There are ashes falling from the sky like putrid, rancid snow. The once clean air is tainted with the foul stench of burnt everything, bodies, bones and buildings because they were too late, the attack had happened too soon and everything is falling apart around them like a fragile glass ceiling with too many nicks and cracks where it has gone to the point of no return; the small shards are jagged and sharp and they each fall at the pin-drop of the pinnacle of each incident and explosion; each laceration, each gash in their exposed flesh is the price paid for each casualty for they are bare to the pain of the world.
It's a beautiful Armageddon.
The skies are lit with fire in the darkness of the night, a fiery scarlet like a streak of blood smeared across the onyx abyss. There's a faint veil of gray there, like smoke, or maybe… maybe it's the haunted and mourning specters of the innocents that have perished thus far into this ailing nation and they're there, crying in the night, looking for a brief respite or just hoping to be exercised, looking for a way to be saved after it was too late.
Maybe it's worse than death, remaining to walk across the charred remains of pastures; the rubble of large cities or the scrapped remains of a once great civilization have become the mass graves of humanity. Nature is either running rampant or completely obliterated in areas and roses and vines rise in reparation, like flowers on a grave, through old sidewalks and crawl up high, abandoned skyscrapers.
Like any other pragmatic, morose reality that is so nightmarish and lucid it can only be a fantasy, a hellish illusion of a dystopia that runs on its own, a worldwide rendition or Ray Bradbury's There Will Come Soft Rains only darker, deadlier and slower; the world is slowly dying, bleeding out as the plague works its way from one ocean to another, through continent to continent—the human plague.
The air is still and chilly; the temperatures never quite rise above scorching and never dip down to absolute zero, either. There's the constant shift from the two that mark the days, months and years that pass by without a hitch but there is no time. Time: the concoction of man in order to control nature, tame it, yet it is nature itself that dictates the rise and fall, the ebb and flow of humanity and the universe in and of itself.
A singe wristwatch, with black straps, silver deployant and casing, raven painted numerals and frozen hands stretched across a blank, cracked face lays across the battlefield—for what more can this place be than the final resting place for the Earth's mightiest, and what less can it be than the first, last and most pivotal battle field? It whispers a meek "4:15" in the roar of the surrounding debris, of the curses and cries of the fallen ones.
There are still some—some men, women, hardly any children and it's like evolution but regressing; savages, all of them, scouring the land for nourishment, and in some cases cannibalism is salvation. Blood is just another stain in the earth, another mark on the flesh; bone is just another tool, another piece to the pile; words have lost meaning; thoughts are a simple, focusing completely and utterly on Maslow's most basic step: physiological fulfillment, breathing dank air, drinking infected water, eating what they find and sleeping where possible.
Ignorance, no, utter defiance of higher powers had caused the pestilence. Folly had been the start of the war, not human, mortal irrationality but that of a woman, not human but just as greedy, just as vain. She caused the tides of war to turn; she single-handedly wiped out the heroes that could stop her before they caught wind of her plans; she simply wanted him. Both brothers perished, hand in hand, together in the carefully executed void she died to create, for if she could not have him then no one would and in doing so, the world was plunged into ethereal darkness and swallowed up by obliteration.
Do not let her complete her dastardly deeds. If the tower crumbles then the world will fall apart; if the skies turn dark and pour their grief unto the world without mourning; if the light in the heart of the savior is extinguished before it is able to truly alight; if the brothers hold together as they gasp and cry for air; if the Tesseract remains in her quivering grasp when all is done—
So much must be done in order to prevent the apocalypse. The savior must gain what he truly desires and then be lost in the crosshairs of time, space and matter and energy. He must sacrifice who he is and give up his heart to the people—all in order to save a world that doesn't know it needs saving.
Wake up.
Wake up.
Wake—
"—ony!"
—up
"—ammit, wake-"
Wake up.
"Tony!" Someone shouts and Tony jumps, has a little moment where he's suspended in a violent, defensive mind-set before realizing that a) he's not in bed, b) he's in his lab, no longer looking over this desolate landscape and c) Steve is looking fretful and fearful, kneeling beside Tony's head with a warm hand on his shoulder.
"Wha'?" Is Tony's slurred response, because Steve shouldn't expect anything but sleepy, groggy responses from a recently awaken Tony. "Shtebe? Wa's you doin' in my—no, no, what'er you doin', what am I doing on da, da floor?" Tony mumbles, rubbing a hand over his face, trying to wipe the last ghostly remnants of his nightmare from his mind's eye.
"I came in and you were collapsed on the ground, so I'm guessing that you don't know how that happened." Steve looks a little less wary and more annoyed now. Tony grunts and nods, trying to sit up. Steve helps by placing his other hand on Tony's shoulder and hefting him up by the shoulders, aiding Tony until the other man is sitting up, albeit leaning on Steve more than relying on his own strength.
