Coming in from each mission was the greatest part of Tony's day.
It wasn't that he didn't love the awesome feeling of zipping around, breaking the sound barrier (he did, and would never deny it); it was the amazing feeling of a hot shower, a soft pair of sweatpants and a steaming mug of his life-giving sustenance that really couldn't be beat. He had proudly attested to this on many occasions, and was never met with more opposition than a shake of the head, or an exasperated sigh.
So it was that on that particular Wednesday afternoon, Tony was simply itching to spend a few hours—wait, make that a few days—in the lab, and was often distracted from the current enemies he was facing.
"Stark!" Steve cried, as Tony's leg was snagged by one of the endless brutes swarming the team. It was a careless mistake that only proved further that his mind was definitely elsewhere.
"Sorry, Spangles," he replied, freeing himself with a small burst of light, blinding the man who stumbled back, and knocked over a few of his friends in the process. Strike, he thought. Ten down, and ten thousand more to go.
"You really need to pay more attention," the captain admonished through the comm. "To the bodily threat or mental one?" Steve rolled his eyes, slinging his shield across the warehouse like a university student tossing a Frisbee. For some reason, Tony found the simile amusing to picture.
"Girls, girls, you're both pretty," Clint chided from his post, where he was systematically sniping thug after thug. "Now, could you keep your catfight off the comms so"—an explosion burst through their earpieces, causing Steve to wince, rubbing at his enhanced ears—"that the rest of us can hear ourselves think?"
Radio silence ensued, save some grunting [read: Tony's grumbling] and other sound effects that came with the fighting. The team had worked together for such a long time that there was hardly any need for communication, but one was always better safe than sorry, and Fury would lose it if they didn't wear the comms.
Bruce had opted to stay back at the Tower, and Thor was handling things in Asgard, so it was down to the other four to contain this infinite swell of human mass.
Finally, after several hours of methodically picking off baddies, they reached the last handful. A few ran panicking towards the only exit to find the frightful visage of a petite redhead, smiling sweetly, stun batons at the ready. The poor men didn't stand a chance, and went down easily.
"Right," Steve began, making eye contact with one of the few men left. "You might want to start talking." The man was quivering—the captain supposed it was out of fear—and hesitantly opened his mouth.
"H… ha-"
"Spit it out, buddy. We don't have all day," Tony interjected after several failed attempts to form a coherent answer. To himself, he muttered, "Should've brought in the Jolly Green Giant."
"H-hail… Hydra," the man whispered. It was just as he spoke that Steve noticed the blinking light on the captive's chest, just in time to see it stop and turn solid red.
Eyes widening, he let out a yell of warning, and leapt away as the room exploded with the twice force of Thor's hammer hitting Cap's shield. Unfortunately, none of the people in the room, heroes or thugs, found a structure to hide behind, and all were blasted into the walls with resounding cracks. Steve's vision swam and settled swiftly into darkness.
When In Doubt… insert a line break. Plot!
Tony groaned, faintly distinguishing JARVIS' concerned tones from the fading ringing in his ears. He was lucky enough to crash with the suit on, but the others had no such protection. It was only thanks to Steve's yell that the four of them had dove back in time.
Sir… Ah, you are awake, sir?
"Ugh…" Tony moaned, checking the health statistics on his suit, not that they really mattered. His everything hurt, and nothing was going to change that. There went his beautiful vision of instant sleep. "JARV—five more minutes…"
I would suggest you make it snappy, sir. It seems that Agent Barton is in need of medical assistance.
The moment those words hit his ears, Tony sprang into action, finding Clint amongst the rubble. He looked terrible, but the worst part was his left foot, which was twisted the wrong way. Tony was joined by Natasha, who had shaken off the grogginess in favor of concern for her partner.
"Get him back to the Tower," she practically ordered Tony. When he hesitated, she reassured, "I can handle Steve. Go." Not needing to be told thrice, he scooped his teammate up, flying him back to the Tower.
The rush of adrenaline began to fade as he collapsed into a chair, letting Bruce work on Clint. Since the Battle of New York, the man had been dedicating his spare time to learning to become a doctor in medicine rather than in science. So far, he'd been doing well, but his "patients" were few (most were sent to the SHIELD infirmary) and his experience small. Bruce was a determined man, and did the best he could, setting Clint's ankle with a sickening snap.
Eventually, Bruce, seeing Tony's fatigue, dismissed him to his room after checking him over for serious injuries. The billionaire went reluctantly, but promptly passed out the moment he hit the pillows on his enormous bed.
Sir.
Tony groaned, burying his face into the warmth and comfort of his pillow.
Wake up, sir.
"Nooooo," he whined, a drawn-out complaint that would've earned him a slap upside the head from multiple teammates, but even JARVIS had to admit that it was impressive.
