmed and eventually fell dark as Tony floated in his half-aware state and the air around him grew impossibly colder. He probably had frostbite, now that he thought about it. The Iron Man armor, especially without power, wasn’t exactly insulating. 

When he first heard the scraping and tapping, it took Tony a minute to realize that they were coming from deeper inside the compound. The sounds continued, and Tony’s sluggish brain eventually registered them as footsteps, several sets. 

Voices accompanied the footfalls, though Tony couldn’t make out the words or was at least having trouble processing them. His brain felt like it was moving through molasses. He rolled his head to the side, the most movement he’d made since he’d been left alone, to watch in the direction of the noises.

Something inside screamed for him to get up, to move, to go - but Tony couldn’t so much as make his fingers twitch. 

He didn’t know who had found the base and was investigating, but, in the end, he supposed it didn’t really matter. Tony didn’t have any friends left. All he had were enemies, those who were quicker to turn their backs than to give him a smile. Pepper hadn’t talked to him in nearly two weeks, and Happy was with her. 

It certainly wasn’t Rhodey or that Spiderkid coming to have tea. 

Light was the first thing he saw, the blinding beam of a flashlight sweeping over floors and walls. It swept over him, too, and then jerked back to focus on him. 

The voices were louder, all of a sudden, and then the footsteps picked up speed. The shadowy shape of a person crouched beside him, the others staying back. Tony couldn’t even say how many there were. Two or twenty, it made no difference to him. He attempted to focus on the person crouched beside him, with moderate success. 

It occurred to him for the first time that he likely had a concussion.

Goggles and a ski mask were pulled aside to reveal a man’s face, framed by a fur-lined hood. His skin was tanned and weathered, his expression grim. He said something that Tony couldn’t make sense of, a foreign language maybe, and then said something to the rest of the group when Tony didn’t respond. 

Tony felt himself beginning to drift again until a gloved hand on his chin brought him back.

“Tony Stark,” the man said gruffly, his voice heavily accented. “Iron Man.”

Tony could only blink sluggishly at him. The man’s frown deepened. He spoke again to those behind him and Tony let himself slip away even as he felt hands upon his suit, dragging him back into the depths of the compound.

.

Another enemy fell as Bucky and the other Avengers fought their way deeper into the base. 

It’d only taken a year for Steve to track down someone able and willing to help with what Hydra had left in Bucky’s head, a Professor Charles Xavier. Of course, it’d taken months on top of that before they could be sure all of the programming had been removed. Nearly two years in total, and yet so much had happened, so much had changed.

It seemed like such a short time compared to the rest of his lifespan, and yet…

The Avengers were back together, legalized and forgiven for everything that happened with the Accords. Well, the outside world had forgiven them at least. The more Bucky learned, the more he realized they would likely never be able to forgive themselves. 

First and foremost, Tony Stark never made it back from Siberia. 

The media backlash from his disappearance had been huge. In the beginning, the sensationalist theory was that he’d just run off to avoid taking any responsibility for what happened. No one with any real authority believed it, though there were some who believed he’d dropped off the radar to help Bucky and Steve hide. 

As time passed, the search led by Tony’s friends and associates became more and more frantic. Eventually, even those who doubted had to admit that his disappearance seemed to have a sinister edge. It certainly didn’t help their theory when Steve and Bucky reappeared without Tony accompanying them.

Bucky was already back in cryo by the time the news hit the media, but Steve and T’Challa had immediately headed back to Siberia to search for answers. They’d found drag marks and footprints inside the compound, the signs of an assortment of vehicles outside, but that was it. Steve had snuck into Ms. Potts’ home to leave the information where she would find it, but it got them no closer to finding Tony. 

Four months after his disappearance, the Iron Man armor was dumped outside of Stark Tower. 

It was beaten to Hell, ripped apart, and covered in blood. Reports confirmed that the blood was Tony’s, and more was present than a human being could survive losing. A villainess by the name of Madame Masque claimed responsibility for Tony’s death and even released a few short videos of the man himself being tortured. 

Bucky watched them when they had first hit the internet, driven by some morbid sense of curiosity. Tony’s screams reminded him of his own when he was strapped to the chair back with Hydra.

He hadn’t even gotten through the first one, and it still haunted him if he dwelled on it for too long. He hated going into Steve’s office and seeing the Iron Man helmet - scratched and burnt with shattered eye slits - sitting there on his desk. Steve claimed it was a reminder, but it only reminded Bucky of nightmares.

The world mourned for their fallen hero but, eventually, there was another alien invasion and Steve, right along with his band of misfits, had risen up in Earth’s defense. With the loss of Iron Man still fresh in their minds, the people of the world were much more willing to welcome them back. There were more restrictions than there had been before, but the Avengers were still able to run themselves. 

Since the day they had been cleared and named Avengers once more, Steve’s top priority had been apprehending Madame Masque.

She was a slippery one, though, and more than happy to fight dirty. Every time they’d felt like they were closing in, some new emergency would arise and she would slip through their grasp.

Bucky knew that Steve, and the rest of the team, too, felt like they had to get her. She’d killed Tony, and they hadn’t been able to stop it. It was something that both united and divided the team. Pepper Potts lent them resources to track down Masque but would provide nothing else. Rhodes refused to speak to any of them besides Spiderman and occasionally Vision.

These days, the Avengers had grown enough that they didn’t have to. The only missions War Machine and Captain America went on together were storming Madame Masque’s hideouts, though Rhodes had other obligations that kept him from this one. Even when they worked in tandem, though, they didn’t work side-by-side. Each had their own approach to demolishing the empire of the woman who had taken the life of their friend.

The intel for Masque’s base they were currently invading had come from Sharon Carter. She had lost many a job over slipping Steve information so regularly, but had been appointed as a liaison when the Avengers reformed officially. She had sources in various agencies all across the globe and leveraged all of them in the pursuit of avenging the man she considered a cousin. It was a determination they all shared, even those who hadn’t known Tony Stark personally. Iron Man meant a lot to a lot of people.

Bucky ran into Black Widow about three levels down, a fierce expression on her face. She jerked her head down the hall even as she kept moving, and Bucky fell in behind her without question. They could clear a lot more ground together and cover each other’s backs while doing it. Bucky’s years on loan as a trainer in the Red Room meant they worked together seamlessly - a deadly combination of grace and power.

“Ran into a very helpful guard just a minute ago,” Natasha said by way of explanation, pausing only to throw a punch hard enough to knock her opponent out. “Masque has rooms this way. She keeps everything of importance to her there. It’s the first place she’d go in case of an attack, and even if we don’t find her, we could find plenty else of use.”

“Provided we get there before any of it’s destroyed,” Bucky supplied as he gunned down three guards in the hallway ahead without breaking stride.

“So let’s hurry things along, shall we?”

They fought in tandem, working together to take out anyone they encountered. Bucky may have never known Tony Stark, not really, but that made him no less willing to fight in the name of a good man. He knew it was more personal for the others, but the only memories Bucky had of Tony were of the man trying to take him in… or from the end when Tony was trying to kill him for killing his parents. Bucky understood the reaction completely, but that didn’t make it any more pleasant to deal with.

Natasha indicated a door to the left of the hallway, and Bucky covered her as she forced her way in. It was a bedroom, a woman’s judging by the vanity set up against one wall. Baubles and papers covered every surface, the entire room a bit of a mess. The furnishings were upscale and nicer than anything the average person could afford.

It looked like the guard had been telling Natasha the truth. Smart. Things tended to go unpleasantly for anyone who dared lie to Black Widow.

Neither of them dropped their guard as they began to quickly search the space. Bucky kicked in the two doors in the room, one leading to the bathroom and another to an expansive walk-in closet. Natasha searched the main area, sweeping aside a curtain and rifling through a bookcase in search of clues. 

She was the one who found the trapdoor clichély placed under a thick rug. The dust inside had been recently disturbed, meaning chances were good Madame Masque had gone that way. Natasha adjusted her Widow Bites as they peered down into the darkness.

“Someone needs to stay here and guard this room. There’s no telling what secrets she has hidden.”

“You’ll have a better chance of catching her than I would,” Bucky acknowledged, but he still grabbed Natasha’s arm to stop her before she could disappear through the trap door. “Steve’ll lose it if she manages to get her hands on another one of us.”

Natasha’s eyes glinted sharply.

“She won’t. The only thing she’s gonna get is what she deserves for everything she did to Tony.”

Then Natasha was gone, and Bucky almost felt bad for Madame Masque when the Widow caught up with her. Almost. He could still remember the way Tony sounded in that video. She did deserve it.

He turned his attention back to the room at large, glancing at some of the papers scattered around. He couldn’t tell what they were about without actually reading them, but the techs and analysts who worked for the Avengers would take care of that. As soon as the area was cleared, there’d be a cleanup crew to pack up this entire place and take it back to headquarters. Bucky just needed to make sure no goons came in to destroy it before they had the chance. Madame Masque would have an office somewhere in the base, too, but Bucky couldn’t worry about trying to cover all possibilities.

Nothing appeared obviously dangerous as Bucky took his time strolling through the room and looking everything over. There was a wooden box with a glowing stone in the lid that Bucky would bet money was magical, but there wasn’t anything too alarming. He decidedly ignored the blood-crusted bullwhip curled up on the bedside table. He approached the vanity instead, a delicate piece of polished wood. The mirror curved above it had pictures stuck in the edge like some scene from a movie about a teenage girl.

Bucky’s stomach roiled when he got close enough to notice they were all of Tony. Just how sick was this Madame Masque?

Tony strapped to a table, strung up from the ceiling, sprawled bonelessly across the floor. In the few where he was looking at the camera, his eyes were nothing like the ones Bucky could only vaguely remember from their brief encounters. They were listless, unfocused. If it weren’t for the pain that lined Tony’s face, Bucky could even have believed they were taken after death. There was one where Tony was hanging limply from where his wrists were chained to the ceiling and wore a full three-piece suit, though it was soaked through with blood in several places. Bucky had never even heard of dressing up a captive just to torture them.

One photo, in particular, jumped out at him from among the rest. It was older, judging by the discoloration of the ink and the wearing at the edges. Bucky almost didn’t recognize Tony in the picture, between how young he was in the photo and the lack of his distinctive facial hair. He couldn’t have been more than fifteen or so, baby fat still clinging to his cheeks. He looked sullen and bored, the complete opposite of the young woman clinging to his arm and beaming happily. Bucky could only assume this was the true face behind Madame Masque.

She hadn’t just taken Tony because he was a hero and that irritated her. They had some sort of history.

He moved on from that discovery, checking over the rest of the room to distract himself from his discomfort and then slipping into the closet. Madame Masque was no minimalist, that was for sure. She had jewelry and clothes and bags and shoes, all meticulously hanging or put away, unlike the state of her actual bedroom.

It took Bucky longer than he cared to admit to realize that there was a section of the closet that wasn’t for her. Men’s shoes and clothes stayed there. They were impeccably cleaned, but Bucky was still able to spot a bit of blood inside the lip of one of the shoes. He quickly headed for the bathroom, checking and confirming his suspicions that there were products there meant exclusively for men. He headed back to the closet to see what else he could find even as he activated the switch for their coms. The team tried to keep the coms as clear as possible, but if there was ever a time for an exception, it was now.

“Cap, I think I found something. Can you head to my coordinates?”

There was a grunt as Steve likely took out yet another opponent.

“I’ll be there in less than two minutes. What do you have?”

“Not sure yet, but it’s something I think you should see.”

He didn’t want to say what he thought it meant. If hopes were raised only to be dashed… Steve would get through it, but it would take a toll. Despite everything, Tony had been a friend.

“Alright. I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

“See you soon, Steve-“

A muffled thud had Bucky spinning around with his gun up, aimed at the large armoire next to the door. There was another little shuffling sound, so quiet that Bucky would never have heard it without his enhanced senses, and then renewed silence. 

Bucky stayed still for a long moment before cautiously approaching the cabinet, his gun staying trained on the carved, wooden doors. Metal fingers wrapped around one of the handles, and he paused again, listening closely before he threw the door open. The man inside, chained and bloody, cringed away even as Bucky hurriedly lowered his gun and opened the other door.

“Shit!” Then, remembering his coms were still wide open, “I have Stark. He’s alive. God, he’s fucked up, but he’s alive.”

There was a clamor over the coms, too much for Bucky to make anything out, but he knew it meant the others would be heading to his location en masse. All but Natasha, most likely, as she continued to hunt down the woman responsible. Bucky pushed the distraction aside in favor of examining Tony more closely. He needed to find a way to get him out of there without hurting him further.

He’d been kept groomed, under the blood that had dried against his skin. His beard and hair were trimmed, and he was clothed in silk pajama bottoms. His arms were pulled up over his head and cuffed to the top of the small space. Blood, new and dried, tracked down from where the metal cut into his wrists. Tony hung there heavily, his weight unsupported by his legs as if they had just given out on him. More blood crisscrossed his body, lines of it as if from cuts or gashes though he didn’t seem to have wounds beneath them.

Most worrying was the dark purple coloring of several of Tony’s fingers and most of his hands, the same color showing up again on his feet and toes. The discolored skin was cracked and withered - looking more like it belonged to a corpse than a living being. Of all things, Steve’s shield, the one he’d dropped and left behind in Siberia, hung on the back wall. It was partially hidden by Tony’s drooping frame, but Bucky would recognize it anywhere.

The genius flinched as Bucky reached for him but didn’t struggle. His eyes still held that dulled, almost dead quality to them that they’d shown in the pictures. He didn’t look at Bucky as the former assassin wrapped an arm around his waist to lift him and take pressure off his arms. His head fell forward, resting on Bucky’s shoulder so that hot puffs of air blew against the skin of his neck.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Bucky told him, though his lack of response was honestly starting to worry the soldier. “The whole team’s here, plus some you wouldn’t have met. You’re going home. You’re safe now.”

Still nothing, but Bucky just lifted the smaller man up a bit more, frowning at how light he was. A hand run down Tony’s side revealed ribs pressed out against the skin. He was dangerously underweight. Leaving that for later, Bucky reached up with his metal hand to examine the shackles around Tony’s wrists. They were made of thick, heavy metal, and chaffed and cracked skin peeked out from either side. The chain in between them was short, too, barely long enough to attach to the ceiling of the armoire with two links on either side. There was no way Bucky would be able to get them off one-handed without causing Tony more pain.

Footsteps in the bedroom had Bucky drawing his gun again and making sure he was between Tony and the door. It wasn’t hard, considering the armoire was tucked against the wall beside it. All Bucky had to do was lean sideways to get a view into the bedroom. Steve hurried toward him, his expression such a mix of emotions that not even Bucky could identify them all. Bucky beckoned him closer.

“He’s cuffed to the top of this thing. I need you to get the cuffs off while I lift him.”

Hope shined in Steve’s eyes as he crossed into the closet and finally came into view of Tony.

Then the screaming started.

Chapter Text

Peter heard the screaming before he spotted the room.

It rattled him down to his very bones. His spidey-sense was going haywire, and he dashed on. His feet almost slipped out from under him as he darted into what must be a bedroom and then followed the terrifying noises into a huge, walk-in closet. 

Mr. Stark, the man he’d thought of as a mentor before he’d vanished trying to follow and help Cap, was inside some sort of cupboard thing. He thrashed wildly, producing a noise that barely even sounded human anymore. Barnes and Cap were both trying to hold him still, to little avail. Blood streaked down Mr. Stark’s arms like a gushing tide, and Peter had to push down the urge to vomit. 

He’d seen a lot of things since he’d turned himself into a hero, and even more since he’d become an Avenger, but gore never failed to make his stomach clench uncomfortably. It didn’t help that this was one of the worst things he’d yet to see. Peter froze for a long moment before regaining control. He darted forward and grabbed hold of Cap’s shoulder, something he would never dare under normal circumstances.

“Move back!”

Something in his tone must have shown how serious he was because not even a second later Cap and Barnes were both moving away. Peter shot out several of his webs, all but gluing Mr. Stark into place. One aimed at his hands kept the inventor from injuring himself any further in that way. The screaming cut itself off, reduced down to whimpers and helpless, inarticulate noises.

Peter probably would have stared at the once-strong, powerful billionaire for ages if it weren’t for Cap grabbing him by the shoulder and yanking him around.

“What the Hell are you doing?”

Mr. Stark cried out and flinched away as best he could within Peter’s webbing. Peter wanted to flinch away in the face of Captain America’s anger, too, but his own anger buoyed him. He shoved his teammate away with a glare.

“You guys were trying to hold him down! I was helping! He can’t hurt himself like this and, the state he’s in, it’s not like we could get him through the base safely anyway. We either need to sedate him or knock him out somehow.”

It wasn’t the first time Peter had clashed with Captain Rogers, acting as a known agent for Ms. Pepper and Mr. Rhodey as he did. He was well-acquainted with Cap’s temper. Usually, he had Whistle around to back him up, though, which made the whole thing seem a lot more like he wasn’t about to have his head put through a wall.

“Kid’s right,” Barnes said from behind Cap. “Tony was just gonna hurt himself more. Call Wanda. She can put him under.”

Peter kept his lips tightly shut. He very carefully did not mention that Mr. Stark probably wouldn’t want Barnes of all people calling him so familiarly. Mr. Stark definitely wouldn’t want Wanda inside his head. If there was any one thing he’d learned from Cap since the Avengers reformed, it was what happened when you didn’t pick your battles.

Cap didn’t respond, but he did turn away, one hand going up to activate his coms. Figured. It seemed like Barnes was the only one he listened to whenever he got in a mood like this - which was fairly often when Peter was around. Their relationship hadn’t started off well, and he could admit his own part in their lack of reconciliation. Peter liked to think he wasn’t the type to hold grudges, but he definitely held on to this one.

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when he glanced at the door and realized T’Challa had appeared there as if from thin air, watching Cap impassively as he spoke with Wanda. As wickedly cool as the guy was - a king and a superhero - he still creeped Peter out with his silent comings and goings. His spidey-sense didn’t even pick the guy up when they were sparring, because damn it all if the guy didn’t mean Peter any harm. 

Sometimes Peter doubted whether his spidey-sense really knew who the enemy was or if it was just as confused as he was.

He headed toward the cupboard, cabinet, whatever. There was probably some fancy, official name for whatever the piece of furniture was, but Peter sure didn’t know it. He glanced at the others in the room, but only Barnes kept an eye on him. That was fine. Peter learned a while ago that Barnes saw a lot more than he necessarily reported to Cap or anyone else. Peter sent the assassin a little wave just to be cheeky.

“Hey,” he murmured lowly to Mr. Stark, trying to keep his voice soothing. He didn’t have any experience with this sort of thing, but he couldn’t just stand around and wait like the others seemed content to do. “I’m, uh, not sure if you remember me at all. You showed up at my apartment unannounced and hit on my aunt before offering me some upgrades.”

Vaguely, he heard Cap and T’Challa speaking in the background. Even with their enhanced hearing, they wouldn’t be listening to him when they were mid-conversation. He’d have to hope Barnes didn’t rat him out before they got back to base and Peter had backup that would stand by him.

“Anyway, you scored me a pretty sweet internship at Stark Industries, which was awesome, and now I work there. Ms. Pepper’s amazing. She’s gonna be over the moon to find out you’re alive, so you just hang in there, okay? We’ll get you back, and then she and Mr. Rhodey will take care of everything.”

His gaze darted toward the door, where Barnes still hovered, pretending he wasn’t listening to every word. 

“The Avengers are great, but that’s not where you need to be. We’ll get you taken care of, and I swear , Mr. Stark, that we’ll keep you safe.”

The distressed noises had died down, though the panic and terror in the inventor’s eyes was as strong as it had been when Peter arrived. It spoke of a feeling that consumed the soul and laid waste to reason. Peter knew fear, had seen it many times in many forms, and had felt it plenty himself. This went beyond that. It was past fear or terror or panic, and he wasn’t sure he had a name to give it. It sent shivers down his spine.

Peter kept up his one-sided conversation until Wanda arrived with her red swirls of magic. Her presence, of course, meant that Vision would be positioning himself as far across the base as possible, and Peter couldn’t help but think of the injustice of it. Vision certainly had more of a right to be here than she did. Still, he moved away from where Mr. Stark hung, now limp and silent, but with that unnameable feeling still in his eyes. Wanda frowned at him.

“I can feel his disturbance already.”

Her tone rankled and Peter clenched his fists in an attempt to stay calm. He just needed to bide a bit more time. Once they were out of here, Mr. Stark would never have to deal with any of these people again.

“Yeah, well, he’s been a captive for three years. You’d probably be a little disturbed, too.”

Wanda just sniffed in his general direction and twirled her fingers to summon her magic. 

Peter forced himself not to shoot her with a web, too. Silently, he apologized for letting Mr. Stark go through yet another invasion of his person when so much had been taken from him already. He’d call Ms. Pepper from the quinjet, he decided. It would be a few hours before they could get back to headquarters at least, and that would give her plenty of time to marshal her forces. 

Ms. Pepper was not someone you wanted turned against you.

.

Pepper’s hands shook as she hit the holographic button to end the call, her finger fumbling over the glass screen of her desk phone. 

Tony was alive . 

There were a few late nights where she’d entertained the idea - imagined him walking through the door laughing and making apologies he didn’t mean about losing time down in the lab. She came up with all sorts of wild reasons for him to have been away - he was forging intergalactic alliances, been recruited by Fury for a top-secret project to save them all from a threat they didn’t even know about, run away just like people had seemed so willing to believe at first. 

Anything was better than him being dead .

Peter hadn’t been able to say much, but he’d managed more than enough. Pepper had never truly believed any of the stories she told herself when she felt that far down, had never let herself fall into that trap. To find out now that Tony was alive… Was there something more she could have done to find him sooner? Peter said he was hurt but just how severe was his condition? What sort of state would he be in? 

When Tony made it back from Afghanistan, he was a changed man. That’d only been three months; this was three years. How much would he have changed this time?

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Pepper tried to direct herself toward inner calm. She’d never been great with high danger situations, but high pressure? She could handle those all day long. Tony needed her, and she sure as Hell wasn’t going to let him down now. Not this time. She’d wondered a thousand times whether or not she could have changed something if she and Tony hadn’t broken up, no matter what James said. 

Pulling herself together, she flicked across the screen on her desk to call her secretary, not waiting for the call to connect before she started packing her bag.

“What may I do for you, Ms. Potts?”

“Cancel everything on my calendar for today and hold my appointments for the rest of the week. Forward anything urgent to Michelle.”

“Ms. Potts?”

“I’ve had something come up, and I’ll be out of the office. If anyone needs me, they’ll have to wait.”

She trusted her secretary completely, had chosen the young man specifically for his discretion and efficiency, but that didn’t mean she was going to start spreading this news around just yet. She would wait until she had a chance to see Tony for herself. A lot would depend on how badly hurt he was and what he wanted to do. Pepper certainly wasn’t going to take any of his options away after everything.

Her legs wobbled dangerously as the videos Madame Masque had sent the media flitted across her mind, threatening to give out under her. Pepper didn’t know how she’d managed to sit through all of them. Maybe she’d just been too shocked to stop them.

“Of course, Ms. Potts,” her secretary’s voice broke through her reverie. She had no doubt he was already clearing things off her plate. “Shall I inform anyone of your absence?”

“No, no one but Michelle,” Pepper decided as she zipped her briefcase shut, tucking it and her purse onto her shoulder and a tablet into the crook of her arm. It was one Tony had made, still outperforming most of what was on the market. “Let’s keep it under wraps for now. Have Happy meet me in the garage?”

“I’ll make sure he’s there. Will that be all, Ms. Potts?”

Oh, but how her heart ached every time she heard those words.

“That will be all, Mr. Douglas.”

Then she was grabbing her jacket in her free hand, throwing it over the tablet, and heading out the door. She gave Kyle a nod of acknowledgment as she passed, and he nodded right back, fingers flying over his keyboard and already talking into his headset. Tony would have had a field day throwing ridiculous tasks his way, Pepper knew. He’d always gotten a kick out of throwing them at Pepper just to see how she’d handle them.

She pulled out her phone in the elevator and shot off a text to James, saying that she and Happy would be there soon to pick him up and that something had happened. She didn’t specify what. James deserved to hear the news about Tony in person and not over the phone. Pepper didn’t want to risk anyone overhearing the conversation.

Happy arrived in the garage less than a minute after she had and slid into the passenger seat of the car she’d chosen for the trip. He looked alert, easily recognizing that something was going on even if he didn’t have any information.

“Where are we going?”

“To pick up James and then head to Avengers headquarters.”

Happy twitched. They never went to the Avengers facility. Ever. None of them could stand to be there after what had happened to Tony, least of all James.

“What’s happened? Was it the raid? Was Peter hurt?”

Pepper bit her lip as he turned into traffic, eyes on the cars around her. She was suddenly afraid to say it, afraid it might break the spell, and she’d wake up or find out it wasn’t true in some way. She pushed such thoughts aside, though. She would not cower when Tony needed her, needed them .

“Peter’s fine,” she said to buy herself time. “The raid went well.”

“They got Masque?”

That’d certainly be a reason to go to the headquarters, but it wasn’t the real one. Pepper took several deep breaths, her throat feeling tight. Driving was not the time to start shaking and crying with relief.

“She got away. They found Tony, though.” A sob escaped her despite her efforts. “They found Tony. He’s alive.”

She couldn’t see Happy’s face, but she knew there would be a whole plethora of emotions crossing it. Tony had been dear to all three of them, but Happy had known Tony even longer than Pepper had.

“Alive?”

It sounded like he was almost afraid to believe it. Pepper knew the feeling. It’d been three years .

“Peter wasn’t able to tell me much, but yes. He’s hurt, but he’s alive.”

“Did you talk to him?”

Pepper shook her head, bristling.

“Maximoff put him under. He was having a pretty severe panic attack when they found him.”

Happy made an ugly noise of discontent. None of them were very fond of Maximoff. Tony had always seemed wary and even a little frightened by her. He wouldn’t have wanted her anywhere near his head.

“And Rogers?”

“Is gearing up to lay claim, I’m sure. We’ll reach the headquarters before they do, though. They won’t have a chance to just lock him away.”

There was no doubt in Pepper’s mind that Rogers would fight to be the one to provide for Tony. He blamed himself for Tony’s disappearance, as well he should. That didn’t mean he got to make everything better in his own delusional little world by taking Tony away from his friends, his family. Rogers would probably claim to be a friend, too, but he’d long lost that title. Pepper would let the world burn before she let Rogers get his blood-stained hands on Tony. 

She’d put the bullet in his head herself if she had to.

“It won’t be easy,” Happy said, though it was clear he was just as adamant about making it happen as Pepper was.

“Nothing with Tony ever is.” She gave a watery smile to the road, nearly overwhelmed at being able to use the present tense. “I can’t believe he’s really coming back.”

Happy’s warm hand gripped her shoulder in solidarity.

“He’s probably doing it just to prove he can. You know how Tony got whenever someone told him what he was doing was impossible.”

Pepper was relieved to hear that Happy was just as choked up as she felt.

“You’re probably right,” was all she managed to get out.

“Have you called Bruce yet?”

She shook her head. Bruce had contacted her when it came out to the media that Tony was missing and technically rejoined the Avengers when they got back together. He didn’t go out in the field, though, just stayed in the lab. Tony had cared about him a great deal, but Pepper still hadn’t quite managed to let go of the fact that Bruce had run away after Ultron, leaving Tony to clean up the mess just like the rest of them did.

Happy nodded his understanding.

“I’ll do that, then. We’ll need all the allies we can get.”

Pepper listened to the call with half an ear as she pulled up outside of James’ building. He didn’t live far away. He hadn’t been able to stand staying in the tower without Tony there, but he’d wanted to stay close. The man himself waited for them on the curb, a small duffle bag sitting on his lap. Pepper hugged him before taking it to put in the trunk. James wheeled himself closer to the car.

“I wasn’t sure what kind of emergency this was, but I assume it has something to do with the raid today. What happened?”

.

Alive. 

Tony was alive, that utter bastard. 

Rhodey buried his face in his hands for the ride to the Avengers headquarters, shoulders shaking with his sobs. He’d long since given up hope of even finding Tony’s body. He visited the memorial erected in place of a grave three times a year: on Tony’s birthday, the day Tony’s suit had been dumped outside of SI, and the day Rhodey himself had been shot out of the sky. He hadn’t exactly let go, but he’d come to terms with what had happened to his friend.

Only now, Tony wasn’t just dead. He’d been held captive and tortured all this time, and Rhodey hadn’t been able to do a thing to stop it.

The former airman cursed his damn, useless legs for the umpteenth time since he’d woken up in the hospital. They were just as useless as he was. Even when they’d worked, he hadn’t been of any help to his best friend. He hadn’t been able to stop Steve or Barnes that day, and falling from the sky had only made Tony let them escape so the genius could try to save him.

If Tony had just let Rhodey fall, maybe he could have caught that plane and sent Steve and Barnes to prison where they belonged. Rhodey wouldn’t have been any worse off. He’d hit the ground anyway. Then the government wouldn’t have turned their backs on Tony and left him to Siberia on his own, to be abandoned in a suit that was all but torn apart. Tony hadn’t thought twice, though, and in trying to save Rhodey, he’d cost himself more than anyone could ever imagine. If there was one thing Rhodey could be sure of, it was that he’d spend every day of the rest of his life making it up to Tony for failing him so utterly.

And now he had the chance to.

Chapter Text

Wanda shifted, her eyes darting toward the cockpit where Clint and Natasha had retreated. Natasha had been downright vicious since Madame Masque had gotten away yet again, but Wanda still felt she would rather be in there than out here keeping Tony Stark unconscious. 

Her skin crawled with the sensation of being in his brain once again. It wasn’t at all like it had been before and it felt like poison leached into her through the connection. She wanted to cut it off, cut him out, but Steve insisted he be kept under.

Stark lay on the bench beside her, his hair brushing against Wanda’s thigh. He was covered by Vision’s cloak, the closest Vision had gotten to Wanda in years, and she knew it was due only to Stark’s condition. The weighty shackles still sat around his wrists, waiting until he could be kept down by sedatives so that Wanda could take them off with magic. Trying to pry them off with strength alone would only damage Stark further and, from what Wanda could tell, he was plenty hurt already. His wrists were badly damaged and the coloration of the skin on his hands, arms, and feet spoke of something deeply wrong. Three fingers on the hand she could see looked withered nearly to bone.

Wanda shifted uncomfortably, moving away from Stark just a bit. Her head throbbed with a headache from holding him under like this and nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She shuddered all over at the sensation of what she could feel within Stark. 

Despite popular belief, Wanda did not have the ability to read minds. She could only feel the essence of them and influence what already existed within. Before, the first time she had met the man, Wanda had used Stark’s own fear to push him in the direction she wanted him to go. His mind had been strong, full of belief and satisfaction despite his fear.

Now was a different matter entirely.

The fear still existed, but it had grown and twisted into something almost unrecognizable. At first, she had thought it eclipsed everything else, but no… Apathy wrapped Stark in a shroud, covering every facet of his mind. He didn’t care about anything anymore.

Wanda’s lip curled in distaste at the thought. After all he had done, to her, to her family, he just decided he didn’t care? She supposed it was better than smug satisfaction he didn’t deserve, but still. He had ruined so many lives. She would never be able to just not care like that. 

They couldn’t get back to headquarters fast enough. Wanda wanted Stark away from her.

Thankfully, Steve called ahead to alert Medical of their arrival. They’d be waiting at the landing pad with sedatives to keep Stark under and release the burden from Wanda’s shoulders. She’d be able to remove the cuffs from Stark and head back to her room where she could wait in peace. Steve would be sure to let her know if anything important happened. 

Maybe Steve would be able to talk some sense into Stark this time around, too. It was a longshot, given how stubborn Stark could be, but Wanda refused to give up hope.

Sam settled near Stark’s feet, a position Wanda had expected Parker to take, except that Parker excused himself almost as soon as Steve had carried Stark on board. A stunning display of loyalty, that. Parker’s mostly-silent opposition to the events surrounding the first Accords hadn’t gone unnoticed. He strongly disapproved of what he thought of as the ‘wrong’ side, yet here he was walking away from Stark at the first opportunity. 

Typical. She supposed she should have expected as much.

“Hey,” Sam gave her a small smile, “how’s he doing?”

Wanda frowned at the sympathy in his voice. Sam really did have such a soft heart, didn’t he? It was just one more weakness. They couldn’t afford weakness in their lives, with threats on every side. It was a lesson Wanda had learned as a child and she hadn’t seen disproven yet. Someday, Sam would learn it, too.

“Well enough.”

Sam nodded with a heavy sigh and leaned back against the wall.

“He’s been through so much… He didn’t deserve any of this.”

Wanda considered the two days she and her brother had spent staring at a Stark Industries bomb, waiting for it to go off, and she couldn’t say she completely agreed. 

How many others had suffered similarly because of Stark? She had lost her brother and both her parents to Stark’s negligence and even mal-intent. There were countless families who had the same happen. Zemo, who had started all of this strife within the team, had been just another of Stark’s hapless victims. As much as Wanda wasn’t one to condone torture, she couldn’t help but think Stark had brought this upon himself.

Stark made enemies wherever he went, as far as Wanda could tell. Death and disaster followed him around like destructive, overly-attached puppies. He might not go by the title Merchant of Death anymore, but that didn’t mean it applied any less. He’d turned the whole team against him when he pushed for the Accords. He’d just pushed and pushed and all but smothered them with it.

Maybe if he’d taken a different approach Steve wouldn’t have gotten so fed up with him. It certainly hadn’t helped Stark’s case with Wanda.

She’d been much happier to add her signature to the documents just a scant year and a half later, after the invasion Steve had led them against. The world had seen, then, how much they needed the Avengers. With the Accords behind them, the team was reinstated and all was forgiven, even if the governments of the world still had administrative tape for the team to jump through for every mission. Steve and the others had it all well in hand. Wanda herself never even had to bother with it.

She didn’t say any of that to Sam, though. Again, he was just too soft hearted. He’d bleed for anyone with a sob story, by Wanda’s estimation.

That was probably why he got along so well with Steve, the difference being that Steve knew when to make the hard decisions and stick to his guns. Steve wouldn’t just start a fight, he’d be willing to finish it. Unlike certain arrogant billionaires, Steve knew how to make sacrifices and even then he was so loyal that he would come back to help his opponent get back on their feet. She knew he planned to do it now for Stark.

“Steve will take care of him,” she said. “He won’t let down anyone he considers a friend.”

“We all will,” Sam agreed, even though that wasn’t what Wanda meant. “None of us are going to leave him behind again.”

Wanda thought he should speak for himself.

.

The welcoming party on the landing strip wasn’t all that welcoming - or surprising, as far as T’Challa was concerned. He noted Steve bristle before the medics even made it to Stark. The Captain exited the quinjet and squared off with the entourage led by Ms. Potts. 

Both parties looked like they were ready to declare war.

“Rogers,” Ms. Potts greeted icily.

“So you’ve already heard the news, then. I suspected as much.”

Steve’s gaze flickered to where the Parker boy was easing his way out of the quinjet and sidling up to align himself with Ms. Potts and the others.

“Yes. As hard as the concept may be for you to grasp, my people understand a little thing called loyalty. Of course I’ve already heard. I do hope you’re not planning to stand in my way.”

“Steve,” Dr. Banner interrupted before the situation could escalate any further. That was generally a good idea whenever Ms. Potts and Steve were in the same conversation. “I think we all want the same end result here. Let’s handle the details later. How is he?”

Steve looked for a moment like he wanted to argue, but T’Challa stepped up beside him in response to Dr. Banner’s question. These were roles they played more than once over the past few years.

“His wounds are not as bad as I might have feared, had we known he still lived. We will have to wait and see what the doctors say to know for certain, but I believe he will heal. My main concern would be the discoloration of the skin on his hands and feet.”

“Discoloration?” Colonel Rhodes broke in, quickly focusing on the health of his friend over the fight they all knew was coming.

“They look deeply bruised, but the skin is severely dried out as well. I confess I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“I have,” James spoke up, shifting a bit from where he stood at Steve’s other side. The Sergeant tended to stay out of these conflicts and it was unexpected to hear him speak up. “Never that severe, but I saw frostbite plenty enough back during the war to recognize it now.”

“Frostbite?” Steve was already shaking his head. “Madame Masque’s base wasn’t anywhere near the colder climates. I don’t think there’s anywhere in South America that gets that cold.”

James just shrugged.

“Look, I’m just saying what I’m seeing. Who says she couldn’t have stuck him in a freezer or something? Or used whatever crazy devices she’s got floating around to freeze him? It could have easily been just another form of torture to her.”

T’Challa’s lips pursed as he mulled it over.

“No, I don’t think so. I would have to watch them again to be sure, but I am almost certain Mr. Stark’s fingers and toes, at least, already bore the discoloration in those videos that were released to the public. I thought they were bruises, originally, and saw no reason to doubt that more could have been made.”

James looked pained.

“There’s no way he’s had frostbite untreated for two and a half years, at least.”

“Who’s to say it went untreated?” T’Challa challenged. “Masque kept him alive for a reason. She could have staved off the worst of the effects while doing nothing to heal the damage. More likely it’s been closer to three. He did go missing from Siberia.”

Mr. Hogan sneered, the expression twisting his face into something bitter and ugly.

“‘Go missing.’ That’s certainly a nice way to put it. Sounds much better than ‘abandoned by the people who were supposed to be his friends.’”

As far as T’Challa knew, no one but James, Steve, and himself knew exactly what happened in Siberia. T’Challa hadn’t been around to witness the end of the fight, but Steve told him about it later. It was unavoidable that Ms. Potts and the others discovered a fight had taken place, of course. There was no need for them to understand the full extent of it.

“He didn’t get frostbite from Siberia,” James insisted, shaking his head and showing visible irritation. That happened sometimes, when he got frustrated. He still couldn’t handle it well. “Three years of frostbite just hanging out? He’d have gangrene and infection and rotting, decaying flesh . No way has it been there that long. They would have had to cut it off before it killed him.”

Just the idea of it seemed to be getting to James, a hand coming up to tug at his own hair. Steve reached for him, but he jerked away. In the other group, Happy wrapped an arm around Ms. Potts’ shoulders and Colonel Rhodes trembled ever so slightly.

“Either way, it’s useless to speculate. We must wait until we know more. Surely it won’t take lo-“

“Captain Rogers!”

They all turned back toward the quinjet to see the medical team maneuvering a gurney down the ramp. The still-unconscious body of Stark was hooked up to fluids. One of the medics hurried ahead of the group toward T’Challa and the others. The look on his face did not raise hope.

“What is it? Is something wrong with Tony?”

Ms. Potts sounded desperate, and T’Challa couldn’t blame her. The medic glanced between her and Steve quickly before addressing the Captain again.

“We need Dr. Cho here, Sir, as quickly as she can make it.”

Every single one of them stiffened.

“We have one of her machines already. What do you need her for?”

The medic quelled, clearly unused to having to face the Captain and give bad news.

“There are complications we’re noticing already,” he said diplomatically. “We could use her expertise.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed.

“What sort of complications?”

“I’m sorry, Captain Rogers, but I’m not at liberty to disclose. Doctor-patient confidentiality dictates-“

“That doesn’t usually apply among the Avengers. We’re a team.”

T’Challa could see where this was going already.

He could also see Colonel Rhodes sending some subtle signs to the Parker boy before the lad slowly began to wheel him back, away from the group. The two turned to follow the stretcher bearing Stark into the headquarters.

“Yes, Sir. The Avengers all have paperwork in place that allows for such things, but Mr. Stark has none. Only his kin or those with the power of attorney can make medical decisions on his behalf or be told the details of his condition.”

Steve looked thunderous.

“Tony’s an Avenger, too.”

The medic quelled.

“Of course, Captain Rogers,” he rushed to reassure. “I didn’t mean to imply otherwise. But that doesn’t change the fact that he doesn’t have the paperwork .”

“Luckily,” Ms. Potts looked like a preening peacock, “ I have some paperwork of my own.” She flicked around on her tablet before holding it out to the medic. “You can check your own records to confirm, of course, but as you can see I have the power of attorney where Tony is concerned.”

The medic glanced over the information on the tablet quickly before glancing at Steve once more.

“Very well, Ms. Potts. In that case, we’ve found signs of-“

“Wait,” Ms. Potts held up a hand to stop him. “I’d prefer to hear this news in private, if you don’t mind.” She sent a serene smile Steve’s way. “This is something for those who actually care about him. Come, let’s go inside.”

Chapter Text

Rhodey was eternally grateful that Peter had decided to both stick it out in the Avengers and act as an agent for Pepper. He didn’t sneak around or steal anything, but it still gave them an inside look they wouldn’t be able to get otherwise. 

