The repulsors sputtered as the last of the energy drained away and Tony fell from the sky. The dark asphalt rose up to meet him and it was only by quick reflexes that Tony managed to keep his face from permanently merging with the suits helmet. That's about as far as his luck went. The noisy landing would be sure to attract the undead.
Out of all the times for a zombie apocalypse to break it out, it had to be when Tony was away from home. Bad enough, he'd been called to DC to have yet another meeting with political assholes who wanted the Iron Man for "the good of the country" without adding in the end of days. Sometimes Tony thought these things happened to him as a long running cosmic joke. Surely someone out there hated him with the fire of a thousand suns.
Tony had been in his hotel room when he first encountered the undead. He was sleeping off the hangover from hell. Hands traveled up his sides tickling lightly. Light poured in through an open window and a figure above him blurred in and out of view. Pale against the light of the moon. But all he saw was blue... screaming... gunfire...blue blue blue.
Tony startled awake, sitting up in a panic. He regretted that when the blood rushed to his head and he became aware of the dull pounding behind his eyes. Someone outside was screaming and he could hear gunfire. Tony shook off the last vestiges of sleep, clumsily climbing out of bed towards the bedroom window.
The world outside was... dying. Tony stood at the window, now sober, watching as the world he knew crumbled. He watched a woman scream as slobbering inhuman corpses ripped into her. He saw a guy pump bullet after bullet into one of them and finally go down with a shot to the head. The world beginning to burn.
Thinking back on it now, Tony wouldn't have gotten out of there without the suit. Those first few weeks, everyone was taken by surprise. Nobody knew what was happening and by the time we realized, it was already too late. Everyone was dead and gone. Tony hadn't come across another living person in 3 months. He held out on using the suit, trying to save it for emergencies but finally it had run out. He picked himself off the pavement, the suit shrinking back into a suitcase. He slipped the case into the raggedy backpack at his side, shifting the cans of food around. The weight of it slowed him down a bit but Tony had poured his heart, soul and sweat into that suit. The Iron Man was his greatest creation, his cross to bear, his chance to prove himself worthy of Yinsen's sacrifice. Like hell he was leaving his suit lying around in the middle of the apocalypse.
He had to get back to the mansion... find Pepper and Rhodey... maybe try to find a way to reverse this mess. The groans and shuffling of nearby undead pulled Tony out of his reverie. Shouldering the heavy bag, Tony slipped into the doorway of a building nearby just as a horde of undead came around the corner. Looking through the boarded windows, Tony watched grimly as they shuffled past. They looked more and more grotesque every time Tony saw them. Their clothes dirty and tattered, drenched in blood and mud, hair matted and tangled. Skin peeling off and flapping around, limbs hanging limply and those eyes. Milky white eyes, unseeing and devoid of life. Warmth. Love. Hatred. Anything that made us human. Gone.
Tony himself wasn't looking so hot these days either. He'd been trekking through wilderness for a week now, living off canned food and berries. His hair was greasy, his clothes dirty and he reeked to high wanted a hot shower, good food that didn't consist of berries or cold ravioli and clean clothes. More than anything though, Tony wanted company.
In the days Before, Tony would lock himself in his lab for days working until he succumbed to the temptation of sleep or Pepper dragged him out of the lab. He would go days, maybe a week without ever seeing or speaking to another living soul. That self-imposed seclusion was very different from the seclusion Tony found himself in now. Now Tony was increasingly aware of how very lonely he felt, how quiet the world around him was. For the first time in his life, Tony found himself wanting to be around people. All his life he'd been surrounded by people. Those who wanted to use him to elevate their own status, those who kissed up to him, those who hated him and (hard to believe even now) those who genuinely cared about him God knows why. Tony wanted someone who would watch over him as he slept, who could watch his back in a raid. He was tired of startling awake at every little sound, he was tired of always having to look over his shoulder. He wanted to talk aloud and hear another voice answering back. More than anything, Tony wanted to feel safe. Tony wanted some place to call home.