"I dunno, I remember… I was looking at some schematics for-for uhh… shit, I don't even remember and then I got… dizzy-ish?" Tony looked contemplatively at Steve, as if looking for agreement, before continuing, "well, I must have collapsed and fell off the workbench and then you woke me up and here we are. Oh, man. My head is killing me. I need, uh, whassit called, c-c-c….coffee, that it! Ha! I knew there was a reason I'm a genius, coffee and some aspirin and I'll be back on top of everythi—Cap, Steve, no fair, stop looking at me like that, like I'ma tip over and die, it's unnerving as hell, like waking up to Clint sleeping with his eyes open beside your bed-brand of unnerving."
Seriously, Steve's eyes where a bit far-away, as if thinking deeply about every word Tony said, his arms shaking a little, the slightest and Tony only felt it because his arms where still holding Tony, his body was still holding Tony up. Steve blinked his eyes a few times, the clear blue slowly losing its haze. He cleared his throat and shook his head, still a little stiff and tense but no longer quivering.
"There was a call for the Avengers but, since you didn't come to the hangar, they sent me to find you. Imagine my surprise when I found you collapsed." Steve's following chuckle was dry and forced; Tony winced and sighed.
"Sorry 'bout that. Hardly any sleep and, you know," Tony flapped his hand up and down, as if to say 'well you know…' and finally used his liquefied muscles to hold himself up, moving away from the warmth and support of Steve's hard body. "I'm fine, though, really."
"No, you're not, Tony. Don't even think about trying to prove otherwise; I'm going back to meet the rest of the team, and when we come back-"
"—you can't possibly think you're leaving me behind—"
"—when we come back, we'll have a serious talk about your health habits and that's that." Steve states, in that 'I'm Captain America, you better listen to what I say (or suffer the consequence of my disappointed stare)' tone and, seriously now, that look should be illegal because it's a weapon in and of itself. Not even Natasha can stand that look.
"Steve, I'm not gonna' just sit here while the whole team goes out on a mission, I need to be there with you!" Tony retorts and he can't stop the more panicked tone that's rising, can't help but feel apprehensive because he can't let his team down, he has to be there because—what if he's needed? What is someone is hurt and he can't help because he hasn't slept right in the past week and a half? "I'm part of the Avengers, Steve, I'm coming."
"Right now, you're being stubborn. You're a liability, Tony, and if you are there on the frontline with us and you get hurt I-I…" Steve trails off as he stands, runs a hand through his dirty blonde hair and finally looks at Tony once more. "You're staying here. That's an order."
It hurts much more than it probably should. Tony doesn't respond, or maybe can't, judging by the size of the stone that's stuck in his throat. He would like to shout—boy, that'd make him feel better, or maybe just sulk but Tony Stark, Iron Man, billionaire-playboy philanthropist engineer does not sulk, contrary to popular belief. So, instead, Tony wills the knot in his throat to unwind, pushes his nails into his palms and watches Steve's retreating back, waits for the faint echo of his boots on the linoleum to disappear completely and then rises to his own feet. There are notes and half-completed drawings of something that looks like the arc reactor but at a larger and less complex scale. There's a hunk of metal, some adapter cables, a car battery (Tony's gaze carefully avoids this object the rest of the observation) and some copper coils amidst the crumpled papers.
"Hey, Jarvis, can you prepare me the video feed from the workshop from last night? And some coffee," Tony states blandly, eying all the seemingly random materials and evidence of his fresh insomnia bout.
"Yes, sir. The video will be directly uplinked into any motor you so desire; Coffee is already heated and waiting for your consumption in the kitchen," comes Jarvis' crisp mechanical voice. "Is that all, sir?"
Tony hesitates for a moment, still looking over the tools and notes on the work counter before hefting a heady sigh. "Is he gone yet?" There's a momentary lapse of silence before Jarvis responds.
"Captain Rogers is currently in the main lobby, standing beside the elevator. I do believe the Captain is the 'he' you refer to." Jarvis' voice is bland and a little bored. Tony worries that maybe his Artificial Intelligence is less artificial than it should be before shrugging. It's too early—or late, he hasn't checked the time yet— to be thinking about all of this without a cup of coffee. Tony doesn't curse everything and everyone under his breath as he clambers up the steps to the hallway; there's no way to prove he did, anyway.
The hallway is empty, save for a few framed sketches and charcoal drawings that are framed and hanging off the eggshell-white walls. The lights are off and all that resounds and reverberates though the vacancy is the whirl-click-clack of various machines in the numerous rooms. The tower is starting to feel like a home, except when devoid of Avengers, and the walls have started to adapt the smell of smoke and excitement; the kitchen, at the end of the hallway, is radiating the aroma of coffee and comfort and warmth.