It also meant that Peter knew exactly where to take Rhodey’s wheelchair even after the stretcher carrying Tony had disappeared into an off limits area of the medical wing. He wheeled Rhodey right up to what was likely the equivalent of the nurse’s station.

“Hey, Patty-cake,” Peter greeted brightly. “Special delivery.”

The young woman behind the counter had scaly skin that was mottled green and pink, antennae protruding from her forehead, and a face that looked more like a rabbit than a human. Her nose twitched as she turned to level Peter with a no-nonsense look.

“You’re here for Mr. Stark, right?”

“And I’m sure you already have a whole pile of information on what’s going on.”

“None that I can share with you, klunchgrall.” She typed something into her computer with a blur of her four fingers… in total. “Looks like Ms. Potts has the power of attorney. All information sharing must be approved by her.”

Peter pouted but Rhodey hoisted himself up straighter in his wheelchair.

“Colonel James Rhodes, ma’am. I’m Tony’s next of kin.”

That earned him a skeptical look, but the woman consulted her computer anyway, pausing when she found the information Rhodey knew she would.

“Brothers? Really?”

“My ma always said he was like another son to her so Tony just made it legal for her birthday one year.”

The woman shook her head in disbelief.

“Terrans… Well, I suppose that clears you. I don’t have complete information, but our files are constantly updating with new input. I’ll tell you what I can, but bear in mind that any of it is subject to change as new information is uncovered and treatments are administered.”

Both Peter and Rhodey nodded seriously. Neither of them wanted to put finding out about Tony in jeopardy.

“Alright, then. At current, the doctors have found signs of severe malnutrition and a dangerous amount of weight loss due to Mr. Stark’s captivity. He’s lost a lot of muscle mass and there’s some concern about the tissue between his joints being inflamed. He’ll most certainly need a special diet designed to get his body back on track, as well as physical therapy to regain a full range of movement. He’s being kept sedated for his full examination due to the severe reaction reported from when he was found. He’s been prescribed…” She frowned at her screen. “That can’t be right.”

Worry bloomed in Rhodey’s chest.

“What is it?”

The woman just held up a single finger to tell him to wait and pressed a few buttons on her phone, assumedly to get in touch with the medics in the back.

“Cruize?” she spoke into her headset. “Yes, I’m looking in the computer and it’s telling me Mr. Stark is being kept under by five milligrams of chlorifsenthite on a drip cycle of fourteen. Is there a glitch or-“

Her nose wrinkled upward.

“But that’s not possible.”

Rhodey tensed. Whatever was going on, he needed to know.

“Right, yes. Thank you.”

She pressed the button to hang up and blinked huge eyes in their direction, still clearly reeling from whatever it was she’d been told.

“I’m sorry.” She sounded shaken. “It appears there have been a few unexpected developments where Mr. Stark is concerned. They hadn’t quite hit the database yet.”

“And what are they?”

Rhodey tried not to snap at her, but it wasn’t easy.

“Mr. Stark is exhibiting a level of healing factor there’s no record of him having. We don’t yet know if it’s been temporarily induced by a chemical or if it is now a permanent addition to his former abilities. Once he’s in a more stable condition the doctors will run a few tests to find out more.”

Rhodey shook his head as if to clear it. For a moment, he was sure he’d misheard.

“A healing factor?”

“His body burned through the first administration of sedatives in record time and there were several abrasions on his wrists when he arrived that are showing signs of healing since his restraints were removed. I’m afraid I don’t know any more than that on the matter, but I can assure you that the doctors will be looking into it. If a foreign substance was introduced to Mr. Stark’s bloodstream, then it could have all sorts of effects. We’ll want to be fully aware of what it is and what it can do.”

“But it’s a good thing?” Peter asked, sounding hopeful. “I mean, a healing factor means he’ll be better in no time. Cause there was some super freaky shi-“ he glanced at Rhodey, “stuff going on with his hands and feet and that’ll all get healed, right?”

Patty, or at least that’s what Rhodey assumed her name was, made a frustrated sort of clicking sound.

“If the healing factor is stabilized, then yes, perhaps. There are signs of where it has already healed him of other injuries. If it’s not stabilized, however, it could continue to feed on the energies of his body until it devours him. That is why it’s so important for us to isolate the change and analyze it.” Her gaze drifted to Rhodey. “We will do everything in our power to make sure Mr. Stark makes a full recovery, I assure you. Dr. Cho has already been called in to consult on the damage to Mr. Stark’s hands and feet.”

Fuck .

Rhodey had to squeeze his eyes shut and take deep, calming breaths. 

How did this shit keep happening? How much did the world expect Tones to take before he just couldn’t take any more?

Even if the healing factor did nothing but good, it was just one more thing that’d been thrown at Tony without his consent that he would have to deal with for the rest of his life. Tony had a chance at a healing factor when he’d used Extremis to take out the reactor and yet he’d immediately removed it from his system after the surgery.

He didn’t want a healing factor.

Tony was Rhodey’s best friend and Rhodey knew him. Nothing had to be said between them for Rhodey to know how damn proud Tony was to be an Avenger for the sake of nothing but what his brain could do. Tony didn’t have super powers or sneaky assassin skills or anything like that. He was just a really, really smart guy in a suit of armor. It proved wrong all those times Howard hadn’t been proud of him, when no matter what he did, Tony was never good enough. Tony absolutely, 100%, would not want that healing factor. It didn’t matter what perks it came with.

Of course, there was always the chance that Tony wouldn’t even be able to be an Avenger anymore.

The trust issues with Rogers aside, Tony had been the prisoner of a mad woman for three years. An experience like that left damage far beyond the physical. Rhodey had seen the way he was tortured. There were prisoners of war who’d never been hurt during captivity and still struggled with their experience every single day. 

To be tortured for three years …

Rhodey knew Afghanistan still haunted Tony. He could only imagine what this experience had done to him.

The world only ever saw the Tony that Tony wanted them to see. They saw strength and confidence, which was why it was so easy for them to attack and hate him. They couldn’t see all of the pain he struggled with. Even his team was only allowed to get glimpses. Hell, Tony hid things from Pepper, Happy, and himself without a second thought if he thought it would protect them.

“The, uh, the damage. To his hands and feet.” Rhodey needed a distraction, even if it was a horribly morbid one. “What exactly is wrong with them?”

Patty gave him a glance that was hard to decipher but Rhodey was pretty sure involved pity.

“It’s not pleasant, I’m afraid.”

Rhodey scoffed.

“As if anything you’ve told us so far has been.”

She gave a little half nod that said she didn’t disagree.

“Mr. Stark has severe deep tissue damage to a number of his fingers along with a good portion of his forearms and hands. His toes and feet are in even worse shape, with the damage reaching nearly to his knees. Cursory examinations have indicated the damage to be from an old wound. However, the doctors aren’t sure yet if the healing factor has simply been holding the damage at bay or if it is beginning to reverse the effects. The damage looks to have been caused by frostbite.”

Rhodey knew his expression darkened because his thoughts darkened right along with it.

“Exactly how old would they say the injury was?”

“Several years, at least. The flesh of the most badly afflicted areas has all but mummified itself. Such a process would take quite a bit of time.”

Rhodey cursed colorfully.

“Peter, take me to that sack of shit Rogers. He’s gonna be damn sorry I didn’t die in that fall.”

.

Dr. Helen Cho started packing a suitcase less than a minute after answering the call from Mark, one of the doctors at the Avengers headquarters. It would take her a good twelve hours to make it to the facility, with all the traveling involved. She wanted to get on her way as quickly as possible. 

If what Mark said about Tony’s condition was true, then they needed all the help they could get. Helen knew he wasn’t wrong. She had trained Mark herself after he’d impressed her so thoroughly in his internship. 

“You said frostbite?”

Mentally, she ran through the list of experts she was acquainted with.

“That’s how it appears, but it has to be a few years old. It’s a miracle he’s managed to survive this long. I’m guessing the healing factor is what’s making the difference. I would bet money that his captors put whatever it is in him a while ago and that’s been staving off gangrene. There’s been absolutely no treatment for these limbs that we can tell, and there are signs of refreezing, too. We’ll still attempt a water treatment to see if there’s any tissue we can save, but he’s going to lose about thirty percent of each arm and up to forty-five percent of each leg. We’re going to have to remove the dead tissue.”

Helen’s heart ached at the thought. 

She remembered working with Tony before the whole debacle with Ultron happened. He was a brilliant man, making leaps even she and Bruce had trouble following at times. If he came across something he didn’t know, you could be sure he’d be an expert in it by the next day. His capacity for learning and retaining information was like nothing she had ever seen. He was constantly moving with his ideas, too, traveling around the room and gesturing animatedly. Helen remembered his energy more clearly than anything else about him.

To think that freedom of movement would be robbed from him…

“My machine can’t regrow limbs, Mark. You know that. If that’s what you were hoping for…”

“I know, Dr. Cho. Normally, there wouldn’t be anything we could do about it. It’s this healing factor that has me thinking, though. If we could get your machine to work with the healing factor, then it’s possible we could save more of the limbs. You did that study with mutants that have a healing factor and how they might interact with your machine. According to your data, it’s possible we could reverse the damage completely, or at least reduce it to the point where Mr. Stark would have partial use of his hands.”

“That study was based on theory, not fact. It was all hypothetical. Yes, it seems logical that a healing factor would be able to boost the effectiveness of my machine, but there’s never been any actual events of it happening to back that theory up. Most of the prominent mutants who have a healing factor, like Wolverine, heal so quickly that they bounce back before they even make it to a medical facility. Besides, unless this is Extremis, which Mr. Stark left us plenty of information on, then we have no way of predicting how it will react to something that could be viewed as an intrusion.”

“It’s not Extremis, no, but we’re running a few tests now to figure out everything we can. It’s just… We have to try, don’t we? I remember the stories you told me of when you were working with him. What kind of quality of life is Mr. Stark going to have if we don’t at least give it a shot? He’s been through so much already and done so much for this world. My sister was in New York when the Chitauri attacked. The Avengers saved her life. They’ve saved all of our lives more than once. We have to do everything we can to give back. Mr. Stark flew a nuke into space-“

“That was years ago, Mark.”

“And what does it matter when it was? Should I instead bring up how he helped stop a meteor from destroying the entire planet? How he was a driving force behind the Accords to keep everyone safe, hero and civilian alike? How Stark Industries is still donating arc reactor technology to impoverished countries to help solve the energy crisis?”

“Alright, alright. You’ve made your point. I was never saying Mr. Stark doesn’t deserve our help, I’m just concerned about the consequences if something were to go wrong.”

“No advancements can be made without a little risk, Dr. Cho. You taught me that.”

Helen’s lips thinned, but she nodded along anyway.

“Yes. I suppose you’re right. I’ll be on the next flight out.”

Chapter Text

Being a medical professional, especially an ex-emergency responder, brought with it more than its fair share of uncomfortable situations. Brandon was no stranger to them. Since he’d signed on with the Avengers medical staff, things were generally less uncomfortable - just weirder. 

There were still sometimes, though, when he felt like the absolutely last place he wanted to be was telling a super-whoever “no.” 

The animosity between Captain Rogers and Ms. Potts was rather widely known. Ms. Potts certainly didn’t seem at all opposed to making her feelings about the Captain abundantly clear. She never said anything outright nasty where the public could get hold of it, but that didn’t mean she played nice, either.

There were rumors that the leaked information connecting the Captain to Iron Man’s disappearance had actually come from Ms. Potts herself. Brandon wasn’t sure he bought into that theory, if only because Ms. Potts seemed above such actions, but at the same time he could see why it was believable. Especially now.

“I’m really not at all sure why you’re following us, Captain. I won’t be changing my mind.”

“I have as much right to know how Tony’s doing as you do.”

Ms. Potts spun around on her impressively high heels to glare daggers at the Captain. Barnes and His Highness, hovering just behind Captain Rogers, seemed to be considering the need to hold the blond back. Judging by the look on her face, Brandon was actually pretty sure Ms. Potts could take him.

“No, Captain. You had that right. You lost it around the same time you left Tony stranded in a Hydra base . Maybe you should have put a bow on him too, just so his kidnappers would know you’d left them a present.”

“What I did, I did in defense of Bucky and myself,” Captain Rogers nearly growled. “Tony was out of control. He had to be stopped.”

“Oh, yes, of course. Blame Tony for being upset over his parents being murdered and his so-called friend lying to him about it for years . You’re so right. He was completely out of line.”

Captain Rogers made a noise of frustration.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Oh, really? Because according to testimony from Zemo, that’s pretty much exactly how it went. It’s ironic, don’t you think? If Captain America had just told the truth maybe none of this would have happened.”

Barnes bristled.

“He never lied!”

Ms. Potts zeroed in on him like a heat-seeking missile on a bonfire.

“What would you call it, then? Omission of the truth is the same as lying.”

Barnes looked pained.

“He was just trying to protect me.”

“And he did a fine job. Too bad he wasn’t the one paying the price for your protection. That was Tony.” Her glare switched back to Captain Rogers. “Where were you when Tony needed protecting, hmm? After Ultron when everyone was throwing slander at him? When he was exhausted from his panic attacks but couldn’t sleep more than a few hours at a time because of the nightmares of the wormhole? You sure as Hell weren’t there for him then. You weren’t protecting him. Yet here you are now, claiming you have a right -“

The word caught in her throat, choked off as she blinked away tears. Brandon couldn’t tear his eyes away. Ms. Potts didn’t seem like the kind of person who cried easily. 

Mr. Hogan wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a show of comfort. On her other side, Dr. Banner just looked largely uncomfortable. Brandon wouldn’t be surprised if he excused himself soon. Ms. Potts took a moment to compose herself and then drew herself up tall once again.

“Your team may have found Tony, but that won’t mean anything once he’s stable, I promise you. The facilities here are state of the art and the staff is unparalleled and that is the only reason I am not already demanding that he be moved. I want this to be perfectly clear to you. You have no control and no authority over what is going to happen from here on out and if I get my way, you will never set eyes on Tony again in your life. You can read about his recovery in the news like everyone else.”

“No.”

The entire group looked around to see Colonel Rhodes and Peter heading toward them. Brandon couldn’t help but note that Peter looked every bit as shaken as Rhodes looked furious. Ms. Potts swept them both with an assessing gaze.

“James?”

“I just came from the nurse’s station.” He nailed Captain Rogers with a glare so fiery it made Ms. Potts’s look like a sunny day. “Tell that son of a bitch everything, every single detail. He deserves to know what he’s done.”

Dr. Banner shifted again.

“I’m not so sure I should be here for this.”

“No, you probably shouldn’t,” Rhodes allowed. “Though I will admit it’d do me some good to see you wipe the floor with that piece of scum.”

More bristling.

“Watch it,” Barnes bit out.

Colonel Rhodes didn’t seem in the least bit fazed.

“Or what? I’m already in a wheelchair. What’s your grand plan? You gonna do to me what you did to Tones? Because right now he’s back there, facing a future where he’ll never be able to walk, too. In fact, he might not even have feet to walk on . And, of course, let’s not forget that he’ll likely never be able to use his hands again, even if he gets to keep them.” Brandon was perhaps the only one in the hall who didn’t blanch. He already knew. “Tony may never invent anything again in his life because of you, Captain. I hope you’re satisfied. He’ll never be Iron Man again and he certainly won’t be able to stand up to get in your way. Congratulations.”

Captain Rogers looked shaken.

“What? But, no-“

“ Yes ,” Colonel Rhodes snarled. “Frostbite, Captain. Several years old. From Siberia. Ring a bell?”

Barnes made a choked-off sound of horror.

.

Tony felt a little like he was floating. 

For the first time in as long as he could remember, he wasn’t in any pain. It was an odd sensation. 

Nice, though. Very nice. 

He kept his eyes closed and allowed himself to savor the feeling for a few minutes before blinking them open. Whitney didn’t like being kept waiting, and he didn’t have the energy to deny her even if he wanted to. 

He blinked in confusion when he found himself in what appeared to be a hospital room.

There were several drips hooked up to IVs and running under the bed sheets. He assumed they were inserted into his thigh, since there was a bit of a pinch there when he shifted. A heart monitor stood beside the bed, along with more equipment Tony couldn’t be bothered to identify. His wrists and ankles were cuffed to the side rails, and a woman in scrubs smiled down at him kindly.

“Hello, Mr. Stark. How are you feeling?”

Tony didn’t know what answer she wanted.

“Numb,” he rasped out.

“That’ll be the pain medication. You’ve taken a lot of damage, and we want to make sure you’re comfortable. Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

How was he supposed to know where he was? He hadn’t known where he was for a long time. 

The woman just smiled a little more. Idly, he wondered what made her so happy.

“You’re in the Avengers headquarters, in the medical wing. You were brought back a few hours ago after one of the teams found you in Madame Masque’s most recent base.”

Tony’s brow furrowed.

“I don’t…”

“It’s alright if you don’t remember.” She spoke gently and moved a little closer. “You’ve been through a lot. You had a severe panic attack during your rescue and had to be kept unconscious for most of the transportation and your examination upon arrival. We apologize for the restraints, but they’ll have to stay on until we can do a psychological evaluation.”

If he had the energy, Tony might have shrugged. Restraints weren’t anything new to him.

“Masque?” he asked instead.

“I don’t know, I’m afraid. I’m just one of the nurses. She’s not in medical though, I can tell you that. I was just here to monitor you as we let you wake up again. We didn’t want you to hurt yourself if you were still in a bad place. I’ll go get the doctor and he’ll be able to tell you more.”

Tony watched her leave the room and let his eyes fall shut once more. 

Avengers headquarters, huh? Whitney told him the team had been exonerated of all crimes and gotten back together. Apparently they had more than just a couple new members, too. Had any of them been on the team that stormed the base and found him? He supposed it didn’t really matter. 

His thoughts eased into blissful silence as the floating sensation wrapped around him once more. This must be why people got addicted to drugs, if this was from the pain medication.

“Mr. Stark? Are you awake?” a male voice asked, soft enough that it wouldn’t wake him if he were asleep.

Tony opened his eyes once again to see a man in a doctor’s coat hovering in the doorway. He smiled upon seeing Tony looking his way and crossed to the side of the bed.

“My name is Mark Wiles. I’m the doctor in charge of your care, though there will be a whole team of us working together to ensure you make as full of a recovery as possible.”

Tony hummed in response. He noted the doctor’s choice of words, but he’d known for a while that he wouldn’t be recovering from this.

“There are some questions I’d like to ask you, if you’re feeling up to it.”

“The healing factor.”

Tony wasn’t an idiot. He knew they would have noticed by now. Any medical professional worth their degree would want to know more.

“Yes. I’m sure you can understand why we’re interested in knowing as much as possible about its effects, so we can treat you appropriately and work with the ability instead of against it. We’re running some tests in the labs, but those will take several more hours to get back and they won’t tell us everything. Any information you can provide us would be helpful.”

A serum. 

They wanted another serum.

They always wanted another serum.

The SSR, Hydra, SHIELD, Ross; they were all the same.

“I don’t… I don’t know what was in it.”

The doctor nodded easily, surprisingly. He didn’t look like he was interested in punishing Tony for not knowing.

“That’s alright. Do you know how long you’ve had it in you?”

Time, no. 

Time slipped through Tony’s fingers like water through a sieve. He knew nothing of it, only the vaguest of impressions.

“It wasn’t… long after I was first taken,  I think?”

He couldn’t be certain, but the doctor was smiling at him again so he must have given the right response.

“Good, good. That’s great. That tells us a lot. Now, can you tell me anything about its effects? I know this might be hard, so don’t push yourself too far. We can take a break or stop whenever you need to. You’re in control here, Mr. Stark.”

That was kind of funny, Tony thought as he continued answering the doctor’s questions. He was never in control. 

He also never asked for that break. 

Instead, he just fell back asleep.

Chapter Text

Being the Black Widow came with certain perks, if you looked at it the right way. At the moment, Natasha’s favorite was that people stayed well out of her way when she was obviously in a bad mood. 

Tony was safe. They’d found him alive instead of just avenging him. She should be happy, but she just couldn’t bring herself to. All Natasha could focus on was how they had failed him to begin with - how she had failed him.

Natasha was the one to let Steve and James get away on the airstrip. If she hadn’t been so torn between her teammates, then Tony never would have gone after them. Despite Tony being reckless in the field, he wasn’t one who took his security lightly. If he hadn’t been left in Siberia, there wouldn’t have been a chance of anyone getting their hands on him. 

Of course, if they’d captured Steve and James then Zemo would have been free to do whatever he wanted, and none of them could know he only planned to kill the other soldiers. 

Even knowing there was no right answer, Natasha chastised herself.

Her guilt was bad enough when Tony had only been thought dead. Death was simple. Now, he had spent three years undergoing torture and captivity. 

She hadn’t even been able to bring his killer-cum-torturer to justice. Madame Masque had escaped, just as she had every time before. This was the closest the Avengers had ever gotten to her and yet she still managed to slip away. As far as the Avengers could tell, she had no powers or enhancements. She was simply incredibly good at running a criminal organization and staying under the radar when she wanted to. It would be months at the very least before they were able to track her down again.

Natasha slipped silently through the halls of the Avengers medical wing. She’d avoided going to Tony on the quinjet. There had been too many people around to witness her guilt then. Now, though, in the middle of the night, she could ensure Tony was safe and as whole as possible.

Already, she’d been briefed about the frostbite and Tony’s new-found healing factor. It made her think of the Red Room and all she and the other girls had been subjected to there. Experiments, training, and torture left marks that no amount of healing could make go away.

This time, she would make sure she was there to help Tony bear that pain.

The fallen Avenger’s room was quiet when she entered. Tony lay on the bed, looking smaller than she’d ever seen him. Hospitals had a way of doing that, she’d noticed. 

He was bound to the bed by restraints, which she had expected, but she was surprised to find Barnes already in there and standing over him. The former Winter Soldier showed no signs of noticing her even though she knew he couldn’t have missed her appearance. She didn’t speak until she was standing next to the bed as well, across from Barnes.

“When did you get here?” she finally asked, instead of asking why.

She knew why.

“A few hours ago. The nurse never saw me.”

Natasha nodded. Of course they didn’t. No one was supposed to be here.

 She reached out to stroke along one of Tony’s atrophied fingers without fear of it waking him. He wouldn’t have sensation left there to feel it.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Barnes scoffed softly at her words.

“We left him there.”

“I let you get there. Is it my fault?”

“Of course not.”

She’d known he wouldn’t think so, even if it was true.

“Then it’s not yours, either. You were defending yourself. From what I understand, Tony wasn’t exactly giving you the option of walking away.”

Barnes expression twisted. He actually looked pissed.

“It wasn’t his fault. We pushed him too far. All of us. How much is one guy supposed to take?”

Natasha’s eyebrows rose and she held her hands up in surrender.

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

Barnes turned away, making a noise of frustration as he glared out the room’s window at the empty courtyard beyond.

“Then why does everyone keep saying things like that? I get upset and suddenly you all feel the need to remind me that he was the one who attacked me. Guess what? I killed his parents and Steve hid it from him . What was he supposed to do, offer me a cigarette and a beer?”

His bark of laughter sounded bitter, and Natasha threw a quick glance over her shoulder to make sure none of the medic staff were close enough to hear.

“Do you know what Bruce said to me at one point? We were talking about this whole thing and he told me that Tony and Howard hadn’t gotten along - like that somehow made it okay. I mean, fuck, Natasha! Bruce is supposed to be on his side and even he’s throwing shit on Tony!”

Barnes was getting more upset. He probably would have spent the entire night just standing at Tony’s bedside and watching him if Natasha hadn’t shown up. Now he had someone to vent to, and past experience said that things would only get worse if Natasha let Barnes continue.

“Deep breaths, Barnes. You need to calm down.”

“Oh, fuck you,” he snarled, turning back to her. “You can’t even manage to admit you blame yourself, too. It’s funny, really, if you think about it. Even Fury blames himself for what happened, but at the same time every single one of us is coming up with excuses to put that blame right back on the person who suffered the most.”

“That’s not what we’re trying to do.”

“Yes, it is,” Barnes shouted, and Natasha couldn’t possibly miss the body on the bed between them give a little jerk. “He didn’t deserve any of this. Don’t you understand that? Don’t any of you understand that? Tony did nothing wrong. All he did, all he ever did, was try to keep the Avengers together and we’re still fighting each other - now we’re just fighting each other over him. Steve and Rhodes and Potts and Bruce… I owe Steve enough to back him until the day I die, but that was nothing but a pissing contest out there on that airstrip. They were more concerned about keeping the other away from Tony than in getting Tony the help he needed. Rhodes and Peter at least went after him once he was inside, but I don’t have any doubts Rhodes would have blocked Steve out, too, if he weren’t using Tony’s condition as some sort of punishment.”

Tony whimpered, which did more to shut Barnes up than anything Natasha could have managed. Barnes’s anger vanished in an instant, replaced by enough fear and trepidation to nearly match Tony’s own. The genius trembled in his restraints.

“I-I’m sorry,” Tony rasped out, his voice rough and doubtlessly painful to use. “Please, don’t-“ but he was cut off by a coughing fit.

Barnes seemed like he might have a panic attack trying to decide whether or not to offer Tony comfort or get out of his space, so Natasha stepped up to gently brush some of Tony’s hair back from his forehead.

“Shhhh,” she soothed. “You’re alright. You’re safe now.”

Wide eyes darted around the room, searching for something. He whined a bit, softly, but said no more. Nearby, Barnes hovered like a helicopter mom on their child’s first day of school. Natasha mostly just tried to tune him out.

“Tony, can you look at me? Focus on me, will you? There we go, that’s it. That’s good.”

Honey brown eyes held her own and she pasted on an easy, relaxed smile. Everything about her demeanor projected calm and encouragement. The last thing she wanted was to send Tony back into a spiral of fear.

“Romanov?”

“Yeah, it’s me. It’s good to have you back, Tony. How are you feeling?”

The genius swallowed and she caught him suppressing a wince.

“Fine. Tired.”

She hummed agreeably, still not moving any further away.

“I would think so. You’ve had a very exciting day.”

His gaze drifted away again, though at least he seemed calmer now. It landed on Barnes and he frowned.

“Hey,” Barnes greeted awkwardly.

“You were mad,” Tony stated. “You yelled.”

“Sorry. I get upset sometimes, and I still don’t handle it very well. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Tony made a motion that might have been meant as a shrug. He started to raise an arm, only for the restraints to stop him. He blinked down at himself.

“Right. Forgot about that.”

Barnes’ face had mostly shut down, but Natasha could still see the strain around his eyes. His gaze darted to Natasha for a moment before he turned back to Tony.

“We could… take them off, if you wanted. Just for a bit. We can stop you from hurting yourself while we’re here.”

Tony did his little shrugging motion again, and Natasha shared a look with Barnes before they each took a hand and undid the straps around Tony’s wrists. The most damage Tony could do was break a bone while flailing and they could easily hold him down to stop that. He didn’t have the fine motor control anymore for anything else.

Once Tony’s arms were free, he used his elbows to shuffle himself a bit further up on the bed. He watched them both warily, but Natasha wasn’t surprised. After what he’d been through, it would be incredibly hard to feel safe again. She wouldn’t blame him in the slightest if he was still waiting to wake up back in that cupboard they’d found him in. She knew plenty of trained agents who’d been captured and never really made it back. Tony hadn’t had any of that.

“Dr. Cho has been called in,” she told him, noting how he perked up a bit.

“Helen?”

“Dr. Wiles is hoping that she can help figure out a way to modify her machine to work with your healing factor so they can recover more of your limbs from the frostbite.”

Technically, she wasn’t supposed to know about that but Natasha had always known the value of staying well informed. She was shocked when her words caused Tony to pull his ruined limbs close to his middle and curl around them, almost protectively.

“No.”

His eyes were overflowing with fear again, though he wasn’t lashing out like the reports said he’d done back at Madame Masque’s base.

“Tony, it’s frostbite. I’m sorry, but Dr. Wiles has assessed it to be very severe. If they don’t do everything they can to reverse the effects it’s already had then they may have to remove portions of your arms and legs.”

“ No, ” he said again, more vehemently. His fearful gaze, bafflingly, turned on Barnes. “You can’t take them,” he all but pleaded.

“We’ll figure something out,” Natasha pulled his attention back to her. The last thing she needed was Barnes freaking out all over again on top of having to deal with Tony. “I know Dr. Wiles is very concerned about making sure you get the best possible treatment. Okay? Everything’s going to be just fine.”

Her heart ached for him, truly. Tony’s life would be devastated by the loss of his hands. He’d lose the ability to do thousands of mundane daily tasks, and that wasn’t even considering how hard it would be for him to create and invent the way he had before. That was, of course, if he would be able to recover enough mentally to return to anything so much as resembling his former life.

“I-“ Tony cut himself off, then started again. “The frostbite-“

This time, Tony was cut off by the blaring of alarms. He cowered back against the bed, his fear visibly skyrocketing. Natasha and Barnes locked eyes before coming to a silent agreement. She dashed from the room as he stayed behind to make sure no harm came to Tony.

A perimeter alarm now couldn’t be a coincidence.

.

Madame Masque glared at the Avengers Headquarters as she stepped out of her armored vehicle. She knew her prize was being held inside and she refused to allow him to be taken from her. It’d taken more time than she would have liked to make arrangements for her organization, but she’d finally managed it. 

Now it was time to reclaim what was rightfully hers. 

These people didn’t deserve Tony. 

None of them did.

Chapter Text

Nick Fury was not the kind of man people messed with. He wasn’t teeming with muscles or visibly angry every second of the day, but he did exude a feeling of ‘back the fuck off.’ 

Madame Masque, sitting across from him in the interrogation room with her hands cuffed on top of its metal surface, didn’t seem to be the least bit bothered. She’d been sitting in this room since she’d let herself be peacefully taken in at just past three in the morning the night before and her body language had yet to portray anything more than her mask did. 

It was now nine AM and Fury knew that, back in his hospital room, Tony Stark was undergoing his psychological evaluation.

“For someone who showed up and let themselves be captured without even a hint of a fight, you aren’t being very cooperative.”

“I’ve given you my conditions,” Madame Masque responded. “When they are met, I will tell you anything you want to know.”

Fury glared at her.

“I believe it’s already been made clear that what you’ve asked for isn’t going to happen.”

Masque leaned back in her seat as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

“Oh, Nick-knack, you say that as if you have any choice in the matter. I will see Tony again, and soon. The only thing you get to decide is whether you bring him to me, or I rip your little facility to shreds looking for him.”

“You aren’t exactly in the position to be making threats, so I would suggest dropping the ‘cute’ act. It’s not working for you.”

Masque laughed, and it didn’t even sound forced to Fury’s trained ear. She was actually amused by the whole situation.

“Do you truly think I’d be here right now if I weren’t sure I could get right back out? I hold all the cards in this game. I have all the ‘real power,’ if you will.”

Fury’s spine stiffened at the deliberate emphasis she put on the words.

“How do you know about that?”

His specific banter with Loki hadn’t gone into any SHIELD file. With SHIELD dissolved for years at this point, Fury couldn’t think of a single way for Masque to have gotten her hands on the details of that conversation.

“Tony told me, of course,” Masque said with no small amount of glee. “We’re very close, you understand.”

Fury glared at her.

“You tortured him, faked his death, and held him captive for three years. I don’t think that makes the two of you very close. In fact, I’ll be doing everything in my quite considerable power to make certain you never lay eyes on Mr. Stark again.”

Masque let out a very put-upon sigh.

“Why am I not surprised? Tony always spoke rather highly of you and your boy band, but I admit I have always held my doubts. He just has such a tendency to see the best in people, don’t you agree?”

“I’m not in the mood for games.”

“How about a deal, then? If you ask Tony, actually ask him and not just pretend you did, whether he wants to see me or not and he says no, I’ll tell you anything you want to know anyway. I’ll let you tear my entire organization to the ground. I’ll even give you the information I have on your other enemies. Do you know where Obsidian is hiding at the moment? I do.”

It was a tempting carrot, and there was a time when Fury might have taken the information over the safety of any one individual, but not anymore. Just this once, he would be selfish. This time, the need of one outweighed the needs of many.

“Stockholm Syndrome is nothing new. You’ll have to try harder than that.”

Masque looked away from him, instead examining her reflection in the one-way glass that led to the observation room.

“It’s up to you whether you take the deal, but just know it’s a limited time offer. I am not a patient woman. If you take too long, I’ll get Tony myself.”

.

Hanif didn’t smile as he entered Mr. Stark’s room in medical. He knew many of his colleagues would have gone that route, but there was nothing about this situation that brought with it cause to smile, except that Mr. Stark had been brought back. He had a long way to go before he recovered, and Hanif had no desire to belittle the struggle it would be for the genius. He did, however, smile upon seeing James already in the room.

“Mr. Barnes,” he greeted with a nod, “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Doc? You’re in charge of Tony’s evaluation?”

“Yes, and I find myself being rather rude at the moment.” He turned to Mr. Stark, who watched the interaction silently from his hospital bed. “Hello, Mr. Stark. My name is Dr. Branson. I hope you’ll forgive my surprise.”

Mr. Stark gave a slow blink before nodding jerkily.

“Sure.”

“Doc’s the best,” James told Mr. Stark as he headed for the door. “He’s helped me a lot. I actually feel a lot better knowing he’ll be the one in here with you. I’m not sure I’d actually manage to leave you alone if it were someone like Homwell.”

Hanif just shooed him the rest of the way out the door and closed it behind him.

“My apologies, Mr. Stark. Mr. Barnes was originally assigned to Dr. Homwell and they didn’t see eye to eye on many things. But we aren’t here to talk about them. We’re here to talk about you.”

“I’m not crazy.”

That caught Hanif’s attention, but not because of the words Mr. Stark used. It was the tone that tipped him off. Mr. Stark did not sound angry or upset, not even defensive. He sounded resigned, as if he knew his denial changed nothing about the situation.

“Of course not, Mr. Stark. No one thinks that. You have, however, been through a very traumatic experience and displayed a severe emotional reaction during your rescue. I’m here to make sure we know what’s going on so we can work with you to make sure you are as comfortable as possible. If you are afraid, then you probably aren’t very comfortable.”

Mr. Stark looked down and away, avoiding Hanif’s gaze.

“I’m always afraid.”

“After what you’ve been through, I wouldn’t be very surprised.”

Honey brown eyes snapped back with sudden focus. Hanif could see the gleam of Mr. Stark’s vast intellect within them.

“You’re talking about Madame Masque.”

“Yes. I’m not sure if you’re aware, but she released videos rather early on in your captivity. We have some limited idea of what you experienced at her hand. What little was shown is plenty enough cause for fear. It does not make you any less for being afraid. It does not make you weak, Mr. Stark. You are impossibly strong to have survived these years.”

Mr. Stark watched him for a long moment.

“I was afraid long before this. I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t afraid.”

Hanif kept his expression schooled to professional blandness only through years of experience. He was starting to see that there might be something far deeper going on than the expected PTSD, or even conditioned fear. Mr. Stark had never been a part of SHIELD and never mandated to see a psychologist. Records indicated he’d never sought one out on his own, either, which Hanif did not find particularly surprising. This was likely the first time Mr. Stark had talked to a mental health professional in this capacity.

“And what have you been afraid of, Mr. Stark? Do you think you could tell me?”

There was a moment of silence that stretched out between them, but Hanif was long used to that sort of thing. His was a profession where uncomfortable questions had to be asked. One could not be successful if they were unwilling to say what needed to be said, even if it was not what they wanted to say.

“There was an alarm that went off last night,” Mr. Stark commented, apropos of nothing. “No one will tell me what it was about, but there’s been someone with me ever since. I’m pretty sure Barnes is guarding the door right now.”

Ah. He wanted a show of faith, then. Hanif could not say he much blamed Mr. Stark for that.

“Madame Masque showed up last night,” he said as calmly as he could. He did not want to send Mr. Stark into another panic attack, but honesty was the only path forward. “She was captured without a fight and is currently being held in the detainment portion of the facility. My understanding is that the former Director of SHIELD, Nick Fury, has taken charge of her interrogation.”

Mr. Stark shuffled a little bit as if to sit up, his face brightening.

“She’s here?”

Hanif fought down a scowl. That was not the reaction he would have expected.

“Yes.”

“Can I see her?” Mr. Stark asked, suddenly more animated than he had been since Hanif’s arrival.

The frown won out, tugging a corner of Hanif’s lips downward.

“It is not outside the realm of possibility, Mr. Stark,” he hedged, “but I am not sure it would be advisable.”

Just like that, all of Mr. Stark’s energy seemed to vanish and he sank back against his pillows.

“Of course.”

It was Hanif’s turn to stay silent for a few moments as he examined the genius in the bed. He mentally readjusted his approach to the situation. Stockholm Syndrome was a delicate situation, if that’s what this proved to be. It was definitely a strong possibility.

“If you wish to see her, I can look into making that happen, but you need to understand up front that there will be a lot of opposition. I’m hesitant to do it simply because she has spent the last three years hurting you, and I would not wish to give her the opportunity to hurt you again.”

“She never took my hands. Natasha told me you plan to take mine,” he sounded upset now, his eyes darting around with a nervous gleam to them. “Whitney would never do that to me.”

One of Hanif’s brows rose.

“Whitney?”

Tony froze. 

He looked horrified.

“No.”

“It’s alright, Mr. Stark,” Hanif rushed to reassure. He saw where this was going. It was fortunate Mr. Stark was still in the restraints. He would be for a while. “I won’t ask you anything else.”

“No! Stay away from her!” Mr. Stark lurched against his bonds violently, causing an alert to start blaring. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Don’t touch her! Just let us go home!”

Hanif grabbed Mr. Stark’s biceps and pressed them down into the bed, holding him there as best he could. It would only injure his limbs further if the struggling continued. Up close, he could see the wetness glittering in Mr. Stark’s eyes.

“We’re just trying to help you, Mr. Stark!”

Then nurses were rushing into the room and shuffling Hanif out of the way. He backed off easily so they could do their jobs. Two held Mr. Stark down while a third prepped a shot and inserted it into one of the IVs. The genius’s eyelids started to droop and his struggles eased within seconds as sleep overtook him. 

James hovered by Hanif’s elbow.

“What happened?”

Hanif’s lips thinned.

“Things are worse than we thought.”

Chapter Text

Pepper hesitated at the door to Tony’s room, James on one side of her and Happy on the other. Happy’s hand hovered near her elbow, but never quite made contact. He seemed reluctant to actually touch her, and for that she was grateful. She needed to do this on her own. 

Steeling herself, she pushed the door open and held it for Rhodey before stepping inside.

Tony lay upon his hospital bed, strapped down at the wrists and ankles. It was the first time she’d really seen him, without doctors and nurses buzzing around, and she was shocked by how small he looked, how thin. She’d been warned of his malnourished state, of course, but it wasn’t the same as seeing it. 

Barnes hovered awkwardly on the other side of the bed, his eyes darting around the room.

“Sorry. I’ll, uh, clear out for a bit. I’ll send Peter over to keep watch.”

He headed for the door, head down, but Happy held out an arm to stop him.

“What are you doing in here in the first place?” he asked, though he wasn’t as aggressive about it as Pepper might have been. “We were under the impression that the doctors didn’t want him having a lot of visitors.”

Barnes looked sheepish.

“I’m sure you heard about Masque showing up last night.”

Pepper’s lips thinned at the very mention of that bitch’s name.

“We heard.”

“I know she’s locked up, and there’s no way she could get through this entire complex, but… I didn’t want to leave him alone. Then after this morning with his psych evals, I just couldn’t do it.” His concern for Tony showed clear as day on his face, and Pepper almost felt as if she could have liked the guy at one point. If things hadn’t gone the way they had. “They’re keeping him sedated for now, but it’s not a permanent solution. He’ll be awake again in another couple of hours and they’ll reassess.”

James rolled himself over next to the bed and gingerly took one of Tony’s hands, so Pepper took it upon herself to act as their friend’s defender.

“You’re certainly being very open about all this information.”

For the first time, Barnes showed a bit of irritation.

“Yeah, well, sorry if I thought maybe this whole situation might go a little easier if we tried working together instead of jumping down each other’s throats.” He stepped closer, getting right into her face. “You could be over there with Tony right now, but instead you’re standing here being suspicious of me because I’m being too helpful. You and Stevie did the same fucking thing on the airstrip yesterday. How about the two of you set aside your pissing contest for two seconds to take care of the guy who actually deserves your full attention?”

And then he was gone, storming out the door before Pepper could give a rebuttal. Her hand rose to flutter over her heart, anger and guilt vying for her attention.

“Come on,” Happy said from beside her, gently urging her toward a chair on the other side of Tony’s bed.

