"Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger"

Shakespeare's Lemonade

Rating: T

Genre: Action/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Summary: We are only human, but we are expected to perform far beyond human capacity. Our work is never over.

A/N: This story was inspired by the Daft Punk song of the same name. Some of the chapters will be related to each other, and some of them won't, but they will all relate to the main theme.

I am posting it in honor of a friend's birthday which was a few days ago. So, happy birthday to Rurrlock-God of Power!


Part I: Our Work is Never Over

I don't like to admit it when I'm tired. I can hide it for a long time. But when the only people around me are starting to look like the zombies in those new movies I'm always being made to watch, I'm not so intent on appearing in control.

Really, it looks like the only thing keeping Tony on his feet is that suit. I'm afraid once it's off, he'll fall flat on his face. On another day, that might be kind of funny, but right now, I need to make sure everyone makes it safely to bed because I have a feeling that wherever they fall is where they will stay for the next twelve hours or so.

And Tony isn't the worst of them. I think Bruce is normally the most drained of all of us after a long day (or days). He's a little older than the others, and when he's in his normal human form, he doesn't have the endurance of his green counterpart. I see him fall on the couch, and I figure it's safe to leave him there.

Clint and Natasha are a lot like me. They don't act tired, even though I know they are. I know because they aren't as strong as I am, and I'm exhausted. They are the first to disappear off to their rooms.

Thor doesn't look as tired as I feel, but I know even he gets worn out like the rest of us. I can tell by the way he carries his hammer. It doesn't swing back and forth as much as usual. And he becomes uncharacteristically subdued.

I'm not entirely sure how we fell into this routine, and I don't think anyone has noticed the way I always make sure everyone is where they should be. I like it that way. Most times, they don't give me much trouble. Today seems to be the exception. I can't exactly remember what today is, though.

For some reason, Tony sits in one of the big arm chairs, suit and all. Last time that happened, it took me two hours to get him out of it. He told me not to bother, but it seemed wrong to leave him like that. And since I don't want a repeat performance, I take the liberty of sorting it out.

"JARVIS, can you get Mr. Stark out of his suit?" I say.

"Not while he's sitting down, Captain," comes the reply.

"Why are you talking about me as if I'm not here?" Tony grumbles at me.

"You might as well not be." I move across the room and grab ahold of his arm. "Come on. I'm not letting you fall asleep in this thing again."

"Why don't you let me take care of that?" Tony stands up anyway and sort of stumbles toward the wall as it opens up to dismantle his suit. "You know," he says, as the machine starts working, "you take all the fun out of crashing after a hard day's work."

I shake my head. "I've never understood that term. Why would anyone want to crash?"

"I am to tired to explain 21st century slang to you right now."

"Thank goodness. Go to bed, Stark."

"You know if you're not careful, we'll start calling you 'mom'."

I ignore him as I head down the hallway toward my own quarters, thinking how nice it will be not to have to hear that voice or any other for a long time.

.A.

JARVIS wakes me up two hours later. "Captain Rogers, you are needed in the common area," he says.

"What is it?" I ask, hearing the sleep still coating my voice.

"Mr. Stark received a call from Director Fury about half an hour ago."

I roll out of bed and put on clean clothes as quickly as possible. "What took him so long?" I wonder out loud.

By the time I get to the main room, the others have gathered, and even Bruce looks sort of awake with a large mug of coffee in front of him. Tony is rattling off information that I sort of hear. Robots in Queens. I know I've probably said this before, but what is this world coming to?

Strategies are planned, and I take off with Clint and Natasha in one of the Quinjets, which I have learned to fly, thank you very much. Not that I particularly like it, but I don't let anyone know.

This has become our habit. Tony and Thor both seem to enjoy flying on their own, and Bruce prefers taking the streets. It allows us all to come at the enemy from different angles which works in our favor most of the time anyway.

We're not the most organized group. Most of us aren't anyway, though I will not name names. But somehow, we make this work. Anyone who says we aren't a good team has never actually had to work with someone they didn't get along with. Compared to how it started out, we get along great now.

I've learned to tell when Tony is serious and when he's teasing. I still don't always like it, but it's okay.

Clint and Natasha have lightened up a bit, and they follow me without question. It kind of scares me.