Tony goes to the sink that automatically turns on as he moves his hands beneath the faucet. The sink makes a gurgling noise at it slowly drains away the murky water; Tony looks on blankly, mind otherwise preoccupied before shaking his head and making a beeline for the warm coffee waiting for him in the coffee maker.
The first cup goes down without notice, as does the second and third. Tony's leaning against the counter, working on his fourth cup when Jarvis' voice pipes up from the silence, shattering any peace and tranquility.
"I have the video footage of last night from the time you entered at eighteen-oh-four up to when Captain Rogers woke you at ten thirty-eight this morning. Would you like me to sift through, frame by frame for any strange occurrences?"
"Yeah, and try to get me some information on what I was working on, If I asked you to save any holograms or schematics and the works, If I say anything out of the usual then mark that down, too." Tony pauses for a moment, going over what he just ordered and nods. "Any interference, you get me, right?"
"Yes, sir. I understand your request. I will have a complete time table ready in a few minutes, sir."
Tony nods in affirmation and finishes his cup, refills it and makes his way back to the lab downstairs. "Lights at sixty three percent" he orders smoothly, making his way past chrome fixtures. The lights brighten and Tony deposits his cup on one of the emptier counters, licks his lips of all residues and makes his way to the main workbench.
The first sheet of paper is just a few equations; the rate of change of the explosive level of some sort of strange element he can't even make out—the molecular structure drawn is completely surreal. The next sheet is blank but crumpled nonetheless, and almost all the sheets are just as this one, he realizes, bunching them into two separate piles.
The next sheet has a drawing, a literal illustration. There's a hand that's outstretched, the cross-hatching making each finger stand out, each little shade exact; in its palm is a box, small and incurious with light edge protectors, some sort of swirling on its surface that is lighter than the cube itself. There's a neat scrawl in the bottom, not his own messy chicken-scratches but neater and slants slightly.
"Hand in your heart"
But the rest of the sentence is scratched and scribbled into incoherency.
Probably one of Steve's. Tony put the sketch in a new, third pile.
The next page he took from what he dubbed the "not useless trash" pile was a little more lucid. It had a pattern, almost an exact duplicate of the one on the illustration of the cube, and some notes beneath the intricate drawing. "Wishes come true, though the very fabric of reality is altered. The complexities of granting a single desire may lead to the unraveling of the universe itself, causing an inter-dimensional ripple through time, space, matter and energy. This, however, is one of the safety features of the ––––––––– is to make the desire come true without necessarily unraveling the cosmos, thus some input may not be followed through in its entirety."
That… was some pretty heavy quantum science, but he lived by battling in a metal suit, his heart was still beating because of the arc reactor and Thor technically was another worldly being so the notes didn't seem too strange.
It was all in his writing, though; there was no mistaking that. Somehow he had ended up spending a good four hours crumbling papers and writing about planetary travels. That didn't seem to be completely true, though. Still, Tony would have to wait until Jarvis was done sifting through a good fourteen hours of video and sound feed. Tony sighed, picked up the model that he had, apparently, made the night before, and studied his handiwork.
It was almost an exact replica of the arc reactor, the dimensions where a little off and it was a few inches bigger than the one currently in his chest. The inside was hollow, though, and there was no space for the Vibranium though, and the hollow area seemed to have some inner depressions at odd intervals. Tony sighs, puts the model down atop the pile of actual notes and leans back.
Eight nights. It's been eight nights in a row that, despite his typical overworking and overthinking mind that overrides the need for sleep, he can't even take a nap, can't sleep even when the fatigue is bone deep and mind numbing. It's more or less due to the hellish, frightening images that burn themselves into his memories, linger in the shadows. There's the voice, gentle and earnest and vexed that speaks to him, pleas to him and he can't understand what it wants, what he should do.
But it begs him every night, and the more he tries to remember what he sees and hears but the more he remembers the more he forgets.
A rush of static and deep breathing breaks his musings, the speakers in the workshop tweaking the signal for less interference and better resolution. The only line that had a direct uplink to the Tower, much less Tony's work room was the Avenger's communication lines; Tony had hacked into the S.H.I.E.L.D. database and cross-wired the satellite signals so that JARVIS could also pick up on the intercom.
"T—y there's something…. You to nee- to see, it's—I don't…. I don't know what it could…." The voice would blurt out through the tumult and commotion. It sounded a little like Peter, though much more hysterical; there was a loud crash in the background downing out the next few words until, suddenly, all the noises died down.
"Jarvis, reroute the message, try to triangulate the signal, remove the attachment to S.H.I.E.L.D. if you have to, I'm getting ready." Tony shouted as he looked around the piles of boxes and tools for the suitcase. With a little 'ah ha!' under his breath, Tony drops the suitcase and kicks the handle, causing it to pop open. He slides his feet into the boots, presses up and the rest of the armor automatically begins to click into place, climbing up higher and higher on his body, Tony locks the gauntlets into place and soon, in a span of barely a few seconds, he's fully sheathed in his armor.