James scowled down at the hand in his own, the blackened flesh standing out starkly against the crisp sheets of the bed.

“He’s not wrong,” the former air force officer said. “We should be focused on Tony, not on fighting each other. Steve’s an asshole who deserves every bit of misery that comes his way, but spending all our effort on him isn’t going to help Tones.”

“What do you propose we do then? Let him just waltz in and do whatever he pleases just so he can make himself feel better for abandoning Tony in the first place? Or should we try to explain our viewpoints and compromise with him? Because that worked so well for Tony.”

“I don’t have all the answers,” James snapped, then heaved a great sigh. “I don’t know what to do.”

Watching Tony’s chest rise and fall, the beeping of a heart monitor ever-present in the background, Pepper wasn’t sure she knew what to do either.

.

“You wished to see me, Father?”

Odin beckoned Thor further into his study, continuing to pour over his reports until Thor stood before him. He seemed to be constantly going over reports lately, as if he were looking for something.

“Thor,” he greeted, “your campaign went well?”

“Indeed, Father. Alfheim sends her thanks for Asgard’s assistance and promises the same in return should we ever require it.”

“As Asgard should extend her thanks to you, my son, for answering our call time and time again.”

Thor’s brows furrowed in confusion.

“I do not understand.”

Odin gave him something of a half-smile, before rising and striding toward windows lining the outer walls of his office. He stared out over the training grounds and the city beyond with his hands clasped behind his back.

“You have abdicated your throne, Thor, for the sake of the mortals you fight alongside, and while I could not give you my blessing for such a thing officially, I did not wish for you to leave our realm with any ill-will in your heart. I did not want to make the same mistakes with you as I made with your brother.”

Thor sucked in a sharp breath. Odin very rarely spoke of Loki anymore.

“It had been my fear,” Odin continued, “one of many, that your love for these mortals might outweigh your love for Asgard, and that you might one day leave us permanently to lend yourself to the mortal cause.”

“Asgard is my home,” Thor assured him. “I could never truly leave her. I care for my friends and shield companions upon Midgard a great deal, but I shall always answer Asgard’s call when she is in need.”

Odin turned back to him, studying his face for a moment before giving a small nod of approval.

“It gladdens me to hear you say such things. For now, though, it is Midgard’s call you must heed.”

Thor stiffened.

“Has something happened in my absence, Father?”

“Nothing so terrible as what you clearly fear. The battle you must fight on Midgard now is not one you may use Mjolnir to win.”

“I beg you to speak plainly, Father.”

“The Man of Iron was recovered in a recent raid of a lair belonging to one Madame Masque. He is not as dead as he was once thought, but he suffers greatly.”

Thor’s heart soared before he paused, reality catching up with him. How badly must Friend Stark have suffered for Odin himself to become concerned?

“What would you have me do, Father?”

“Your shield brothers and sisters already find themselves divided. This chasm will only continue to grow if there is not someone there to unite them. The Man of Iron must recover, but he has little hope of doing so if this continues as it looks to. You must help him, Thor. He is far from himself, and you must bring him back.”

Thor nodded.

“I thank you for telling me, Father, and for allowing me to be of what assistance I may to my friends. I confess, I am surprised that you would do so. While you have allowed it, you have also never expressed any fondness for my relations with the Midgardians.”

“Your surprise is not unfounded, Thor. I hold no great love for the Midgardians and surely not so great a love as you hold. Hlidskjalf allows me to see many things, though. The Man of Iron must recover.”

There were few answers there, but Thor knew he would get no more from his father. He placed a fist over his heart and bowed.

“I shall depart at once then.”

Thor turned to leave, only to pause as Odin called to him once more.

“Thor, you have grown much in these past few years, more than I ever could have hoped for. You have reached a point where you no longer require quite as much of my advice as you once did. Still, I offer you this. Consider wisely, my son, who is to be your enemy and who is your friend. It is often easy to confuse the two.”

.

Loki watched Thor leave Odin’s study with a heavy heart. He sighed as he collapsed into Odin’s chair and dropped the glamour wrapped around himself. His form shrank in breadth, if not in stature, and grey hair bled to black. Wrinkled skin tightened and tan skin faded pale. Green eyes fluttered shut as he drew a hand over his face.

He had known his task would be a hard one, but he had underestimated precisely how exhausted he would feel because of it.

He wished he could be sure that this would work, that Thor would be able to pull the Avengers together for the sake of Tony Stark’s recovery. The war could be won without the Avengers, but it could not be won without Tony Stark and his recovery would only be achieved if they stopped bickering amongst themselves. Loki couldn’t even blame their behavior on them being pitiful mortals, since he’d seen just about every other race do exactly the same thing.

Animals fought for territory, food, or survival. 

Intelligent species fought for pride, greed, and envy. 

There would never be any end to it. Loki was more certain of that than anything else in his life. At their core, all people were selfish so long as they were aware of themselves. Even those who professed to work for good did so for selfish reasons. Loki was certainly doing all of this for selfish reasons.

Oh, how the Fates must laugh at him now.

For Loki’s plan to succeed, he had to rely on Thor of all people. Not even Loki’s magic was great enough that he could impersonate the All-Father and send a clone to Midgard to impersonate Thor and fix things himself. Loki had many talents, but he also had limits. Thor would have to handle this one on his own, though Loki would be watching closely. He could, perhaps, nudge Thor a bit this way or that, but it would risk tipping his hand and that was not something he could afford.

His words to Thor had been true, for the most part. The thunderer had grown in many ways since his initial exile to Midgard. Three days had not done much for him other than introduce him to a new way of thinking. It was thanks to his repeated visits and exposure to that way of thinking that Thor began to change his own views. 

Midgard was by no means perfect and had plenty of her own problems to deal with, but she provided Thor with perspective and that was something Loki would forever cherish. He could see that Thor thought differently now, how he would consider himself and those around him before he spoke. Even if he was still a bumbling fool, he at least made the effort. He no longer charged blindly forward like a bilgesnipe whose young had been threatened. It was something Loki honestly never thought he would see in the man he’d once called brother, no matter how many times he tried to show Thor the error of his ways.

Now, though Thor did not know it, the fate of all of the Nine Realms lay upon his shoulders. Were he to fail, they all would fall. 

Loki would do his part to prep each of the Nine for the part they would have to play, along with all the worlds in between. There were a number of individuals he had singled out to be of vital importance, and he was doing everything he could to shuffle them into place. Tony Stark was but one of these individuals. The time would come when all of them would need to be brought together and with the state Stark was in…

Loki had planned to leave Stark in the hands of the human villainess a while longer. She posed no threat to his life, even cared for him deeply in her own, twisted way. Loki had hoped Stark’s rescue could come at the hands of one of the others he had singled out. It would have gone a long way in easing the path for shared work. There was an elderly elf woman named Korma he had specifically had his eye on for the task. She was powerful of magic, knowledgeable, and had quite a habit of helping those in need.

None of those plans mattered anymore, though, because things on Midgard had progressed while Loki was looking elsewhere. He would have to work with what he had been given, just as he always did. Loki was no stranger to being in a disadvantageous position but it had never stopped him from surviving and, if not coming out on top, then taking his opponent down with him. He would not allow anything to stand in the way of his goal now.

Chapter Text

Tony was getting used to being sedated so often. 

Mostly, he was getting used to going to sleep in the middle of a panic and waking up in a far calmer situation. It was kind of a nice way to get through a panic attack, he had to admit. He hoped they kept doing it. 

Glancing around, he saw that only Dr. Branson and Dr. Wiles were in the room with him. Dr. Wiles smiled at him.

“Welcome back, Mr. Stark. How are you feeling?”

Tony let his gaze drift between them, taking note of how closely Dr. Branson watched him.

“I’m not in pain,” he said.

“That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. With your other injuries healed up, we’re considering lowering the amount of pain medication. We don’t want to do it if your frostbitten areas will make you uncomfortable, though.”

Tony blinked sluggishly before nodding.

“They won’t. I can’t feel anything. All the nerves are dead.”

Dr. Wiles frowned.

“Not even at the transition zone? Do you have any numbness or tingling?”

The genius gave a shrug as best he was able, noting absently that they’d tightened his restraints.

“Hydra had the serum nearly perfected,” he told them. “It kept the nerves that were still alive from dying off. It wasn’t enough to bring back the dead flesh, though. That’s why they decided I was useless.”

He couldn’t help the way his lips twitched upward a bit at that. He was always useless. Hydra just hadn’t gotten that memo before they wasted their time on him. Both doctors, however, looked confused.

“Hydra?” Dr. Wiles asked. “We didn’t think Mad-“

He cut himself off at a sign from Dr. Branson. Tony sighed. He’d already done damage he would get punished for. There was no point in putting in the effort when he’d be paying the price anyway.

“Masque has nothing to do with Hydra. She bought me from them after they decided their experiments weren’t going to get them the results they wanted. They put me up for auction so they could recoup some of their losses with everything they wasted on me. That was why you got the videos and my armor dumped in front of SI. Hydra wanted me dead, so Masque let them think I was.”

Both doctors looked surprised, but Tony couldn’t really bring himself to care. They would do whatever they were going to do with the information. Nothing he did could stop that.

“Mr. Stark,” Dr. Branson began hesitantly, the first time he’d spoken so far, “just to be clear, it was Hydra who had you originally? There was evidence at the base in Siberia of you being taken, but you were impossible to track after that.”

“Hydra’s always been good at hiding,” he mused. “The base had been abandoned, but it hadn’t been forgotten. When it was disturbed, an alert was sent out. It took them a while to get there but…”

He shrugged again. Sometimes he wondered what might have happened if he’d fought them then, if his suit had been even the least bit operational. Would they have just killed him? He doubted it.

Still, it was better to focus on that than what came before. He tried not to ever think about what came before, about why he hadn’t fought them.

“And how long did they have you? Do you know where they kept you? If they’re the ones with the serum, then we need to be able to track them down and keep them from using it again.”

Tony snorted.

“Just over three months, but you don’t need to worry about the serum.” Here, he let a full smile slip across his face. “Masque didn’t like that they tried to have me killed. She said it was my moving-in present.”

The doctors exchanged a glance.

“Masque took the serum?”

“She destroyed it, destroyed the whole facility where they’d been keeping me. She’s very efficient.”

“Does Masque often give you gifts?” Dr. Branson asked, at least making an effort at keeping his tone casual.

“She thinks I’m worth it. She mostly uses them to apologize, though.”

“Apologize?”

“For hurting me. She can’t help it, but she wishes she could.” Tony shrugged. “She doesn’t need to apologize for it.”

This, in particular, seemed to raise Dr. Branson’s interest.

“Why not?”

Tony knew the truth wouldn’t do him any favors, but it wasn’t like he would be here forever. He hoped Masque got them out before they could take his arms and legs. He didn’t want to lose his ability to tinker. He still hadn’t rebuilt the espresso maker the way he wanted it.

“Because I don’t mind it.”

Dr. Branson’s skin was so dark that Tony could only tell his eyebrows rose because of the crinkling of his forehead.

“You don’t mind it?”

Of course. Tony should have known he needed to elaborate. He never had that problem with Masque, but these people didn’t know him like she did.

“I don’t enjoy it,” he clarified, “but it’s not so bad when I heal as quickly as I do now. Besides, I always know when it’s coming. I like knowing. I never knew before.”

“With Hydra?”

Tony shook his head.

“It was all pretty constant with Hydra. I was a mess by the time Masque took me in.”

Here, Dr. Branson dropped his head a bit, one hand coming up to rub over his mouth.

“I was afraid that would be the case, Mr. Stark. You and I have some things to talk about, I think. First, though, let’s get through Dr. Wiles’s questions.”

The medical doctor looked a bit thrown off, but recovered himself quickly. He shot Tony another tentative smile.

“Yes. It came to my attention that some of your… distress earlier was caused by the possibility of us removing your frostbitten areas. Would it be alright if we talked about that a bit?”

Tony stiffened. If he could, he would have pulled his afflicted limbs closer to himself.

“When are you going to take them?” he asked, cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well, that’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about. Remember what I told you the first time we met? You’re in control of all this. Even if those limbs were killing you, which there is no indication of, if you said you didn’t want them removed then I’d have to leave them there and let you die. Truthfully, I’ve wanted to find a way around removing them since the very beginning.”

Tony frowned. That wasn’t what he’d been expecting. It made him ache to go back to one of Masque’s compounds. There, he always knew what to expect.

“What were you planning?”

He was skeptical. Not knowing what was coming never ended well for him.

“Do you remember Helen Cho?” Dr. Wiles paused until Tony nodded. “I already reached out to her, and she should actually be arriving this evening. I’m hoping to find a way to get your healing factor to work with her technology for regenerating tissue. It’s come a long way since the last time you worked with her.”

“You want to fix my limbs?”

Dr. Wiles beamed at him.

“I’m hoping to. There will be a lot of work involved and right now all the data is theoretical, but I have high hopes.”

But Tony was already shaking his head.

“I don’t-I don’t-No!”

Dr. Wiles looked startled, but Dr. Branson just looked like he was getting bad news that he’d already known was coming.

“But… why?”

“I don’t want them fixed,” Tony managed, a tad desperately.

“Okay, no problem,” Dr. Wiles agreed immediately, clearly trying to placate him and keep him calm. “If you don’t want to go that route then we won’t. We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do.”

Tony gasped for air, his throat feeling tight. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut before opening them again.

“I don’t want them fixed.”

Dr. Wiles was clearly bothered by his choice, but nodded along anyway.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought… You’ve always been an amazing inventor, Mr. Stark. I didn’t want you to permanently lose the use of your hands.”

Tony shook his head desperately.

“I can use my hands just fine!”

The room froze.

“ What? ”

.

Thor grinned as the Bifrost cleared to reveal his second home. He always appreciated the opportunity to return to Midgard. Something inside of him settled when he was upon this world. Despite the misfortunes that had brought him here on this occasion, he was still glad for it. He was even more pleased when the young Spiderman greeted him before he’d even made it more than a few steps from the Bifrost site.

“Thor!”

“Greetings, Peter!” he bellowed, sweeping the young man up into a hug. He had grown quite fond of the web-slinger over the years. “I have heard news of the rescue of friend Stark. Is he here?”

Immediately, he could see the change in Peter’s demeanor. He became cagier, more tentative.

“Yeah. He’s here. He’s hurt pretty bad, though.”

Thor scowled.

“Yes, I have heard of this as well. My father told me he suffers greatly for his capture. It was Madame Masque who had him?”

Peter nodded.

“She’s here, too, not that it seems to be doing us much good. Fury has been in there with her all day, but mostly she’s just taunting him.”

“I see. And our teammates?”

Thor watched Peter closely and didn’t miss the way Peter flinched just the slightest bit.

“Ms. Pepper, Mr. Rhodey, and Mr. Happy are here. You can imagine how that’s going over with Steve.”

Thor’s frown only grew. Though it pained him, he was well aware of the divided factions within their group.

“Yes, I can imagine indeed.”

It looked like his father was very right to have sent him.

Chapter Text

“Ah, yes. You’re the VA therapist. Tony mentioned you.”

Sam nodded slowly. Fury had asked him to come in to see if he could get something out of Masque where the Director couldn’t, but she was hard to read, especially with that mask of hers. Sam had a sneaking suspicion he had been requested for the sake of a good cop, bad cop routine and not because Fury actually thought he’d be able to get anything out of Masque.

“I used to be, yeah. I haven’t done that for a while.”

Masque tipped her head just a bit to one side questioningly.

“Why not?”

She seemed genuinely curious, for some unfathomable reason. She’d been generally less abrasive with him than she’d been with Fury, too. Sam figured he should cultivate that good will while he could.

“I worked in DC,” he told her, “but I couldn’t do that and help Steve find Bucky. I had to make a choice, but I made sure my people were taken care of before I left.”

Masque nodded easily.

“I know a thing or two about having to make choices,” she said. “Tony told me you were good at your job, that you cared about the people you worked with, but that you couldn’t always help them.”

Sam shifted a bit uncomfortably, and knew Masque caught it. Why had Fury even asked him of all people to do this? He wasn’t cut out for this kind of thing. Surely there was somebody else with more experience who could believably play the good cop. Was it just because Sam was a full Avenger? Did Fury think that would make him more familiar in Masques’s eyes?

“I did what I could.”

She hummed thoughtfully.

“You worked with a number of patients with PTSD, I’m sure.”

Sam frowned at her. Fury wasn’t the only one playing games. She clearly had an end goal in mind for this line of questioning. He wished she’d stop beating around the bush and just get to it already.

“I did.”

“Did any of them ever get violent? Did they ever hurt someone they cared about?”

“A couple. It’s a hazard, sometimes, if they have an episode and can’t snap out of it.”

“There’s anger there, too, isn’t there? Irrational anger. I’ve looked into it.”

Sam nodded slowly.

“I’ve seen that, too. I ran a group, so I saw a bit of everything.”

“What would you tell someone who couldn’t stop hurting the person they cared about? If they’d tried to stop, but couldn’t. Would you tell them to leave that person?”

Sam stared at her for a moment.

“You mean the way you hurt Tony, don’t you?”

Masque stared at him for a long moment.

“I left him before, you know, the first time I knew him.”

Sam glanced at the file in front of him, but didn’t need to open it.

“When you went by Whitney Frost.”

“Before the accident,” Masque mused. “If you know about Whitney, then I’m sure you know about the accident. Did Tony let it slip? He’s bad about letting things slip when he gets upset.”

They did, in fact, know about the accident. Whitney Frost has been an heiress and socialite before it threw her life wildly off course.  It’d left her with horrific facial scars and she’d dropped off the map completely shortly thereafter. Before now, no one had even thought to tie her to the rise of Madame Masque, international criminal and syndicate boss.

“Is that why you left? Because of the accident?”

Sam wasn’t sure when this suddenly turned into a therapy session, but he’d do whatever he could to get any information from Masque at all. Maybe Fury had been on to something after all.

“The accident is when it started,” Masque said, tipping her head back and not answering Sam’s questions. “I haven’t been the same since then.”

“Something like that would change anyone,” Sam allowed.

Masque let out a little huff of air that might have been meant as a laugh. She leaned forward across the table.

“You’re sweet. Would you like to know a secret?”

Dread curled in Sam’s gut, but he nodded anyway.

“Anything you’d like to tell me.”

“It wasn’t the accident that changed me. It was what came after,” she said, reaching up toward her mask only to be stopped short by the handcuffs connecting her to the table. “People treat you differently when you look different, you know. Everyone that I thought cared about me left, they abandoned me, and that’s when the most surprising thing happened.”

Despite himself, Sam was curious. He had the sneaking suspicion that he was the cat about to be killed.

“What was it?”

“Tony showed up,” and it was clear in her voice that she was smiling. “He’d barely tolerated me before then, only ever for appearances and to appease his father. When everyone else turned away, he dived in to keep me afloat. I’d always been a little in love with him,” she mused, “but that’s when I knew that we would always have a connection. I could feel the sickness, though, perhaps more so than I feel it now. I knew what I was becoming, and I knew what it would do to someone like Tony. He would let me drag him down if given half a chance.”

Sam was pretty sure that most of his discomfort came from knowing she was right.

“He would have tried to help you.”

“He’s Tony. Of course he would have. He would have kept trying until I bled him dry. I didn’t have the control back then that I have now,” she admitted. “I probably would have killed him.”

Sam felt cold.

“Did you hurt him, back then?”

“I lashed out. He didn’t understand that it wasn’t just anger, that I wanted and needed to cause him pain.”

“Why are you telling me all this?”

He had to ask, because hearing it was tearing him up inside. He needed there to be a reason.

“I’m angry,” Masque told him, “at so many of you Avengers. Your team, Pepper Potts, James Rhodes, Happy Hogan… Steve Rogers, ” she spat the name. “You’ve all done more damage to him than I could ever do. Fury has made very clear that you think his mental state is my fault. You’re fooling yourselves. He came to me this way, and it was no fault of Hydra’s. Every other person in Tony’s life had turned their backs, I couldn’t walk away a second time.”

“What, so you think you’re saving him then?” Sam asked, incredulous. “By torturing him?”

“At least I don’t leave him when I do,” she hissed. “I don’t keep secrets from him, and I would never betray him as you have. You sent him to Siberia, Sam Wilson. That is why I am telling you this. Believe this, if nothing else I say, the only reason I have not picked every single one of you off one by one is because Tony asked me not to. You deserve to burn. You all deserve to burn.”

Sam recoiled.

“I didn’t know what would happen.”

“Of course not,” Masque sneered. “The guilt for that lies with your precious Captain, but you sent him nonetheless. You chose Steve Rogers over him before that, as well. Your loyalties were never with Tony. I can give you a chance to start making up for that mistake.”

Sam wanted to get up and run away. Fury would probably shoot him if he did, though.

“I won’t bring Tony to see you.”

“I don’t expect you to. At this point, I’ve all but accepted that I’ll be going to get him on my own,” she told him, sounding completely sure of herself. “That wasn’t what I had in mind.”

“Then what did you have in mind?”

“I want you to tell me what upset Tony enough for him to tell you my name.”

Sam stared at her.

“That’s it?”

“There are few things that could upset him like that anymore. I want to know what you’ve done now.”

Sam glanced at the camera in the room’s corner. It wasn’t like it was exactly a secret, but he also wasn’t sure he should hand any information over to Masque. Still, there was a chance he might be able to get some information from her in turn.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the frostbite on his limbs. He was told that they might be removed.”

Masque tensed.

“ Do not dare. ”

Her tone was low and dangerous, laced with threat. Sam scooted his chair back just a bit.

“He already said he doesn’t want it to happen. Unlike you, we won’t force anything on him.”

Bitter laughter filled the room.

“Too late for that,” she bit out. “You have no idea what that frostbite means to him. If you take it away from him, there will be nothing that can save you.”

Sam fought to keep his mind on the mission, on finding out what information he could.

“He said that he could still use his hands just fine, said it was a gift from you.”

This seemed to settle her a bit, her anger abating.

“I commissioned the braces from Midas. You should have found them when your people took everything from my room.”

She didn’t exactly seem upset by the invasion of her space, but Sam didn’t let his guard down.

“There were no braces found.”

“They’re in a box, locked so that only Tony or I can open it. He only wears the braces when he needs them. I keep them safe the rest of the time.”

“What kind of box?”

She considered him for a long moment, clearly deciding whether or not to tell him anything at all. Sam figured it was probably a fifty-fifty chance either way.

“It is made of cherry wood,” she finally told him, “and the lid is inlaid with enchanted fire opal. You’ll be able to recognize it by the glow. Take the box to Tony. He will know how to open it.”

Sam picked up the file and stood.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“When you see him, when you take him the box,” Masque clearly didn’t think they wouldn’t take the box to Tony, “don’t forget to tell him I’m not angry. He knows he’ll be punished for giving up secrets, but he should never think I’m angry over it.”

Sam shuddered. 

He couldn’t even imagine being left to the mercy of this woman for as long as Tony had been. The torture, he was beginning to see, was only the beginning. Masque was clearly mad off her rocker.

That didn’t keep her words from ringing in Sam’s ears, though. 

He had been the one to tell Tony where Steve and Bucky had gone. He’d been trying to help. He’d wanted to mend things, but things would have gone so differently if he just hadn’t done that. If Tony hadn’t been there, Zemo wouldn’t have been able to drive a wedge between them. 

Tony wouldn’t have attacked Steve and Bucky. 

Tony wouldn’t have been taken. 

Maybe she was just trying to manipulate him, but Sam could see the truth in what she’d said and it pained him.

Chapter Text

Vision hovered a scant few millimeters above the cement floor of the Avengers evidence locker. It was more of a warehouse than a locker, truthfully. There were stacks of boxes and crates alongside shelves of miscellaneous objects. They were sectioned off by case, all in alphabetical order. The shelves in the front were for evidence that only had a few pieces to be stored, but what Vision sought was towards the back, where there were entire rooms sectioned off and filled. 

That was where the things from Madame Masque’s base were stored.

Vision had volunteered for the task of looking for and locating the box that supposedly contained the braces for Mr. Stark’s limbs. It was a job usually left to a junior agent, but Vision liked to feel as though they were being helpful. In truth, they weren’t sure how to feel at the moment. This world was confusing to them, even with JARVIS’s programming to guide them and all that they had learned since their creation. Mr. Stark’s disappearance and now reappearance did little to defog it.

They passed by rows of storage before reaching their destination. Floating inside, their eyes swept over everything. 

Things had seemed very clear to them at first, but that quickly changed after Ultron’s attack was foiled. It was difficult to understand the ways of humans, to understand why Mr. Stark left his position as an Avenger in nothing but name. What had really changed except that he didn’t live with the team anymore? They’d never been able to get a straight answer.

As time passed, Vision came to accept it simply as what was. They turned their attention toward the personal interactions of those around them instead, finding a particular fascination with the young Wanda. They had once found her vehement hatred for Mr. Stark an oddity, but now it stood between them like an insurmountable barrier. 

They could have, perhaps, mended fences, but she’d been sore about their part in the Civil War, as it had come to be called, and Vision had begun to see just how unhealthy her mindset about things was in her absence. They’d attempted to converse with her on the matter, but it hadn’t gone over well.

Vision had not realized before she shouted it at them that she had used Mr. Stark’s fear against him in order to urge him to create Ultron. They hadn’t mentioned it to anyone, still trying to puzzle out all of the meaning of it themself. They weren’t even sure whether it made the whole situation better or worse that Mr. Stark had been found alive. 

There was a lot of information to sort through following the mission, but Vision had stayed away long enough. They did not want to crowd or overwhelm Mr. Stark, which they’d read could be a definite risk in this type of situation. They hoped that bringing the braces with them would help ease the way.

The things from Masque’s base had been expertly sorted, as all things were when they entered into inventory. A mutant codenamed Neat Freak was in charge of inventory, and he had more than earned the title. It took only moments for Vision to locate the lacquered box sitting upon a shelf next to several file boxes of items for Dr. Strange to assess upon his next visit. The Avengers had their own magic specialist to assess items, of course, but no one was more of an expert than the sorcerer supreme.

The wood was smooth and rich, and the stone in the top looked as though it had many other stones inside, each catching the light a little bit differently. The stone glowed faintly in the dim light of the warehouse. In total, the box stood four inches high and half a foot wide. When Vision pulled it off the shelf, they discovered it was another foot long. It was surprisingly light, though they weren’t sure why they had thought it would be heavy. Perhaps it was the perception that something of so much importance would be a bit more substantial.

Vision turned away from the shelf and started floating back toward the entrance gate to check the box out of evidence. They would take the box to Mr. Stark. Only then would they all find out just how substantial it was. 

And, perhaps, Vision would finally begin to get some answers.

.

Harley startled at the knock on the door. His mom was at work, so there wasn’t any reason for someone to show up at the house. He certainly wasn’t expecting anyone. It could be someone dropping off a package, though. Tony had sent him packages all the time, and Ms. Potts still sent one every once in a while. Usually, she let him know, though… Maybe his mom had ordered something online.

He left his sandwich on the table as he crossed to the door and undid the latch. A man stood just outside. He wore heavy clothing meant for work and had to be in his thirties, by the young teenager’s estimations. His skin was the caramelized color of someone from South America, maybe Brazil. Harley narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“Who’re you?”

The man gave him a smile that was probably supposed to be winsome.

“Are you Harley Keener?” he asked, his voice carrying just a hint of an accent that Harley couldn’t identify.

Harley frowned and silently weighed his options, though the pause in and of itself probably tipped his hand.

“Depends on who’s asking,” he said instead.

“You wouldn’t know me, or my employer, but she has something she’d like to offer you. I was sent to see if you’d be interested. If you’re not, I walk away.”

Because that answered absolutely any of his questions at all.

“And if I am interested in this mysterious offer that you still haven’t told me anything about?”

This time, the man’s grin seemed a bit more real.

“Then I make it happen. I’d rather not talk about it out here, though. May I come in?”

Harley wasn’t sure exactly who the man was worried about being overheard by in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, but he stood aside and let the guy in anyway. It probably wasn’t the smartest idea ever, but hey, it’d worked out well when he let Tony stay.

“Can I get a name at least? Of you and your employer, preferably. I don’t particularly give a damn if you think I haven’t heard of you or not.”

The man looked around the small room with interest, holding up a finger in Harley’s direction before pulling a slim, black device from his pocket, pressing a button on it, and setting it down on the table.

“There we go. That will jam any bugs that might be around, so we can speak freely,” he said, as if showing up at people’s doors randomly for clandestine conversations with kids just hitting puberty was a completely normal occurrence. “I’ll have to ask you to forgive my manners, but one can never be too careful. My name is Paul. I work for a woman named Whitney Frost.”

It was like pulling teeth.

“Okaaay,” Harley drew out. “So, what’s your super mysterious offer? I have a sandwich to get back to.”

“I’m sure you’ll find this a bit more important,” the man said. “How would you like to see Tony Stark again?”

Harley tensed, anger flooding through him. If this was some bastard’s idea of a sick joke, he was gonna find out who they were and riddle every electronic they had with viruses. Fuck them.

“He’s dead,” he bit out.

“On the contrary, Mr. Stark is very much alive. He’s currently at the Avengers headquarters in the care of their medical staff. He arrived yesterday. Has no one been in contact with you about it?”

No, nobody had been in fucking contact with him. Nobody had been in contact with him for a couple of months. 

It wasn’t like they talked all the time but shit , if Tony was really alive…

“Are you offering to take me there?”

“I have a car and a private jet waiting. Mr. Stark continues to count you among the most important people in his life. We want to make sure you can see each other again… If that’s what you’d like.”

Harley stared at him for a long moment.

“I need to make a call,” he said finally. He’d call Ms. Potts, he decided. “If it confirms your story, then I’ll come with you. If it doesn’t, then you should know I have some pretty nasty toys lying about and I’m not afraid to use them.”

The man smiled again, a vicious grin.

“I can see why Mr. Stark likes you so much. Make whatever calls you think are necessary. Just… perhaps do not mention my employer. It’d be for the best.”

Because that wasn’t suspicious at all. What was he getting himself into?

.

Hela’s composure nearly failed her. Her steps quickened but didn’t quite turn into a jog as she hurried from her throne room and down the steps of her palace. 

Her courtyard, the reception area for souls crossing over into death, was flooded with the departed. They crowded and pressed against each other. More souls poured through her gates and into her realm before those already present could be processed. One of the Valkyrie met her at the bottom of the stairs, a battle-hardened and scarred woman from the ancient days of Vanaheim when Warrior Queens ruled land and sea.

Something was terribly wrong.

“We’ve expanded the perimeter,” Kalbisa informed her, cutting straight to the heart of the matter, “but they keep coming through. It began not ten minutes past, yet already the new arrivals number in the hundreds of thousands.”

The count was staggering. 

Hundreds of thousands of souls passed through Hela’s gates on any given day, but never in a matter of minutes. Not even in times of war were such numbers seen. Hela held her antlered head high as she waded into their midst, reaching out for those around her and sending them where they needed to go. It had been centuries since she’d had to do such things herself.

“Is there any sign of stopping?” she asked.

Kalbisa’s grim expression told her everything before the woman was even able to open her mouth.

“No, My Queen, and they all appear to be Wongordulish.”

Hela had feared as much. 

Her gaze swept over the press of the souls in her courtyard. Ferrymen were scattered about, ships filled to the brim or in the process of loading up the next round of passengers. She knew without having to ask that none of those here would pass forth into Valhalla. Few were warriors and none had passed in battle.

“It is genocide,” she intoned dully. Oh, but it had been a long time since she had felt horror so true that it seemed to seep into her very bones. The blacked skin that covered half of her body felt tight with the sensation of such overwhelming death. “It will not be long before the rest of their brethren join us here.”

Billions. 

Billions of slaughtered souls would already be on their way, the journey bottlenecked by those who had already arrived. 

If she did not act quickly, they would be snatched away into nothingness.

“What would you have us do, My Queen?”

Hela was already turning back to the steps of her palace.

“Call the others. I will need your strength. I must open myself as a conduit, as Death’s Hand, if we are to accommodate them all so quickly. Already, I fear some may slip through my fingers.”

Kalbisa bowed.

“It will be done. There is not a one among our ranks who wouldn’t lend you every last scrap of our strength.”

Hela graced her with the faintest of smiles.

“Of this, I have no doubt. Now hurry. I must begin.”

One sharp, final nod before fiery wings sprouted from Kalbisa’s back, wrapping around her and spiriting her away. 

Hela took a steadying breath and gestured with her living hand to conjure up a simplified version of her throne that lay inside. Her heart was heavy as she sank into it.

 So many lives wasted. She would get to the bottom of this, she swore.

Opening herself up to so many souls in order to sort them was akin to taking in a hurricane that spanned an entire realm. Hela’s body seized and spasmed as the world fell away. Whispers and snatches of every life swept past her in a whirlwind blur. There was no way to set one apart from the other. There was no way to even tell what was herself and what wasn’t. There was no division between where she ended and the souls began. That was what it was to act as a conduit, as Death’s Hand. 

It was to be one with the dead.

She wasn’t aware of when her Valkyries arrived, only of when they joined with her and shared their strength. Hela could not even spare enough thought to hope it would be enough. It had to be enough.  

This was wrong, so very wrong. She had to make it alright. It was her duty. 

Through the torrential rush, there was only one thought that remained clear, shrieked from every soul that passed through her.

Thanos.

Chapter Text

Pepper almost didn’t pick up the phone, but Dr. Cho’s flight had been delayed and there was really nothing else for her to do while sitting in the back of Happy’s car waiting for her arrival. 

It was Harley, though, and the caller ID brought with it the startling realization that Pepper hadn’t told the young man about Tony’s retrieval yet. She almost didn’t want to, given the condition Tony was in. Steeling herself, she answered the call.

“Harley,” she greeted, aiming for bright but not quite making it, “how are you?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line and the muffled sound of what might have been a door shutting.

“Is Tony alive?”

That was it, no lead-up, just straight for the jugular. Pepper stiffened in her seat.

“Where did you hear that? Did Rhodey call you?” He must have, him or Peter. Pepper kept right on going without waiting for Harley to answer the question. “Listen, Harley, the situation is complicated.”

“Then uncomplicate it,” the teenager snapped. “Is he okay? You guys are at the Avengers HQ, right? I’m on my way.”

“What? No, Harley! You should stay where you are.”

The sounds of rummaging she’d just barely been able to pick up in the background came to an abrupt halt.

“Why?”

Pepper hesitated, but it wasn’t like there was any way for her to get out of telling him in the end. He’d find out eventually.

“Tony’s hurt,” she relented. “I don’t know how much they told you, but it isn’t good. It’s not life threatening but… he’s having a difficult time adjusting.”

That was a nice way to put it, because she wasn’t about to tell the young boy Tony had bonded with that his mentor kept having to be sedated over panic attacks and there was a good chance he’d lose all four limbs.

“I should be there,” Harley groused.

“There’s nothing you can do here,” Pepper informed him, not unkindly. “Just, stay home, Harley. I’ll make sure you’re kept updated on what’s happening with Tony. As soon as he’s feeling a bit better, you’ll be the first to know.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Pepper sincerely hoped Harley did what she said. They weren’t exactly close and he was a teenager, after all. Pepper could just imagine him up and deciding to hitchhike across the country to get to them.

Tony would have.

“I’ve got another question for you,” Harley finally said, his volume dropping like he wanted to keep quiet. “Have you ever heard of someone named Whitney Frost?”

Pepper’s brow pinched and she blinked. Of all the things he could have asked, she hadn’t been expecting that.

“No, why?”

“No reason,” Harley said, a little too quickly. “Just curious, was all. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later. Bye!”

The line went dead and Pepper heaved a sigh. At least Harley wasn’t the subtle type. 

She keyed across her phone to call his mother, only for her phone to light up again with Peter’s number. She answered immediately.

“Has something happened with Tony?”

At this point, that was her greatest fear.

“I was just in with him, he’s fine,” Peter soothed. “He’s sleeping now. We’re just waiting for Vision to bring the braces. Apparently, they actually do exist. Frost told Sam about them this morning during the interrogation. I guess Fury was right to send him in.”

Pepper stiffened, a feeling of cold dread crawling up her spine.

“Frost?”

“Yeah, Whitney Frost. It’s Madame Masque’s real name. Tony let her first name slip during his psych eval and then the techs were able to track her down using a picture from her room at the base. Didn’t you know?”

No, she didn’t know, because she’d been too busy asking a million and one questions about Tony’s mental state and getting run-around answers. She cursed colorfully, startling Happy.

“I’m going to have to call you back,” she said, hanging up without waiting.

She thumbed over to Harley’s number and called back, her knee jiggling nervously.

“Come on, come on, come on,” she chanted as the phone continued to ring. “Pick up, Harley, come on!”

The call went to voicemail.

.

Peter lowered the phone slowly from his ear, giving it an odd look. He could feel Whistle’s eyes on him.

“Everything okay?” she asked.

“Not sure,” he admitted. “I don’t think so. Ms. Pepper didn’t know about Frost’s real name. She got off the phone really quick after I mentioned it.”

Whistle frowned.

“How odd. She say anything?”

“Just that she’d have to call me back.”

The deceptively wispish girl beside him shrugged.

“Then I guess you’ll find out when she does,” she said, leaning over to nudge his shoulder. “You can’t control everything, Peter. You need to remember that.”

The web-slinger snorted.

“So you keep reminding me,” he huffed, his gaze sliding back to Mr. Stark’s closed door. “I just… I wish there were something more I could do. ”

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can do,” Whistle confided, leaning closer and making Peter take the bulk of her weight, which wouldn’t be much even to someone without enhanced strength. “This isn’t your fight, or Ms. Potts’s or the Captain’s. It’s Mr. Stark’s fight. He’s the one who has to get back up from it.”

Peter frowned at her.

“That doesn’t mean he has to do it on his own.”

“It also doesn’t mean that you or anyone else can do it for him. Look, Vision will be back any minute,” she said with a shrug. “Maybe the braces will help. Having full function back might go a long way toward keeping him calm.”

Peter could see that, he supposed. He knew being strapped to a bed would drive him crazy.

“Do you think they’ll let him go? I mean, the restraints are so he doesn’t hurt himself when he freaks out and that’s when he doesn’t have full control.”

Whistle grinned at him.

“We’re in a building that contains some of the greatest superheroes in the world. I’m sure we can figure out something. Maybe we take shifts staying with him. Barnes’d volunteer in a heartbeat, and I’m betting he’s not the only one,” she said, her grin turning salacious. “Can you just imagine Widow wrapped around him like an octopus to keep him in place?”

Peter ducked away from her.

“No! I do not need to hear about any more of your Black Widow fantasies! I refuse to participate!”

He clapped his hands over his ears as Whistle threw her icy-blond head back and laughed. She really was the absolute worst. Peter loved her for it.

.

Fury’s office was starting to feel cramped with so many people inside of it. Steve leaned up against one wall and eyed the others carefully. 

Dr. Branson and Dr. Wiles sat in the chairs before Fury’s desk while the Director himself sat behind it and Maria Hill watched stoically from behind him. Sam hovered near the door, looking uncomfortable, and Bruce was loitering near a potted plant, inspecting the leaves to avoid looking at anyone else in the room. Thor stood by the window, his back to the rest of the room and gazing out over the outdoor training grounds. T’Challa had been by briefly, but had taken one look around the room before turning around and leaving.

“I suppose we should begin, then,” Fury intoned, leaning back in his chair and nearly bumping into Thor as the aesir turned. “We need to come to a consensus about how to handle Stark. We’ve been playing catch up this entire time. We need to get out ahead of this whole thing.”

He shifted his gaze to focus on Dr. Branson, making it obvious that he should say his piece.

“Mr. Stark is not well,” the doctor began, and Steve felt something in his chest tighten. “I had anticipated a certain level of psychological ramification due to all that he’s been through in the last three years, and suspected more given his previous lifestyle, but it seems that Mr. Stark’s difficulties exceed every one of my expectations. He is… a tragically broken individual.”

Thor frowned, his face expressing all that Steve felt.

“What can be done to help our friend, healer?”

Dr. Branson dragged a palm over his closely shaved head and sighed.

“I don’t know just yet. At the very least, it is going to take years for him to recover, if he ever does.”

Steve stepped away from the wall. With his arms folded across his chest, he knew he cut an imposing figure.

“What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

Bruce half-turned to look at the rest of them, but Steve had eyes only for the doctor. 

Tony had to recover from this. He had to. He’d gotten up from everything else the world had thrown at him. He couldn’t let this be what took him down.