Steve swung around the corner, sweeping his gun in a wide arc around the empty room. He radioed in on his walkie, hearing Natasha's confirmation that the first floor was clear followed by Clint's report on one undead in the garage. Steve gave the room another cursory glance before he holstered his gun at his hip and marched back downstairs. He could hear hushed voices in the kitchen, voices familiar to him now. It had been three long months since he'd last seen Bucky since they got separated during the chaos of those first few weeks. Steve had been searching for him for almost a month when he met Clint and Natasha. Steve had been cutting down a group of undead that had snuck up on him while he slept and preoccupied with the three undead in front of him, one had snuck up on him from the back. He would have been undead chow if it hadn't been for Clint, who shot the bastard in the head with one of his arrows, and Natasha, who knifed one of them from a distance. The first few days with the master assassins had made Steve uneasy, even with his training as a soldier. lt took a while but eventually Steve had grown to trust them and vice versa. The house they'd found was on the outskirts of the city of Philadelphia.
lt was a picturesque suburban home, the kind with a front garden, a backyard and a white picket fence. It was the kind of home Steve had wanted with Peggy so long ago. A house to settle down in and have a few kids, maybe a little girl that liked princesses so they could decorate her room like the one upstairs.
Steve pushed the thoughts away, walking into the kitchen. Natasha leaned over the maps spread over the table, her red hair catching the light of the setting sun coming through the window, Clint at her side cleaning his arrow of black viscous brain matter. Steve, not for the first time, wondered if there was something there between them. The way they interacted, how comfortable they seemed with each other, the way they moved together seamlessly without words. lt made Steve think of that saying from Plato about human beings being only one half of a whole, forever doomed to spend their lives searching for their other half. His mother had always told him his father had been her other half. Steve wondered if he could ever have that with someone, if anyone would ever stomp into his life and just take command of his heart like Peggy once had. Strong, beautiful Peggy with those soulful brown eyes.
"Steve", Natasha's soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts and Steve stood blinking in the doorway of the room, Clint and Natasha watching him knowingly. Natasha pursed her lips and shook her head, red curls softly springing.
"We'll go over the plan tomorrow. Eat something and get some sleep, you look dead on your feet."
She rolled up the maps, following Clint out of the kitchen. As she passed him, she put her hand to his shoulder, murmuring in Russian.
Tony walked down the darkened aisles of the supermarket, listening for the telltale signs of the undead. He gripped the wooden handle of the dagger in clammy hands. Even now, years later, Tony couldn't touch guns without having panic attacks and remembering his captivity. It wasn't ideal as he needed to get close enough to stab them in the head but Tony couldn't... the memories overwhelmed him... they choked him.
With the Iron Man suit, it was different. Tony wasn't hurting innocents, he was trying to rid the world of criminals and much of the time, he fought drones. When he did fight actual people, he shot (lasers) to incapacitate them, not kill. Tony had no qualms about killing these things. They weren't human, not anymore.
Tony stopped in the middle of the aisle, grabbing a can of peach preserves and a pack of water bottles. This supermarket was still pretty stocked, hadn't been hit hard during the first waves and Tony had scouted it out a few weeks before he'd gotten turned around in the forest and then decided to turn back.
Ahead Tony could hear the moaning and groaning of the undead, he slowed down, peeking around the corner. At the other end of the aisle, there was about a group of fifteen or so undead shuffling around. Too many for him. Tony tried to move back quietly but his bag caught on the shelf, shifting it forward. The glass jars on the shelf crashed down to the floor and every undead turned towards him. Shit shit shit. Tony turned to run and slipped on the shattered glass, glass embedding in his hands and knees as he caught himself. Hot rancid breath ran down his neck and Tony turned, stabbing blindly. The creature fell over on him, black blood spilling over his shirt. The next few fell on him like crows swarming a carcass. There was too many. He wasn't going to make it. He was going to die in a dingy supermarket, buried under black goo and undead carcasses.
He turned his head to the side as the fifth one eagerly snapped his teeth inches above his cheek. He could feel glass digging in on one cheek and drool and spittle on his other. Fingers slippery with goo, he slashed the knife across the creature's throat. At the same time, he heard the loud bang of gunfire, shouting and the renewed moaning of the undead. Tony shuddered as black goo rained down on him, closing his eyes, waiting. Waiting to live... waiting to die. The final gunshot rang in the sudden silence and Tony could hear footsteps stop before him. He opened his eyes and looked up, past the outstretched hand, to blue eyes.