Configuring…
Error message #247: The signal has been blocked or is no longer in active service.
"Fuck, fuck what the hell is going on now this is why I should be there fuck fuckity shit!" Tony spits each curse into the whirling messages and sighs as he commands the top-sliding roof to open. He starts up his boots and starts up into the air, sending new commands into the armor.
Rerouting satellite signal…
Obtaining signals….
Gathered signals: S-Rogers* 98%; Nat-Romanova`… 96%; Thor` 56%; P-Parker`-27%
Triangulating signal area…43%
89%
The closest signal is 37.8 miles north-east, Nat-Romanova` with a signal of 95%. Activate communications?
"No, automatic pilot to P-Parker's signal, it's the weakest right now so he's fighting some pretty big interference. Open communication line with S-Rogers." Tony directs, launching off in the direction of Peter's already weak signal. A dozen more commands appear before his eyes until there's the clear sound of a battle underway and harsh breathing.
"Ironman, this isn't really the right time-"
"No, yeah, it's the best time, couldn't have been a better time because Spiderman needs my help, called in, too, and you shouldn't have left me it the tower, what kind of a—anyway, I'm on my way to Spidey's signal and I just really need the 4-1-1 on what the hell is going on, since some mother hen decided that my place is in the home. Thank you for that. Really." Tony rolls his eyes, can see the smoke rising in the distance and swallows a little thickly.
"I-dammit—I can't tell what they are, it's like they keep banishing it's very annoying; Thor should know, I could only catch half of his whole spiel, sorry." There's the low hum, the sound of Captain America's shield being tossed and then footsteps on gravel.
"Connect to Thor" Tony directs as he dodges some buildings and trees.
Connecting to Thor`
23%
67%
Connected. Networking lines; lines connected. Network open.
"Thor! Ol' buddy ol'pal, what are we facing?" Tony chirps into the connected lines.
"Antony! The night with the armor made of iron, what possesses you to speak through the invisible receiver directly to my own person?"
"I'm just going to pretend I know what you just said—Thor, we need to know what we're up against." Tony replies, landing on top of a smoky and charred liquor store. There are a few strange creatures that look like wisps of smoke, thick white smoke that took the form of women, thin and tall, elegant and majestic but all the while they screeched and brought up chunks of concrete with only their faint, opaque hands.
"These, great Antony, are the Landvættir, kind and gently spirits of the land that promote thriving of the land that they guard."
"Oh, damn I knew I should have paid more attention to my Mythology 110 class in Uni, I knew it, sitting there half asleep thinking to myself 'I should pay attention because one day I'll be fighting these things in a metal suit along with a super-soldier, a Norse god, a photographer and a Russian Assassin'." Tony sighs and continues on his path to find Peter somewhere among the blurred and rapidly fluctuating signals his armor depicts. "Point is, do you know how to stop them?"
There was a moment of silence, followed by a few seconds of battling.
"They only wish to return to Asgard, for they know not that this corruption of land is simply society to you Midgardians. Somehow they slipped into a portal and brought here, they will stand down until they may return to their rightful territories." Thor's voice booms, carefully and a little bit hesitant but joyous nonetheless. Tony pauses for a second as he nears Peter's signal. There's an old Theatre that's being covered by a tumbled over tree that's on fire, the fire dancing across the log like a bunch of gypsies, far too big for a simple wood fire.
"I have a question…" Tony trails off, scanning the area for heat signatures. The cold spots are the spirit things… Landvættirs or what-not, and there's no heat signature on the fallen tree.
"What?" Steve huffs out.
"Brother Tony, what is it that you ponder to your comrades?"
"Who exactly let them through?" Tony finally voices, not stepping near the illusion. The silence across the link is very reassuring.
"I… do not know." Thor replies," this does not look like my brother Loki's brand of mischief, though there are no other Asgardians that are capable of fooling any Asgardian creature of lore to come to Midgard, or a single sorcerer whom enters this mortal realm besides my Loki."
Both Steve and Tony pointedly hold back any comment on that 'my'. There are a few topics never broached, never thought twice about and the Thor-Loki pseudo incestuous love-hate relationship is probably somewhere on the top five. Sadly, the list is fairly extensive.
"Then maybe someone else from Asgard?" Steve tries. "Give me a second and we'll regroup, Black Widow? Get to the main street. Thor, I'm in your near vicinity. Ironman, are you close to our spots? Have you met up with Spiderman yet?" Steve says in his most authoritative tone, the sound of him running somewhat louder than before.