“When a soldier gets shot or injured in battle,” Dr. Branson explained, “there is a physical wound that can be seen and treated. Psychological wounds are a bit trickier because there’s nothing to see, but they often work similarly. Think of it like this, a soldier shot in the shoulder experiences a great amount of trauma to the area. Scar tissue builds up to close the wound and sometimes this costs the soldier part or all of the limb’s functionality. Mr. Stark’s psychological wounds are progressing much in that same way.

“He has fresh wounds from his recent captivity, but I fear they overlay older wounds that never quite healed the right way or all the way. It’s as if the soldier that got shot in the shoulder let it heal up, but didn’t follow through with physical therapy, only to be shot in that same shoulder again. Whatever damage was done the first time around would be expounded tenfold, easily,” he said, glancing at Dr. Wiles. “Would you agree?”

Dr. Wiles nodded, leaving Steve’s mind whirling. Fury scowled and drummed his fingers on the surface of his desk once.

“Well, if you need a pre-existing psychological injury, you’ll have plenty to choose from with Stark.”

“He’s had panic attacks for a while,” Bruce contributed, apparently finally deciding to step up as the representative for Rhodes and Potts, “and nightmares. It was especially bad after New York, and then only got worse after the whole thing with the Mandarin. He tried to talk to me about it a couple times but… I don’t think I was very helpful. I’m not that kind of doctor.”

Steve winced. He’d known about Tony’s panic attacks, of course, but they sounded somehow worse coming from Bruce in his soft, matter-of-fact tone. Miss Potts’s irate accusations were easier to brush off.

Dr. Branson frowned as he turned toward Bruce.

“What can you tell me? Any details would help. Tony made a comment about how he’s been scared for a long time, and how he at least knew when the pain was coming when he was with Masque.”

Bruce shied away again, balking under being the center of attention.

“I don’t know what I’d be able to tell you. It’s not really my area…”

“Please, Bruce,” Steve said, reaching out for the other man only to draw his hands back when Bruce flinched, “like the doctor said, anything you can tell us.”

He might not want to hear it, but that didn’t mean he didn’t need to.

“You might not even realize the significance of what was said,” Dr. Branson supplied, “but it could reveal something vital. Mr. Stark has always been a master at keeping things hidden that he doesn’t want the world to know, and that means we’re working at a severe disadvantage.”

Fury picked up his mobile from the top of his desk and typed away at the screen rapidly.

“I’ve asked Agent Romanov to join us,” he informed the room. “She may have some insights of her own.”

Good. That was good. That was progress.

“Whatever it is,” Steve said with conviction, “we’ll get to the bottom of it and fix this. For Tony.”

Chapter Text

Bucky resisted the urge to sigh when Parker stiffened at his approach. The kid was on a hairpin trigger, that was for sure. Bucky couldn’t exactly blame him for being cautious, really, but it could be more than a little irritating. To be fair, most of the Avengers acted like Bucky was Steve’s watchdog and tiptoed around him because of it. Bucky would rather they tiptoed because of his Winter Soldier past. Whistle, at least, seemed not to care whether he reported to Steve or not.

“I guess you heard,” she greeted. “Vision’s gone to get the box. We’ll see what happens when he gets back. You sticking around for it?”

Bucky nodded solemnly.

“Where are Rhodes, Hogan, and Potts?”

They should be here. The three had been hovering near-constantly since Tony had been brought back. It was odd that they weren’t already present.

“Mr. Rhodey tricked Mr. Happy and Ms. Pepper into going to the airport to pick up Dr. Cho so Dr. Banner, Fury, Cap, and the others could discuss Mr. Stark’s situation and what the options are,” Parker explained, looking pained.

Bucky was surprised.

“Potts may actually kill him when she gets back and finds out. Why would Rhodes do that?”

Parker looked put out and avoided his gaze. Whistle just rolled her eyes.

“Funny you should ask, because he mentioned you had something to do with it.”

Bucky was a bit taken-aback. Did that mean some of what he’d said in his little rant yesterday actually sank in? Was Rhodes going to start trying to work with them instead of against them and get nothing done?

“That’s… unexpected. Good, but unexpected.”

Whistle shrugged.

“Right now, he’s apparently gone to talk to Masque himself, or at least stare at her through the observation window like he’s done every other time he’s gone to ‘talk’ to her so far.”

She looked exactly as unimpressed as she sounded.

“Maybe he’ll learn something new,” Bucky said.

He figured they were definitely about to learn something new from Tony himself. This whole thing with the braces changed a lot. Of course, it seemed like every time they turned around, they were having to reassess things. Tony was giving them bread crumbs, piece by piece, and they were still as lost as ever.

“Maybe,” Parker said sullenly.

They fell into silence until Vision returned from the evidence warehouse. It didn’t take long. For all that they were a bit of an odd one, Bucky had to admit that they were efficient. In their hands was the wooden box Bucky had noticed back in Masque’s chambers before he’d found Tony in the wardrobe. 

Bucky opened the door to Tony’s room, holding it so the others could enter. The man was asleep on the bed, his chest rising and falling with each breath. Parker crossed over to his bedside and laid a hand on one of his shoulders, shaking gently.

“Mr. Stark? It’s time to wake up, Mr. Stark.”

Tony shifted a bit, blinking his eyes blearily.

“Peter,” he slurred a bit, clearly groggy.

Parker smiled at him. It was a smile he’d never aimed Bucky’s way, much less Steve or any of the other original Avengers.

“Yeah, it’s me. How’re you feeling? You okay to be up for a bit?”

Tony shifted like he was going to sit up, but the restraints stopped him. Bucky stepped up to start undoing the ones around his wrists.

“Here, we can take these off.”

Tony rolled his head to look at him.

“You’re back again,” he observed, seeming a bit nonplussed.

Bucky offered him a crooked grin.

“I did say you should expect to see a good bit of me. I owe you a lot, whether or not you seem to think so.”

That’d been an interesting conversation. 

Bucky felt like he owed the genius for a great many things: for killing his parents, for causing the rift between him and Steve, for being part of why he was left in Siberia and Hydra was able to get their hands on him. Tony seemed bewildered by the very concept, confused to the point that Bucky had finally let it drop. Just because they didn’t talk about it didn’t mean that Bucky wasn’t still going to work to make up that debt, though.

For now, Tony gave him an odd look, but said nothing on the subject. Across the bed, Parker’s expression was a bit more assessing, like he was trying to figure out how this behavior fit in with his view of Bucky. 

Let him wonder, Bucky decided. It was probably good to keep him guessing.

“Mr. Stark,” Vision broke in, drifting over to Tony’s feet, “we have brought something for you.”

It was amazing how Tony’s face lit up at seeing the box in Vision’s hands.

“You brought my braces!” he exclaimed excitedly, shuffling himself up into a sitting position. He gestured with his dead arms towards his lap. “Put it here. I’ll open it.”

Bucky held out a hand to tell Vision to wait.

“Hold on,” he said, his chest suddenly a bit tight. “This isn’t going to hurt you, right?”

He’d learned quickly that Tony wouldn’t volunteer that information. He had to be asked directly. As if to prove his point, the genius wavered.

“No,” he said, but it sounded more like a question than a statement.

“Tony.”

The genius fidgeted.

“It needs blood,” he acquiesced, “my blood. But not much! That’s just part of how it confirms it’s me or Whitney.”

His eyes were pleading, begging them to let him still open the box. Bucky knew he wouldn’t protest if they took it away, though. It pained Bucky to see it. He drew his hand back so Vision could set the box in Tony’s lap.

“Should we draw some with a needle?” he asked instead. “Would that make it easier for you?”

Tony shook his head and sank his teeth into his bottom lip, smearing the blood between them.

“The serum will heal it in just a couple of minutes,” he said.

Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to the glowing stone in the lid of the box. It glowed brighter for a moment before dimming completely. A quiet ‘pop’ could be heard before Tony drew back and the lid popped open just the tiniest bit. Tony gave a bloody grin as he used his arms to awkwardly maneuver the box open. 

Inside was what looked like a heap of golden, metal brackets. There was no form or shape to them, as Bucky had seen with other braces. Tony seemed unperturbed, though.

He fumbled trying to get the metal out of the box for a moment before both Parker and Bucky moved to help him. There was a moment of confusion where they both tried to get out of each other’s way, and then Bucky backed off and let Parker remove the metal bundles from the box. Tony grinned at both of them. Despite the grisliness of the act, considering the blood and all, the true joy he radiated couldn’t be hidden. Bucky couldn’t help but smile back at him. 

Vision picked up the box again so Parker could place the metal on Tony’s lap.

“So, what now?” Bucky asked.

“Just gotta find the activation switch,” Tony said with a grin. “They’re smart metals,” as if that explained anything at all.

He batted pieces of metal aside gently with the sides of his hands. It was painful to watch, and didn’t look at all natural, but Tony didn’t seem bothered by it. Bucky was struck by the sudden discomforting thought that he was probably used to it by now. This was how he lived. Unless he wore the braces most of the time when he was with Masque? He hadn’t been wearing them when Bucky had found him.

Tony’s happy noise of triumph was followed by him pinning a particular piece of metal between his decayed wrists and lifting it out of the pile. Bucky noticed that one end of it was tipped with red, the same red that was signature to Tony’s Iron Man suit. Tony held that section up to his lips and pressed the blood to it just as he had to the top of the box. 

There was another clicking noise, this time more mechanical, and then the pile of metal gave a little shiver and began to move.

Bucky watched in amazement as metal curled and snapped into place along Tony’s forearms, following the bones of his hands and curling around his fingers. The braces for his legs followed a similar pattern, the metal looking almost decorative as it moved into place. 

Tony held still while the metal slipped across his body and only stirred once the last piece settled. Then he flexed his fingers, rotated his wrists, bent his elbows back and forth, systematically checking every joint and movement. He repeated the process with his legs, the rest of the occupants of the room staring. His grin was ecstatic.

“Holy shit,” Whistle whispered, expressing what all of them were feeling.

“Fascinating,” Vision agreed, their tone more intrigued than truly shocked. “I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

“They work mostly through magnets,” Tony said with a grin, shuffling around a bit on the bed. “Can I get up?”

The Tony Stark Steve told so many stories about would never have asked for permission. Bucky would have to make sure Steve remembered that this wasn’t the same person, not anymore.

“Of course,” he said quickly, moving to undo the restraints on his legs and help him along. It’d been a little while since he’d been on his own feet, after all. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to even think about how many people will come after my hide if something happens to you.”

Tony sobered quickly, nodding with complete seriousness.

“Whitney wouldn’t be happy.”

That wasn’t at all who Bucky was talking about, but he pressed his lips together to keep from saying anything about it. Luckily, no one else made a comment about it, either.

“I think a walk would do you some good,” Parker said, thankfully filling the empty silence. “Let’s get you moving.”

Tony didn’t seem to notice any tension, and let Parker and Bucky help him to his feet. He wobbled for a moment before finding his balance and steadying himself. Parker and Bucky both hovered nervously, as if they would need to grab him at any moment. Tony ignored them valiantly, taking a few shuffled steps forward and not seeming bothered at all about the open back of his hospital gown. At least his sense of shame hadn’t changed.

“This feels good,” Tony enthused, seeming more sure of himself as he moved. The difference was astonishing. “It’s been a little while since I’ve worn the braces.”

Bucky felt sick to his stomach.

“You can wear them as much as you’d like from now on,” he assured. He’d make damn sure of it.

Tony gave him an odd look.

“I can always wear them as often as I’d like,” he said. “Sometimes I just want to take a break. It’s peaceful.”

Yeah, Tony had definitely changed a lot.

“Do you want to get out of this room?” Parker offered, and Tony’s face lit up even more.

“Can I go outside?” he asked tentatively, as if he expected them to tell him no, but couldn’t resist asking anyway.

Fuck that. He’d been through enough.

“You can go wherever you want,” Bucky promised him. “We’ll start with outside.”

Chapter Text

Rhodey pounded a fist against the door to Fury’s office, waiting impatiently as there was shuffling on the other side before the door opened. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck! How had it come to this? 

The door opened to show Rogers’s mug, turning Rhodey’s already-bad mood even darker.

“We’ve got a problem,” he said without preamble, wheeling his chair forward and forcing Rogers back.

There wasn’t much room in Fury’s office, but it didn’t matter. Fury stood from behind his desk.

“What’s wrong now? Is it Stark?”

“It’s Harley. It looks like Masque kidnapped him. He called Pepper to ask if she’d heard of someone named Whitney Frost, and now he won’t answer her calls and he wasn’t at the house when his mom went looking for him.”

There was a stir through the room.

“Why would she take Harley, though?” Rogers asked. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Sure it does,” Bruce cut in. “Harley is important to Tony, and by now we know she and Tony talked a lot. She knows Harley is too young to be here. He’d be unguarded and easy to take. Plus, he’s a kid. She’s going to use him for leverage.”

Thor rumbled his displeasure.

“It is a low soul indeed who would use a child. This Masque must truly have no honor.”

“I can go to the interrogation room, if you’d like,” Romanov offered from where she stood just to Fury’s side. “She hasn’t talked much, but each time she reveals something new. I may be able to get something from her.”

“No,” Rogers cut her off, anger lining every edge. “I’ll talk to her. It’s time to end this.”

He probably would have stomped right out if Rhodey weren’t planted in the doorway.

“And what exactly are you planning to do?” he challenged. “Look, I get that you’re pissed off. We’re all pissed off. Harley’s life is on the line, though. We’ve got to be careful about this.”

“We also can’t afford to just sit around waiting! Masque needs to pay for what she’s done.”

“No one’s suggesting that, Captain,” Fury cut in, clearly trying to diffuse the situation. “At the moment, though, we don’t know what Masque is capable of. Sending in Agent Romanov is the best choice available to us right now. This is what she does , Captain. You know that.”

Steve ground his teeth together, but managed a jerky nod.

“Do what needs to be done,” he instructed.

Natasha gave him a sharp nod right back.

“I’ve never done anything less.”

.

Tony tilted his head back to feel the warm sun on his face. The gentle breeze ruffled his hair and for a moment, with his eyes closed, he could almost pretend that he was at peace. He’d always found it strange when people did that sort of thing in movies or on TV, but he supposed he could understand it a bit better now. 

There was peace, but reality never stayed away longer than a second or two. It was still there, waiting for you when you opened your eyes again.

Peter and Barnes were waiting for Tony when he opened his eyes. They wore twin expressions of concern, and hovered as if he might topple over at any moment. If he turned his head a bit, he could spot Vision and the small girl whose name he didn’t know.

“This is nice,” he commented, since they all seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

What exactly were they expecting? It wasn’t like he would somehow magically be cured by the grass beneath his feet, not unless the lawn crew had gotten really out of hand since he’d hired them. Peter sent him a little, hopeful smile.

“You can come out here any time you want, then. Or somewhere else. It’s really whatever you want.”

Tony nodded, but didn’t return his smile. He knew that wasn’t true. It was never whatever Tony wanted. More often than not, it was the opposite. He swayed slightly in the breeze and Barnes honest to God reached out to steady him. The soldier had been acting so strangely since Tony had come here.

“How long can I stay here?” he asked, because he would rather know so he could prepare for the loss.

Peter and Barnes exchanged glances.

“Not sure,” Barnes finally answered him. “Your docs are talking to Fury at the moment. I don’t know if they’ll have any questions for you afterwards or if they’ll want to run any tests.”

Tony nodded easily. He would just stay prepared. That was fine. He was used to doing that.

“I don’t think I ever appreciated nature like this, before,” he admitted.

Barnes, Peter, and the new girl tensed. Vision just looked on as though they were observing the most fascinating interaction. Maybe it was, to them. Tony marveled for a moment at just how much Vision must have learned in the past three years. They’d always had a thirst for knowledge.

“From what I understand,” they said, “that’s perfectly normal. Many individuals who have gone through captivity come out of it with a newfound appreciation for their surroundings. I suspect as well, if I may, that you never had much time to just appreciate nature, Mr. Stark.”

“Not really, no,” he responded mildly.

“Ms. Pepper says you were pretty much always in your lab,” Peter piped up, encouraged by having something he could contribute to the conversation. “She told me a bunch of stories about how she used to have to pry you out of there for meetings.”

The tension in the air eased somewhat at his words.

“They’re probably all true. I liked my lab.”

“I don’t blame you,” said the new girl. “You always made wicked stuff. I was on the phone with Mechanist last night. She’s so jealous that you’re here.”

Tony didn’t know who that was, but nodded along anyway. The group as a whole seemed a lot happier now. That was good, right? If they were happy then they wouldn’t hurt him quite as badly.

“Whitney built a lab for me,” he told them. “I can make whatever I want there.”

Suddenly, the tension was back. Tony didn’t know what he’d said wrong.

“She had you build things?” Barnes asked severely.

Tony flinched away.

“It was just so I could play,” he tried to explain. “I get bored when I don’t have anything to do. My brain goes a little haywire. I need to build things.”

Barnes and Peter were exchanging looks again. Tony felt a lot like running, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. He’d never be able to get away from them. He just hoped Whitney would decide it was time to leave soon. 

He wanted to go home.

“What… kinds of things did you build, exactly?” Peter prompted gently.

Maybe they had noticed him getting skittish. Tony shrugged at them.

“I messed around with some water filtration systems, developed some more economized pumps for getting water out of the ground in places like rural Africa. I’ve been working on a better electric car for the last couple of months. Whitney has some contacts in the automobile industry, so I might be able to get them into circulation if I can get it where I want it to. Oh! And I’ve been trying to figure out a way to neutralize radiation, like from nuclear weapons. It wouldn’t reverse any of the effects of the initial attacks, of course, but it could still help a lot. I don’t know. It’s not my usual area, but I just kind of stumbled into it one day.”

“No weapons?” Barnes asked pointedly.

Tony gave him a confused look.

“No, I- I don’t make weapons anymore.”

That must have been what had upset them. They thought he was making weapons again, causing death again. But no. Tony was done with that. He didn’t want to ever do that again.

.

Angela was on the training grounds with Sera when it happened. There was a burst of fire and the image of a magnificent bird rising into the air before the flames vanished, leaving behind a woman even taller than Angela herself. Half of her was soft, golden skin, while the other half was dark and hard as leather. Antlers rose from the woman’s temples. There was only one person this could be.

“Queen Hela,” she greeted formally. “What brings you to Heven?”

The queen’s cold gaze lingered upon her for a moment before she spoke.

“War is coming, Angel. We must prepare to meet with it.”

Angela’s white tails of fabric flicked behind her.

“Heven is always prepared for war.”

“Not a war like this one. Heven shall fall if nothing is done, just like others have fallen already.”

Sera sidled up at Angela’s back.

“Heven will not fall easily,” she said. “Heven will stand where others fail.”

Hela turned her head slowly to give the woman a severe look.

“Those who do not know what they speak of should keep their mouths shut. Calamity approaches. It will not be stopped. All will fall.”

Angela squeezed her fingers around the hilt of her sword.

“You mean to call upon the seven, then.”

Hela returned her gaze to the redhead.

“The Mad Titan has been gifted,” she stated simply. “There is only one who can take that away.”

“And only one who can ask for it.”

“But it will take all of us to make the contact.”

Angela pressed her lips together, not quite frowning. Sera was coiled tense beside her. The Mad Titan was not someone even Heven could scoff at.

“What of the others, then?” she asked. “What do they say?”

“You are the first I have approached,” the great queen admitted, “but there is little time to waste. There is no other way.”

Angela nodded.

“The twins will be happy to take part,” she offered, almost as a gesture of peace after being difficult. “They will take any excuse.”

“And Korma will resist. Yes, I know. There will be few surprises among us.”

“Among us six, perhaps… What would you have me do?”

“Travel to Muspelheim, the realm where the twins reside. Abaddon and Apollyon have always liked you best.”

“And you? What do you plan to do?”

Hela gazed at her for a long moment.

“I will speak to Korma, show her what she needs to see in order to be convinced. I have little doubt that Yama will find us on his own.”

Angela nodded. She did not ask about their missing piece, their seventh. That would be something they had to handle together.

Chapter Text

Peter heard the rustling of the grass a split second before he whipped around to see T’Challa striding across the lawn toward them. He wasn’t hurrying, per se, but he definitely gave off a purposeful aura and his expression said he wasn’t there for a casual chat. 

Peter winced. He really hoped they weren’t about to get in huge trouble for letting Mr. Stark outdoors. Not that he regretted it. He didn’t. He just also didn’t want to get in trouble for it. He was already in hot water with his aunt for taking off from college for the week. It wasn’t like he could tell her it was because Mr. Stark was suddenly back from the dead.

“We have a problem,” the king said seriously, as soon as he drew close enough. “Get back inside. Now.”

Peter exchanged a glance with Whistle, but immediately obeyed. Mr. Stark looked down at the ground as he trailed along with them, like a child who had been caught doing something naughty and knew they were going to get a timeout. Peter kept an eye on him as Barnes sidled up beside the genius.

“Hey,” Barnes started lowly, “you alright?”

Mr. Stark didn’t even look up at him.

“I’m sorry,” the genius mumbled.

Barnes blinked in surprise.

“Why?”

Peter didn’t need enhanced senses to see the way Mr. Stark flinched.

“Because I’ve been bad. I did something I wasn’t supposed to do, asking to go outside, and now you’re going to be punished for it. I was greedy. I’m always too greedy. I can never just be satisfied -“

“Woah, woah, woah! Pump your brakes there,” Barnes soothed. “You’re not in trouble and neither are we, okay? Nobody’s gonna be punished.”

“But King T’Challa-“

“Said that something had happened. I don’t know what, but that’s why we’re going back inside. Tell you what, as soon as we’re able, I’ll bring you right back out. We just gotta deal with this first. It’s probably a call to Assemble or something.”

T’Challa glanced over his shoulder at them from ahead.

“I’m afraid not, Sergeant Barnes, but it is a threat nonetheless. For the record, though, as you Americans say, you are right about one thing. None of you are in any trouble for bringing Mr. Stark outside, least of all with me. My people have many beliefs about contact with nature being essential to recovery.”

Peter grinned and jogged the few steps it took to draw level with Mr. Stark.

“See? No problems. You did nothing wrong.”

On the genius’s other side, Barnes frowned.

“What’s the threat, exactly?”

T’Challa stalled by holding the door to the facility open for them to all file through. There was a tension around his eyes that Peter had rarely seen before, and it did little to settle the young man’s nerves. He glanced at Mr. Stark and Peter instinctively drew closer to the man.

“Whatever it is, he can hear it.”

The king seemed to consider this for a moment.

“It is not yet common knowledge, but it will be soon enough. It appears Madame Masque has kidnapped the young Harley Keener. We’re trying to get more information, but he’s been unreachable for a few hours since he spoke to Ms. Potts and mentioned the name Whitney Frost. Agents have been dispatched to his home to see what they can find out and provide protection for the boy’s mother and sister. Natasha is in with Masque now, continuing the interrogation.”

“Whitney wouldn’t do that,” Mr. Stark said before any of the rest of them could even react. “You’re wrong.”

He sounded so certain.

“Uh, I hate to break it to you, Mr. Stark,” Whistle said, flippant but not unkind, “but your girlfriend is twelve kinds of crazy. She’s also a supervillain. This stuff is pretty much their M.O.”

“No, you don’t understand,” he protested, though it was with a tone of resignation, like he already knew what he said wouldn’t matter. “Whitney would never hurt Harley.”

T’Challa reached out to place a hand comfortingly on the genius’s shoulder, ignoring Mr. Stark’s minute flinch at the gesture right before it connected. Masque had really done a number on him.

“I hope you are right,” the king intoned, “for all of our sakes.”

.

“This is a new low for you,” Natasha remarked as she settled in across the table from Masque. “I’d like to say I’m surprised, but it’s been a long time since I’ve expected anything but the worst from you.”

Masque let out an amused huff of air.

“Well, I am surprised,” she replied. “I honestly didn’t expect your little troupe to even notice.”

Natasha let anger and disgust creep into her expression. It wasn’t difficult.

“You kidnapped a child. Of course we noticed.”

Masque leaned back in her chair, body language as relaxed as ever.

“How could I have done it? I’ve been here the entire time.”

“Don’t play games with me, Masque.”

The villain chuckled.

“But isn’t that why you’re here? To play Who’s the Better Liar? I hear it’s one of your favorites.”

“I’m here to get answers. Where is Harley? What do you plan to do to him?”

“Harley Keener? Tony’s little friend?” Her concern was less than touching, overly-faked as it was. “Oh, that is worrying. I’d hoped he would be here, you know. Tony has so missed him.”

Natasha seized on that statement, reading between the lines as she was so good at doing.

“You’re planning to use Harley to make Tony come back with you… He’s not leverage against us . He’s leverage against Tony. ”

There was a brief moment of stunned silence before Masque burst into laughter.

“You can’t be serious,” she gasped out. “Leverage!” she cackled. “Against Tony! As if he wouldn’t be overjoyed to walk out of here beside me.”

Natasha’s eyes narrowed. She hoped this would lead her to the information she wanted, trick Masque into lowering her guard. If they were going to play Who’s the Better Liar, Natasha intended to win .

“It’s been well documented how willing Tony is to sacrifice his own well-being for another’s. That goes even more so for people he actually knows. You wouldn’t be the first to use that against him.”

All of Masque’s amusement evaporated in an instant.

“Like you did, you mean?”

Natasha wasn’t expecting that. She wracked her brain, trying to think of what Masque could possibly be talking about.

“I never-“

“Of course you did,” the villain snarled. “You’ve always put your own interests over Tony’s. Don’t think I am so blind as to have not noticed. You used Tony for your own ends countless times. How often did you get him to accelerate the timeline on a project for SHIELD by telling him how many people would die if he wasn’t fast enough?”

“That’s not even close to the same thing. What I told him was the truth. Lives were on the line. His tech saved a lot of good agents.”

“But that’s not what you told him, was it? You didn’t talk about the agents he saved . That wouldn’t speed up his work.”

Natasha fought to keep her face impassive. This wasn’t at all how she’d intended this conversation to go.

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Wasn’t it, Agent Romanov? Tony is only human. He wouldn’t have been able to keep up with your demands forever. Something was going to have to give eventually. And it did. In Siberia. I know you and your team wish to blame me for the state Tony is in now, but it was not I who made him this way. It was not Hydra. It was you, each and every one. You chipped away at Tony Stark piece by piece, making the hole bigger, until he finally fell in.”

This wasn’t news, exactly, but Masque still had yet to explain her logic.

“You’re awfully chatty for someone who isn’t telling us much.”

Masque leaned forward across the table.

“I’m happy to tell you all you want to know about how you hurt him, how much red your actions toward him have added to your ledger ,” she spat. “For anything else? All those things you want to know about my organization and the other little baddies running around and causing you grief? You know my price for that already. Time’s running out, though. The offer has almost expired.”

.

Korma was adding the last handful of spices to the pot slung over the fire when she felt a chill down her spine that spoke of the arrival of Helheim’s ruler.

“Stew?” she asked, holding a bowl out toward the new arrival.

“I have come-“

“I know why you have come,” Korma said, gesturing for the royal to take the bowl. “You will need your strength. You should eat.”

Hela gave her a tight smile before accepting the bowl graciously.

“Thank you,” she said, with an incline of her antlered head.

Korma grinned toothily at her. She was so like her grandmother.

“That’s the advantage of being old, and looking it, not that you’ll ever know,” she told the royal as she waved her down to sit on the pile of rough-woven throws.

“What is?”

“Nobody fights you anymore,” Korma laughed. “They humor you, because you’re old and crazy and you’ll be gone soon anyway. Ha! Joke’s on them! They’ll never be rid of me. Just ask my son. I’m pretty sure he’s given up hope that I’m going to die.”

“We are Death’s favored few. We will walk the realms in Her service for as long as She wills it.”

“Mmm,” Korma agreed. “Her service is why you are here. You believe you see the path we must take.”

“If we do nothing to stop the Mad Titan from coming, all will soon be dead and there will be no service left for us.”

Korma turned a somber look upon the queen, so young, barely even a thousand. Korma had grandbabies older than that. Great-grandbabies, even.

“I have seen a great deal in my time, Queen Hela,” she said somberly. “The Nine Realms have a way of making it through. We always have. Loss is a part of life. How else are we to appreciate what we have?”

“What the Mad Titan threatens is more than just loss .”

Korma waved her hand through the air as if to clear it. The young were so excitable .

“He is a spoiled child lashing out. He just happens to be a powerful one. I have thirty-eight children of my own. I am not unfamiliar with a tantrum.”

The queen’s lips thinned.

“I fear it is worse than that.”

“When you get to be as old as I am, there is not much left that scares you.”

Hela was silent for a long moment before she set her bowl of stew to the side and held both hands out toward her elder.

“Will you at least let me show you what I have seen?”

“I do not think there would be much of a point to it, if I did.”

“It could be I might surprise you,” Hela teased, “even in your old age.”

Chapter Text

Steve stalked through the hallways, intent on his destination. Masque was just playing with them. They weren’t getting anything useful out of her. Natasha was the best interrogator Steve knew, and not even she had gotten anywhere. There was nothing to appeal to in Masque, no humanity. She got her greatest satisfaction from holding her secrets over their heads.

If Steve were a lesser man, he might have given in to the temptation to use less savory means of convincing her to give them the information they wanted.

Harley Keener didn’t deserve whatever fate she had in store for him. He was only a child. He’d been surly and tacit the one time he and Steve had met, but he was a teenager so that wasn’t really surprising. Doubtlessly Potts and Rhodes had told him all sorts of things about Steve, too. It wasn’t the child’s fault.

In order to save him, they needed answers, and they clearly weren’t going to be able to get those out of Masque. There were a few others from Masque’s organization in custody, but none of them knew enough to be useful in the first place. They were low-level thugs, nothing more. There was only one person who might actually know something.

Tony had been through so much already, but Masque couldn’t be allowed to get away with everything she’d done. She had to be stopped. It would help Tony, too, to be a part of that. Steve was sure of it. She’d held him captive and tortured him for so long. Even if she’d managed to get into his head like she clearly had, Tony would see the need to put her away. He’d already given them her real name, which was a big piece of the puzzle. 

If Steve could just talk to him, he knew he’d be able to make Tony see reason.

T’Challa had already been by Tony’s room to pass on the word of Harley’s kidnapping, so he knew the genius would have already heard. He’d probably be more than ready to talk by the time Steve got there. He’d always had such a soft spot for kids, even if he did have a tendency to drag them into the line of fire with him. 

He’d done that with Spiderman, who Steve still thought was a bit too young to be on the Avengers. He wasn’t like Wanda, who’d spent her entire life fighting already and didn’t have anywhere else to go. At least he was over 18 now.

Steve was unsurprised, if a little exasperated, to see Bucky hovering outside Tony’s door. His best friend had become strangely fixated on the genius since his recovery. Maybe it was because he’d found the guy in Masque’s base. He’d always had a protective streak a mile wide. Steve hoped he wasn’t still feeling guilty over what had happened to Howard. That hadn’t been his fault.

“Hey,” Bucky greeted as soon as Steve was close enough. “Have you found anything?”

Steve shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“Natasha’s still in with Masque, but I don’t have high hopes. She’s not giving us anything we can use.”

Bucky cursed.

“She’s smart, you have to give her that. Have the agents found anything at Harley’s place?”

“Not that I know of. I doubt they will, though. It didn’t sound like there was anything out of place except a few things missing from Harley’s room, including a suitcase.”

Bucky’s eyebrows rose.

“A suitcase? Do you think he could have gone with Masque’s people willingly?”

“If he did, it’s because she tricked him. She’s probably just trying to throw us off the scent. She won’t get away with it. We won’t let her.”

Bucky nodded, though the scowl on his face said he wasn’t happy about the news. Steve could hardly blame him. He wasn’t too happy about it himself.

“What do you need me to do?”

“Nothing right now. I came to talk to Tony, see if he can’t give us some more information we can use.”

Inexplicably, Bucky stiffened.

“Do you really think it’s a good idea for you to go in there? I mean, you remember what happened back at the base when you showed up. He was terrified. ”

“He was disoriented,” Steve defended, taken aback and a bit hurt. “He didn’t really know what was going on. I mean, you saw how out of it he was. You said he was doing better.”

“He is. I just… He seems really delicate. Sometimes the littlest things set him off. He’s more skittish than I was when you brought me back in.”

Ah. So that was it. Bucky was seeing himself in Tony. That was understandable. Steve should have figured it out sooner. No wonder he was getting so protective. He reached out to grasp Bucky by the shoulder.

“And look at how far you’ve come. Tony will get there, too, but he won’t be able to with Masque running around and playing these head games with all of us. We need to get Harley back and lock her up for good. I won’t push him too hard, Bucky, but he’s been with her for years . He has to know something. It could make the difference in saving Harley’s life, and the lives of who knows how many other people.”

Bucky still looked conflicted.

“He doesn’t think Masque is behind the kidnapping. He insisted she wouldn’t do that. Vision is in there now trying to talk to him.”

“He’s just confused,” Steve insisted. “Don’t worry. We’ll get Harley back.”

Bucky didn’t respond, or look comfortable with the idea, but he didn’t stop Steve as the captain moved toward the door. He must be really worried. Steve would need to take the time to talk to him later. Maybe they could get some sparring in once they had Harley back safe and sound. That had to be Steve’s top priority right now.

He pushed the door to Tony’s room open. The genius was sitting up in the bed, his back to the door with Vision hovering in front of him. It nearly took Steve’s breath away to see him here, alive . He could still hardly believe it. 

He’d lost Bucky and gotten him back and he’d lost Tony only to get the same. He didn’t know what he’d done to get so lucky, but he thanked God for the blessing. A smile stretched its way across his face. He hadn’t been able to come see Tony since they’d brought him back, too busy dealing with Masque, and he was glad to get the opportunity now. He’d missed him.

“It’s good to see you up. Bucky said you’ve been doing better.”

Tony twisted around so fast that he fell off the bed, saved from crashing to the floor only by Vision’s quick reflexes. He struggled desperately against the construct’s hold, a terrified kind-of whining noise coming from him that shot straight to Steve’s heart. He surged forward as Tony escaped Vision’s hold and pressed himself into the corner.

“What did you do?” he accused.

Behind him, Bucky burst into the room. Steve left him to deal with Vision as he went to Tony’s aid.

“Tony! Tony, it’s Steve. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

His fingers had barely skimmed Tony’s arm before a fist slammed into the side of his face with all the force of an eighteen wheeler. He felt his cheekbone shatter as he flew sideways into the hospital bed.

.

Tony ran, nearly blind with fear. 

He had to get away, had to escape. He’d panicked, hit Steve, as if Steve wasn’t mad enough at him already. Tony remembered vividly what happened the last time he hit Steve. 

He had to get away!

He ignored the calls of his name behind him as he scrambled out of the medical room and took off. Whitney had saved him before. She could save him again. She could get him out of here. She always saved him. He had to find her. 

He fought through his haze of panic to think. The Avengers headquarters had expanded in the last few years, but the basic layout hadn’t changed. He still remembered it from his initial designs. They’d be keeping Whitney in the high security containment area. He just had to get there, and then he’d be able to get away.

He nearly stumbled and fell on his face when he heard Steve shout his name, but he managed to keep his feet under him. He poured on the speed, trying to outrun the memories of seeing that shield come down on his chest, his heart , so sure that it was meant for his neck, just as much as he was trying to outrun the man himself. If Steve caught him, Tony wasn’t sure what he’d do. He just knew it’d be bad.

He flew through the corridors, pushing off of walls to make the sharp turns. People he didn’t recognize dove out of the way, though he encountered Sam at one point and the man tried to get in front of him. Sam was Steve’s friend. He’d sided with Steve in the War. He’d only try and catch Tony and keep him until Steve could come for him. Tony pushed past him, feeling a shot of guilt at the other man’s pained cry. 

He couldn’t stop, though, not when Steve was coming after him.

He lost precious seconds at the access panel to the high security containment area. He could have hacked in, but he had no equipment and it would have taken too long even if he did. He ripped the card swipe off the walls and reached into the hole left behind, grabbing a fistful of essential wires and yanking hard. It was a weak point he’d meant to get rid of, just as soon as the Accords were signed.

He darted through the door, only to come to a screeching halt at the new obstacle that faced him. Thor stood in the main corridor of the containment area, even bigger and stronger than Steve. The interrogation rooms were just past him, which was no doubt where Whitney was being held, but there was no way Tony would make it. No way. 

Tears gathered in his eyes. He couldn’t get away, get to safety.

“You’re trembling, friend Tony,” Thor rumbled quietly, far more quietly than Tony would have expected him to.

“Please,” he gasped out, feeling desperate, “I just need to find Whitney. Please.”

Thor gazed at him for a long moment, as Tony twisted his fingers together. Any second now, Steve would come bursting through the door and Tony would be out of time. It would be too late.

“Please,” he tried again. “I’m scared.”

“I do not believe I have ever heard you admit such before,” Thor said softly, considering him carefully. Then, “Come, I will show you the way.”

Tony hurried to join him as Thor turned to walk down the corridor, glancing over his shoulder at the door to the containment area. Should he have taken the time to lock it behind himself? It wouldn’t do  much good, only buy him a little extra time. He just had to hope he’d managed to lose Steve in the corridors.

“I do not know that my actions are the correct ones,” Thor said as he came to a stop in front of one of the doors, “but my instincts tell me this is what you need. I hope that is true.”

He didn’t wait for Tony’s response, just pushed the door open. The first person Tony saw was Natasha, looking surprised and half-out of her seat. He thought it was a trap for the half-second it took him to realize that Whitney was sitting across the table from the Black Widow, and then he darted into the room like a shot. 

He fell to his knees beside Whitney, burying his face in her stomach and wrapping his arms around her. Her hands fell to his hair, smoothing it back gently.

“What the Hell is this?” Natasha accused Thor. “Why would you bring him here?”

“I did not. He found his own way. He is… not well.”

Natasha probably would have continued with giving Thor a piece of her mind if Whitney hadn’t started speaking then.

“What is it, Tony? What’s wrong?”

Tony clutched at her tighter.

“He’s coming for me. He came to my room and I- I panicked, I’m sorry! I hit him! I just had to get away! Please don’t let him take me. I want to go home!”

The shivers wracked his body now and Whitney shushed him.

“No one will be allowed to hurt you, dear one. No one. I will not let that happen.”

“As if we would,” Natasha spat. “Despite whatever sick lies you’ve been feeding him, none of us would ever hurt Tony.”

Whitney’s hands paused for just a moment before they continued stroking his scalp.

“Then who exactly do you think he’s so afraid of? It certainly isn’t me.”

As if on cue, there was a clattering out in the corridor. Steve had finally caught up with him. 

Tony couldn’t help the whimper that escaped him.

Chapter Text

Thor wasn’t stupid or slow, despite what he knew many believed. There was much he still didn’t understand about Midgard, but he had learned from his time spent here. Even before his brief banishment and all that had come with it, he’d been raised as a prince, educated. He was no genius like his brother had been, but he was smart enough. He remembered his father’s advice before sending him off on this mission.

“Consider wisely, my son, who is to be your enemy and who your friend. It is oft easy to confuse the two.”

It was a simple thing to predict the good Captain’s intentions in the moment before he launched himself toward the Man of Iron and Masque. It was even simpler to intercede. Enhanced though he may be by human standards, his strength still could not match that of a god.

Suddenly, friend Tony’s anxious fear of being pursued made a lot more sense. Steven’s face was twisted in anger, doubtlessly meant for Masque, while Tony’s former-captor was curled around him protectively, as if shielding him from harm with her own body.

“Enough,” Thor commanded, shoving the Captain back with just enough force for him to get the message to stand down. “You do not help matters here.”

The look of betrayal that flashed across Steven’s face quickly shifted back to anger. He shrugged off the hand James lay on his shoulder.

“What are you doing, Thor?” he hissed. “Did you let him in here?”

“I showed him the way. It was where he wanted to come.”

Steven’s disapproving scowl was impressive, if not effective. Thor had grown up with Loki for a brother and Odin as a father. It was going to take a lot more than that to make him second guess his actions.

“I told you,” Masque spoke, cutting off any further argument, “that it was only a matter of time.” Her gaze flickered over to land on Lady Natasha. “And you thought I would have to threaten him. He chooses me freely. It is not me he fears.”

“Because you’ve had three years to mess with his head,” Steve spat, and Thor did not miss the way Tony cringed at the sound of his voice each time he spoke. “Who knows what lies you’ve been feeding him? We’re not letting you mess with him anymore.”

Masque hmmed as if she were almost bored by the conversation.

“Tony, dear? Tell me why you’re afraid.”

The genius’s arms tightened around her. He pulled his head up, though, so his words wouldn’t be muffled against her abdomen. When he spoke, his voice trembled in the same way his body did. It had been a long time since Thor had seen someone this afraid. This was terror .

“Because I remember,” was all he managed to get out.