Thor is... different, but he's a good guy, and he genuinely wants to help. He can do things none of us can imagine, but he doesn't try to take the reins of an operation. I don't know why he follows me when he could rule the world if he wanted to. Guess that's just it; he doesn't want that.

Bruce is smarter than all of us, even Tony in my opinion, but he always lets me or Tony make the decisions. Sometimes it's like pulling teeth to get him to share his opinion, but when he does, I wonder why he's not leading this thing. Guess it's the other guy he's still worried about.

We are a team. Yeah, we're kind of a mess sometimes, a chemical reaction waiting to happen, but I can't see us being any other way. We're so human in our own ways. But we're expected to perform far beyond human capacity. So, we do. Our work is never over.

.A.

Last thing I remember, I was jumping through the air, my shield aimed at the robot's head. Now, I feel something rough against my face, and my entire body feels like it's on fire. I don't know what happened or where I am. When I try to move, pain reverberates everywhere, originating from my stomach, I think. Feels like I got thrown in a wood chipper. I'm not sure what that feels like, but I'm pretty sure it would be like this.

Opening my eyes, I see gray pavement and ash, I'm lying face down on the street. The noises of battle around me seem very far away, but there's a strange ringing in my ears. I can't move without the pain threatening to knock me out again, so I can't figure out what's wrong.

I decide there must be a piece of shrapnel in my stomach. Or several pieces, I can't tell. I'm leaning toward my left side, so I can move my right arm, but when I try to touch the area, the pain flares up worse, and I can't feel much with my gloves on anyway.

I close my eyes. What I can see of the world is spinning anyway, and I feel like I might throw up. The thought makes me slow my breathing and focus on keeping my stomach contents where they belong. I've gotten a lot better at that since my days as a human punching bag. Though right now, that's what I feel like.

I try to hear what's going on around me. Everything seems even further away than before. I can't get a good idea of my location based on that. I try to hear the sounds of my teammates fighting, but it all blends together, and I feel a sharp pain behind my eyes from the concentration.

So, I try to relax. It's not easy with my face in the pavement, and the new sensation of blood dripping down my neck. I'm not sure where it's coming from. It trails down to my chin and drips onto the pavement. It's constant like a heartbeat.

Something must have hit an artery.

I try to move again, using my left arm to steady myself. I manage to roll onto my left side, but I'm pretty sure I can't remember my own name right now. I'm breathing too heavily; it's making things worse. The blood is dripping faster, and I feel air movement stinging the exposed injuries I can't number.

I use my teeth to remove the glove on my right hand. It hurts to move my arm like that, but everything hurts. With my fingers free, I carefully feel along my side to determine what kind of injuries I have. All I feel is sticky, warm blood and pain.

And there's a lot of blood.

I close my eyes again, wondering how long it will take someone to find me, if anyone will at all. I wonder if I'll always be this alert in near death situations. Or if I can even be in near death situations. The old me would have passed out or died by now. Probably died.

Here I lie, wide awake, but unable to move, or call for help. No one would hear me, and it wouldn't be worth the jarring pain. I figure they'll notice I'm missing eventually. Maybe once they've taken out all the robots. It started out as a bit of a challenge, but we were able to deal with them pretty easily once we figured out that their weak spot was the back of the head. That's what I was going for when this happened.

I wonder how much time has passed, if I've been here for hours or only the time I can remember. I'm not sure how long that's been. I try to remember the moment I returned to awareness, and I can't. It's as if I've always been here.

Time is still passing, evidenced by the constant drip, drip, drip right by my ear, but I can't focus enough to count the seconds. I try opening my eyes to see how big the pool has become, but it feels like someone is shining a floodlight in my face, and I realize I probably have a concussion.

At this point, I decide to evaluate my chances of getting out of this. I don't think these injuries can kill me, but I've never really tested how badly I can be hurt and still live. If I were a normal person, I probably would have bled to death by now.

Suddenly, I feel a choking sensation. I tasted blood, and I can't breathe. I have to cough, and as I do, the stabbing, burning pain in my stomach erases any other senses I might still have. My throat burns, and the rusty taste coats my mouth. I feel the gritty asphalt under my lips, and the pool of blood smears across my face.

Then I hear something. The noises around me have always been too far to distinguish, but this is much closer. It's the sound of flight stabilizers and a voice.

"Cap?"