"You're at least five city blocks away from me, I'm closer to Spidey anyway. There's this theatre that's looking run down, a tree burning in front but no heat signature; the Jarvis reported a signal scrambler so I haven't heard from Spiderman since his first transmission. I'm going in; you guys regroup and come on by." Tony starts taking his first measured steps toward the main entrance, studying the shuffling wraiths that are standing along the patches of grass, laying and sitting or standing but fretting nonetheless, looking on with blank faces as Tony steps past rubble and collapsed buildings.
It should appear that the Avengers had already quarantined the city before the actual fight. Most of the buildings are already broken down and decayed beyond reasonable living. The sidewalks where cracked where tree roots had breached the surface and weeds where growing in the asphalt. A few more steps and he'd be in the scrambler zone.
"OK, I'm entering the no-zone, so over-and-out, I guess." Tony murmured into the intercom before shutting himself out completely. He entered the scrambled zone and paused momentarily as the electronics on his armor went haywire for a second before completely stabilizing. He walked past the fallen tree and up the faded and grimy scarlet carpets, past the center ticket booth and into the main doors.
He stood for a moment, inexplicably nervous, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach and the words that came to his mind where far-off, like from a distant memory or a half-remembered dream.
"Do not let her complete her dastardly deeds."
"Tony? Tony!" Steve shouted through the intercom, running through the newly abandoned streets at full speed, trying to get back to the Main Street and, most importantly, Tony. He still didn't think that Tony was okay like he had made himself seem, and the fact that he had simply went into some strange theater with an illusion cast just outside with no way of speaking to any of them he was-was—
Dammit, Steve was worried.
"Captain, may I suggest you keep identities under wraps?" Came Natasha's cold, clinical voice over the brief silence. "Ironman said that he was entering the scrambled zone so he won't hear you, anyway." Natasha reminds blandly. "I met up with Thor, we're nearing the theatre Ironman and Spiderman entered, we're behind you, and so you can go ahead and get to him."
Steve nodded to himself and took off to the right.
Tony walked over the doorway, over the last remnants of the glass doors, and made his way to the main lobby, eying the concession stands and the two branching hallways. He smirked and followed the dark passage with the glimmering webbing hanging from the archway. He kept going further down, his suit seeing through the thick darkness, following the web residue left behind by Peter's canisters.
The trail ended at Auditorium 15. Tony took a deep breath and listened.
Audio: +23%
"I can't—it open; too much…" A woman's voice, low and entrancing.
"Curse you… untie…I will kill you!" More familiar; Loki, angry and cursing. Wait—Loki and who else? If Loki was making death threats then maybe…
Sure enough, with a slow push of the door and a quick glance, there was a woman in the room with Loki; Loki was… indisposed, bound by some sort of white light around his wrists above his head. The more common jade sweater was riding up because of the stretching due to the binds, the dark blue jeans riding a little low and there was a perfectly purple bruise on his cheekbone, matching perfectly with his busted lip. There was a fire in his eyes, a deep hatred that scared Tony, and if looks could kill the woman would be combusting by now.
Peter was on the ceiling, in his more modern black and white costume, slowly edging towards the two. The woman, thankfully, had her back against the two; she was tall, like most Asgadians, with long blonde hair billowing behind her, outstretched hands aimed towards the torn screen, a swirling portal right in the epicenter. She grunted, made a loud cry and pushed forward with her palms forward and something happened.
A blinding white light flashed brightly for a few seconds before shattering in a myriad of colors. The fading particles of dazzling lights were dimming against the abysmal backwash of absolute darkness, overshadowed by the furrows of violet and orange; stars and galaxies within reach and yet light-years away. The air is still with the presence of the cosmos, thick with untapped power that electrifies the air like static electricity.
The long tresses of gold settle over smooth, unmarred shoulders and over the emerald green, leather straps and plates; the hard but malleable armor is skin-tight and weightless. The slim build gives no heed to the strength welded deep within the ethereal woman, though her thin waist and long legs give her figure an elegant essence.
Tony watches, in awe and fear, as the portal flickers for a split second; arms raise and hands splay, further apart than before, fingers stiff as the opening bends and warps with depleting power. The air crackles as the energy spikes and ebbs. The portal shrinks marginally; the stars fade away into endless space.
Tony's sensors report a sudden drop in temperature and he takes a cautious step back as the Landvættir all tapered by, sliding past the door and down the small isle towards the portal. They all seemed to turn their heads and hiss as they made to enter the portal. She turned towards them slightly, crying out:
"You fools!" She hisses as the portal purses its lips shut. "Dammit, Loki, you traitor, you said that they would remain under my control!"
"Ah, but how could you ever believe that I would side with you, Amora? It is truly astonishing, your naïveté or perhaps it is simply your inanity." Loki sneers and looks up at the cuffs on his wrists, mutters something under his breath and the light fades away. He looks up at Spiderman, gives a curt nod and chuckles.
"Loki-" Amora starts and turns towards Loki, unbeknownst to the arachnid-man that is cautiously approaching her and unseeing of Ironman coming down the left isle.