Masque continued stroking her fingers through his hair. It reminded Thor uncomfortably of his mother when he or Loki had come to her distraught as children.

“What do you remember? It’s alright. I won’t let anyone hurt you for what you say.”

Tony shifted as though to look over his shoulder at them before flinching away just shy of actually spotting them.

“All I wanted to do was protect the team,” he confessed quietly, and it was as if someone had sucked all of the air out of the room. It was as silent as the Void, except for Tony’s words. “I tried so hard , but I was always wrong somehow. I don’t- I don’t know what else I could have done. But someone had to do it. I just… Then, after Ultron, the world wasn’t going to let supers keep running around unchecked. If we weren’t on top of the change, we’d all have wound up in prison. I didn’t-“ he choked up, “I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. I just wanted to keep the team safe. I don’t know why that made them hate me.”

Lady Natasha’s expression closed off, retreating behind a façade of stoicism, and Sergeant Barnes stared at Tony with a pained look. But the captain… He looked conflicted, torn between pain and anger. Thor did not understand it.

“That’s not true! That’s a lie she told you, Tony! Snap out of it!”

“’Snap out of it’?” Masque quoted, in the kind of dangerously delicate tone Thor had long-since learned to fear from Lady Natasha. “As if his trauma is a thing for him to just shake off ? You have no idea what you have done to him, do you? Do you ?”

She sounded angry now, and Thor shifted his stance as though preparing for battle. The chains wouldn’t let her so much as rise fully, and Tony still clutched her around the middle besides, but Thor could not help the overwhelming sense that she was a threat .

“I’m his friend ,” Steve snarled. “You, on the other hand, held him and tortured him for years . Don’t even try to act like we’re the ones at fault here.”

“I have never met anyone more, on the contrary. You disgrace the colors you wear and the honor they stand for. You portray yourself as righteous, but you are the rot that infests the world, so self-absorbed you can’t see past the end of your nose to the trouble you cause. You are a fool, Steven Grant Rogers, and your team will die because of it!”

Thor was so shocked by the vehemence of her words that he was a split second too late to realize the captain had lunged forward once again. One fist was cocked back to hit Masque with a blow that would be as likely to break her jaw as it was to land at all. 

Thor leapt forward, knowing already he would be too late to stop it, when another obstacle rose to block Steve’s way instead.

.

Steve barely managed to pull back his momentum enough to keep from hitting Tony full across the face. The genius had shot to his feet, his arms spread wide to cover the path between Steve and Masque completely, but his shoulders were hunched. His head was ducked low and his eyes squeezed shut in preparation for a blow.

“Tony?”

The man flinched at the sound of his voice. Nothing more than a soft question made him jerk as if prodded with something sharp.

“Please,” he rasped, and it was downright painful just to listen to him talk, “don’t hurt her. Be mad at me, punish me, but please, Steve, don’t hurt Whitney.”

It was like Bucky all over again, when Steve first encountered him and he was still in Hydra’s clutches. But it was worse, too, in some ways. The Winter Soldier hadn’t been Bucky, hadn’t been anyone . This was Tony, somewhere in there, but a Tony that was broken and twisted in ways that Steve didn’t know if they’d ever be able to fully put back to rights. They were damn well going to try, though, and every second he spent with Masque made that harder and harder.

He just couldn’t stand that Tony was protecting her.

“She tortured you, Tony. Why would you beg for me not to hurt her now? Come on, think about it. I know that’s still you in there.”

Tony glanced at him briefly before flinching and dropping his gaze again.

“Whitney saved me.”

“From Hydra? Tony, she bought you.”

But the genius was already shaking his head, still unable to look Steve in the face.

“From everything . There was always so much pressure, before. I could never do anything right , was never good enough . I don’t have to worry about that anymore. With her. I don’t have to build things because the team or not-SHIELD or SI needs them. I only build things I want to build. And nobody’s counting on me to fix everything or clean up the mess with the public when everything goes to hell. I just- I was so tired . All the time .”

Something twisted in Steve’s gut.

“What’re you- What’re you saying, Tony?”

The genius swallowed convulsively, and Steve suddenly realized it was the first time he’d ever seen him look so nervous. It seemed wrong, so wrong, even knowing everything he’d been through, for Tony to have lost his confidence and self-assurance. That was part of what made him Tony .

“In Siberia,” Tony finally managed to get out, clearly struggling with the words, “I thought you were going to kill me. I could see it, in my head, you bringing the shield down on my neck.” He swayed on his feet gently, and Steve almost reached out for him. “I know you wanted to. You were so angry .”

“Tony, no-“

“I think things might have been better if you had.” Steve sucked in air through his teeth, reeling backward. “But you didn’t. I had to keep surviving, keep pushing, keep fighting. Whitney isn’t perfect. I know that. I’m not- not crazy , but… I don’t have to think when I’m with her. I don’t have to worry about fighting. I can just… be. That’s all I want, please. I just want to be.”

Steve could do nothing but stare at him, this broken shell of a once-great man, and choke on the feeling of failure that he hadn’t been able to stop this from happening.

“She hurts you, Tony.”

Finally, finally , Tony’s gaze rose to meet his. It was like a punch in the gut to see the fear in his eyes, the fear of Steve.

“Not as much as you did.”

.

Harley leaned as far against the door of the SUV as he possibly could, glaring out the window since he’d given up glaring at Paul, or whatever his real name was. Pepper said she’d never heard of Whitney Frost, and Paul said he’d take Harley to see Tony but… It didn’t feel right. None of it did. 

Paul had a small laptop propped up on his knees, just as he had throughout their flight, and was typing away while the driver of the SUV navigated them through a maze of backroads. Harley had fallen asleep for a while on the jet, but he was starting to wonder at the laptop’s battery life if it still wasn’t dead.

“How much longer?” he asked sullenly.

They’d been in New York for a while now, and he knew that was where the Avengers facility was. He’d just never been there himself. They had to be getting close. 

Paul glanced his way before turning back to his computer.

“If you need to use the restroom, you had an opportunity at the airport.”

Harley’s scowl deepened. What he hadn’t had an opportunity for was to run, not that he was sure he would have.

“That’s not why I was asking.”

“Good.”

And then nothing further. 

Harley huffed angrily and kicked the seat in front of him, even though there was no one in it. It was only the driver, Paul, and himself on this fun little family adventure.

“You better really be taking me to see Tony.”

“As you have said before. I assure you, that is exactly where we are taking you. My employer has a vested interest in reuniting the two of you.”

“Right. What you haven’t mentioned is exactly what that interest is. Why is Ms. Frost going through so much trouble for it?”

Paul didn’t answer for a long time, still typing away. Harley kept right on watching him as they rounded yet another bend. After a few moments, Paul typed in a few last keystrokes and shut the computer. He took his time tucking it away in the bag he’d originally produced it from before turning to look at Harley fully, shifting in his seat to do so.

“You are very important to Mr. Stark,” the man said, “even after all his time away. It would make him happy to see you again.”

Harley narrowed his eyes.

“Yeah, and I’m sure Ms. Frost is a great person and all, but I doubt that’s the only reason she’s doing this. What does she get out of it?”

Paul considered him for a long moment. Harley was almost startled to feel the SUV slowing down. A glance through the front window revealed the guardhouse and gate to what could only be the Avengers HQ.

“A lesson,” Paul finally said as they came to a stop. One of the guards stepped out of the little office to stare in their direction, “for a few individuals who are in desperate need of it. Now, I believe this is your stop.”

Harley reached for his bag, hands tightening around the straps.

“You’re not coming with me?”

Paul smiled. It was not a nice smile.

“No. I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

Chapter Text

Helen Cho had barely settled in at the Avengers complex when Tony made his mad dash across the premises. She hadn’t even had a chance to see him yet. 

What she did know already was that there was something very, very wrong going on around the place. There was the clear divide between the two sides of the original Avengers team, of course, where they’d split over the Sokovia Accords, and there were all the new Avengers who had joined the team since then. This was more than that, though.

There was a lot going on with the search for Harley Keener and his kidnapper, none of which directly affected Helen or her work. She couldn’t help observing it, though, and what she saw did not give her a great deal of confidence. Maybe it was just her perspective, but it didn’t seem like there was any order to it.

Helen couldn’t let it distract her. She was here to help Tony, and that was exactly what she intended to do. She had his file in hand and was heading to see him when she was nearly knocked off her feet by his desperate bid to escape. Captain Rogers and Mr. Barnes’ pursuit only alarmed her more. Sam, who’d actually gotten in the way, was sporting a sprained wrist from landing wrong after being shoved aside.

What Helen wanted to know was what the Hell had scared her patient so much that he felt like he had to run. She was damn well going to find out.

.

Harley clutched his bag tightly. The SUV had taken off almost before he had both feet on the ground, and he was pretty sure it hadn’t done anything to endear him to the armed guards at the gate. The guard who’d stepped out initially had been joined by two others, all with guns aimed his way.

His mom would kill him if he got shot.

“Drop the bag!” the lead guard shouted and Harley released his death grip on the canvas tote immediately.

It thumped to the ground at his feet as he raised his hands above his head.

“Don’t shoot! I’m just here to see Mr. Stark!”

Two of the guards kept their guns on him while the third dragged the bag a few feet away and started digging through it.

“What’s your name, son?” asked the first guard, one of the two who still had his gun trained on him.

“H- Harley Keener,” he stammered out. “I swear there’s nothing in the bag that’s meant to hurt anyone.”

“All clear,” the guard rifling through his bag confirmed.

The lead guard gave a brief hand signal and the guns came down.

“You’ve had people around here in quite an uproar,” the guard said. He was a broad fellow, with a cleft chin that could make Superman jealous. Or at least his comic artist. Whatever. “Let’s get you inside and you can tell us about how you got here.”

They didn’t give him his bag back, but treated him to a quick pat down before letting him past the gate with a single guard for company. It was only after that whole production that they got on the radio to announce his arrival. 

Ms. Potts was waiting for him at the front doors, dashing over to sweep him into a hug the second she laid eyes on him. Which was weird. He was pretty sure it was the first time Ms. Potts had ever hugged him. She hadn’t offered him any more than a handshake at Mr. Stark’s funeral. She’d been in pain then, he got that, and they hadn’t seen each other many times other than that. They didn’t have the kind of relationship where hugging was a thing.

Still. 

Weird.

“Harley! You’re okay!”

He pat her awkwardly on the back.

“I’m sorry for worrying you,” he said, since it seemed like something he should say. “I just wanted to get here, to see Mr. Stark.”

“I know.” Shit , her voice sounded watery. Was she gonna cry? Harley was so not prepared to handle it if she cried. “I know, and I’m sorry. Whitney Frost is Madame Masque. She’s the one who had Tony all this time,” a hiccupped sob, and Harley’s veins turned to ice. “We thought she had you!”

“Where’s Mr. Stark?” he asked, because the only other thing he could say was that Masque did have him. “He’s hurt, right? I want to see him.”

He could deal with the rest of it later. 

To his immense relief, Pepper pulled away, wiping at her eyes. There were several other people in the lobby staring at them. This was not exactly how Harley had anticipated his arrival going.

“He’s, um, there’s been a bit of an incident,” the redhead admitted. “Why don’t I take you to see Happy and we’ll get you settled? Rhodey is with Tony right now. We’ll let him know you’re here. I’m sure he’ll want to see you.”

She reached out for his bag, and the guard relinquished it to her easily.

“What do you mean? What kind of incident?”

He rushed to follow after her as she turned to head further into the compound.

“He’s not hurt,” Ms. Potts comforted immediately, but Harley didn’t quite believe her. Her expression was too tense, her lips pursed. “There’s just been a lot of excitement going on around here. Tony’s not… He’s still recovering from everything that’s happened to him the last few years. The excitement has been a bit much for him.”

Yeah, his mom liked to pull this kind of thing on him, too. He knew when he wasn’t being told the full story. 

That was fine. He’d figure it out. Mr. Stark would tell him the truth, if no one else would. He could count on Mr. Stark. He just had to bide his time until then.

“So, he’s resting?” he probed.

Ms. Potts’s lips thinned.

“He was. We’re trying to get him calmed down a bit more for now. Knowing you’re here will probably help.”

She managed to muster up a smile, but it was stiff at best.

.

Hela raised her chin high, her great antlers weighing heavily and pulling her head further back. Her gaze swept over the others in her presence. Angela had been successful. 

Korma sat cross-legged on the ground beside the two fire giant twins, Abaddon and Apollyon. Their blackened skin shifted over their molten centers with each movement, ash flaking off and darkening the ground all around them. They sat on their haunches, beetle-like frames bent over themselves. Heat waves rose from the craggily ridges ringing their backs and lava bubbled out from the center. The elven elder listened attentively to whatever story it was they were telling with their grand hand gestures and tiny, fiery creations acting it out.

Angela stood at the queen’s side, arms crossed over her chest and an unimpressed look on her face. Her red hair drifted gently in the breeze, but her fabric sash ‘tails’ twitched restlessly and belayed her tension. Their numbers were not yet complete.

“You sent the message?” the Angel asked.

Hela gave a slow nod, feeling exhausted. 

They had finally gotten all of the souls sorted from Thanos’ recent massacre, but it was only a matter of time before he committed his next genocide and they had to start the whole process all over again. Hela would be pulled back to her realm should that happen, but she was going to do everything in her power to make sure it didn’t come to that. There would be a great amount of death to come, to be sure, but Hela would not have it on her head for doing nothing to stop it.

“It was sent. Whether or not it was received, however…”

Angela’s lips thinned.

“One of us should have gone.”

“There was not time .”

“Then I could have sent Sera. She is dependable. She could have gotten the job done.”

“ If they didn’t kill her on sight. I’d rather not be welcoming your shield maiden among my royal guard just yet.”

Angela gave her a side eye, but she looked pleased.

“You would accept Sera among your royal guard?”

Hela sniffed haughtily.

“My royal guard is comprised of only the greatest warriors throughout history. Of course, she will join them when she passes.”

“She will be glad to hear that.”

“And you?”

“She deserves nothing less, but I know I will not be joining her. That is not a fate any of us can look forward to.”

“You would not attempt to extend her life?”

“To what end? We who have been chosen by Mistress Death will live forever. Should I extend her life, the price would have to be paid elsewhere. Better to let her go when her time comes. The pain of her loss shall be no less for putting it off.”

Hela could not help the small smile that snuck across her face at the other’s words.

“There are not many who would agree with your view. They would do anything to have their loved ones just a little while longer.”

“We Angels deal in cost as a way of life. Nothing is nothing, and nothing is for free. I know well something that would weigh so greatly would have just as great a price, and it would be Sera having to pay, rather than I.”

“Death is all about the balance,” Hela agreed approvingly.

“Please don’t tell me the two of you are bonding .”

Both women whirled, only to have to look up, up, up at the skull-faced robot standing easily twice their height. On its shoulder perched a four-armed, blue humanoid with tusks protruding from the corners of his mouth. It was the great robot who had spoken.

“Death’s Head,” Hela greeted disdainfully. “I will never understand how you manage to remain so silent with your girth.”

“I’m a bounty hunter, I have to be. You are the one who sent for us, Queen Hela, Death’s Right Hand. I see you have gathered the others as well.”

The figure on his shoulder stood, grasping one of Death’s Head’s horns with his two right arms to lean out over the open air.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen us all gathered together like this before.”

Korma snorted rudely, rising slowly to her feet. Apollyon held out one hand to help her up, the entire limb cooling to pitch black and hardening so as not to burn her on contact. She patted him affectionately once she was standing.

“What a kind boy,” she praised. “As for you, Yama, there has never been a gathering such as this. There has never been the call for it.”

“Oh? So now you admit there is a call for it?” Hela questioned.

Korma sent her a withering look.

“Smugness is unbecoming of a royal.”

“Because you have ever cared for what is becoming,” Abaddon teased in the gravely, grinding speech of his people .

“None of which is of any consequence,” Angela cut off further discussion. “We all know what the next step needs to be.”

That brought with it an air of sobriety.

“I’ve been working on getting a location,” Korma said into the silence, “but it will take time.”

“Time we don’t have, if your message was accurate. How many worlds has the Mad Titan destroyed now?” Yama asked.

“Three, since his return from the Void between the Realms,” Hela informed. “We still don’t know how he got out. If he was able to do it once, though, then he’ll be able to do it again. We cannot rely on being able to stop him the same way this time. We need a more permanent solution.”

Death’s Head grinned.

“I do love a permanent solution.”

Chapter Text

This is Hela, though I envision her with much larger antlers and her darker half a bit more like blackened leather. I am VERY interested in having art done for her and will happily commission the willing!

Abaddon and Apollyon, the twins

Yama

Angela

Korma

Death's Head

Chapter Text

Things were not going well. 

Bucky worried his lip between his teeth as he followed Steve back to his quarters. He hadn’t seen Steve flee from anything in years. His fight or flight response was weighted heavily on the ‘fight’ end of the spectrum. He looked shaken now, though, and didn’t even stop to give Dr. Cho the time of day as he hurried past her. He didn’t seem to notice anyone, period, not even Bucky following him.

It wasn’t until they were both inside Steve’s room, Bucky closing the door softly behind them, that Steve’s stoic expression dropped. His entire body crumpled as he fell into a chair, face in hands. His shoulders heaved with what Bucky feared might actually be sobs.

“Steve?”

The other man drew a shuddering breath.

“I don’t know what to do,” he finally said, sounding smaller than he ever had when he actually was.

Bucky took a tentative step closer, sitting down lightly on the edge of Steve’s bed, but not reaching out for him. He didn’t know how to handle this situation. It was always Steve comforting him , not the other way around. He’d been in cryo when Tony had ‘died’ and there hadn’t been anything else to affect Steve so much since Bucky had woken up again. He probably would have known exactly what to do back before Hydra had gotten a hold of him and turned his brain into a slushy.

“About Tony?” he prompted.

It seemed as good a guess as any. What else could it be about? He felt a bit like an idiot for asking now, actually. Of course it was about Tony.

“He’s so… broken.” Steve sounded pretty broken himself. “How am I possibly supposed to fix this, Buck? What am I supposed to do?”

Bucky wished Steve had asked him this back when they’d first rescued Tony from Masque’s bunker. The answer had been so much easier then. It hadn’t changed, but it was harder to say.

“Honestly, Steve? I don’t think you’re supposed to fix it at all.”

Wounded blue eyes rose to meet his.

“He’s my friend .”

Bucky worried his lip again before having to consciously make himself stop. If he kept this up, he’d just end up bleeding.

“He was your friend,” he finally settled on. Fuck it. He was the Winter Soldier. He wasn’t exactly known for being comforting, and he sure as hell couldn’t think of a way to soften this. “I’m pretty sure that ended in Siberia, if not before. Look, I know we didn’t realize it at the time, cause we thought he was just scared of the whole situation, but the moment he set eyes on you at Masque’s base, he freaked out. Every time someone mentions your name, he flinches and panics. When you came into the room… He’s terrified of you, Stevie. I don’t think that makes you the best person for him to be around right now.”

The wet trails left over from his tears only served to make Steve’s hurt expression all the more potent. He mustered himself, though.

“That’s Masque’s manipulations talking,” he insisted.

Bucky wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more, Bucky or himself. He knew the truth, somewhere in that thick skull of his. He just didn’t want to admit it. That was fair, Bucky supposed, it wasn’t a pleasant truth. Unlike Bucky, Steve wasn’t used to facing unpleasant truths.

“What do you think would have happened if Masque hadn’t gotten ahold of him, if he hadn’t been taken and had come back to what was left of the Avengers?” he demanded, trying to soften his tone as best he could, which wasn’t much. “That he’d just get over everything that happened? Look, I’m not saying he was exactly a saint in the situation, but he wasn’t the only one coming out dirty. I killed his parents, Steve, whether or not Hydra was behind the orders, and you kept it from him. Then we left him beaten and alone in an abandoned building, far from any help or civilization. We left him, Steve. You left him for me . Whatever friendship you might have had before, it was gone by then. Yes, Masque has manipulated him and made things worse, but they weren’t going to be sunshine and roses without her.”

Steve scowled.

“I would have written to him, explained things. You don’t know Tony, Bucky. He would have come around.”

“You’re right, I don’t know Tony. But even with all the holes in my head, I do know you , punk. Explaining things isn’t apologizing, and I don’t even know if an apology would have made a difference. It sure wouldn’t have done jack shit for me. You could apologize till you were blue in the face, and I’d still want to punch you in the jaw. You lied to him about his parent’s murder , Steve. No one should have to find that out from some fuckin’ psycho after being betrayed by half their team.”

“I didn’t lie to him!” Steve sputtered, “And we didn’t betray him! He could have let us go at any time. He didn’t have to try and stop us. He knew we were doing what we thought was right.”

Bucky gave him a flat look.

“You know damn well that not telling him about his parents for three years is no better than lying to him. I know I disagreed with Potts when she said it, but she wasn’t wrong. Maybe you didn’t know it was me, but you knew Hydra had them killed. You chose not to tell him. And the rest… Don’t you think Tony was fighting for what he thought was right, too?”

Steve scrubbed at his face roughly, clearly starting to get irritated. Bucky didn’t even care. Fuck it. Steve needed to get this before things got even worse. He loved his best friend to death, but he could be a stubborn son of a bitch sometimes. 

“Of course he was,” he huffed. “Tony doesn’t do anything he doesn’t believe in.”

Bucky stared at him, waiting. Steve glared.

“I know what you’re getting at, Bucky. It’s not like that.”

“Why not?” he demanded. “Why is it okay for you and not for him?”

“You were innocent, Bucky. They had the wrong guy.”

“They didn’t know that. He didn’t know that. He did what he thought was right. And when he realized he was wrong, he came to help us. Only to find out that I’d murdered his parents. What would you have done, if the situation had been reversed? Hell, Steve, what would you have done if it hadn’t been me? ” He barreled on before the other could even open his mouth, “So, he’s been through all of that shit, then gets stuck with Hydra, then Masque. It’s a miracle the guy is even fucking sane at all anymore, that he can hold a conversation. He is, though. He’s very aware. He knows where he is and what’s going on. He’s messed up, sure, but he’s not an invalid.”

“I know that.”

“Then stop treating him like he can’t make his own decisions. He doesn’t want you to ‘fix’ him, Steve. I’m only still visiting him because he hasn’t kicked me out yet, but I’ve made damn sure he knows that’s an option he has. There’s no mystery about whether or not he wants you there. I know you want to help, but maybe it’d be better if you respected his desires and didn’t.”

Yeah, definitely not very good at comforting.

.

Things were going well, Tony thought. Steve was gone and they were actually letting him stay with Whitney. He hadn’t expected that. Thor had even brought him an extra chair so he could sit more comfortably than on the ground at Whitney’s feet.

Rhodey’d appeared in the doorway briefly, looking a cross between concerned and angry, and Natasha had stepped out to talk to him while Thor stayed. Presumably, he was there to supervise and make sure Whitney didn’t hurt Tony anymore. Tony knew he shouldn’t be surprised that even after all this they still didn’t understand.

Granted, he really shouldn’t have gotten so antagonistic with Steve. That was going to come back to bite him in the ass, he was sure. Steve was probably figuring out the best way to punish him right now. He wouldn’t say it was a punishment, of course. He’d probably say it as something ‘for Tony’s own good,’ but Tony knew it was really meant to hurt him. He knew Steve’s true feelings for him.

He was so distracted eyeing the door that he jumped at the sound of Whitney’s voice, even though the words weren’t aimed at him.

“I am surprised by your actions,” she said to Thor, “but I appreciate them. Thank you. I will remember this.”

Tony watched silently as Thor gave her a long look.

“Do not mistake me,” he rumbled. “Your past actions against my friend have not endeared you to me. However,” and here his gaze flickered over to Tony, who quickly looked down at the floor, “his loyalty to you is not something I disregard lightly. Friend Stark’s attachment to you is strong, and I wish him no further distress. If you attempt to harm him again, though, I will not stand by and allow it.”

The growled threat in his voice was nothing to scoff at, and Tony cringed closer to Whitney. He kind of wished he could kneel beside her. If he could rest his head in her lap, he knew she’d run her fingers through his hair in that impossibly soothing way of hers. She couldn’t exactly reach him as it was with her hands cuffed to the table.

“Please don’t hurt her,” he murmured softly.

When he chanced a glance up at Thor, the thunder god was gazing down at him with a soft expression. It reminded him of the look Pepper always gave to any homeless children they passed on the city streets.

“I don’t have any plans to,” Thor told him. “But I will not allow her to hurt you any further, either. I do not know all that has transpired in my absence from Midgard, but I see that many injustices have befallen you. No more.”

In his peripheral, Tony noticed the way Whitney perked up before she spoke.

“I would be happy to tell you,” she volunteered. “Tony and I have talked about it extensively, though he prefers to downplay the pain he was caused. Shall we start with your own sins? Or would you like to work your way up to that by starting with the others on your team of heroes ?”

The way she spat the word heroes out utterly dripped with sarcasm. Instead of taking offense or getting riled up, Thor cocked his head to the side in consideration.

“My sins?” he asked. “I have hardly been here but for on occasion. What is it that I have done?”

Miracle of miracles, he sounded actually curious. Whitney hummed in delight at having an audience that would listen to her. Tony could see her warming up to Thor already.

“You killed his child,” she said gleefully.

Tony flinched violently. Thor reared back, nostrils flaring and hands tightening into fists. 

Oh, god, oh, god-He looked so mad .

“ What? ” Thor hissed out. “I would never harm a child. ”

Tony cowered into himself, wishing there was somewhere to hide.

“Not all children are those of flesh and blood,” Whitney hissed right back, her friendly demeanor evaporating as if it had never been there at all. “Tony crafted JARVIS with love and passion, raised him, taught him, breathed life into him. JARVIS was Tony’s child , and you killed him.”

Thor blustered.

“Ultron slew the spirit of the tower,” as if that was all JARVIS had been. “Friend Stark said so himself, after the initial attack.”

Tony closed his eyes against the pain. It still felt so raw whenever he thought of his AI, a gaping wound in his chest far more painful than the arc reactor had ever been.

“Some of his code survived,” he murmured, swaying a bit in his seat. “He escaped, just barely, from that first attack when Ultron ripped him apart. I could have fixed him. I was going to fix him, make him whole again,” his voice wobbled as tears stung his still-closed eyes. “If you hadn’t come bursting through the window and attacked … Vision is a treasure, but his life was the end of JARVIS’s. I can’t get him back now. I will never get him back.”

He felt it as Whitney’s leg pressed against his own and he crumpled into her, pressing his face into her shoulder to seek comfort. It’d taken him a long time to feel safe going to her like this, showing weakness like this, but she had taught him it was the thing to do.

Silence reigned.

Then, “I had not realized.”

Tony pressed in closer against Whitney, wishing she could wrap him up in her arms.

“No one ever does. No one ever has. No one but Whitney.”

Whitney pressed her cheek, still covered by her mask, against the top of Tony’s head.

“I am the only one who has ever bothered.”

Chapter Text

Hanif Branson wasted no time hurrying through the hallways of the Avengers compound and toward the holding cell area. He felt like there hadn’t been a moment of down time since Mr. Stark’s arrival, not that any of it could be held against him. There was just one thing after another happening, when Hanif felt his newest patient could most benefit from a peaceful and steady environment. Mr. Stark’s mental state was precarious, the product of years of systematic abuse and a series of traumatizing events even before that.

He’d just come from meeting with Ms. Potts and the young Harley, who had quite literally shown up on their doorstep. Harley seemed none the worse for wear, which was fortunate, but it was also startlingly clear that Masque had engineered his coming. That was concerning in and of itself, with Masque’s motivations still a mystery.

They couldn’t interrogate her with Mr. Stark still in the room. Without knowing all the information, there was no way to know how it would affect him. The last thing any of them wanted was to upset him further. 

Though, by the sounds of it, he’d already had quite the upsetting day. Hanif didn’t know all of the details yet, but he would be speaking to all parties involved until he had the total picture. If he had to have some hard talks with Captain Rogers, he was willing to do that. Mr. Stark was his patient and he was going to do everything in his power to make sure the man was properly taken care of.

For now, that meant getting him out of the room and away from Masque so they could ask her their questions. Failing that, it would fall to Hanif to gently tell him of Harley’s presence and hope that could entice him away. The absolute last resort would be to remove him by force. Hanif had already spoken with Director Fury about the possibly disastrous ramifications of such.

“Colonel Rhodes, Ms. Romanov,” he greeted as he spotted them outside of the interrogation room door.

“Thor is in with them now,” Ms. Romanov stated. “He doesn’t know about Harley’s arrival.”

Colonel Rhodes scowled darkly, but turned away to wheel himself into the observation room.

“We’ll be in here, if you need anything.”

Hanif nodded his thanks before opening the door and entering the interrogation room. As expected, Thor sat on one side of the table, looking discomforted with his back to the one-way glass, and Mr. Stark sat on the other with Masque. He leaned against her shoulder, clearly taking comfort from her proximity. Hanif smiled at him, but made no move to take the second seat on Thor’s side of the table.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said instead, carefully directing his words toward Mr. Stark specifically.

“You are not,” Thor rumbled in response, counteracting that.

Hanif nodded to him in acknowledgement before turning back to Mr. Stark. He wanted to make it very clear who he was looking to get his information from, who was the focus and the ‘important’ person in the room. He wanted to give Mr. Stark a feeling of assertiveness back, even though it would be a long road. Knowing he was the focus might at least get him to open up and offer some information on his own.

“I hear you had a rough morning today, Mr. Stark,” he segued. “I was hoping I might be able to talk to you about it.”

Mr. Stark lifted himself away from Masque, sitting up straight, but still seemed uncomfortable in his own skin. He glanced Masque’s way, not quite asking permission but still checking in, before looking back at Hanif.

“Okay. Sure.”

Hanif grabbed the empty chair and pulled it around so it would be at the side of the table, facing Mr. Stark.

“Do you mind if I sit?”

He knew better than to try and get Mr. Stark to leave with him right off the bat. He was still on edge, still untrusting. Hell, he had no reason to trust any of them. His experiences so far had hardly been endearing. They would need to talk a bit before Hanif could broach the subject. He sat once Mr. Stark gave a quick nod of consent.

“Now,” he began, “I’ll confess that I’m not completely clear on what happened. Would you mind explaining it to me?”

Like a scolded child, Mr. Stark’s entire head drooped to look down at his hands. He splayed his fingers slightly as he looked at them, as if examining their appearance, or perhaps the braces that granted him the ability to move them at all.

“S- Steve came into the room I’ve been placed in,” and neither the stutter over Captain Rogers’s name nor Mr. Stark not claiming the room as his own escaped Hanif. “I panicked, seeing him there, even though I knew it was bad. I was just- so scared. And I ran. Because I knew Whitney would keep me safe. And I-“

He cut himself off, shoulders hitching up higher. Hanif didn’t need to glance her way to know Masque was glaring at him, likely for upsetting Mr. Stark. He stayed focused on his patient. Mr. Stark was why he was here.

“It’s alright,” he soothed instead, though he knew Mr. Stark wouldn’t take his word for it. “That seems like it was a logical choice.”

At this, Mr. Stark lifted his head, looking surprised.

“It does?”

He wasn’t questioning himself, just Hanif’s response to his actions. Hanif gave him a sure nod.

“Absolutely. You were frightened, so you went to where you considered it safe. It seems perfectly logical to me.”

Masque was watching them speculatively now, and Hanif was thankful that Thor remained silent. He hadn’t interacted with the god much, but ‘quiet’ didn’t exactly fit his reputation.

“Let me ask you another question,” Hanif began again, when it became clear that Mr. Stark didn’t intend to give a verbal response. “Why were you frightened of Captain Rogers? Was he angry? Threatening?”

He couldn’t imagine the Captain threatening Mr. Stark, but that didn’t mean that he couldn’t still seem threatening. Mr. Stark shifted uncomfortably.

“Steve’s always angry when I’m involved,” he confided, as if it were some great secret he was letting Hanif in on. “I always make everything worse.”

“You do not ,” Masque cut in, sounding rather irritated herself, “and they were fools to make you believe it were so.”

Hanif would have to tread very carefully, both with Masque and Mr. Stark, if he didn’t want this to blow up in his face.

“By my understanding, Captain Rogers has been rather pleased that you were found. He has expressed his desire to help you.”

Mr. Stark flinched violently.

“Steve always calls it that,” he rasped out, almost too quiet to be heard.

Hanif leaned in a bit closer, wishing they were in a more private setting for this. He didn’t want to be having this conversation with his patient in front of so many onlookers. It was clearly something important, though, impossibly important, and Hanif couldn’t just let it go. Mr. Stark might not be willing to open up about it to him later.

“What do you mean?”

“His ‘help’,” Mr. Stark answered, his hands trembling nearly as much as his voice. “He means his punishments. For me. He just never calls them that. He’s always said he just wants to help. And then he hurts me.”

Nothing good lay down this rabbit hole, Hanif knew, but he would traverse it nonetheless. It was his job. But, more than that, it was what Mr. Stark deserved.

“He won’t hurt you this time,” Hanif promised softly. “No one here will let that happen. We’re here for you , Mr. Stark, whatever that entails.”

His answering frown was confused, more than displeased.

“Then why won’t you let me leave?”

It was asked like a child would ask it, pitiful and bewildered. Thor made an unidentifiable, wounded sort of noise, and Hanif managed not to sigh only through years of experience.

“Because we’re afraid that might hurt you, too,” he said candidly. Then, to extend more of an olive branch, to demonstrate that they trusted Mr. Stark, “We’re afraid that Madame Masque here hurts you.”

For the first time since their conversation started, Mr. Stark’s gaze met his. He looked… lost.

“Of course she hurts me. She can’t help it. But… at least with Whitney, I know when it will come. I know what she’s going to do, and I know why she’s doing it. I know, at the end of all of it, that she still cares about me and she’ll take care of me.”

Hanif couldn’t help his frown, nor the way his brows tugged together with concern.

“Have you ever heard of the term Stockholm Syndrome, Mr. Stark?”

That earned him a snort, even if it was more self-deprecating than anything else. Mr. Stark dropped his gaze once again, but, for a moment, just a split second, his expression had been almost like those from his old interviews and press conferences.

“I may be broken, but I’m still a genius,” Mr. Stark informed him. “I’ve been kidnapped too many times in my life not to know about Stockholm Syndrome.”

Much to Hanif’s surprise, Masque made no move to intervene here. She just leaned back in her chair and watched them closely. It made Hanif feel very much like a butterfly pinned behind glass and put up for display. He wondered what she saw in him. He imagined it was probably more than he would like her to.

“Then you must understand our concerns for the role it could very likely be playing in your relationship with the woman who has held you captive and hurt you for years, who took credit for your demise.”

Mr. Stark shook his head vehemently.

“She did that because Hydra expected it,” he defended. “They had to believe I was dead, or they would have come after her, too.”

“Unfortunately, that does not lessen our concerns.”

Mr. Stark scowled down at his hands, but said no more. Hanif watched him for a long moment before speaking again.

“I would like to ask you to come with me, Mr. Stark,” he said softly, doing his best not to make it sound like an order. “There are a few questions we’d like to ask Madame Masque without you being present.”

“Why? I want to stay with her. I know I’m safe with her.”

“Some of the things we need to ask her might be… upsetting for you to hear.”

Mr. Stark actually seemed to consider this, glancing up as Masque in contemplation.

“Can I come back afterwards, or do I have to go back to medical?”

That was actually a very good question, and not one Hanif had an answer for.

“Dr. Cho arrived some time ago,” he said instead, “and has been consulting in reference to your limbs. I am sure she would like an examination, if you would be willing. After that, I’m not sure. I don’t know if you will be allowed to come back here. I suppose it depends on how our questions get answered.”

“Oh,” Masque spoke, and Hanif could almost hear the grin in it. “Isn’t that delightful? He’s here.”

Mr. Stark’s attention shifted to her instantly, as if drawn by a magnet. His entire body turned toward her just slightly. He was centered on her.

“Who?”

“Your surprise,” Masque continued with a purr. “You know how I do so love to spoil you, and this was such a perfect opportunity. I couldn’t resist.”

“What do you mean?”

Masque only leaned in toward him, her mask hiding her expression but her body language screaming out how she wished to reach for him.

“I brought you little Harley. I was pleased to hear he still feels as connected as you do.”

.

A grin stretched across Korma’s face, her wrinkle-lined features looking more like crags in the fire light.

“ There, ” she breathed, the word almost a prayer. “I have found him.”

Chapter Text

Pepper sat with Harley, keeping him occupied while they tried to figure out the situation with Tony, when the door to the conference room they’d taken over burst open. Tony himself stood in the doorway, wild-eyed and panting. His gaze was riveted on Harley.

“You’re really here,” was all he managed to choke out before they were both flying at each other, bodies colliding in the middle.

Tony’s arms latched onto Harley as fiercely as Harley’s latched onto him. His nose was buried in Harley’s hair and Pepper could see the way he trembled. It was heartbreaking. Every bit as heartbreaking as the way Harley’s shoulders shook with what were clearly tears. 

Dr. Branson appeared in the open doorway behind them, with Rhodey. Dr. Branson spared Pepper a small, reassuring smile that made Pepper’s shoulders relax minutely. They’d managed to get Tony away from Masque, at least for now. Hopefully they’d be able to figure out her motivation in bringing Harley here soon. Pepper didn’t for one second believe it was just out of the goodness of her heart.

“Tony,” Harley gasped between sobs. “I thought you were dead.”

Tony shushed him, one hand coming up to brush through his hair.

“I know,” he murmured. “I know, I’m sorry.”

Pepper stared at the two of them. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Tony like this before. It made something inside of her ache with longing. She and Tony had never talked about having kids. She’d always wanted them, one day, but assumed Tony wouldn’t. She’d been prepared to make that sacrifice for him, for their relationship, but it’d ended up being just one more thing on top of all the others. Seeing him like this, though, with Harley, made her think that maybe she’d been wrong. Tony certainly looked like a father.

“They said Madame Masque had you,” Harley said, drawing back just enough to be able to stare up at Tony with big, watery eyes. “Is it true? Were you being tortured all this time?”

His voice wobbled, but it didn’t falter. Harley was such an impossibly strong kid, just like Tony. Pepper tried very hard not to think about why that was. Tony’s face pinched.

“I’ve been with Whitney, yes,” he answered.

“But she’s here now, right? They caught her? She can’t come after you anymore? You’re safe now?”

Harley’s questions fired off quick as lightning and Pepper could see it, as a hint of panic started to creep into Tony’s gaze. She stood quickly, stepping forward to intervene before things could go south. The last thing they needed was for Tony to have another panic attack, or to start going on about how Masque had ‘saved’ him. 

Lying, manipulative bitch. Pepper wanted to shred her for how she’d managed to twist Tony’s mind all up.

Three years , though… It was no wonder she managed it.

“We’re doing everything we can to help Tony recover,” she said with a smile, willfully ignoring the way Tony flinched ever so slightly at her words.

It wasn’t the first time. Dr. Branson said it probably had something to do with their phrasing, but there was no way for them to know all his triggers yet. They just had to be as gentle as they could and make note of anything they saw.

Harley glanced between her and Tony, clearly realizing that something wasn’t quite right. Just another example of how the two were so similar, both too smart for their own good.

“Well,” she continued, pulling on a bright smile, “I’m starving and it’s just about lunch time. How about I get some food in here, huh?”

After all, maybe with Harley here, Tony would do more than just pick. He was far too skinny. Even with the liquid nutrients the doctors were giving him, he needed to eat as much as possible to keep up with his healing factor.

.

Thor stayed in his seat, keeping a careful eye on Madame Masque as Tony and Dr. Branson left and Natasha slipped into the interrogation room. Masque’s gaze never wavered from Tony, and Thor could see cool calculation mixed with what looked to be true affection within them. There was possessiveness there, too. His lips pulled down in a scowl at the sight of it. As much as he was trying to understand Masque, his skin crawled at the thought of everything she had done to his shield brother.

It was a relief for Natasha to slip into the seat next to him. This was, after all, much more her area of expertise.

“Alright,” she began matter-of-factly. “So you got Harley here. What now?”

Thor was surprised by her straightforwardness. She was normally so much subtler. Masque gave her a long look.

“Nothing now.”

One finely-plucked, red eyebrow rose.

“You expect me to believe that you arranged for Harley to be brought here just for kicks? It doesn’t really seem your style.”

Masque huffed.

“For Tony,” she corrected irritably. “Because, unlike those of you who pathetically pretend to be his friends, I actually do care for him. He’s missed Harley.”

Natasha hummed, appearing unperturbed by the venom in Masque’s voice. She reminded Thor of Loki, the way she was able to portray only what she wished others to see. It made his heart ache to think it. His brother was dead. Some days, it was just harder to accept than others.