Tony squirmed uncomfortably, eyes looking at anything but the annoyingly kind blue eyes. He gritted his teeth as the man picked the glass out of the cut on his cheek to clean the wound. Over the broad shoulders, Tony could see the man's companion. A smug blonde that kept grinning at him with a bow and a quiver of arrows. This was not what Tony had in mind when he imagined company. Katniss 2.0 and a Calvin Klein model, not that Tony didn't appreciate some eye candy but now was so not the crackle of a walkie startled Tony, the metal pincers digging into his cheek painfully.
"Sorry sorry. Was that Tasha?" Blue Eyes spoke up, turning slightly to indicate the last part was for Katniss.
"Few undead but nothing she couldn't handle. I'm gonna help her load everything into the truck," Katniss 2.0 stood from the ledge he was perched on, disappearing down one of the dimly lit aisles. Silence reigned in his absence and Tony swore you could actually cut the tension with a knife, Blue Eyes had now moved on to picking glass from Tony's palms, rough callused fingers brushing against his own.
After a few minutes of silence, much of which Tony had spent reading the fascinating labels off shelved goods, Blue Eyes cleared his throat and Tony glanced at him, only barely catching the slip of blue eyes from under blonde lashes before they turned back to Tony's hand.
"What's your name?"
His voice was smooth and clear and Tony couldn't remember the last time he'd been asked that question. Everyone knew who Tony Stark was! He was on the news like every other day. Where the hell had this guy been for the past few years? Before he could comment on the absurdity of that question, a voice spoke up from the darkness.
"Mr. Stark. I'd say I'm surprised to see you here but you always did have a habit of showing up unexpected."
The voice came from behind him and Tony swore quietly, silently cursing every deity that ever existed. He turned in his seat, pasting on a bland smile.
"Natalie," she stepped from the shadows, piercing him with the same assessing look she'd given him back when she was pretending to be his assistant. Behind her, Katniss followed grinning the same knowing grin.
"You're SHIELD too. Of course, you are. Where's the pirate and Agent Agent? Hiding out in a SHIELD compound, I presume. Does SHIELD even have a contingency plan in place for something like this?"
God it felt good to snark, the undead didn't make for great conversations. Natasha raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that very clearly explained how much she'd like to kill him with her Thighs of Doom.
"Wait you guys know each other?" Blue Eyes spoke up, frowning slightly, brow wrinkling.
"Stark, my companions Captain Steve Rogers of The Howling Commandos and Agent Clint Barton of SHIELD. Steve, Tony Stark of Stark Industries, consultant to SHIELD, constant pain in our ass. I believe he uses a much more different introduction," she smirked at him and Tony leered.
"Billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist," he turned the leering grin on Steve, watching as the frown deepened.
"We should get going before more undead come by. Is the truck loaded?"
Katniss 2.0, or rather Barton, nodded an affirmative. Steve nodded and turned to Tony, reaching behind him and untucking a gun from his waistband, holding it out to Tony.
"Noticed you didn't have a gun. Need to be able to protect yourself."
Tony turned away, shivering in the cold carnivorous space.
"I don't need it. I can protect myself just fine with the knife."
He could see Natasha watching him silently on the side, eyes unreadable. Of course she knew. What was privacy in the life of Tony Stark? That was one good thing that had come of this wretched apocalypse. No press. He could only imagine the things they'd say if they saw him now, covering in black goo, scavenging for food.
"Ton-"
"Leave it. He can use the knife, he has back-up now," Natasha picked up one of the bags at Steves feet and disappeared, debate closed for discussion. Tony kind of wanted to hug her but she'd probably stab him in the neck and he wasn't the hugging type.
"You heard the lady, O Captain My Captain," Tony grabbed his own bag, whistling as he followed Barton into the darkness.
NOTE: Hello! New story here. Hope you guys enjoy. I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I edit.