"You claimed to want to return home, Amora, do not think I do not know what it is you truly want. You want him, always have; so see now, see here I will not let you harm him, you will not lay hand nor sight on Thor Odinson!" Loki bellows and the torn and burnt red curtains hanging limply beside the screen suddenly hisses to life and begins to craw off the wall, slithering towards the tall blonde.
"He will be mine!" Amora hisses as she sends some sort of sparks towards the scarlet serpent; her hands move forward to throw the incantation just as Peter shoots a web and her hands lurch forward with the force of the webbing; she topples forward and the curtain wraps itself around her body, lifting her up with pressure alone.
"Spiderman!" Tony shouts as Peter kicks off the ceiling and lands precariously on his hind legs, hunched forward. He's up to the first isle already, hand splayed open and ready to fire just in case. "Back-up is on the way; they should be arriving momentarily." He asserts and Peter nods; lack of names should be prominent by now, judging by what Loki had said.
"Good, I have no idea what the hell is going on but Asgardian versus Asgardian never ends well; it's like reading Superman verses Wonder Woman: terrifying, hot, but destructive nonetheless." Peter whines, using his infinite wisdom of fictional graphic novels as the perfect leeway.
Loki, by now, is tuning them out, focusing only on trapping Amora in his newly made pet.
"I should kill you right here, right now for your vanity knows no bounds; in fact…" Loki trails off, a completely demented grin spreading grimly across his face as Amora gasps; the curtain is constricting tighter; a normal man's ribs would be broken by now, their lungs compressed past the level of breathing; a mortal man would be dead by now but, no, Amora is living, her lips moving without speaking.
"Get out of the way!" Loki shouts as he cautiously takes a step back. Peter leaps back to the ceiling but Tony has less time, less agility and can only brace himself as a flutter of fire surrounds Amora, spreads and causes a wave of fiery destruction. Loki defends himself with an ice replica of his own form, shooting the ice block forward in his stead.
"I will destroy you!" She shrieks, changing her stance. Tony, whom had recoiled from the attack, nears once more. She turns towards him, eyes wild, and Tony freezes mid-step.
"Iron-"
-understand that that is the face of apocalypse, the look of madness incarnate; her wicked lust will turn the world into ash.
"Steve!" It's him, it's Tony shouting and he's rushing forward a second too late. Steve's there, in his full Captain America garb, looking utterly and completely shocked. There's a projectile stuck in his chest, the end of the shard still sticking out right where his heart is. For a moment Tony foolishly believes he's okay, that Steve will simply march forward and save him, but no, Steve lurches forward, eyes the shard in his chest and pales dramatically.
"T-Tony?" He whispers, unsure, and looks at Tony with tears in his eyes. Tony can't move; the binds in his wrists digging in painfully, burning as he tugs forward, trying to get to Steve.
"Steve, Steve dammit, don't-don't do this, please! You have to-to get up, please you can't-"
It changes. Suddenly she's there, holding this cube in her shaky hands, tears streaming down her face.
"They did this, they took him from me, I want them all—I want them all destroyed!" She sounds hysterical, holding the cube but she can't see that the shards that are broken off will change this, change her wish. The building behind her, crumbled and in flames, rumbles with the power of the Cosmic Cube.
"I want to kill them all!"
It's different but not; it's only moments earlier and he's watching but can't do a thing as Thor falls, eyes locked with Loki's and blood running down his chest in thick streams.
"Thor! Thor, oh, brother, why must you be such an idiot!" Loki is crying and his hand hovers above the gaping wound in Thor's chest, the light touching the gash tentatively and then dying out.
"Ay, an idiot but mine injuries assured your safety and that's all I could ask for… the most… noblest… of deaths…" Thor cracks a bloody, goofy grin and Loki lets out a half-laugh half-sob.
"No, you won't die, I-"
But Loki's eyes widen and close slowly.
There's madness in her eyes, a gun in her hand. The second shard already fired out, the first deep within Steve's chest.
The building groans with the force of opening the portal.
The portal closes promptly.
The building falls.
The world dies.
Fire.
Fire.
Fire.
"You have to stop her before-"
"-ake up"
"Give in to your heart and-"
"Please. Please, Wa-"
"Live freely."
"TONY!"
Tony gasps as the dream-state wears off and the pain in his shoulder starts to set in. He's lying across the floor, the armor in pieces on either side of his body, a sure sign of someone using the override code. The auditorium room is suddenly alight, shining down on Steve's worried expression.
"What-what the hell-" Tony starts and, with a startled gasp, quickly sits up. "Where is she, we have to stop her, Steve, Steve, she's going to do some terrible, terrible shit and we have to stop her, get Thor the hell away from here, send him back to Asgard if you have to but you can't-"
"Tony, calm down." Steve puts a hand on Tony's uninjured shoulder and pushes him down gently. "Thor isn't going anywhere and we won't send him to Asgard for no reason at all; the woman-"
"Amora" Spiderman pipes up
"Yeah, Amora, she got away when she struck you in the shoulder with god knows what kind of acid, when we came in she threw it, it popped, you just kind of stood there and hen Peter tried to attack back she disappeared into the wall."