“Why not take him earlier, then?” she asked. “Surely it wouldn’t have been hard. One little kid from a small town in the middle of nowhere? Even with his connections to SI and the Avengers, it would have been easy to make him disappear.”

“You already know why. Don’t waste my time with stupid questions, Widow.”

Thor was confused, but he stayed silent as the two women stared each other down, clearly at some sort of an impasse. Finally, Natasha cocked her head to the side and gave a quick nod.

“We’re done here. For now. Thor, come on.”

She stood without giving Masque another glance and Thor followed her out the door. It was only once they were back out in the hall that he dared to speak.

“Lady Natasha, I gather you gleaned something of importance?”

Her expression had morphed into a troubled frown.

“Nothing that makes me happy,” she admitted. “Masque brought Harley here now because it would make Tony happy, further securing her positive standing in his eyes. But the fact that she clearly had such easy access to him, but never used it before, means that it wouldn’t have had the same effect if she’d brought Harley to him earlier.”

Thor turned her words around in his mind, but psychology had never been an art he was gifted in. Not like Loki had been.

“I do not understand.”

“Why would it be okay for her to bring Harley to Tony now, but not before?”

Thor took his time to consider it.

“It would have blown her cover, as you say, would it not? Faking Tony’s death would have been rendered pointless if the young Harley were to start proclaiming to have seen him.”

“Not an issue if she didn’t plan on returning him, which I don’t think is exactly above her morals.”

A fair enough point, Thor supposed. She was already hiding Tony, after all. It wouldn’t have been difficult to fold just one more person, a child, into the operation. He could even have been used as collateral against Tony and vice versa to ensure good behavior and cooperation.

“Then keeping him wasn’t an option.”

“And if the whole point was to make Tony happy…” Natasha prompted leadingly.

“Keeping Harley there would not make him happy. Yet Tony adores the young Harley and clearly prefers his captivity to escape. Why should it make him unhappy to have Harley join him if he has this… staffhome syndrome?”

“Exactly,” Natasha said. “It doesn’t make any sense for Tony to have a problem with it if he thinks what Masque is doing to him is okay. Which means he knows that what she’s doing to him is wrong and hurtful and wouldn’t want Harley in that environment. It means that Tony doesn’t have Stockholm Syndrome.”

“But this is a good thing, yes?”

“On the surface, yes. But if Tony doesn’t have Stockholm Syndrome, if he knows she’s hurting him and that it’s wrong and a bad situation… If he knows all that and still prefers it over his freedom?  It means there’s a much bigger issue at play than we already feared.”

“Then we must inform Dr. Branson, that he may attempt to discover the root of the issue in Tony’s mind.”

“Yeah, he’ll still be with Tony and the others, keeping an eye on his interactions with Harley. Here, let’s-“

Whatever she’d been about to say next was drowned out by the shrill, ear-splitting sound of the Avengers alarm. It wasn’t the alarm calling for them to assemble, though. It was the one to warn that they were under attack. Moments later, Fury’s gruff voice rang out over the intercom as the alarm cut off.

“We’ve got incoming in the West Field with multiple unknown subjects, converging at once. Be advised that the surrounding area is on fire. At current, subjects are being deemed hostile and should be treated accordingly. Approach with extreme prejudice, but do not engage without orders unless engaged first.”

Thor called Mjolnir to him as he and Lady Natasha sprinted through the corridors. Steve and Bucky joined them in the main corridor, and Thor spotted Spiderman and Whistle as soon as they pushed through the doors to the outside. Mjolnir smacked into his hand as his eyes locked on the pillar of flame only a stone’s throw away from the compound’s western wall. Well, a stone’s throw for him.

Figures could be made out as the fire died down, though not distinctly. One figure, however, seemed a towering behemoth who would dwarf even the frost giants of Jotunheim. Thor heard the snick of Wolverine’s claws sliding out and glanced over to see that the X-man, too, had joined them, along with several others. Doubtlessly, Hawkeye would have taken to the roof for a better line of sight, his bow at the ready. Thor moved forward, grip tightening on Mjolnir.

Shock rattled through him as the figures were exposed. Thor had never seen an assortment of its like before. The hulking figure appeared to be some sort of robot, a blue humanoid with far too many arms for comfort crouched on its shoulder. There were two creatures of Muspelheim, as well, both male as far as Thor could tell and seemingly identical. An elderly light elf stood beside an Angel, a race of warrior females and sworn enemies of Asgard. And there, in the center of them all, was Thor’s niece. 

Hela, queen of Helheim, swayed on her feet just slightly before steadying herself and raising her antlered head to glare down her nose at those gathered before her. She was every inch Loki’s daughter.

Thor held up a hand to forestall any hasty actions from his own allies and strode to their front, placing himself between his teammates and the new arrivals. Whatever had brought them here, it could not be good.

“Hela, my kin,” he called in greeting, “I bid welcome to you and your companions. Your visit, however, is a bit unexpected, as I know you rarely leave your realm. Pray tell me, what has brought you to the Avengers of Midgard?”

Hela’s cold gaze swept over him and the assembled Avengers, and Thor couldn’t help a shiver at the chill that ran down his spine. Rarely had he needed to interact with his niece in an official capacity, but there was no doubt that the being before him now carried all the bearing of a queen. She glanced briefly at the elf, who shook her head.

“Your Avengers are of no import to me or my companions,” Hela intoned. “We have not come here seeking them, though apparently it is to them our search has led.”

“Then why are you here, my kin?”

“Calamity approaches, Thor, and the Realms must be ready to face it. Even we, Death’s Chosen, have been called to do our part.” Thor hissed at her words and reeled back, but Hela wasn’t done yet. “There is only one of our number left to join us. We have come to collect him. We have come for the Merchant of Death.”

Chapter Text

Tony flinched badly when the alarms started sounding, scrambling out of his seat and under a nearby table, pulling Harley right along with him. He couldn’t let anything happen to Harley. He couldn’t . 

Harley had so much opportunity before him in life. Tony didn’t want him getting dragged into the mess that was their lives any more than he absolutely had to be. Tony wouldn’t let him be tarnished by it. He would die before he let that happen.

There was a strange feeling curled in his breast. It was like someone calling his name from too far away for him to really make out. But Tony couldn’t risk Harley. Never Harley.

.

Something was wrong with Tony, Harley could tell. Something was very wrong.

Obviously, no one could be expected to come out of three years of torture and captivity without a few scars, both physical and mental, but Harley couldn’t suppress that unidentifiable sensation that made his skin crawl. Despite the enthusiasm of their greeting, Tony still seemed tense and scared . Harley had never seen him scared before. Even facing down trained soldiers hopped up on a drug cocktail that made them explode, Tony seemed to be in control of the situation. At the very least, he’d had a plan of action. Now, huddled under a table even after the alarms stopped blaring, Harley was more shaken by the trembles wracking Tony’s frame than the discovery that Harley himself had been all but kidnapped and at the mercy of the very same woman who’d taken Tony in the first place.

The psychologist or psychiatrist or whatever that Tony had come in with knelt down to peer under the table at them. His face was open and his concern clear.

“Colonel Rhodes has gone to discover the cause of the disturbance,” he informed them, “but I should think the danger has passed, if the alarms are already off. Would you like to come out?”

Harley liked that it was framed as a question and not a suggestion. He’d gotten good vibes from the guy in the short while they’d been able to talk before the disruption. Tony’s eyes darted around the room as if looking for a threat before giving a single, jerky nod and beginning to crawl out. He never moved far enough away for some part of him to not still be touching Harley. Dr. Branson gave him an encouraging smile.

They retook their seats, though Tony fidgeted constantly for the long minutes it took for the door to open again and Rhodey to wheel himself back in. Harley didn’t like the troubled look on his face.

“We have some new arrivals,” he informed the group, “the off-planet kind. One of them is apparently related to Thor, but I don’t think they’re Aesir.” Here, he hesitated, and Harley felt dread curl in the pit of his stomach. Whatever came next couldn’t be good. “They want to talk to Tony.”

“What? Why?” he demanded.

They’d only just gotten Tony back. It was far too convenient timing for Harley to think the appearance of these aliens might be a coincidence. What did they want from Tony? Whatever it was, they’d have to get through Harley first. He hadn’t packed his potato launcher, but he was pretty sure he could get his hands on a gun around here somewhere and he’d be more than happy to put it to use if it meant keeping Tony out of the hands of anyone else who wanted to use him.

Harley was not about to let anything else happen to him.

“We don’t know,” Rhodey admitted, not looking happy about it in the slightest. “They won’t say.”

Tony stayed silent on the issue, face impassive except for the caution that seemed to have taken up residence there. He looked like some prey animal in the forest, Harley thought, aware that there was a predator in the area but unsure whether to run or hide. Rhodey turned to Dr. Branson, seeking his opinion. The doctor didn’t seem pleased by the idea.

“I’m not so sure such an interaction would be beneficial. If they won’t even tell us their business, I can’t even begin to guess the ramifications it might have. Whatever they’re looking for, it can’t be good. In my experience, unexpected contact from other realms rarely is.” He turned to Tony and spoke directly to him. “You’re in a very delicate place, Mr. Stark; I’m sure you are aware of this. I don’t wish you to feel trapped, though. I can only make the recommendation. Perhaps if I were allowed to speak to them on your behalf, I could glean some more information. Either way, I would feel uncomfortable sending you into a situation we could not be sure of.”

Tony didn’t say anything, didn’t even seem to react, and Harley reached out a hand to grasp his elbow lightly. Immediately and without hesitation, Tony’s gaze turned to him.

“I don’t want to lose you again,” Harley managed in hushed tones. It was a difficult thing for him to admit, to show that vulnerability, but he had to. For Tony. “Please, Tony.”

His throat felt tight, but his eyes were thankfully dry. Harley wasn’t sure he could handle breaking down and crying, putting his problems and distress on the man he so admired. Tony already had so much to deal with, and Harley’s words exposed enough. Tony should be focusing on himself right now, not on making Harley feel better. But if showing a little would keep Tony safe, then Harley would do just that. No reason to go overboard with it and reveal too much.

Tony stared down at him for a long moment in silence.

“I…” he started and trailed off. “I don’t…”

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, Tones,” Rhodey said in a tone that brokered no argument. “Never again. If you don’t want to talk to them, you don’t have to.”

Tony seemed to consider this for a bit longer. Then, slowly, he raised one blackened, skeletal hand to rest over his heart.

“I can feel it,” he said quietly, in an almost bewildered tone, like he couldn’t make sense of it himself.  “There’s something calling to me. I don’t… I don’t know what it is.”

Rhodey and Dr. Branson exchanged a look.

“Could you describe it to me?” Dr. Branson asked. “If they’re using some sort of magic on you, Doctor Strange may have some insights, and it makes me all the more unwilling to allow them contact. I think a cautious approach would be best here.”

Tony’s hand trembled and his eyes focused on something far in the distance, something none of the rest of them could see. Harley didn’t like it one bit.

“It’s not magic,” he finally said, and he sounded sure of it, surer than he’d sounded about anything since Harley had set eyes on him again. “It feels… familiar.”

He took a small step forward, toward the door, and Harley wanted nothing more than to pull him back and away, but found himself following along as Tony took more steps. His heart pounded in his chest, gripped by fear. Harley wasn’t sure exactly what he was afraid of, but he had a bad feeling about all of this. His trepidation was reflected on Dr. Branson and Rhodey’s faces, but neither of them tried to stop Tony’s progress.

“He has to be able to make his own decisions. If we try and force him to stay in a confined area, I worry it will destroy any amount of trust we’ve managed to build,” Harley caught Dr. Branson murmuring to Rhodey as Tony passed through the door, all three of them trailing behind him and Harley hanging on like he was afraid Tony might disappear if he let go.

Part of him was.

How could Dr. Branson let this happen? Hadn’t he said himself that he didn’t want Tony meeting these people? Beings? These aliens, at the very least. Yes, Harley could totally get behind not making Tony feel like he was trapped or imprisoned by not letting him make any decisions, but something like this that would put him in danger? Surely there must be a better way.

Of course, Harley wasn’t doing anything to stop him either. He wanted to open his mouth and ask Tony not to go, to dig in his heels and refuse to let him take one step further, but something kept him from doing it. Maybe there was something magical happening, dragging them closer and closer to danger. 

Unbidden, a whimper escaped him.

Tony stopped mid-step.

“Harley?”

He sounded uncertain, like he couldn’t even be sure exactly what he was asking. His brow was knit with concern, and his eyes swept over Harley’s body as if searching for an injury.

“Tony, I don’t know if this is such a good idea. This doesn’t feel right. Please . Let Dr. Branson or someone talk to them first?”

Tony’s entire body turned toward him now, giving Harley his full attention. That was good, right? Maybe Harley could lure him back the way they’d come, back toward the room and away from the source of his dread.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of,” Tony told him, though his face still showed his confusion. It was as if he couldn’t imagine why Harley would be scared. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

It wasn’t himself Harley was worried about.

“We don’t even know what they want from you, Tony. What if they want to take you away somewhere? What if they want to hurt you?”

“I can assure you, little one, that we mean no harm to come to him.”

Harley nearly jumped out of his skin at the woman’s voice. 

He could have sworn she wasn’t there a moment ago, and yet now she stood in the corridor before them. She was an older woman, with a stooped back but still steady on her feet. Her smile was kind and her grey hair hung down to almost cover the pointed ears that marked her as being not from Earth. Something about her was calming, even if it didn’t bely all of Harley’s fears.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I am Korma,” she introduced herself with a small dip of her head, “though some know me as Her Mercy. And you must be important to our Merchant, indeed, if you are able to sway him from Her pull.”

This did very little to make him feel any better. Luckily, Dr. Branson and Rhodey were already moving forward to flank them. Korma didn’t seem to be much of a physical threat, but they all knew appearances could be deceiving, especially with threats from outer space.

“So, there was magic involved,” Rhodey accused with no small amount of protective hostility in his voice. “That was a bad move.”

Korma seemed unbothered by his tone.

“No magic. Her influence is far beyond such paltry tricks. All of us who are among Her Chosen feel the pull toward one another. It is simply the way of things. It was by following the thread that binds us that I was able to find the Merchant at all.”

While her words addressed the group, Korma’s gaze hadn’t drifted from Tony except for when she’d spoken to Harley. It was disconcerting, and Harley didn’t like it. His fingers twitched where they were still wrapped around Tony’s elbow.

“The Merchant?” Tony asked, tone distant.

Korma’s smile only widened.

“You are the Merchant of Death, are you not?”

Before Tony could respond, Rhodey moved between them.

“Look, I don’t know what your game is, but I suggest you take it somewhere else. Tony doesn’t make weapons anymore and he hasn’t been known by that in a long time.”

Korma’s gaze still didn’t waver from Tony’s.

“You know of what I speak,” she told him quietly, patiently. “I can see it in your eyes. It’s buried deep, but it’s there. Come, I think it’s time for you to meet the others. They’ve been held up outside, but I’ve always had a knack for being able to slip away unnoticed when needed.”

She seemed amused by the notion, not hesitant in the slightest about admitting that she had snuck past the other Avengers to get this far. Harley liked this situation less and less.

“Do I…” Tony hesitated for a moment before starting over. “Do I know you? You seem… very familiar.”

“In a way, though we have never met.”

“As Mr. Stark’s doctor,” Dr. Branson finally, finally broke in, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to step in at this juncture. I will not allow his recovery to be put at risk. Please leave, or I am going to have to contact someone to escort you out.”

Honestly, Harley was impressed by the steel in the doctor’s voice. That took some balls for a non-combatant. Korma, however, just laughed. It was a sound that reminded Harley distinctly of some sort of music.

“While I appreciate your loyalty to our brother, I’m afraid that’s simply not an option. We need him to save the universe.”

Chapter Text

Wanda hated aliens. Thor was alright, with his big grin and welcoming demeanor, but even the other extraterrestrial beings around the compound set her on edge. They just felt so different. It was like a prickling at the back of her neck whenever she was around them. Mostly, she’d learned to ignore it with those she was more familiar with. She avoided them when possible and kept any necessary interactions as short as possible.

These people, though… They felt dark .

There was something heavy that clung to them, making her push through it to get a read on them. The large one was easiest, but by no means comforting in what she could feel. He reminded her of Ultron, with a mind made of circuitry despite his consciousness. There was a savageness to him, a willingness to resort to violence with ease and without guilt. No, all he would feel was amusement. 

The others were harder, the darkness surrounding them even thicker. The two lava monsters or whatever they were practically burned against her awareness, too blinding to see much through. She couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began, but it hurt to concentrate on either of them. The one with blue skin was giddy in his darkness, a kind of terrible joy that sent shivers of fear through her.

By comparison, the red-haired one and Thor’s niece were almost a relief. The redhead was cool logic. Thor’s niece, Hela, was icy. When her eyes slid over to meet Wanda’s, Wanda had a brief moment where she would have sworn she couldn’t breathe. It was like her throat was clogged with ice. She choked, the red swirling around her flickered and died, and then the sensation was gone.

“Much better,” Hela spoke in her silky-smooth voice. “I’d prefer this interaction to go peacefully,” she continued, turning back to Thor, “but we will not let anything keep us from our goal. Too much hangs in the balance, Uncle.”

Thor shot Wanda a concerned look. She could feel his fear, something she had rarely felt from Thor. Hela might be family to him, but then, so was Loki. One thing was absolutely certain, she was not to be underestimated.

“I’m certain we can figure this out,” he assured her. “There is no Merchant of Death here, though. None among us go by that name. If the one you seek is on Earth, we can help you find them.”

“No need. I’ve already taken the liberty of finding him myself.”

Wanda spun around, along with many of the other Avengers, to face the voice that’d spoken up from behind them. It was the older woman, the one with the kind face, who felt like the blade of a knife. The one Wanda hadn’t even realized was gone until now. 

Stark trailed behind her, clinging to a brunette teenager who clung back just as desperately and followed by Colonel Rhodes and Bucky’s psychologist. Wanda had no idea how they’d managed to get so close. It made no sense. She should have been able to sense them coming, especially Stark’s thick miasma of pain and fear and sickness. She’d been able to sense him over the past few days, the way his apathy had broken and given way to something even darker and more nauseating. It had driven her to avoiding him desperately, always striving to be at the farthest point of the complex from wherever he was. How had she not sensed his approach?

There was a pregnant moment before the Avengers started moving again, closing rank. In an instant, Bucky and Peter were at Stark’s side, Willow not far behind Peter. Sam and Thor tensed, and Wanda could sense the sudden surge of conflicting emotions rising up in Steve like a spike to her temple.

“Friend Stark is unwell,” Thor ground out, his tone like rolling thunder. “He cannot help your search.”

Hela didn’t seem to be paying him any attention, though. Her gaze locked on Stark and something flickered across her carefully-controlled face. Far less controlled was the surge of violent, searing rage that coursed through her, leaving Wanda gasping and falling to her knees. Natasha made a concerned noise at her side, but didn’t lower her guns. Hela ignored them all as she took a step closer to the new arrivals.

“Oh… You are unwell, aren’t you? Who is responsible for this, my brother?”

Stark’s eyes met hers and even Wanda could see the way he instantly relaxed, his expression taking on a faintly dreamy quality. His aura, too, changed. The storm settled, calmed.

“…Everyone.”

Hela made a noise of sympathy.

“You poor creature,” she purred, moving again, drawing closer. “How you must suffer… I can see how close you’ve come, how many brushes you’ve had… But that is the curse of those like us, of Her Chosen.”

Thor moved into her path.

“Hela,” he warned, though not without trepidation softening his usual steel, “my niece, what is going on here?”

Hela’s eyes did not stray from Stark’s.

“You will see soon enough. I mean no harm to your shield brother. You may be assured of that.”

Thor wasn’t happy about it, that much was clear, but he allowed her to pass without further protest. The other Avengers seemed frozen as they watched her stride elegantly closer to Stark, even Peter and Bucky. No one spoke.

Hela stopped barely an arm’s length away.

“I know you,” Stark broke the silence, sounding confused. “All of you. Somehow, I…”

He didn’t finish, but Hela still smiled at his words, the expression pulling grotesquely at the blackened, shriveled half of her face.

“You do. We all know each other. Even before we met, we could feel the pull of Her influence. Would you like to know more? You are muddled, in your current state. I can clear the fog.”

“Tony,” the boy next to him whispered, barely loud enough for Wanda to hear from where she was. “Please, don’t.”

With what seemed like great effort, Stark pulled his gaze away from Hela’s. His brow was knit with confusion.

“I need to know.”

“You won’t hurt him?” Peter spoke up from Stark’s other side, directing the question Hela’s way.

Her smile didn’t waver as her eyes flickered between the two young men. Wanda could feel an unexpected warmth calming Hela’s previous rage.

“Not everyone , then,” she murmured quietly, before lifting her voice. “You have my word. Hurting him is the last thing any of us wish. We, more than any, understand him, though he does not yet fully comprehend.”

Here, she looked again to Stark, but he was still looking down at the teenager Wanda didn’t know.

“I won’t,” Stark said, though it was clear it wasn’t what he wanted. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”

The teen wavered.

“Just… Be careful,” was all he mustered.

“I will.” Stark turned back to Hela. “How can you help?”

A hand reached across the space between then, the skin blackened and dried like an ancient corpse, mirroring the skin across half of her face.

“Let me open your eyes.”

“ Hela! ”

Thor’s cry was accompanied by a spike of fear as he lurched forward. It was too late, though. Stark had laid one frostbite-riddled hand in Hela’s outstretched palm.

Wanda’s breath caught in her throat, waiting for something to happen, for the fallout she was sure was coming, if only because of Thor’s surety.

Stark blinked.

“ Oh. ”

It started near his feet, bare in the grass of the compound’s lawn. Just a few tendrils at first, the barest tickle of sensation in the back of Wanda’s mind. Then it rose higher, clinging to him and wrapping around him like a shroud – that same darkness that shrouded the others.

Warm pleasure filled Hela’s aura.

“Good morning, Merchant.”

Stark’s eyes, which had slipped closed, snapped open now, focusing on Hela with laser-intensity.

“Death’s Right Hand,” he murmured. “I hadn’t realized before.”

“Tony,” Colonel Rhodes piped up, his stress showing in his tone, “what’s going on? Talk to me, Tones.”

Stark’s head turned a bit as if to look back at his friend, but his gaze drifted past Hela to where the others were gathered.

“They’ve come for me,” he said by way of explanation. “We’ve never all been in one place before… I’ve never been awake before.”

“It can be quite an adjustment,” Hela told him sympathetically.

“How is this possible?” Thor cut in, demanding. “How are you not dead? None who touch Hela’s dead flesh may live.”

The blue-skinned, multi-armed alien gave a bark of laughter and came scampering down from the shoulder of the skull-faced robot to bound toward Hela and Stark.

“No mortal, surely,” he agreed. “But we of the Chosen cannot die. It is the sacrifice She makes when She chooses us.” One of his sets of arms settled on his hips while another reached out to grasp either side of Stark’s face and bring their foreheads together. “It is good to meet you, my brother.”

“Perhaps,” the redhead with the sword and strange, pure white eyes spoke up, “we should introduce ourselves. This location is as good as any for the ritual we must perform. It would be easiest if we could simply stay.”

Hela inclined her antlered head in acknowledgement.

“Introductions, then, and some brief explanation,” she agreed. “Then we must get on with our purpose. There is not much time.” She swept her gaze around the surrounding Avengers. “I am Hela, queen of Helheim, the realm of the dead, and Death’s Right Hand. I serve our Mistress by taking care of all those who pass through Her gates.”

The blue-skinned being released Stark to sweep into a dramatic bow, both sets of hands folded in front of him as he did.

“I am Yama, Death’s Messenger. I bear warnings for those who tread too close to Her curtain.”

The old woman with pointed ears stepped up to pass Stark and join her fellows.

“I am Korma, Death’s Mercy. I bring those who suffer too greatly into Her hands. I ease the pain of those who cannot bear it.” One of the lava creatures hissed and popped in a way that might be considered language and she gestured to them with one hand. “These are Abaddon and Apollyon, Death’s Toll and the Gift of Death. We work closely together, very often.”

The redhead crossed her arms over her chest, looking bored and slightly irritated, if anything.

“I am Angela, the Angel of Death.”

She gave no further explanation.

“And I am Death’s Head,” the towering robot informed. “I am not one of Her Chosen, I’m just employed by that one.”

He pointed to Yama, who hummed in approval.

“What does any of this have to do with Tony?” Steve demanded.

Wanda had heard of the way Stark seemed to fear Steve, how he flinched away from the sound of his name, though she didn’t understand why. Here, now, he showed none of that fear.

“I didn’t know it before,” he said quietly, barely loud enough to carry to everyone present, “but they have everything to do with me. I, too, am one of Her Chosen. It just wasn’t yet my time… I am the Merchant of Death. I’m the only one who can contact Her.”

Chapter Text

Tony stared up into Hela’s face, momentarily caught up in her grandeur. She was incredibly tall, clearly taking after her father, and her antlers only added to it. Her hand was cool, chill to the touch, and he found it comforting. 

His fingers wrapped around hers more securely, not wanting to relinquish the connection. There was just something about it, something powerful and alluring. It was like being wrapped up in the arms of a loved one he hadn’t seen in some time, like the hugs he would get from Jarvis every year when he finally returned from boarding school for the summer holidays. It was a sense of homecoming .

A hand on his shoulder jarred him out of his entrancement and he startled away, flinching back and breaking his connection with Hela. Thor held up both hands, palms forward, as if to show he meant no harm. Tony knew better. He could still remember the feel of Thor’s fingers wrapped around his throat and holding him aloft.

“Friend Tony,” he rumbled quietly, gently, “you should return to the compound. You’re unwell.”

Tony shook his head vehemently. Thor had said the same thing earlier, but repeating it changed nothing. Tony had only just met these individuals, but he knew them. He didn’t want to leave them so soon. They would not have come here without a purpose. Something inside of him called to them, but Tony didn’t find it as alarming as he might have otherwise. They didn’t mean him any harm. He was fairly certain they couldn’t hurt him. It was the safest he’d felt in over a decade, being in their presence. Any one of them would fight for him, and he would do the same for them.

Perhaps that sudden, unexplained loyalty should have been another red flag, but Tony couldn’t find it in himself to be concerned. There was only a calmness at his core.

“What do you mean ‘unwell’?” Angela cut in, her pure white eyes flickering over Tony’s body in search of injury. Her grip on her sword tightened. Apparently, she could not see the things that Hela could.

Korma just hummed in sympathetic agreement instead of immediately answering, sidling closer to him. Tony found her proximity unjustifiably soothing. He could feel the already-muted buzz of his ever-present anxiety easing even further, though it didn’t disappear completely. Was this what it would have felt like, he wondered, to have known a grandmother? Howard’s parents had been long dead before Tony was even born and his contact with the Carbonell side of the family had been limited at best.

“He bears many wounds,” she intoned gravely, though with an easy, pleasant undertone in her words, “both inside and out. They are old wounds, never fully healed.”

Her gaze, when it met Tony’s, was kind enough that he didn’t feel the instinctual need to shy away like he so often did with everyone else. He balked when someone shifted beside him, only for the tension to ease when he realized it was only Peter, dressed in the Spiderman suit Tony had made for him. He hadn’t realized the boy was still using it. It was touching.

Wait, no. Peter was a young man now, not a boy. Tony needed to remember that. He’d been gone for years. Peter was a legal adult now, really coming into himself. Was he in college yet? It was suddenly concerning to Tony that he didn’t know. He should introduce him to Harley. They’d be sure to get along well.

“Mr. Stark?”

Tony blinked back to himself. He must have spaced out there for a second. It was a bad habit of his, his thoughts running away from him.

“I’m here,” he reassured, though his tone lacked the convincing air he had once been able to so easily instill in it. “They need me.”

Because that, too, he knew without knowing exactly how he knew. Tony needed to help them. It’d been so long since he’d done something useful. Whitney let him tinker, yes, and he’d been able to invent a number of consumer projects to help the environment and people in their everyday lives, but this was so much more than that.

“Indeed, we do, Merchant,” Yama said, loping across the grass with steps that looked almost like dancing. “As you said yourself, you’re the only one who can contact Her.”

“And who exactly is this ‘Her’ to which you’re referring?” Vision asked as they floated down a bit lower.

Their tone indicated they already had their suspicions and Tony felt a burst of pride for how far they had come. They’d learned so much in the time Tony had been gone.

“Mistress Death, of course,” Angela responded, her tone indicating that her estimation of the group’s intelligence was dropping rapidly. “We are Her Chosen, after all.”

“Yeah, no. Fuck this bullshit,” Rhodey snapped, wheeling forward with a furious look on his face that had Tony shying away, closer to Peter and Harley. “Tony’s not going anywhere with you, and he’s sure as hell not getting mixed up in any of this nonsense. You can figure your own shit out; he’s got enough to deal with at the moment.”

Hela’s head lifted and she gave Rhodey an unimpressed look that would make Fury proud.

“This is a matter far bigger than you comprehend. We do not come here lightly, nor is it any concern of yours what we choose to do amongst ourselves. The only one who’s opinion of this matter bears weight on the situation is the Merchant himself.” Her eyes narrowed as they flicked back to Tony. “Will you fulfill your duty?”

Tony had just opened his mouth to respond when he was brought up short by Harley tugging at his elbow, pulling him back a step.

“How fucking dare you ,” the kid snarled at Hela, surprising Tony with the ferocity of it. His other hand came up to curl around Tony’s bicep and hold tight. “Tony had no duty to you. You come here all high and mighty and try to make him feel like he’s obligated? If you want his help, at least have the decency to ask for it.”

The very air around them seemed to freeze as Hela’s head slowly turned to move her gaze to Harley. Thor reacted quickly, stepping forward without quite moving between the two, almost as if he didn’t dare.

“He is only a child,” the god began, “and he cares for our friend a great deal. You cannot-“

Hela’s flesh hand flashed through the air in a cutting motion, bringing Thor’s words to an abrupt halt.

“You would do well not to attempt to tell me what I can and cannot do, Uncle .”

There was a pop and a hiss, followed by a sound similar to stones grinding together, and Tony’s attention jumped to one of the twins, Abaddon. He blinked, wholly surprised to find he’d understood the other’s words when he hadn’t just a minute before.

“Abaddon is right,” Yama spoke up, one set of arms folded across his chest while the other set shrugged. “You take insult too easily. The boy has a point. Protocol and ritual have no place here.”

“Delicate situations call for delicate handling,” Korma hummed in agreement.

Hela let her gaze drift over the group, scowling for a long moment before her expression eased and she gave a slow nod. Then she turned back to Harley.

“What is your name, child?”

He hesitated, and Tony reached up to gently cover Harley’s hands with his own free one. He couldn’t explain how or why, but he felt no threat from Hela or the others. There was an assurance within him, a knowing that they meant him no harm. That extended to those who fell under his own protection. Even if Hela took offense to Harley’s words, she would make no move against him.

“It’s okay,” he reassured softly.

“Harley Keener,” the teenager informed Hela, lifting his chin defiantly.

A hint of a smile curled Hela’s lips, there and gone again in the blink of an eye.

“Harley Keener,” she intoned gravely, “you speak rashly and with great insolence, but your words bear truth that should be observed. I ask your forgiveness for my ire. My temper has been short as of late.”

Thor’s eyes were as wide as dinner plates and his mouth hung open slightly, sure evidence of just how rare an apology from Hela must be. Harley gave her a quick nod, but no verbal response. Luckily, it seemed to be enough for Hela and she inclined her head in return.

“If we must not speak of duty, then so be it,” Angela broke into the conversation. She looked as imposing as any general set to go off to war, “but we had no time to waste.”

“Indeed, we do not,” Hela agreed, turning back to Tony. “We need your help, Merchant. There is something that must be done that only you are capable of.”

“Korma mentioned the universe was in danger.”

Something deep in Tony’s soul called him to agree immediately, to do whatever it was the others asked of him simply because it was them doing the asking. He held back, though. He had promised Peter and Harley. If nothing else, he didn’t want to break his word to them.

“More than ever before,” Hela acknowledged his words. “The Nine Realms have never faced a greater foe. He is bent on the destruction of all things. Already, he has caused damage that can never be fully recovered from. He is a scourge, traveling from one planet to another and wiping out all life. He tips the scales dangerously, with no comprehension of the consequences that will follow. He is mad and blind with power.”

“Who is this creature?” Thor asked. “Surely, he can be defeated.”

“Thanos can be defeated, yes, and he has been before, but it is only a temporary solution. Each defeat only buys time until he returns, more powerful and more determined. His rot must be cut out for good.”

“You mean killing him,” Rogers spoke up, tone disapproving, and Tony flinched in surprise to realize he hadn’t even noticed the other was there until that moment.

The fear wasn’t there, though. He still felt trepidation, but it wasn’t the mind-numbing panic that had overtaken him at any hint of Rogers’s presence over the past few days. Tony marveled at the feeling, the freedom it gave him, and almost missed Hela’s response.

“Which is exactly why the Merchant is so important. The Mad Titan cannot be killed.”

“I sense you mean that in more than just the way that it would be difficult,” Vision said leadingly.

“You would be correct. There are a number of individuals throughout the Nine Realms who have managed to achieve something akin to immortality. In almost all of these cases, there is still a way around it. There are very, very few who have been given true eternal life, and none have been able to achieve it without the approval and acceptance of our Mistress.”

“You mean Death,” Wanda spoke, sounding distinctly uncomfortable. It was a discomfort mirrored on the faces of all the present Avengers.

“There are those She chooses to gift with it and others She bestows it upon as a curse. Either way, the result is the same. Thanos cannot be killed so long as the mantel of immortality rests upon his shoulders.”

“It must be taken away from him,” Angela continued. “Each time he appears, it is with more and more power. Even if we managed to defeat him this time, the cycle would continue and there is no guarantee that next time, we would have any hope of beating him back.” She frowned. “And it is very realistic that we may not manage it this time.”

“So, what exactly is it you want from Tony?” Rhodey demanded. “If you want him to build you something, you can forget it. He’s in no shape to build anything, and he doesn’t make weapons anymore.”

Tony fluttered his eyelids, waiting for the chip off his soul at his words, more decisions being made for him. It never came, though. Hela’s awakening had given him a layer of protection, just like it had against Steve’s presence. It bolstered him, emboldened him.

“That is not what they ask,” he told the group, choosing to ignore Rhodey’s comment about his current capabilities. Attempting corrections had long ago proved fruitless. “They need me for another reason.”

Harley’s hands tightened on his arm.

“What reason?”

The trepidation was clear in his voice, whatever brave face he attempted to put on. Tony’s heart swelled with pride. Harley was sure to do amazing things someday, more than Tony had ever managed.

“Only Mistress Death Herself may rescind a being’s immortality, once it’s been given. There is no artifact nor weapon that may do so,” Hela explained. “If we wish to stop Thanos’s rampage, we must convince Her to allow it.”

Yama nodded gravely, jovial smile replaced by a far more somber expression, made all the more menacing by the tusks jutting out from his jaw.

“It is as we already said. Though we all may receive decrees or instructions from our Mistress in one form or another, and I am even blessed with full messages to carry, there are none among us who may hold a conversation with her, much less negotiate. Only the Merchant of Death has such an ability.”

The revelation, and realization of what it meant, only sparked more questions and demands for answers from the assembled Avengers, but Tony had grown weary of all the back and forth. Even with the renewed strength of his awakening, he felt impossibly tired. He didn’t wish to spend any more time on things that did not truly matter.

“I will require help with the ritual,” he informed them, looking directly into Hela’s approving gaze. “I am afraid it is still quite fuzzy in my mind.”

“The awakening can take some time to settle in,” Hela assured him. “We are at your disposal.”

Chapter Text

Peter didn’t like the shift in the air that the new arrivals had brought with them. It wasn’t just because they seemed hell-bent on dragging Mr. Stark into yet another dangerous situation - because any intergalactic threat had to be dangerous - there was just something about them that made his skin prickle and the hairs on the back of his neck rise. It wasn’t his spidey-sense, but there was still something .

He wasn’t the only one on edge because of their appearance, either. There was tension on both sides, spread throughout the entire compound. The only ones who seemed at ease were the old elf and the blue-skinned, multi-limbed alien from among the new arrivals. Captain Rogers, Thor, and several other senior members of the Avengers had gone into council to discuss what this all meant, with Hela, Angela, and Yama acting as representatives for Death’s Chosen. Peter probably could have joined them, if he’d really wanted to, but he didn’t feel inclined to leave Mr. Stark’s side.

He wasn’t alone, either. The teen who’d shown up at the compound’s gates, Harley Keener, stayed glued to Mr. Stark’s side, and Ms. Potts, Colonel Rhodes, and Stg. Barnes hovered nearby. Mr. Stark, for his part, was chatting away with the two creatures who seemed to be made of lava and whose words sounded like stones grinding against each other. Watching them, Peter felt torn. It was the most relaxed and comfortable Mr. Stark had seemed since they’d brought him home - and yet it was in response to these aliens who seemed so strange and threatening.

“The Merchant cares about you a great deal,” a soft voice spoke up from beside him, making Peter jump and turn quickly.

“What?”

The elderly elf woman smiled kindly at him, and Peter felt a bit of the tension in his shoulders loosen. This one, at least, seemed genuine.

“The Merchant,” she repeated, tilting her head in Mr. Stark’s direction. “The two of you clearly share a strong connection.”

“He was my mentor,” Peter confided in her. It felt easy to do, regardless of the possibility of her being an enemy. There was something about her that soothed his on-edge nerves. “I owe him everything.”

He didn’t go deeper than that - explain how Mr. Stark had given him the equipment and training to actually be the hero his powers called him to be, how Peter had been on a collision course toward getting himself or someone else killed if Mr. Stark hadn’t set him straight, how the man had - ever so briefly - edged closer and closer to becoming a father figure in Peter’s life before he’d been ripped away. He didn’t have to. Somehow, the elf seemed to understand it anyway.

“He feels similarly,” she assured. “Do not think that your affections went only the one way.”

Peter nodded, but shifted with discomfort from the topic. He didn’t like thinking about what Mr. Stark must have gone through these past years. They should have rescued him sooner, kept looking until they’d found him. The fact that they’d believed Masque’s ploy felt like a failure or, worse, a betrayal. Objectively, he knew that they’d made the best decisions they could with the information they had. There’d been no reason to believe he had survived.

“I’m sorry. Would you mind telling me your name again?”

Her kind smile told him that she knew exactly what the reason for the topic change was.

“Korma. Of Alfheim. Please forgive an old woman for her probing. My son always tells me I should mind my own business, but I confess my inquisitive nature has always made it difficult to keep to myself.” Her smile took on a wicked twist as she leaned forward conspiratorially. “And embarrassing your children is a mother’s job, after all.”

Peter startled himself with a laugh.

“My aunt would definitely agree with you there.”

“Merely a sign of her love for you. You have a lot of love in your life, Peter Parker. That is good.”

For the first time during their conversation, Peter tensed.

“How do you know my name?”

“It is in my nature,” Korma soothed, as if that gave him any answers at all. “You needn’t fret that I will spread the secret to anyone else. It is yours to keep as you see fit.”

Peter scowled.

“Do the others know, too?”

“No. None of us have cause to Know things unless the situation calls for it. I doubt any of the others will Know about you.”

“I don’t understand what that means.”

She hummed thoughtfully.

“Let me see how best to explain it. Each of us has a duty to serve for our Mistress. For Hela, she presides over the realm of the dead and ensures that souls transition with as little trauma as possible. Every soul has its place in the afterlife and she helps them to find it. To do so, she must Know them all - but there is little reason for her to Know a soul before they enter her realm. It is an intuitive gift that our Mistress bestows on each of us to help us fulfill our duties. As Her Messenger, Yama will instinctively Know where to find the ones his messages are meant for, though he would not be able to so easily track them before or after.”

“I guess that makes sense, in a weird, slightly creepy way. What’s your duty, then? Death’s… Mercy, right? What does that even mean?”

“I am a comforter, a solace in uncertainty and pain. My duty is to bring peace.”

“Oh,” Peter said, surprised. “That’s… unexpected.”

“Death is not so dark and terrible as She is made out to be. There is much across the Nine Realms that is not as it appears - our Mistress is no different. Great wonder and great horror are both within her grasp - fear and comfort, light and darkness, uncertainty and relief. As with all things, the ends of each extreme look very different from the balance in the middle.”

It was impossible not to think of his parents and his uncle as Korma spoke. Peter felt their loss keenly - especially Uncle Ben’s - but he also couldn’t deny that their deaths had shaped him into who he was today. Their lives, too, of course, but it was hard to imagine where he might be if his parents hadn’t died and he hadn’t been raised by his aunt and uncle. If Uncle Ben hadn’t died the way he had, would Peter have ever become a hero? Would he have met Mr. Stark or the rest of them?