"And Loki?" Tony asks, trying to press on. He figured Loki helping out there was a pretty important fact.
"My Brother had his hand in such a misdeed!" Thor booms, startling Tony. Tony tilts his head back and gets an upside-down image of Thor, who sort of looks like he's smiling but it's probably a frown.
"Not… exactly." Tony deadpans. "I was a little late in entering so Pete probably has better details. From what I saw, though, he was trying damn hard to stop her."
"OH, yeah!" Peter squeaks, "It was crazy! He was giving me signals and everything, telling me when to move and I think that for a moment he even covered me with an illusion, It was all bang! Bang! Crash! 'I will never forgive you', 'I am bound but not really' and It was really weird but okay in a way…" Peter continued his senseless babble while Tony tuned him out.
"Tony, there's a lot you're not telling us. Not telling me," Steve gives Tony a pointed look that's more hurt than anything and any retort is swallowed by the look, "and although I know you're the kind of guy that doesn't want to bother others with his own problems, or you'd rather ignore them until they pass but this, this that's going on right now, this isn't something you can just sit out. It's affecting you and it's affecting the missions-"
"—I'm fine, just a little tired-"
"This isn't being tired, Tony!" Steve shouts, more exasperated than angry. "You've been getting progressively worse; don't you dare deny it. You don't sleep, you don't eat and now you're—you're passing out or spacing out, I don't know what but it's been a week already and you're not getting better." Steve heaves a heavy sigh, pulling off the cowl and looks at Tony with resignation. "I know it's getting worse, Tony."
"Well, aren't you awfully attentive—" Tony starts, trying to derail the conversation altogether.
"Of course I am; I notice everything you do!" Steve shouts back in retaliation. There's a light flush on his cheeks but when doesn't Steve blush, really—and something in Tony's mind, or chest, gets a little warm and fuzzy and for a moment he thinks it might be a stroke but it's much, much worse. He pushes that aside and focuses on more important topics, like the throbbing pain in his shoulder and the strange illusions that plague his every moment.
"I can, can we do this later?" Tony whispers, still sore and aching. "Not trying to be so dismissive but my shoulder feels like it wants to expulse the bone through the muscle and skin and, yeah, ouch, can you please not touch it?" Tony winces as Steve brushes the white oil-stained muscle shirt Tony had on that same morning.
"Sorry…" Steve mumbles, hand still extended towards the burn. "You just have to take the shirt off, then, since you're being a baby about me trying to examine the burn-"
"—absolutely no way. Sorry, the chemicals can burn straight away to the bone; I'm not taking my shirt off." Tony grinds out blandly.
"Tony, now's not the time to start acting like a dame, we've all seen you without a shirt, and missing much, much more." Steve growls. "The damn thing she tossed at you melted the armor like plastic, take. The damn. Shirt. Off." Steve commands in his best authoritative tone.
"Oh, I don't know. Maybe the fact that moving my arm will make it fall off but no." Tony's snide tone seems to make some modicum of patience in Steve crumble to dust because suddenly he's all but straddling Tony, tugging at the bottom of his shirt with barely any force, seemingly afraid to rip the stained and worn t-shirt.
And, yeah, maybe this has been the start of a few of Tony's fantasies—heat-of-the-battle, amidst rubble, adrenaline pumping sex; Steve's trying to help him, though, and half of the Avengers are here already, watching them or looking away. Tony realizes quite suddenly what's going to happen, and in clear picture too.
Steve will see the arc reactor, be immediately disgusted, repulsed, then he'll be looking at Tony with pity and that would be the worse part of it all, wouldn't it? Steve will know how Tony's really heartless, see the scars and know that the guilt that falls on Tony's shoulders is etched in his skin. He's going to shy away, he's going to look away and pretend to have not seen a thing because the scars are testament to how cold and human and weak Tony is.
Steve rolls his eyes and rips off the shirt, ignoring Tony's protest in order to wrap the shreds on Tony's upper arm, pressing another torn fragment into the burnt skin just above the makeshift bandage. Tony pointedly ignored the Super soldier, choosing, rather, to look at the broken and rotting theater seats. Peter's still babbling about the fight to an eager Thor, Natasha is just slinking down the aisle, eying everything in sight. They're a bit off towards the other end of the front screening area, their words incomprehensible from where the two are.