There were too many variables to say one way or the other.

“I guess I can understand that. It just all seems so weird and distant - like ancient mythology or something. And I know that probably sounds strange coming from someone on the same team as Thor, but still. It doesn’t seem real. It’s too fantastical. How did Mr. Stark get mixed up in all of this?”

Korma’s chuckle was warm and Peter couldn’t help a smile creeping onto his own face in response to it.

“How did any of us, really?” she asked in a tone laced with humor. “To my knowledge, Hela was the only one of us born into her role and her situation was a rather unique one. For whatever Her reasons, there came a point where Mistress Death chose each of us. I cannot speak for the others, but I can offer my own experience if you wish it.”

There was something that felt significant about the offer, but Peter couldn’t bring himself to refuse. He wanted to know.

“Please.”

Korma beckoned him to join her on a nearby bench, settling in with a soft groan that spoke of weary bones.

“You may not have guessed,” she began with humor in her voice, “but I am old - even among my own kind. One day, I will outlive my children and then my children’s children, for as long as our Mistress has use of me. Yet, despite all that, I was young once. When I was a girl, perhaps only a few thousand years old by your reckoning, there was a war.” Here, her humor faded and a shadow fell over her features. “There is always a war, it seems.”

She paused, seeming lost in memories for a time, before rallying herself.

“Tell me, what do you know of the history of the Nine Realms?”

“Not much,” Peter admitted. “Thor will mention things on occasion, but it’s mostly in passing.”

He didn’t say that Thor’s tales were often treated more like stories than history, even when he did speak of them. They were just always so full of grand adventure; it was hard to imagine they could possibly be real, even after everything Peter had seen.

“Then I shall give you some background information,” Korma allowed gently. “I hail from Alfheim, one of the Nine recognized by Asgard - though there are many more worlds than those few and Asgard was not yet the dominating power it grew to be when these events took place. It is a land of lush forests and open prairies. My people have lived there for millennia - but we are not the only ones who did so. Long ago, we shared the realm with our cousin-kin - the ‘svart’ or dark elves, named so because they dwelled beneath the surface of the world and rarely ventured into the light of day.”

“Like Malekith? Thor fought him a few years ago when a bunch of portals were opening all over the place and he attempted an invasion.”

“Exactly like Malekith, yes. He was not the first of his people to be discontent with how things were - though the blame cannot be put solely on them. Blame rarely belongs only in one place. Regardless, friction grew between the elves who lived upon the surface of Alfheim and those who lived within her. What started as small skirmishes eventually grew into battles and, from there, into war. Eventually, the dark elves left the realm to establish their own, but not before many died.

“I was too young to fight. I had barely begun training with a bow for hunting and I, admittedly, despised it. I was not yet good enough to end an animal’s life swiftly and painlessly and I hated to see them suffer. Instead of joining the bloodshed, I assisted the wounded. I saw the light fade from many eyes - on both sides. I held hands and cooled brows and did my best to offer what little comfort there was to be had to those who would not pass quickly, but there was no hope for. It was there that She found me.”

Korma’s face tilted up, eyes narrowing like a contented cat as a small smile curled her lips.

“She offered me the chance to do more, to see another side of death and embrace it. Mortal creatures, no matter how long-lived, will always cling to life. Death is such a mystery that it seems an ever-looming threat. It is the end, as they say; a loss of life. Very rarely is it viewed as a gain, and yet it is for many.”

She turned away from him to gaze across the yard at where Mr. Stark and the others were gathered.

“Do not mistake me; Death is not an escape. It is no sanctuary where one can hide from their troubles. Too many flee into it thinking such - running to Her arms without waiting for Her to beckon them. Each one is a tragedy. But for those who suffer without end, whose very souls are being rent over hot coals, whose bodies are broken beyond repair… For some, it is a mercy for the Mistress to call upon them.”

“And you deliver them to Her?”

“Sometimes,” Korma acknowledged. “For most, I bring comfort in their final moments. Mistress Death needs no assistance in bringing a soul to her side, but many individuals struggle to reconcile the events of their life before they pass. Almost everyone has regrets or unanswered questions that leave them troubled. I help alleviate that.”

Peter nodded, mulling it over.

“But Mr. Stark is the only one who can communicate with Her?”

The skin around Korma’s eyes crinkled with her smile as she turned back to him.

“Quite right. His is a gift that surpasses any of the rest of ours.  We are Her humble servants, but the Merchant is able to do more. He is able to change Her mind.”

Chapter Text

Hanif settled into the chair across from Mr. Stark. They were in a small, informal meeting room not far from where the others waited. It was impossible to miss the change in Mr. Stark’s demeanor, how the tension he carried had eased.

“Thank you for agreeing to speak with me in private,” Hanif began. “I know you’ve enjoyed meeting our new arrivals and were reluctant to leave the young Mr. Keener as well.”

Mr. Stark gave a noncommittal nod.

“It’s your job to check in on me,” he acknowledged. “I understand. I know everyone is worried.”

“You mean a lot to them. They don’t want to see you get hurt and these strangers are quite intimidating. There’s some concern for the influence they may have over you.”

Mr. Stark frowned, a small, puzzled downturn of his lips.

“Because they want my help.”

It wasn’t a question, but Hanif nodded anyway.

“And because your behavior has changed quite drastically since their arrival, though it’s only been a short time. I’m sure you can understand why it might seem like they have manipulated you in some way.”

Mr. Stark sighed, his shoulders drooping. The tragic, resigned look that had dogged him since his arrival crept back into his gaze.

“They haven’t,” he protested, but it was token at best. Then, mustering himself, “You can’t stop me from helping them.”

“I don’t want to,” Hanif assured him, though there were certainly some within the base who would want to do exactly that. “I simply wish to ascertain your current mental state and make sure that going through with this won’t be harmful to you. Of course, even if it is, it’s not my place to say what you can and can’t do. I may make a recommendation one way or the other, but it’s up to you if you want to take that advice.”

It was so achingly important for Mr. Stark to be able to make his own choices again, to regain that freedom and confidence in himself. Hanif feared for what would happen if that were compromised. He’d spent years being conditioned to behave and think a certain way. It wasn’t the sort of thing that could be recovered from overnight, but the recovery was a delicate process. One wrong step could set them back on weeks of progress - and they didn’t have weeks to start with. They’d had barely a day.

Mr. Stark was silent for a long moment.

“Is therapy normally like this?” 

“Like what?”

Mr. Stark waved his hand in Hanif’s general direction. 

“I’ve never done it before,” he admitted, “not with a professional. You haven’t asked how I feel or about my parents or anything. Isn’t that like therapy 101?”

It was the closest to a quip Mr. Stark had come in Hanif’s presence, and he tried not to feel too encouraged by the reemergence of even that hint of his personality.

“Do you want to talk about your parents?” he asked, instead of answering.

Mr. Stark shook his head.

“No, not really.”

“Then I don’t see why we should. There are much more immediate items to address, I think. To answer your original question, therapy can take many forms. I like my sessions to be like conversations. It keeps things open for my patients to tell me what they really want me to know, in their own way.”

Mr. Stark seemed to think about this for a moment, mulling it over.

“What do I want you to know?”

“I’m not sure,” Hanif answered honestly, “but I have some guesses. You’ve been hurt, deeply and repeatedly, for a very long time. You care about the people around you, but you struggle to trust them. The stress of balancing that weighs heavily on you. I think what you want more than anything else is some relief from that.”

Mr. Stark’s eyes fluttered shut, his face crumpling.

“Yes,” he breathed out like a prayer. “I do.”

.

Angela grew tired of dealing with these mortals.

Social interactions had never been her strength; that was what she had Sera for. Angela was too blunt, never mincing her words or softening their blow. She had little patience for small talk or pleasantries. For all her royal heritage, she cared little for diplomacy. 

At home on Heven, this wasn’t an issue. The Angels were a race that thrived on logic and the balancing of scales. She always knew her place there. If you owed a debt, you paid it. If one was owed to you, you collected it when the time was right. Any social interaction was a brutal wrestling match, a dance to see who would come out on top. Angels lived by a single edict: Nothing is nothing, and nothing is for free.

It was not so through the rest of the universe. 

By and large, people were oblivious to the debts they incurred. They felt no obligation to those they hurt, nor those who helped them. Even when an apology or thanks were given, there was no attempt at repayment. The only debts they seemed to pay attention to were those of money or blood - not that Angela would begrudge any the desire for vengeance when deserved.

The Merchant deserved such vengeance.

All of the Chosen were protective of each other. They were brothers and sisters in Her service, a family by Her choice. There were those like Korma, who was almost parental, but the Merchant was childlike - both by his youth and his injury. It was an insult that any would attack one of their number, but it felt doubly so that the damage had been so severe and come from those held dear.

As Angela knew the balance of an individual’s debts, Hela knew the condition of their soul. It was no secret between them that the same people who argued for the Merchant’s ‘protection’ now were among those who brought him so low. It brought Angela’s temper from a simmer to a boil.

“If you won’t listen to what we have to say,” she bit out in response to yet another distrusting demand, “then there is little point to this conversation continuing.”

Director Fury didn’t back down in the face of her irritation, a fact she might have admired if circumstances were different.

“You appeared on our lawn and dropped an intergalactic mess on our doorstep. Forgive us if we won’t just take your word as gospel.”

“Thor has vouched for us,” Hela pointed out, not for the first time. “Do you doubt his honor?”

“Thor knowing you doesn’t automatically make anything you say true. You’ve yet to show us proof of your claims and Earth isn’t going to sign up to fight your war without it.”

“Whether you help or not matters very little, but we do not have much time. If we continue to dawdle, you will have your proof when the Mad Titan arrives to destroy this realm.”

Hela struck an impressive sight, standing tall with her antlers nearly scraping the ceiling. Her eyes sparked with cool anger as she glared Director Fury down.

“ Any fight will matter very little if we are not able to convince Mistress Death to rescind her gift,” Yama said. “Allow us to perform the ceremony without interference and let that stand as your proof.”

Fury crossed his arms.

“Why should we trust that this ceremony will even do what you claim it will?”

The accusation rankled.

“What reason would we have to lie?” Angela shot back. “You make enemies where there are none.”

“Better than inviting a threat in the front door without knowing.”

“Enough,” a blonde woman who'd introduced herself as Captain Danvers cut in. “We’re just going in circles.”

Director Fury gave her a skeptical look.

“Do you have an idea?”

“Contact Strange. He should be able to help.” Then, to the three Chosen, “He’s the Sorcerer Supreme.”

That was a surprise. Angela hadn’t expected the Sorcerer Supreme to reside on Midgard. She glanced toward Yama to see his reaction, as the most magically-inclined of those present.

“He will be able to confirm the purpose of our ritual,” Hela agreed. “But we will not wait if he is unavailable. We have wasted enough time already. When will he come?”

Director Fury pulled a sleek, flat device from the pocket of his trench coat and held it to one ear.

“Let’s find out.”

.

Stephen sighed wearily as the Cloak of Levitation carried him through the portal and set him gently back down. It was good to have the polished wood floors of the New York Sanctum under his feet once again. He looked forward to a bath, a nice cup of tea, and his own bed for the first time in far too long.

The life of the Sorcerer Supreme was never dull, but it was also rarely relaxing.

As if to prove his point, Wong appeared in the open doorway, cup of tea in hand and a pinched expression on his face. Stephen somehow managed not to sigh again.

“Just tell me,” he said as he accepted the peace offering, taking a sip as he and Wong retreated further into the Sanctum. 

Whatever had cropped up, it would have to wait at least long enough for him to bathe. He was still covered in the ichor of the eldritch horror he’d dispatched and it would soon begin eating away as his flesh if left to sit too long.

“Director Fury called,” Wong explained. “A lot has happened while you’ve been gone.”

“Another invasion, then? Or have they discovered an artifact they need help containing?”

Stephen assisted the Avengers at times, but he preferred to leave them to their own devices unless it was absolutely necessary. He had enough on his plate as it was. When he was called upon, it was either for his magical expertise or an all-hands-on-deck global threat - occasionally both.

Wong waffled over his answer.

“A bit of both. The Avengers need someone to confirm a ritual. The ones performing it brought tidings of a pending invasion, but Director Fury isn’t sure they can be trusted.”

Stephen’s lips thinned. Director Fury didn’t think anyone could be trusted. He wasn’t sure why that should get in the way of his nap.

“Who are they?”

“Death’s Chosen,” Wong intoned seriously, “and Tony Stark.”

Oh.

Well, Stephen’s nap would just have to wait.

Chapter Text

Steve hovered anxiously on the sidelines, tension curled tight in his gut. He’d never been very good at not having something to do , and the uncertainty of the current situation only made it worse. His gaze darted across the compound’s inner courtyard - the one just off the medical wing that provided at least a semblance of privacy. 

Dr. Strange, in his usual showy style, was hovering a few inches off the ground as he carefully observed the ritual’s set-up. He would occasionally comment or ask a question - usually to Korma or Yama, who seemed the most willing to answer them pleasantly - but mostly left Death’s Chosen to their own devices. 

Tony was among them. He moved around the circle of white ash easily, chattering away with Spiderman and Harley as they trailed after him. Steve assumed he was explaining whatever pieces of the ritual he was setting up - or perhaps what the foreign symbols drawn with the ash meant. He seemed happy , certainly more energetic than he’d been since they found him. A pang shot through Steve’s chest as he thought it’d been even longer than that since he’d last seen Tony look so energetic about anything.

Even before the Accords had ripped their found family apart, Tony had been dealing with a lot. Steve had been aware of it, of course, at least peripherally. It wasn’t until the Avengers had reformed and they’d had to find new people to fill the roles he’d occupied that Steve fully understood just how much Tony shouldered for the team - and that wasn’t even considering Stark Industries or being Iron Man. Steve couldn’t help but wonder how different things might have been if he’d been a little more observant back then - if he’d helped Tony more in sharing the load of the Avengers. Would they still have clashed so strongly? Or would they have been able to work through their differences?

It was too late to know. Back then, Steve hadn’t known to help Tony, now he didn’t know how. Bucky thought it wasn’t Steve’s place to help, that he should just take a step back and give Tony space, but every inch of Steve rebelled at the thought. It would feel like abandoning Tony if he did, and he’d already done that once. He refused to do it again.

At the same time, he had to acknowledge that he hadn’t been handling things well so far. Finding Tony again was a shock, to say the least, and everything since then had kept Steve constantly off-balance. The confrontation with Ms. Potts had gotten Steve’s hackles up and he could admit that a lot of his own hostility was born from the fear of losing Tony all over again. Then Masque had shown up and Harley had gone missing and there hadn’t been a moment Steve could take to just decompress and think . 

Steve would be the first to admit he had a tendency to leap before he looked, and those who knew him best would definitely back up the statement. When he was in control of himself, he could come up with a plan to handle just about anything. It was his emotions that got the better of him. And Tony had always been able to inspire strong emotions in him, even right from the beginning on the helecarrier. 

Steve’s heart was his greatest strength, but it was also his biggest weakness. 

He wished there was a way to start over with Tony. Maybe if Steve had approached him in a less cavalier way, he wouldn’t have reacted so strongly. But now, like always, it seemed like there was too much between them to bridge the gap. Yes, Tony didn’t seem terrified by his mere presence anymore, but it was far too late to pretend like none of it had happened.

And Steve didn’t want to pretend. He wanted to make things right . 

He knew that it would be an uphill battle, that they would never be able to get back what they’d once had, but he wanted to try. They could build something new, if only they had the chance. Steve was a fighter, always had been. 

He wasn’t afraid of uphill battles.

.

Tony sat on one of the courtyard benches, taking small sips from a bottle of water and waiting patiently for his doctor-recommended break to be over. They didn’t want him straining himself, which he supposed was fair. His limbs weren’t used to as much activity as they were getting. 

Peter and Harley had gone to grab some food, though both of them were reluctant to leave him. They seemed to think he needed protecting. They only relented when Rhodey wheeled up and offered to keep him company. 

The silence that fell between them as soon as the boys were gone was awkward in a way Tony couldn’t remember it ever being before.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he finally said, turning to look at where his best friend was parked beside him.

Rhodey sighed, but the corner of his mouth tugged upward in self-deprecating amusement.

“I’ve been a coward,” he corrected. “I was avoiding my guilt.”

Tony’s brow furrowed.

“You’re the bravest person I know.”

From the very beginning, Rhodey’s bravery stood out. Even back when they’d first met, Rhodey hadn’t been afraid of what hanging out with a loud-mouthed brat several years his junior would do to his reputation, much less intimidated by the Stark name. He’d stood up to Tony as many times as he’d stood up for him.

“Not brave enough, apparently,” Rhodey mumbled, “but maybe it’s time I try.” 

The gaze he turned on Tony held a bone-deep ache the genius was well-familiar with - it was one he’d seen in his own for years. 

“I failed you, Tones. I wasn’t there when you needed me and I will never be able to forgive myself for that.”

Tony concentrated on his fingers picking at the plastic label of his water bottle, unable to bear the weight of that gaze.

“If you’re talking about Siberia, you’d just broken your back. You couldn’t have been there even if you hadn’t been doped up in the hospital.” He grinned wryly to himself. “Though you probably would have kept the situation a bit more level-headed if you were. I, uh, kinda lost it.”

Tony didn’t like thinking about what had happened in that bunker - for a lot of reasons. One of the big ones was because he knew he was largely to blame for the fight that took place there. Yes, Steve shouldn’t have hidden the truth of his parents’ deaths from him, should have trusted him, but Tony was the one who lashed out in anger. 

It wasn’t long before all three of them were fighting for their lives, regardless of how it started. 

But that didn’t mean Steve had to-

“I should have kept looking for you after,” Rhodey broke through Tony’s quickly spiraling thoughts, dragging him back to the present. “I was only barely out of the rehab center when Masque released the videos and dumped your armor in front of the tower… Everyone thought you were dead, but they thought that in Afghanistan, too, and after the Mandarin blew up your house. I should have known better!”

Tony flinched away from the sudden anger in his tone and hurriedly tried to calm his instinctual panic. Rhodey wasn’t mad at him , he reminded himself sternly. His best friend had been there for him countless times over the years. Tony could be here for him now.

“Whitney went out of her way to make people believe it. She needed to keep me safe.”

Rhodey sucked a breath in sharply between his teeth.

“ Bullshit ,” he hissed. “She tortured you, Tony. I know you’ve got some fucked up narrative she twisted you into believing, but she did not fucking save you.”

Tony bowed his head. Part of him, a part that had only recently been reawakened with the arrival of Death’s Chosen, wanted to fight back - wanted to argue that he would be dead right now if not for Whitney, so she had saved him - but he knew it was pointless. A far larger part of him had learned that lesson the hard way. Fighting back only ever ended in more pain for him. 

Silence fell between them once more - Rhodey seething in his anger and Tony quietly contemplating the situation. He’d gotten a lot better about just sitting and thinking while he was with Whitney. There wasn’t much else to do when she left him tied up or shut away somewhere. It’d taught him to slow down. He’d always been going too fast before to realize what was really going on around him.

A strip of the plastic label ripped where it caught on his thumbnail and he rotated the bottle in his hands to wind it around and around until the whole thing came off. It hung down in limp spirals, stirring slightly in the breeze. 

“Are you upset that Whitney saved me, because you feel like you should’ve saved me instead?”

Tony could see Rhodey’s hands in his periphery, clenched so tightly his knuckles paled. 

“You wouldn’t have had the connections to gain access to the auction, even if you’d been able to find out about it,” he tried to comfort. “Whitney was the only one who-”

“ Stop. ”

Tony froze at the brittle command, Rhodey’s voice sounding at once threatening and like it was going to break at any moment.

“Just… Stop.” This time, he just sounded tired. “Stop talking about her like you have something to thank her for. Fine, she saved your life, but technically so did the Ten Rings when they decided to use you to make bombs instead of killing you off like Obie hired them to. That doesn’t make what she did to you okay.”

Tony didn’t think that was entirely a fair comparison. Whitney didn’t use him. 

Yes, she hurt him and locked him up and controlled him in ways that would have driven him mad before, but she didn’t have expectations of him. She didn’t even expect him to listen to and obey her - though he did anyway. If he didn’t she would simply correct the behavior with her whip or a knife and move on. It wasn’t held over his head and used as an excuse not to trust him in the future. Once punishment was given, the incident was forgotten.

It was a refreshing change of pace, even if it meant physical pain. That, he could endure. He was good at that.

At the same time, he could understand what it looked like from the outside. He knew that Whitney was sick, even that she would probably someday kill him by slipping up and losing control. He didn’t think she was some angel who swept in and offered him salvation. The physical pain that he knew was coming was just easier than the anguish of being constantly abandoned and betrayed by the people he loved.

Not that it had been all bad. 

Yes, Rhodey had stopped talking to him for a while after he announced he wouldn’t be making weapons for the military anymore and, yes, he’d originally stolen the War Machine armor before it actually became the War Machine armor, but he’d also defied his superiors to continue looking for Tony in that desert. He’d stood back to back with Tony to take out Vanko. 

He’d given a lonely, fourteen-year-old someone to call friend.

“You did save me,” Tony confided quietly, almost too quietly to be heard. “I wish you could do it again. I just,” his breathing hitched as his eyes suddenly stung, emotions welling up within him and threatening to spill over. “I just don’t want to hurt anymore.”

.

Whitney held herself carefully still, refusing to fidget and allow those surely monitoring her to pick up on her unease.

Something happened shortly after Tony left to see Harley and it had thrown the whole facility into a frenzy - at least the parts that she was aware of. Natasha had been with her when the alarms first blared and left quickly to face the unnamed threat. No one had returned.

A frown pulled at the scars covering her face, the only outward show of her displeasure that she allowed and then only because she knew the expression was safely hidden behind her mask. This hadn’t been part of the plan. Tony was supposed to enjoy his time visiting with the Keener boy and then return to her side. Now that he’d seen her, he wouldn’t be so passive about being kept away from her. 

At the very least, someone should have returned to interrogate her. They were too desperate for the information she had not to. Fury was a practical man. Even without the promised revenge for what she’d inflicted upon their ‘teammate’, he would want access to her connections and operations throughout the underworld. This radio silence was… unnerving. 

Whitney could sense a change in the air, a shift of something unknown. A threat loomed, and only time would tell whether or not it would be to her advantage.

Chapter Text

“Are you ready?”

The Merchant gave a small smile before nodding and taking Hela’s blackened hand so she could lead him to his spot at the edge of the ritual’s sigil. Yama’s lips tugged into a grin at the sight. It was bolstering to see how much Tony had begun to come out of his shell in the short time since their arrival. 

Tony wasn’t the only one who brought a smile to Yama’s face, though. 

Hela was a proud being. She was hard and capable and never for a moment forgot her position or power. Though she was the youngest in their ranks, except Tony, she was every inch an ancient being. The nature of her position as Death’s Right Hand leant her a bearing far beyond her years. She radiated a sense of timelessness, of having existed for millennia. It was easy to forget that she was barely an adult among her species.

Perhaps Yama recalled Hela’s youth more easily than others because he was the one to bring her the news of Mistress Death’s path for her. She had been but a child then and was already ostracized by her appearance. The touch of her withered half did not yet bring death, but that didn’t lessen the difficulties it brought her. Society had never been kind to those who were different.

She had been taken from her father at birth and sent away so as not to blight the name of the royal family of Asgard - though her father did at least attempt to keep what contact he could. Loki had practically been a child himself at the time, the equivalent of a Terran teenager, so he could hardly be blamed for the situation. Yama believed the rift between him and Odin had truly been broken open by the events.

Hela’s grandmother, too, seemed to hold affection for her misbegotten granddaughter. It was a shame neither of them would move against Odin. They hadn’t, though, and so the young Hela had been left adrift from any who might be fond of her, trapped in a limbo of banishment-cum-prison that her grandfather had resigned her to. It was no wonder that she kept herself apart from those around her even still.

Seeing her open up to the newest of their number like this, seeing Tony’s easy acceptance and the contact they shared; it was a wonderful thing. 

Yama skipped and spun with joy to his place in the ritual. 

A circle of white ash made up the border of the sigil’s design, with seven smaller circles along it signifying where each of the Chosen would stand for the ritual. Lines spread from the circles into a single point in the center. The smaller circles were also ringed by runes indicating which of the Chosen should stand within. This would allow the ritual to tap into each of their energies to fuel the magic. If any not among the Chosen attempted such a ritual, they would be drained dry.

Angela already stood in place, wearing an impatient and slightly-aggravated expression. She would be far happier once the fighting started - that was where she thrived. The others were taking to their spots as well, Hela guiding Tony before moving to her own just beside him. The Avengers stood gathered nearby, the tension palpable in the air. Their unease amused Yama, but then most things did. One had to have a dark sense of humor to be Death’s Messenger. 

Death’s Head stood over them all, as the towering bounty hunter was wont to do, and watched the proceedings impassively. He would keep anyone from interfering, if necessary, but Yama doubted it would be. 

Korma and the twins took their places as well, the twins careful not to drip magma onto the lines of ash. A cool breeze stirred through the open area, an ethereal silence falling as though nature itself were waiting to see what would happen next. 

Tony closed his eyes and took a deep breath. 

The Merchant blinked his eyes open, revealing a golden shimmer. When he spoke, it was with a voice that echoed and resonated down to Yama’s very bones. The language was ancient, understandable only in its meaning and not in its words. It predated each of their entire species - predated the universe itself - and it called out to one of the few who spoke it from the beginning.

Without conscious thought, Yama joined in the Merchant’s chanting. His voice mingled with those of the rest of the Chosen, blending together into a single cry. The air within the sigil tingled, trembling as the magic awoke and began to swell. 

The rest of the world seemed to fall away, fading into a muted backdrop as Yama’s focus was pulled into the center of their circle. He could feel the magic curling around his limbs, caressing him and coaxing his own inexhaustible life energy from his body. It should have felt draining, he mused, but all he felt was a rush of anticipation and joy. 

For all he carried her messages, he had never called to his Mistress before.

His energy flowed into the runes beneath him, drawing along the lines of the sigil and pooling with the energies of the others as it flowed into the center. Yama could feel the others, brushing up against the edges of his very core. Hela’s coolness, Angela’s fire, the ever-shifting shadows of Abbadon and Apollyon - It was like catching a glimpse of their souls.

It was breathtaking. 

Yama’s body quaked with the intensity of it, but he did not fall. The magic that pulled at him also bolstered him, keeping him on his feet. All four of his hands clenched and unclenched repeatedly as the overwhelming sensations coursed through him. Every fiber of his being sang with the knowledge of what was to come next.

Soon! Soonsoonsoonsoonsoon!

The air within the circle picked up, swirling gently at first as it gathered the growing magic like water around a drain. The magic condensed, manifesting itself into something corporeal and visible even to the eyes of those not attuned to it. Thick, purple and blue-tinged fog bubbled up from the center of the ritual, spilling out from the point that would grow to be a portal.

Yama’s hearts picked up their pace, beating in tandem. He could feel himself leaning forward now, his legs tensing to take a step closer to the gateway through which his Mistress would emerge. How long had it been since last he’d seen her physical form? A millennia? It has been before the other Chosen had joined him in her ranks. He yearned for her to join them, the emotion bearing down on him like a weight.

He knew the others were just as affected. He could feel their yearning alongside his own. Even calm, collected Hela verged on sprinting forward to greet the One who meant so much to them. If it weren’t for the magic keeping them in place, Yama was certain none of them would have kept the composure to hold their positions. 

None of them but the Merchant.

He was an ocean of calm amidst their tossing seas. Oh, he felt the anticipation, the joy, but it was not the same frenzy that the others felt. He was able to maintain more of himself. Yama felt a pang at the realization - that the Merchant could not so fully let himself go in the presence of their Mistress. He had to keep his head if he was going to negotiate.

A tremor shook the area, though Yama couldn’t say if it had been in the ground or just through him. His breath caught in his throat.

Finally…

A form loomed in the shadows of the fog. 

Mistress Death had arrived.

Chapter Text

A sense of comfort settled over Tony’s shoulders like a thick cloak as the ritual began. It was like coming home - like being wrapped up tight in one of Anna Jarvis’s quilts in the warm kitchen, surrounded by the scent of sugar cookies and tea. A smile curled Tony’s lips at the nostalgia born from a thousand memories of the same exact event.

The kitchen of the Stark Mansion had always been his safe haven growing up, before his father shipped him off to boarding school. The Jarvises never made him feel unwelcome, and the kitchen was undeniably Anna’s domain. He would sit at the small table and fiddle with projects, chatting with whichever half of the couple was present about any and everything that came to mind. 

Tony had wished many times, over the years, that he could go back there.

The feeling swelled stronger as the ritual continued, filling his chest and climbing up his throat. Tears stung his eyes, spilling over to track down his cheeks as he heaved a great sob that nearly tripped up the ancient words falling from his lips. Fuck, but it felt so good . Every one of his limbs shivered with the sensation, a tremor that ran straight through his soul. 

A dense fog had formed in the center of the diagram Tony and the others drew in the ash, a well of power seeping out from it. It filled the air like electricity, a buzz of energy that blanketed everything. It called to him, and he called back, drawing the overwhelming presence closer to the gate that had been created between them. 

The whole earth trembled when She passed over the threshold. 

Fog obscured Her form, but Tony could sense Her - waiting and assessing the assemblage before Her. The Chosen, but also the Avengers gathered around them, remained silent. A hush fell over the courtyard as if every person present were holding their breath.

Or perhaps as if they weren’t breathing at all.

A gentle breeze swirled through the air, dispersing the fog bit by bit until first Her shadow and then Her form became visible. The ends of Her long skirts billowed into dark fog as if they were the curling and furling tentacles of an octopus. A black leather bodice was cinched tight over Her voluptuous torso and hips, and a black hooded cloak hung down Her back to leave the pale grey skin of Her arms bare. In contrast, Her face was as white as bleached bone, angular and sharp.

“My children, my Chosen,” She murmured, voice as smooth as silk and tempting as the sweetest lullaby, “why have you called for me?”

A shiver ran up Tony’s spine, and he swallowed several times before managing to reclaim his voice. He was Her Merchant, after all. He had to be the one to represent them.

“We seek an audience,” he bade, breathless as he worked to regain control of himself - not that he entirely wanted it. “We bring you a petition, Mistress Death.”

Slowly, languidly, Her head tilted to the side. Her gaze swept over him and passed to the assembled Avengers behind.

“Just you?” She teased.

Tony’s spirits lifted, the last dregs of tension falling away from him. It left him feeling almost like his own self - the part that enjoyed the show and the fun of it all.

“It’s the first time you’ve set foot on this plane in a millennium,” he teased right back. “You didn’t expect a few gawkers?”

Her laughter was like bright wind chimes tinkling on the breeze.

“You flatter me, Merchant.”

“It’s hardly flattery if it’s true, is it?”

She hummed fondly, giving neither affirmation nor denial.

“You did not summon me here to sing my praises, though. You spoke of a petition. If it is so important that you bring me before you, let me hear it.”

Tony bowed his head in acquiescence and gestured for Hela to pick up the threads of their conversation. The lingering wisps of fog clung to her antlers as she rose from a bow of her own.

“A threat looms, Mistress, as I am sure you know. Thanos’s quest would tip the scales between Life and Death in a way we could never hope to overcome. It would throw everything into chaos.”

“We of the Entities know of his plot,” Death acknowledged, referencing the others of Her kind. “He wishes to gather the Infinity Stones and wipe out half of all existence… Foolish. The Mad Titan lives up to his name.”

“If he succeeds, it would mean the end of everything.”

This didn’t seem to bother Her, Her features remaining impassive except for the fond interest She gave to Her Chosen.

“I have seen the End many times,” She said. “All that flies must fall. I will not stop him.”

“We don’t ask you to,” Tony inserted himself back into the conversation. “We simply ask that you grace us with the opportunity to let us try to do so ourselves. You have bestowed the Titan with immortality, have you not?”

He knew She had, of course, and She knew he knew in turn, but a good pitch relied on how it was built up and shown off. Howard had taught him that long ago. It wasn’t enough to create brilliant things - you had to be able to sell them, too. 

“I have. He pursued me and I found it bothersome.” Her impassivity broke here and She gave a grin as sharp as a knife slid between the ribs. “I placed the one thing he truly desires forever out of his reach.”

Her malicious satisfaction infused every word, making clear that She felt it a just punishment for his presumptions. Tony could understand the inclination. He’d had plenty of unwanted admirers in his life.

“It won’t stop him from looking. And a lot of people will die in his wake.”

Death’s features softened as She looked at him in much the same way a mother would her child when they first discovered darkness in the world.

“You see existence through a limited lens. When all of this,” she gestured to the sky as if to indicate the entire galaxy, “is gone, a new existence will begin.”

“But we won’t. Your Chosen. Your children.”

She seemed to consider this for a moment.

“Not as you are now, no. You would be new, too.”

Something in Her tone indicated that She knew such a prospect would be appealing to him. Just as he worked to sway Her to their way of thinking, She swayed him toward Hers. But the others had put their trust in him and Tony couldn’t let them down.

“To many of us, that would seem the same as us no longer being at all. If we are different, how can we still be ourselves?”

Her lips twisted upward in a wry smile.

“That is a question better put to Conscience. As with all things, souls are complicated. You would still be with me, though. Never fear. I would not have my children part from me - not any more than you already are by retaining your mortal forms.”

Because they were not like Her. She had gifted them with immortality, but their bodies were still that of their mortal selves. They did not exist in the same way as She did.

Tony mulled over Her words, trying to find the best way to convince Her of their plight. It was clear that She had no reservations about the end of the world as they knew it. Appealing to that cause wouldn’t help them. He had to find something else - something that would appeal to Her.

“Being a Merchant,” he began slowly, the idea forming as he spoke, “is not all about getting someone to buy what you’re selling. It’s about finding what someone needs and showing them that what you have fulfills that need. You don't need to stop the coming events because they’re of little consequence to you. And the Mad Titan is an annoying inconvenience; you have no reason to allow him into your realm.”

She held his gaze steadily, not responding.

“Let’s make a bargain, then,” he proposed. “What is it worth to you, to put up with the annoyance of one soul?”

Death’s smile stretched into a grin, sending a shiver through everyone present.

“A bargain,” She agreed. “And I will name my price.”

Tony nodded his ascent. 

“If it is within our power, you know we will pay it.”

Her gaze swept over the gathered Chosen as the silence seemed to hang in the air. 

“I will rescind Thanos’s immortality,” She purred, “if one of my children sheds their mortal form and joins me. It will be up to those who remain to defeat him, but you will have that chance. A life for a life. What do you say?”

Chapter Text

The peace lingered for a moment after Mistress Death’s withdrawal, and then it was like Tony’s world exploded. Light and sound came rushing back in with a burst - the gathered Avengers and other watchers clambering over what they had just witnessed. Several people were shouting, though Tony couldn’t pick out exactly who. Strange was hovering between the Avengers and the Chosen, clearly ready to play peacemaker if needed.

Tony couldn’t tear his eyes away from where Mistress Death disappeared. 

It was difficult to describe what he was feeling. The ghost of the comfort and confidence he’d regained in Her presence still lingered, but he could feel it crumbling with Her gone. Tears pricked at his eyes unexpectedly. Her leaving felt like losing a limb. 

A hand on his wrist made him jump and turn. Apollyon didn’t smile in any way recognizable to a person, but Tony understood the gesture. 

I feel it, too , they commiserated in their strange language. The loss of Her. It feels like my very core is cooling to hard stone.

Tony nods, turning more fully toward them. 

“She’ll be back tomorrow, though. We have that to look forward to.”

Apollyon hummed. 

And one of us will never have to leave Her side again. The question is which of us will be blessed?

“We should discuss it with the others.”

“Discuss what with the others?”

Tony looked up and immediately flinched at the rage in Rhodey’s eyes. It may not have been pointed in his direction, but that didn’t make him shy away any less. 

“Just,” he gestured vaguely at the ritual circle. “Everything.”

If anything, Rhodey’s glare got even sharper.

“You’re not making the sacrifice play here, Tones. Not this time. Over my dead body am I going to let them talk you into that fucking bullshit .”

“No one is going to be talking anyone into anything,” Hela stated imperiously, stepping in to join the conversation with Fury and Steve not far behind. “This isn’t a light decision for us to make. Whoever makes it will be committed for the rest of eternity. There won’t be any going back.”

“I thought you all were already committed,” Fury grumbled. “How is this any different? What’s She getting out of it?”

Apollyon spoke up in answer and Tony nodded along before translating. 

“We all do Her work, fulfill Her will, but there is a separation between us. We can never truly join Her, because She exists beyond this plane - or any plane. Even Hela, who presides over the realm of the dead, doesn’t have contact with Her unless Mistress Death chooses to appear to her. Events rarely warrant such a thing.”

Steve’s frown was a thunderous thing and Tony shied away from it just as he had from Rhodey’s anger.

“And now She’s demanding that you give up your lives? It’s not enough that She pulls you into whatever Her schemes are, but now one of you has to die to undo something She did?”

Apollyon spat something Tony had no intention of translating, but it was just as well because Hela cut in sharply with an acidic glare. 

“Watch yourself,” she warned, and there was no doubt she would carry through with whatever threat the recipient could imagine. “Mistress Death may choose us, but She doesn’t force us. What She offers is a gift. If we weren’t a fit for what She offered, She wouldn’t offer it. We are not chosen for what She needs, but for what we need.” 

“And what you need is to be spirited off to this phantom dimension? To effectively die to be with Her?” Rhodey asked disbelievingly.

Hela turned her icy gaze on him.

“For one of us, yes,” she said simply. “It will be up to us to determine which of us that is. If we didn’t, She wouldn’t ask it.”

“Sounds like blind faith to me,” Fury grumbled. “It’s a pretty convenient catch-all answer.”

“Maybe,” Tony found the courage to contribute. “But isn’t all faith? And we have a deeper connection to her than a follower of any religion. It’s… hard to describe if you can’t feel it.”

“And how can you be sure that’s not from her influence on you?” Fury challenged. “All of this could be completely manufactured to control you.”

Tony understood where the accusation was coming from. Fury was the most paranoid person he’d ever met - suspicion wasn’t second nature for him, it was first nature. In his world, this was an angle that had to be looked at. 

“I’m no stranger to being manipulated and controlled,” Tony reminded him. “I know what it feels like, and this isn’t it. There’s something magical to it, yes, but it goes beyond that. This isn’t like what Maximoff does, or what Hydra did to Barnes. This is a connection, not an influence.” 

“A connection that one of you is going to kill yourself over,” Rhodey bit out.

“It is not death as you perceive it,” Hela said. “It is a death to our current lives, perhaps, but we continue on. There is so much more outside of this existence. This would be a relief of burdens, a lifting of restraints.”

“And the loss of the ones you love - the ones who love you.”

This observation didn’t seem to bother Hela overmuch.

“Do we stop loving just because the person is no longer here? The one of us who chooses this path will exist outside of time, just as Mistress Death does. They will never be truly gone because they will always be present.”

Rhodey shook his head.

“It’s not the same. It’s not like being able to touch someone or have a conversation with them. What you’re describing is no better than being a ghost.”

Hela tilted her head in acknowledgement.

“Perhaps. From the perspective of those of us in this dimension, perhaps. But for the one who goes? Existence will open up in ways beyond our perception. So, yes, there is a trade-off, but all things come with setting aside something else.”

“I don’t like it,” Steve said bluntly, not that it came as any surprise. “I don’t like any of this. What if you go, then?” he challenged her. “What happens to the realm you rule without you?” 

Hela was too dignified to shrug, but her expression conveyed an imperious sort of disregard for his concerns. 

“I don’t know, but Mistress Death would not simply allow the souls of the dead to go unaddressed. They wouldn’t slip into the Void. Either I will serve the same function in a new way from Her side, or some other arrangement will be made. It is not for me to predict or know Her ways. Do you guess so at the plans of your God?”

A muscle in Steve’s jaw twitched and Tony had to avert his eyes. He didn’t want to be in this conversation anymore. 

“I’m going to find Harley and Peter,” he said, turning away before any of them could contradict him. 

It didn’t come as any surprise to him that Rhodey followed.

“I’m serious, Tony. I know how you think, but this isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to fix this.”

Tony stopped again, sighing as he turned his gaze upward.

“I know. I’m- I’m not trying to fix it. I helped, obviously, but that’s not-” He pressed his lips together, dissatisfied with his inability to find the words he wanted. “My purpose is to talk to Mistress Death, to act as a go-between for Her and whoever wants to or needs to bargain with Her. That doesn’t mean paying the price she sets falls on my shoulders.” 