"S.H.I.E.L.D. say they want us to come in and give a full report on what happened; Natasha and Peter can handle that, though." Steve pauses for a moment, waiting for Tony to look at him but the man doesn't; his petulant gaze remains elsewhere and Steve resists the urge to turn Tony around and force him to see Steve, see the worry and anxiety that eats away at his sanity because Tony just suddenly came into his life, seventy years into the future, and became this-this big, colossal part of Steve's life, one he thought he could never get back but with Tony it's easy to be himself; losing Tony would be like losing Bucky again, like losing Peggy.
"Tony." Steve repeats and he is slightly startled by the flinch that shifts him atop of Tony's body. "Tony," Steve whispers, leaning forward," please, just look at me."
Slowly, so nerve-wrenchingly slowly, Tony turns eyes unsure. Steve breathes in sharply, opens his mouth and—
"Ah, here you all are. The signals are still being scrambled so we couldn't find you, looked around for a bit; we're ready for you outside. Two wounded, correct?" The S.H.I.E.L.D. operative looks at the small group and shrugs. "There's a medic in the 'copter, let's move out; Director Fury wants you all in his office ASAP," he breaths and the team is amazed at how much the young man can spill out in a single breath. There's terse silence as the Peter and Thor shuffle towards the exit of the Auditorium; Natasha quickly leaps and stalks out the door without a sound and Steve gets off of Tony, spares a glance at the once again hidden and guarded expression and sighs.
"I'll be fine. Go up ahead; need to, uh… restore the system for the armor so that I can walk out of here in more than a torn up shirt and some old jeans, looks bad for team publicity." Tony mutters as he sits up, clicking the gauntlets back into place. Steve nods, replaces his cowl and sluggishly steps to the gaping doorway and into the hall.
Tony takes his time clicking the armor back in, piece by piece, murmuring different codes to unravel the system overrides; the different components start to click back into place, skimming up his bare chest until he's finally standing in his mostly re-formed armor.
Tony takes a deep breath, lets it out in a loud sigh and slides the faceplate down.
"Sir, there seems to be a problem with-"
"Yeah, yeah, I know that the shoulder plate is melted and the armor was breached by some sort of chemical agent." Tony reiterates, rolling the injured shoulder, satisfied with the wet crack it gives as it shifts back into place.
"How very astute, sir, although I should point out to you that I have a system message that claims that you were rendered unconscious for quite an amount of time." It should be impossible for an AI to sound so smug. Why oh why does Jarvis sound so haughty? "I have studied the video monitoring of the workshop and have very meticulously analyzed every moment for any discrepancies in your attitude and typical mannerisms; any visual and audio inconsistencies have been drawn out of the feeds and put into a chronological timeline."
"Great." Tony groans," how much is there?"
"The first noted change in your psyche, according to my analysis of your behavioral traits, attitude, gestures, norms; quirks, gesticulations, and idiosyncrasies occurs at nineteen-oh-five; there are a total of forty-seven strange incidences in physical manifestation, eighteen audio incongruities that are being evaluated and secured for better listening; it appears that you had collapsed at twenty-seventeen and hadn't woken until Captain Rogers entered the lab."
Tony listened to Jarvis' summary as he left the Auditorium, down the hall and out the broken front door. He watched various images pop up on his screen, even as Steve said something to the S.H.I.E.L.D. officer by the chopper.
"Ok, give me all the gory details when I arrive back at the tower." Tony dismisses, flapping a hand up and down in front of Steve's troubled expression, as if to wave off any and all worries.
"Sir, perhaps you should wait until these episodes subside." Jarvis offers.
"You and Steve are just the same—"
"Perhaps Captain Rogers and I retain a strong argument."
"Sometimes I think you're both out to get me." Tony murmurs under his breath.
"We both just care about your well-being, sir." Jarvis pipes up and if he wasn't a machine Tony would swear it was laughing at him. "I will auto-program the armor to arrive straight to Stark Tower and lock it until another emergency is called in, sir."
"Fiiiiiiine," Tony sighs, looking on blankly as Thor begins to spin Mjolnir, ready to take off; Natasha is already in the helicopter cabin, on the receiver with probably Fury; Spiderman is just standing by and Steve is leaning against the helicopter.
"Alright." All attention flies to Steve. "Black Widow, Spiderman: I want you two to go and report to Fury; Thor, try and get any information from Asgard if you can; I'm taking Ironman to the medical wing and then we're supposed to meet with S.H.I.E.L.D to get any more information. Understood?" Steve looks around for any comments but the team simply remains silent.
There's a murmur of assent as Peter joins Natasha in the helicopter; Thor nods and gets ready to leave as Steve turns to Tony.
"I have to make sure you actually listen this time." Steve sounds like he's only half-joking. "C'mon, we should get going."
"You and Jarvis both; I swear you're consulting together against me." Tony sighs and Steve lets out a light chuckle. "Alright, c'mon." Tony outstretches his arms. "You're gonna need a ride. Last I checked Captain America could beat up Nazis, not fly."