He could feel Rhodey’s eyes on him, feel his incredulity. He turned to meet his gaze. 

“But that also doesn’t mean I wouldn’t be willing to. I’m so tired , Rhodey. All of this,” he waved a hand to encompass the Compound and the Avengers and Whitney and everything else. “Would it be so bad? To not have to deal with it anymore?”

Rhodey grabbed at his hand, holding it tightly.

“Don’t you say that. Don’t you dare. I just got you back-” he choked himself off, face twisted between anger and despair. 

Tony squeezed his hand in return, though not with nearly the same amount of pressure. 

“Did you?” he asked, though not unkindly. Part of him really wanted to know. He wasn’t so sure. “I don’t feel back. I’m not the same person I was before and I’m never going to be that person again. And I didn’t even like being that person when I was.”

“You don’t have to be. It doesn’t mean you aren’t still you .”

Tony gave him a tired smile and squeezed his hand once more before setting off again. He could see Harley and Peter further off, where they’d been kept for the ceremony itself. Judging by the look on Harley’s face, Tony was going to have to have this conversation all over again. Things were so much simpler when all he had to do was keep Whitney happy and take his torture. 

“Being me is entirely the problem. No matter what version of me you look at, I’m miserable. I was a lonely playboy desperate for attention, a hero drowning in blood, a friend who crossed the line my team drew in the sand, and now a shell. There were good times, too, but come on, Rhodey. You and I both know there’s always something else just around the corner, another shoe waiting to drop.” He let out a single huff of laughter that didn’t have any humor in it. “At least this way I wouldn’t actually be killing myself like I’ve thought about so many times before.”

It wasn’t until he was talking about it now that he realized just how good it sounded - to be able to step out of this life that seemed to be in an endless tailspin. 

He was a bit surprised when Rhodey didn’t explode at him again.

“I knew you had a deathwish,” he admitted, wheeling himself along beside Tony, “but I didn’t realize it was… more than that.”

Tony, much less dignified than Hela, shrugged in response. 

“It usually wasn’t. But I did think about it, more than once. Usually, it was just not being upset about the idea of something happening. I’d envision it, sometimes, but I was too aware of everything that lay on my shoulders to do anything.”

“We could get you help. It still doesn’t mean this is the right choice.”

“And I’m not saying it’s a choice I’m making. We, the Chosen, need to talk about it amongst ourselves. I didn’t even really think through it until we started talking about it. Just… if it is the choice I make, it’ll be the choice I make. Not anyone else.”

It was an important distinction, Tony felt, but that didn’t mean Rhodey opposed it any less.

Chapter Text

Harley was little better about the situation than Rhodey. Of course, neither were Pepper or Happy. Or Peter. Or a number of the Avengers. It felt… odd, if Tony was being completely honest. Rhodey, he understood. No matter what else happened between them, they were brothers.  Harley and Peter were just kids, for all that they had grown up so much these past few years and Peter was a legal adult now. Happy was full of enough blind faith to have followed Tony for literal decades and Pepper had left him, yes, but… Well, Tony didn’t actually have a but for that - other than their long history beforehand. They probably would have worked things out enough to at least stay friends had he made it back from that bunker. 

They were overwhelming on their own. Adding the others, these people who had betrayed him or barely knew him, to the voices concerned that he was going to throw himself off a proverbial cliff. It made something twist within him in a way that wasn’t wholly pleasant. The ones who didn’t know him at all he could understand as being caught up in some lofty idea of legacy. But these people who barely knew him, who had beaten and betrayed him in some cases and accused him of betrayal in others, felt like they had more of a say in his life (or death) than he did? Felt like their opinions mattered because they were somehow trying to protect him from himself?

Were Tony the man he used to be, he would have laughed in their faces before giving them the middle finger and diving off the cliff anyway. It all just left him tired and uncomfortable now, though. As much as he wanted to get the whole thing over with, he also knew he couldn’t head into the conversation with the other Chosen without knowing where he stood with himself. He needed to talk to someone who knew him, but wouldn’t look at him with pity or brush off any discussion with immediate denial. 

So here he sat, looking across the table at the woman who held him captive for years.

“You’ve been busy, it seems,” Whitney observed mildly. “And you seem to have recovered a bit of yourself. Does this have anything to do with the alarm? It did seem to get everyone all aflutter.”

There was no small amount of judgment in her tone, but Tony knew it was as much a mask as her physical one. Whitney hated not being in control. She always planned things out meticulously, staying three steps ahead of her opponents. Even if she wasn’t scientifically minded, she was still smart enough to keep up with him and that was no small thing.

“It’s been… A lot has happened, yes.”

She listened patiently as he explained, telling her of the other Chosen and his own revealed status as Her Merchant. She seemed in turn proud of the recognition and jealous that he would be beholden to another in any way. 

“She will not take you,” Whitney snarled the moment he mentioned the deal that had been struck. “You are mine. ”

Tony sighed. 

“You and I both know you’ve already lost me. The Avengers will never let me come back with you. Even if you manage to secret me away, they know you have me and that I’m alive now. Their hunt for you won’t be about revenge anymore. You’d spend too many resources fending them off to be able to focus on anything else. It wouldn’t be sustainable.”

The beat of silence before Whitney’s response was all the admission of her agreement he needed.

“You are worth the cost.”

He offered her a sad smile.

“I won’t thank you for what you did to me. But I wouldn’t be alive right now if it weren’t for you.”

She sniffed haughtily. 

“They never appreciated you the way they should. Even if HYDRA hadn’t killed you, if you’d made it out of that bunker any other way, you would have died for these false friends of yours sooner or later. You were too determined to clean up their messes - to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. You needed someone to take that responsibility away from you.”

“I was spiraling,” Tony acknowledged, neither confirming nor denying her accusations. “A crash was inevitable. But now… I don’t know how things look now.”

Whitney watched him for a long, silent moment.

“Are you asking me for permission to go?”

Not to die, Tony noticed. Any of the others both the Chosen themselves would have said it was to die.

“No. I don’t need permission - from you or anyone else. But. It’s been a while since I’ve made my own decisions. I’m struggling. To figure out what it is I want.”

Whitney hummed, some of the tension easing from her shoulders as she settled back in her chair.

“I know it must seem odd, but you’ve always understood me where others don’t. I’m happy for you, Tony. I really am.”

A smile pulled at his lips, lifting one side just a bit. 

“I do,” he assured her. “I understand. And. I hope you’re able to be happy someday, too.” He reached a hand across the table to her. “I wish I could have helped.”

She laughed out loud at that, turning her hand to hold his. 

“You have, darling. More than anyone else possibly could. Now let me help you - really help you this time. I can at least do that.”

.

Instead of putting up a fight and kicking and screaming to be allowed to stand on his own two feet, Tony compromised to allow Dr. Branson to join his discussion with the other Chosen. His agreement also prevented any hissyfits from the Avengers or Tony’s own people. The therapist sat quietly by Tony’s side, notebook and pen in hand, and hadn’t said much past his initial greeting so far. Hela didn’t even try to hide her irritation at his presence, though Yama looked as amused by it as he seemed to be by all things. 

“Shall we begin, then?” Angela asked in that particular way that wasn’t actually asking. “My responsibilities here, to my people, leave me unable to accept our Mistress’s invitation. I cannot be the one to go.”

Tony’s lips twitched slightly at her brusque tone. Angela never said anything but exactly what she meant and she never hesitated to do so. Maybe things would have been different for him if he’d had more people in his life like her. 

“I can perform my duties from either side of the Gate,” Hela said, following her lead and laying her card on the table. “My Valkyrie can handle the intake of new souls and I can sort them once they have passed through. However, it would not be as easy as it is now.”

There was no reluctance in her voice, nor any leading tone nudging them along to one reaction or another. She was simply stating the facts. Tony knew she would go in a heartbeat if it was their choice. 

“I can go,” Korma offered. “I have lived a long life already, longer than I should have. And it’s been a full one. I can perform my duties just as well without being here on this plane of existence.”

“As can I,” Yama volunteered. “Besides, your family would be quite lost without you.”

Korma gave him a wry smile.

“As all of us would miss your witty play. But my family would be alright. I’ve taught them well that death is nothing to mourn. My son might even breathe a sigh of relief at the thought of not having to deal with my antics anymore!”

Apollyon ground out his discontent, but that was only to be expected. He and Korma worked more closely together than any of the others did. Abbadon leaned forward, hot magma moving under the blackened surface of his skin. His words were slow and considering but carried the weight of one who knew Death’s toll all too well. 

“I agree,” Tony nodded. “We should remove Hela and Angela from consideration. You, too, I would think. It’d be easy to do your job from Death’s side, but there’s something that seems much more satisfying about being able to stand before someone so they know exactly what they’re dying for. You should be here to do that for Thanos.”

Yama grinned widely. 

“I like the thought of that. So it is between Korma, Apollyon, and myself, then.”

“And me,” Tony cut in, ignoring the way Dr. Branson immediately looked up. “The four of us are the most fitting candidates.”

“Dr. Stark,” Dr. Branson leaned forward to murmur, “perhaps you shouldn’t-”

Tony held up a hand to stop him.

“I’m not doing anything I haven’t thought through. If you have concerns, we can talk about them after.”

Dr. Branson’s eyebrows rose, no doubt at his assertive tone, but he leaned back. His gaze lingered over Tony calculatingly, though. No doubt he was taking note of the differences in Tony’s demeanor, which was fair. Even just a few short hours ago, such an assured statement would have seemed impossible for Tony to manage.

The others continued as if there had been no interruption. 

“Yama should stay,” Hela said. “He will be of most use in the battle that is to come.”

Yama grinned at her, chin propped on one of his palms. 

“You say the sweetest things.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t outright glare at him. 

“In the same vein, Korma will be of most use to the healers,” Angela said. “And there will be enough casualties that they will need all the help they can get, I am certain.”

Appolyon and Abbadon nodded their assent in the strange way of theirs that didn’t wholly translate from their beetle-like, magma forms to something designed for humanoids. Tony gave Apollyon a long look before sighing and sitting back in his chair. His heart thudded in his chest and his face felt hot. For some reason, he couldn’t help but want to cry.

“I… want to do it,” he admitted to the tabletop, not looking at those around him. He didn’t want to see their faces. Despite everything, part of him felt… ashamed. “I want to go.”

There was a long moment of silence. Then Korma, who was seated next to him, reached over to take his hand. 

“If you are running away from your problems here,” she told him softly, gently, “there are better ways. Ways that won’t be as… final.”

Was he running? Was that what this was? He didn’t think so, but he knew he didn’t want to deal with everything anymore. He just…

“I’m tired,” he said, shoulders slumping as he finally looked up to meet her gaze. It was full of kind understanding and the urge to cry intensified. “I’m so tired . I want to rest.”

Her warm hand gave his a squeeze and she turned back to the rest of the table, chin lifted. 

“The Merchant will go,” she said with finality. “He will join Mistress Death to pay our end of the bargain.”

Chapter Text

Harley’s eyes burned with tears. He couldn’t stop his limbs from trembling, not even by fisting his hands into fists so tightly that the skin of his knuckles was white. He was furious .

“You can’t do this! You can’t,” he shouted.

Tony didn’t flinch, just looked tired where he stood before them. Somehow, that only made Harley even angrier. He looked around at the others - Peter, Happy, Mr. Rhodes, and Ms. Potts. Mr. Rhodes’s face was covered by the same cloud of anger as his own. He gestured from Mr. Rhodes to Tony.

“Tell him!” he demanded. “Tell him he can’t do this!”

“You’re not thinking clearly,” Mr. Rhodes said with all the authority of the military commander he was. “You’re not in a mental state to make these kinds of decisions. I’m sorry, Tones, but-”

“Actually,” the therapist - psychologist - psychiatrist - whatever - cut in, “I’m not sure we can say that.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“ What?” Ms. Potts asks, voice high and tight. “What are you saying? You can’t mean you agree with this?”

Dr. Branson held up a hand to forestall any further outcry.

“I wasn’t referring to the decision itself,” he clarifies. “However, my job is about ensuring my patients are making decisions and going through life with a clear head and understanding. Yesterday, I would have agreed with you without a doubt that Mr. Stark did not have the capacity to make medical decisions for himself - or hardly any decisions, to be honest. But there has been… I can only call it remarkable growth since the Chosen appeared.”

What. Absolute. Bullshit.

“So we’re just supposed to stand here and smile while you kill yourself?” Harley accuses Tony, feeling a sick sense of gratification when he flinches. “Are you planning to actually say goodbye or are you gonna go tell us you’re going to the corner store and just run away?”

It was a low blow, but Harley didn’t care. How the fuck could Tony even be considering this? The man takes a step forward, reaching out toward him with those withered, gold-encased hands, and Harley quickly steps back. He pretends not to be affected by the hurt that crosses Tony’s face. 

“It’s not like that,” he says, voice quiet and laced with as much exhaustion as the bags under his eyes show. “It’s not- My life here is already over. I’m not dying. I’m just becoming something different.”

“Stop it!” Harley shouts at him, tears beginning to spill down his cheeks. “Stop talking about it like it’s something that’s already done! You can’t do this!” He sniffles. “You can’t.”

He feels like he’s just repeating himself, like a helpless, useless child. His tears hadn’t helped when his dad left. Why did he think they’d do anything now?

Tony steps forward again, and this time Harley doesn’t retreat as his arms wrap around him and pull him into a hug. It’s the first time they’ve ever shared a real hug, he realizes. Tony had always been so squirrely about showing affection before. He sinks into the man’s chest, even though he’s almost the same height now - when had Tony gotten so small? He’s always been larger than life.

“I’m sorry,” Tony tells him, breath ruffling his hair. “To all of you. You don’t deserve this, and I know it’s easier for me than it will be for you. But I won’t be gone. I’ll remember you, and I’ll be watching. And, in the end, I’ll be there. I’ll always be there.”

Harley didn’t respond, just continued to sob as he clung to the man he’d only just gotten back.

.

It was just the original Avengers, minus Tony, in the room. It wasn’t a purposeful choice, but they’d all seemed to silently be pulled toward this moment of privacy with each other.

“So,” Clint said, always the only most willing to break a silence, “this has gotten weird as shit - even for us.”

Thor nodded gravely while Bruce removed his glasses to rub at his eyes. 

“It’s out of control,” Steve agreed. “We need to figure out how to get ahead of this. We can’t just keep playing catch up.”

“Do you really think we can?” Bruce asked. “A universal threat that’s coming down to a fight here on Earth? This is way more than we’ve ever had to deal with before.”

Natasha shook her head. 

“That’s not what concerns me. We’ll either succeed or fail - and if we fail, we won’t be around to regret it,” she stated with her usual pragmatism. Then her level gaze, almost cold to anyone who didn’t know her well, locked on Steve. “We’re going to lose him. You know that, right?”

Steve scowled at her.

“Don’t say that.”

“ Someone needs to,” she shot back. “You know Tony is always the one to make the sacrifice play, and in the condition he’s in, it’d be easy to manipulate him into taking the fall.”

“Take care,” Thor rumbled quietly, far more subdued than he usually ever was, “how you speak. Mistress Death is no one to trifle with. Insult her, and the consequences could be dire. If she desires him, there’s nothing any of us could do to stop it.”

“But it doesn’t have to be him,” Steve argued. “It could be any of them. Tony already did his part in calling her. Now they just need to leave him alone.”

“Would that really be for the best?” Bruce asked. “I mean, maybe this is the key to breaking whatever hold it is Masque has on him. I know he asked to see her after the ritual, but he stuck to his demands. Could he have done that this morning? I don’t know, maybe I’m just seeing things.”

Natasha scowled.

“You’re not wrong, but… I watched his talk with her. From the observation room. He was saying goodbye.”

Steve stiffened, his heart clenching in his chest.

“What do you mean he was saying goodbye?”

She looked at him and said nothing.

A jolt of panic shot through him and he leapt to his feet. Thor’s hand lashed out as quick as lightning to grab his wrist and keep him in place. The pain in his eyes was the only thing that kept Steve from snapping at him. 

“If it’s his choice…”

Steve ripped his arm away before Thor could finish the sentence. 

“Would it be, though? Would it really be his choice if these… these ‘Chosen’ have put the idea in his head and taken advantage of him?”

“If it’s between him and the universe, though-” Clint held his hands up in a ‘woah’ gesture when Steve whipped around to glare at him. “Look, I’m as glad to have him back as any of us. He was my friend, too, you know? But if the entire universe is on the line, we can’t put one guy above everyone else. It doesn’t matter who they are. And you and I both know Tony wouldn’t want us to.”

Steve shook his head fervently.

“We find another way.”

“Mistress Death said it had to be one of the Chosen.”

“Then let it be one of the others!”

It was Bruce who stood then, slowly and with the careful calm that was his custom. 

“We can’t make that choice, Steve, and I think you know it.” He walked around the table to put a hand on his arm. “We can have a conversation about it, but that’s all. We have to respect whatever decision is made because we don’t have another choice. We’ll talk to Dr. Branson and get his take on things. Even if-” His fingers tighten on Steve’s arm with more pressure than his body should hold, the only betrayal of just how close to Hulking out he was. “Even if Tony isn’t able to make the choice himself, if he’s been manipulated into it, we know what he would want. And Clint is right. We can’t put any one person over the whole of the universe.” 

Maybe not. But that didn’t mean Steve didn’t want to.

Chapter Text

Tony shifted awkwardly in his chair, hands fiddling with the ends of his sleeves. He glanced at Steve, sitting across from him, and then away again. It should probably have felt like an accomplishment that he was able to be in the same room with him - even if Happy insisted on standing guard at the door and Dr. Branson was sitting beside him - but mostly he just felt anxious. He wasn’t sure why he even agreed to this meeting. Closure, maybe? Steve didn’t look any more comfortable, though his eyes were big and sad as they bore into Tony.

“So,” Tony finally started, since it doesn’t seem like Steve was going to, “you’re the one who wanted this meeting.”

“Right. Sorry,” Steve said, shaking himself like he was waking from a fog. “I guess I just didn’t really expect you to agree to it.”

Tony shrugged, not having an answer for that.

“It seemed like one that needs to happen,” was all he was able to offer. 

“I appreciate it, whatever the reason,” Steve said. “I, uh, I’ve been struggling. With all of this. I just- I guess I’m trying to understand.”

Tony couldn’t help a snort of disbelief. 

“Yeah, sure. You’re struggling and it’s my responsibility to explain things to you,” he said, surprised by the amount of bitterness in his own voice. “That tracks, doesn’t it?” 

“What? No, that’s not what I meant!”

“It’s what you just said.”

“I guess, but that’s- You know I’m not the best at words.”

“Unless it’s rousing political speeches.”

Steve opened his mouth to snap back and then clenched it shut again. Dropping his head, he rubbed his hands over his face.

“How do we always wind up here?”

He sounded so lost, Tony felt some of his own defensiveness easing.

“I’ve been asking myself that since we first met,” he confessed. “I know that part of it was the influence of the scepter, but we both know that wasn’t all there was to it.”

Steve looked back up, expression mournful now.

“I’d lost everything. And you reminded me so much of Howard, except you weren’t him and you were still so different. I hadn’t been awake for that long and I was still learning about the world. Everything felt so pointless. There were still wars and innocent people dying because of government corruption and selfish politicians… Even thinking that Hydra was gone, it felt like I’d sacrificed everything and nothing changed. It didn’t do any good.”

Tony jabbed a finger at him. 

“That! There! That’s what I’ve never been able to figure out,” he said. “You’re so fucking humble, but you’re also just about the most self-centered person I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something. Wars and corruption - all of that existed before the war. Why would you think it would end because of something you did?”

“It’s not-”

Steve clenched his jaw again, his hands closing into fists, and Tony felt his anxiety tick up. He leaned back in his chair to put space between them, even though he knew it wouldn't matter if Steve decided to do something. 

"Captain Rogers," Dr. Branson spoke, tone smooth and low, "if I could make a suggestion?"

Steve nodded, and the doctor looked to Tony to get his assent as well before continuing. 

"It might do you both good to sit with your backs to each other. I know it may sound silly, but it's a technique we've seen a lot of success with."

Tony shrugged again, standing. It didn't matter to him. Steve was a bit more hesitant, but nodded and stood as well. They pulled the chairs to the side of the table and placed them back-to-back before settling back in. 

"Thank you. Now, Mr. Stark, you said you feel Captain Rogers is self-centered. Could you elaborate on that? What makes you feel that way?" 

Tony sighed, trying to organize his thoughts. It was easier like this, actually, not having to see Steve’s face or the tension in his muscles.

“He feels like everything is his responsibility, like he’s the only one who can fix things. He couldn’t trust anyone else to handle things and he didn’t even offer the decency of respecting their desire to when it came to the Accords. They weren’t about whether or not those countries could or couldn’t defend themselves; they were about having the choice not to have foreign agents just coming into their country without their permission or knowledge. He just- He didn’t even try to talk about it. And I know that it was complicated with Barnes being involved, but it could have ended so differently if he’d just talked.”

“The Accords were broken. They didn't work. They were going to tie our hands so we couldn't help the people who need us.”

“I knew that, but we could have fixed them. That was always the plan. We just needed to show we actually had good faith. What we did… every mission had massive collateral damage. Someone has to be responsible for that. But it doesn't matter. That's not the point. I… I wasn't supposed to be an Avenger, did you know? Fury told me to my face that they didn't want me on the team. Every time you brushed me off, it hammered that message home again. I wasn't good enough. I've never been good enough - not for anyone but Whitney. It made me defensive and I lashed out.”

Steve gaped at the wall. He could hardly imagine the Tony he’d known admitting to something like that. It only highlights how much he’s changed. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say. “I never wanted to make you feel like that. I- Bucky always says that I jump without looking. I’m not good at waiting and talking about things. I just want to do them, to help. I’m not very good at listening, either.”

“That’s what scares me about you. When I was first brought here, I knew you’d do whatever you thought was right, no matter if I wanted it or agreed with it or not.”

Steve’s hands balled into fists atop his thighs.

“I don’t see why any of this means you have to die, though. Whatever our differences, I’ve always thought of you as a hero. You’re the one who said you would cut the wire, not lie down on it.”

Tony sighed.

“I’m tired, Steve. I could stay and go to therapy and maybe recover some of who I was, but my life was hell before all of this happened. I was never happier than when I was with Whitney - and I know how fucked up that sounds. It was the only time when I didn’t have expectations on me. The world is going to, though. I’ll have a responsibility to come back and be Iron Man and invent things for the company and I don’t want that.”

“So retire. I don’t know, get a lakehouse somewhere and shut out the rest of the world if you have to.”

Tony smiled grimly at the wall in front of him, barely able to see Dr. Branson out of the corner of his eye. 

“You and I both know I couldn’t, not with a war coming. This needs to be done and I’m the best choice. I can finally let go of all the weight I’ve been carrying my whole life.”

“You could get better, though. We could help you carry it, if you’d just let us.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” And he was. He’d caused so much pain with this choice. He wasn’t blind to that. “There’s no way for this decision to be easy. No matter which of us goes, there will be people left behind. I don’t want to fight anymore and this is the only way to make that happen.”

Steve hung his head, fighting back tears.

“I don’t want to lose you again.”

Tony turned, finally, and hesitated a long moment before building up the ability to reach out and lay his hand on Steve’s arm. 

“I know. But it’s time.”

Chapter Text

There were more conversations, none of them easy. Every one was an emotional minefield that left Tony exhausted. Things were so much simpler with Whitney. He knew it was toxic and awful, that she literally tortured him, but it’d been simple. Nothing had been simple before she’d taken him, and nothing was simple now. The only ones he was able to be around without the feeling of grief hanging over the room were the other Chosen, and he didn’t want to be around them, either. He needs time alone, and he’s had precious little of that since he was brought back. Even now, he can hear quiet footsteps approaching. When Natasha appears at the edge of his vision, he knows the sound was intentional. 

“If you’re here to try and talk me out of it, pretty much everyone else already has.”

She sat beside him on the grass, in the courtyard where the ritual was done - where the ritual to send him to Mistress Death will be performed. 

“No. I’m not.” She waited a moment, but he didn’t respond. “It’s the right choice.”

“I know.”

He didn’t look to see her expression, but he imagined her lips thinning. They always did when he didn’t give her the response she expected.

“No one life can outweigh everyone else’s in the universe,” she said, echoing Clint’s earlier words in the private Avengers meeting. “There are some who don’t believe it’s your choice, though. You’ve changed a lot since the Chosen have shown up. How do we know they aren’t influencing you with some sort of magic?”

Tony could feel her gaze boring into the side of his head. He wished she’d go away. 

“You don’t. You probably never will. It doesn’t change anything.”

She looked back out across the courtyard.

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.”

The silence between them stretched. It didn’t seem like Natasha had anything more to say, but she also didn’t seem to have any intention of leaving. Her presence rankled him. Even silent, he could feel her there like rough fabric scratching against his skin. He swallowed, shifted, and after several long minutes finally broke the silence himself.

“Is that all you had to say?”

She looked at him. 

“Does that bother you?”

He’d forgotten what having a conversation with her was like, how much effort it took to pry a straight answer out of her. She always wanted to know more than she gave away. He was so tired of it. He was tired of everything.

“If it was, I don’t see why you’re staying.”

“Because at one point, I thought of you as a friend - and I hope you thought of me as one,” she admitted, expression inscrutable. “If it’s alright, I’d like to take a bit to sit with you and remember those times. It’s rare for me to know I’m going to lose someone with enough time to say goodbye.” 

Tony blinked at her, unsure if it was a ploy. Natasha didn’t reveal personal attachments like that. He’d just been thinking it. He’d just been lamenting it. He didn’t trust this sudden shit. But… did he really know if it was sudden? It’d been three years. He’d changed drastically in that time. Why couldn’t she? That was the thing with Natasha. She was so good at playing the game that he never felt like he could catch up. 

There was a time when he would have struggled against that, tied himself in knots trying to figure out the truth. Not anymore. What did it matter if she tried to deceive him one more time or if she was sincere and taking some small comfort for herself? He wouldn’t be here to know. Turning away, he looked back across the courtyard and let the silence return. Her presence didn’t feel quite so grating anymore.

Maybe thirty minutes passed before she spoke again, enough for him to begin to suspect that it was her presence that kept anyone else from interrupting them. He even felt grateful for it. It was a decent trade for having her sit with him. 

“There’s something I need to tell you, before you do this. It’s not going to change your decision, nor is it meant to, but I think you should know.”

She paused, and he turned his head to look at her. Her brow furrowed slightly, the only sign of her consternation. However much she thought he should know this, it was clear she was conflicted about actually telling him. 

“When we first met, when you were dying of the palladium poisoning, I was there to conduct an assessment of you. You know this.”

“Iron Man, yes. Tony Stark, not recommended,” he quoted, acknowledging her words. It used to hurt more than it did now. He’d grown more used to him, numb to it, but he could still feel the ache of that old wound.

“My job wasn’t as straightforward as it was presented to you. My assessment wasn’t supposed to actually determine your eligibility for the Avengers Initiative; it was to keep you out of it.”

“Oh.” He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say to that. Some of the old hurt flared back to life. “So Fury didn’t want me from the beginning.”

Natasha shook her head.

“He did want you, actually. He just didn’t want you under the Council’s thumb. He never said as much, but I know that was his intent. He tasked me with writing an assessment that was close enough to the truth that no one could dispute it, but would rule you out of eligibility until the initiative needed you. Your consultant status was meant to keep you safe.”

Tony opened his mouth, then shut it. He repeated the motion several times. How was he supposed to even begin to address all of that? 

“Oh,” he finally said, which felt painfully inadequate. “And that was the best strategy the two of you could come up with? Lying to me, stabbing me with a needle, and then calling me into some interrogation room to tell me I wasn’t wanted?”

“It needed to have a bite to it, or you wouldn’t have wanted it when the Avengers did need you. It’s not what a good person would have done, but people like Fury and I, even you, aren’t good people. We know it’s not that simple.” She met his gaze. “I’m not sorry for it, but I am sorry that it hurt you. I wanted you to know that it wasn’t just cruelty.”

Tony sighed.

“It never is, is it? Everyone always has an excuse, a justification for the things they do. You’re right, though, it’s not that simple. Whatever cruelty or kindness there was in the act, it wasn’t about me. Fury wanted to keep an asset under his control, not the Council’s.”

Natasha considered that, but Tony found it hard to believe that she hadn’t already - probably at the time. 

“You’re probably right, but I won’t speak for him. I’ve done a lot of things I regret. That was something I didn’t expect to, but I did.” 

“At the time or only later, once I became a teammate rather than a target?”

If they ever had really been teammates. 

“By the time I revealed my cover. When I helped you put on your watch at your birthday party, actually. You were still a target, but you’d also become a person. I wasn’t used to that.”

Tony huffed a humorless laugh. 

“Everyone is a person, Nat. You just have to see them.”

Chapter Text

Setting up the diagram for the ritual went quicker this time. The traces of the previous ritual were still present and Tony had settled more into himself by now. His movements were more sure. In a way, he was almost eager. No, not almost. He was eager. He looked forward to the relief. That wasn’t to say he was completely at ease with it, though. 

Tony was well aware of Harley and Peter’s eyes on him, of Pepper and Rhodey and Happy huddling together and frowning. He could practically feel the way everyone’s eyes lingered on him. Even Fury stood nearby, solemn and watchful - coming out to witness a soldier’s sacrifice, as he probably saw it in his eyes. None of them liked this, but they weren’t stopping him either. He’d already said his goodbyes, the arguments made and failed. 

The rest of the Chosen gathered around somberly. They understood the decision he was making more than anyone else. They knew that it was both an honor and a sacrifice, a gain and a loss. They understood their Mistress in a way no others could. Tony exchanged a nod with Hela, shared a look with Korma, and then stepped into his place in one of the outer circles, each of the others finding their own. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply, and then began the ritual. Power built, the air grew colder and heavier, and fog seemed to billow out of the ritual circle. It seemed like Mistress Death appeared more quickly than She did last time, but maybe that was just his anticipation. 

Her pale, robed form loomed from the shadows of the fog - at once beautiful and a haunting nightmare. The tendril ends of Her skirt curled and twined together as if with anticipation of Her own. Tony gave a sigh of relief at the sight of her, heart lifted by her calming presence. It wasn’t a feeling shared by those watching the ritual, but each of the Chosen seemed to relax with Her before them. 

“My Merchant… My Chosen… You have made your decision, then?”

She knew they had. Of course she did.

“We have, Mistress. All have come to an agreement.”

Her smile was chilling and warm. 

“Which of my children will join me?”

Tony bowed his head, bending slightly at the waist in the suggestion of a bow. 

“I will. I have chosen to join you at your side. I give you my eternity in exchange for taking Thanos’s immortality.”

Her sigh was one of pure bliss. It could be felt in the very air all around them, a release so palpable that Tony felt his shoulders relax along with it and a smile curl his lips. A hand extended out toward him, long, thin fingers almost skeletal.

“It will be so nice to have company,” Her smooth voice tempted him. He felt the draw like a string around his heart. “Come, my Merchant. Let me lift your burden.”

The world around him dimmed. It wasn’t that he was no longer aware of their audience or the other Chosen, but he had no desire to focus on them. He stepped forward, out of the circle that marked his place in the ritual and toward his Mistress. As soon as his foot hit the ground outside of the circle, a ripple spread from it. The fog encircled his legs as if in greeting. It beckoned him further. He followed its lead.

With every step, the pain and stress he’d carried for years sloughed away. He shed them like layers of bandages that had been wound around and around him. One step and the years he spent in Whitney’s possession fell, a second and the ache of what happened in that Siberian bunker fell away. He felt as each of the burdens he’d been carrying throughout his life lifted one by one. It wasn’t just the weight that was lifted, though. The years were lifted away, too. 

Tony grew younger as he walked forward. The aches in his joints faded along with the stiffness of old scars. He could hear the gasps and murmurs of their audience as if from a great distance. Someone called his name. He wasn’t sure who it was or if it was in shock, grief, or something else entirely. He doesn’t turn to look. He only had eyes for Her.

Mistress Death waited patiently at the end of his path, hand still extended. She held as perfectly still as a statue, Her hand extended for him to take. There was no urgency, no rush - and why should there be? They had eternity. A smile curved his lips at the thought. 

More steps and he was in his thirties again, strong and confident but drowning as he ran away from his problems. He was in his twenties and trying every drug and drink he could find just to feel something. He was a grieving teen. He was twelve and desperate for his father's approval. By the time his hand reached up to clasp Hers, he couldn't be more than four. His smile was big and toothy as he gazed up at Her.

“Hi,” he said, “are we going home now?”

Mistress Death’s laugh was soft and drifted away like the breeze.

“Yes, my Merchant. We are going home now. Do you feel better?”

He cocked his head to the side, brow furrowing. 

“I feel fine. Why wouldn’t I?”

She leaned down and pressed cool lips to his forehead. 

“You have carried heavy burdens for a long time, but now that you’re free of them, you can take flight.”

Almost the moment She finished speaking, Tony startled at the rustle behind him. Turning, he saw the black, feathered wings sprouting from his back. They were glossy and beautiful, soft under his inquisitive touch. He stretched them as wide as they would go, his wingspan what must have been twelve feet.

“Wow,” he breathed in wonder. “Have I always had these?”

“You did,” Mistress Death confirmed, “but you weren’t ready for them yet.”

His wide grin stretched impossibly wider.

“They’re amazing.”

“So they are. Now, it is time for us to go. If you have any last goodbyes, extend them now.”

Tony looked around, at his brothers and sisters in the Chosen to the faces in the crowd past them that looked familiar but he couldn’t quite place. He didn’t know what to say. What was he supposed to say in a moment like this? 

He didn’t know, so he simply raised his hand with a beaming smile and waved goodbye.

Chapter Text

The battle was devastating. Every Avenger stepped up, along with heroes Bucky had never even heard of and armies from all over the galaxy - or the nine realms, whatever. Hela, Thor’s niece and the queen of the realm of the dead, brought an army of winged warriors known as the Valkyrie. They were ruthless and efficient. Up until Thanos and his forces arrived, Bucky thought they actually stood a chance. 

Thanos was something else entirely. He was an army unto himself. He took out swaths of enemies like he was batting away particularly annoying insects while his hordes threw themselves forward without seeming to care at all for their own lives. Bucky supposed they wouldn’t, if they chose to side with someone who intended to wipe out half of the universe. That or, like Gamora, they’d been taken and brainwashed into it. He did his best not to think about that.

The casualties were tremendous. Bucky had seen a lot, back in the war, in World War II, in his war. He’d seen lines of men mowed down by enemy fire, come across fields where an entire squadron had been taken out by mustard gas. It never got easier, and it wasn’t easy now as the fighting went on and on. He’d been exhausted. His body had ached, his shoulder inflamed at the joint with his metal arm. He should have fallen back, should have fallen to the rear lines for a few minutes of rest and to scarf down a protein bar or two to fuel the serum burning through his body - burning too quickly. He hadn’t, though. He’d been careless. It was stepping on a body that’d thrown him off-balance, and the spined tail of the alien beast was driven right through his chest. He lay on the ground, amid the piles of other bodies he would soon join, and gasped what he was sure to be his final breaths. It was a familiar feeling. He’d felt it once before, when he was falling from that train. He hated to think about how much his death would devastate Steve. He’d already lost so many people.

“Hello,” a voice chirped from above. It was young, bright. It had no right to be here. “That’s a nasty wound. You’ve punctured a lung. You have another ten minutes at most, and that’s unlikely.”

The boy who leaned over him looked as young as he sounded. He had soft chestnut hair and big amber eyes. His smile was warm, completely at odds with the scene around him. In his compromised state, it took Bucky several moments to place him. When he did, his gasp had nothing to do with pain. 

“Tony.”

His great, black wings shifted behind him, feathers ruffled by a fiery man streaking past - Johnny Storm. His smile didn’t falter. 

“I’m the Merchant of Death,” he said, rather than acknowledging the name one way or the other. “Do you want to live?”

Bucky groaned from the pain, head dropping back to the rock beneath him. Did he want to live? So much had happened, and there was still so much that had to happen. Even if they win this war - when they win this war - there’s going to be another. There was always another. No one knew how long he and Steve would live. Maybe being killed was the only way they could die. Maybe that was the only way for it to end. He looked at Tony, remembering the choice he made and the peace it seemed to give him in that moment. 

It was tempting. No more fighting. No more struggling. No more looking over his shoulder or waking up from nightmares that were more often memory than fantasy. No more guilt weighing him down over the blood that stained his hands. 

But it also meant no more quiet mornings watching the sunrise while he ran side-by-side with Steve. No more being able to tease small, secret smiles out of Natasha. No more watching out for the new heroes - barely kids, really - as they found their footing. No more just sitting and reading a book. No more plums or perogies or tacos or any of the other foods he’d discovered and was continuing to discover. Life was an experience, and it was impossible to separate the good from the bad. The only way was to accept both or lose both.

“Yes, I want to live,” he groaned out. “The work isn’t over yet.”

Tony beamed. 

“Alright, I can help you with that. I’m sure Mistress Death and I can come to an arrangement.”

Bucky lost time after that, vision going hazy. When he came back to himself, Tony was gone and there was a medic beside him - one of Strange’s people who studied healing. He didn’t really understand how it worked, but he knew it was something about the magic holding the body together and forestalling the injuries. It was enough to keep people on their feet or back to where real healing could be done. The wizard was a young man with messy brown hair, and he smiled at Bucky. 

“Hey, there you are. We’re gonna get you taken care of, alright? This area’s still pretty hot, though. We need to move.”

As Bucky stumbled off the front lines, helped along by the wizard, he shook his head. He must have imagined seeing Tony - the last version of Tony he’d ever seen. His exhausted, blood loss-addled, and near-death state took this man’s vaguely similar features and created the fiction of a Tony Stark still helping people, still helping the Avengers and defending the universe. He needed to get himself together before he went back out.

Less than an hour in one of the Asgardian healing tents, and Bucky was back in the fight. The only sign of the hole in his chest was the tear in the front and back of his armor. He crammed some food in his mouth, restocked on ammo, and hit the ground running. The fight was far from over and he couldn’t leave others without backup. 

He nearly tripped over his own feet when he caught a glimpse of black feathers cradling a slender frame. Tony held the hand of some alien from one of the other realms - an elf of some sort. He laid the hand down gently on their bloody, torn-open stomach before closing their eyes. For a child, he wore a solemn expression, but it turned back into a smile as he caught Bucky looking. Moments later, he took off into the sky with heavy beats of his large wings. 

Bucky hadn’t been mistaken before, then. He really had seen Tony. Tony had... bargained for him? He didn’t know and he didn’t have time to think about it. There was still too much left to be done. He was going to have so many things to break down over when this was over. He was going to need at least a week to hide in a corner and question his entire reality. This was just one more thing to add to the pile. 

Still, once he saw Tony, it was like he couldn’t stop seeing him. It was always in his periphery, a flicker of dark wings or the snatch of a child’s voice. Hours of fighting later, he caught Tony in full again, kneeling over Peter before pulling him back to his feet with a grin. Peter’s mask was almost completely gone and Bucky could see the shock on his expression. The kid - though he wasn’t really a kid anymore, Bucky thought - didn’t move, just stared after Tony as he flew away. Bucky jogged over quickly, afraid that some enemy would take advantage of Peter’s state to put him right where Tony had brought him back from.

“Hey, kid, shake it off,” he said as soon as he was close enough. “I know. It’s a lot, but don’t waste what he gave you, yeah? He wouldn’t want that.”

Peter’s wide eyes snapped to him.

“You saw him, too?”

Bucky nodded, scanning their surroundings with his rifle braced on his shoulder. This was really, really not the time to be having this discussion, but there wasn’t exactly a way out of it.

“Yeah. Yeah, I did. Had a hole through my chest and was bleeding out faster than the serum could fix me. I don’t know what he did, but the next thing I knew, one of the wizards was there.”

He squeezed off a burst of bullets, downing a charging creature like the one that had nearly killed him. He guessed, from a certain perspective, it had killed him. Tony had to bargain for his life, after all. 

“It was him. It was Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted, like Bucky didn’t realize. 

“I know. But now is really not that time. We’ve got to get through this first, okay? You with me, kid? Or do I need to get you back behind lines so you can process this?”

It was an accusation or a judgment, but he was going to get himself killed if he didn’t get his head on straight. Peter shook himself, visibly pulling himself back into the moment.

“No, no, I’m good. Sorry, that was just- I wasn’t expecting to ever see him again.” 

“Neither did I. So let’s make his bartering worth it, yeah?”

Peter grinned.

“Yeah. We got this.”