… I will fetch Miss Potts, sir.
"Fiiinnneee," he grumbled, rolling out of bed and hitting the floor with a muted thump. Changing quickly, he left the dirty clothes on the bed.
The team is waiting for you in the common room.
JARVIS' voice was soft, as though he was trying to ease Tony into something. Feeling slightly suspicious, he stepped into the elevator. Upon reaching the room, he found the team gathered on various chairs, looking solemn.
"What happened?" Tony asked, searching the faces uncertainly. "Did Coulson die again? Did Rudolph the Leather-Clad Reindeer come back?" He did a quick headcount, coming up short of two: Steve and Thor. "Where's the Ice Pop?"
The team's grave gazes met his, looking devastated. "Tony," Natasha said gently, a solitary tear marking her otherwise untouched face, "Steve's… he's gone, Tony, I…"
The billionaire's hesitant smile melted into a look of total shock and despair. "What? No, no, that's not—" He broke off, sinking into the sofa, and staring vacantly into space. For once in his life, Anthony Edward Stark was utterly speechless.
"I looked for him, b-but he … his head hit the wall, and… and…" Natasha began to sob in earnest, joining Tony on the couch. Bruce held his head in his hands. Clint sat frozen, staring at his bandaged ankle with desperate intensity.
Tony stood, utterly silent, and left the room numbly, retiring to his workshop. No, no. He can't be dead. He's not gone. Not yet. He's just missing.
"JARVIS, bring up the modified uniform designs." We'll find him. He's probably almost back now. It wasn't that far away, right? Right?! He's not dead.
After staring blankly at his own designs for a few minutes, he broke down, weeping almost silently in his isolation. DUM-E clicked and patted Tony's shoulder clumsily for comfort as he let out his grief.
When In Doubt… insert another line break. Sadness!
The dead man in question was sulking over being the one to fetch the coffee.
It was absolutely ridiculous in his mind. In his time, they had cause to long for the bitter drink, as there was a shortage, and it was a rarity. Now, however, it was in total abundance, and he couldn't fathom why it was so necessary to the young people he saw around these days.
Of course, he had plenty of time to ponder this while standing uncomfortably in a seemingly endless line of Starbucks customers. He carried with him a cellphone (which he had no intention of using) and a list of the extensive—not to mention expensive—drinks and foods he was to buy with one of Tony's credit cards.
It was easy to assume Tony had no knowledge of the purchasing methods.
It seemed unfair in his mind that he should go get the coffee and doughnuts and cake pops. After all, besides Clint, he was the least covered during the explosion. Natasha could easily have gotten it herself.
He continued to inwardly grumble as the never-ending line moved an inch. It was going to be a long day.
When In Doubt… change the POV. Confusion!
As Tony left the room, the trio waited a few seconds before dropping their facade and huddling together to discuss.
"All right," Clint cheered quietly, wincing slightly as his injured ankle twitched. "Phase One is complete."
"I'm still not sure about this," said Bruce softly, looking down. "What if this really hurts him?"
"He deserves it," the archer dismissed, waving a hand nonchalantly. "Besides, we chose the guy Tony hates the most. If anything, he'll throw a party."
"Fine. When is Cap supposed to come back?"
Natasha gave him a look. "It's a coffee run, Bruce. It'll take him twenty minutes at most," she assured.
Bruce didn't look convinced, but let the matter drop.
Meanwhile, poor Tony was staring blankly at a wall, and occasionally taking a swig from the bottle beside him. He continued in this fashion until the bottle was empty, when he promptly smashed it against the wall he was facing, and repeated the process.
JARVIS watched silently, torn between his creator's grief and the possible reparation of their connection. Besides, the AI thought to himself with an intangible smile, maybe Anthony will come out of this happier with a strengthened bond with the captain.
Tony hadn't spoken since he heard the news, and seemed to be stuck in a cycle of shock, grief, and consuming anger. It was rather surprising to the others when Bruce decided to check up on him.
"Tony?" he called, peering though the glass door. He got no response. Gently, he asked, "JARVIS, could you let me in?"
"Under normal circumstances, I would," the voice replied somberly, "but I fear for both Anthony's and your health if I did."
Bruce sighed at the refusal, looking up at the ceiling as he did.
"Please."
Bruce was Tony's best friend in the Tower, and the first of the Avengers to genuinely care about him. He didn't ask or order JARVIS for access, but the request softened the metaphorical heart of the artificial intelligence, who opened the door silently and continued his watch.
Tony heard the footsteps, but didn't bother to acknowledge Bruce's presence except for a pause in his destruction of empty bottles. The intruder sat next to him, placing a comforting hand on his knee. Tony made no move to shrug it off, but refused to speak. The pair sat there for a good twenty minutes before Bruce felt his phone vibrate.
You have one message from Natasha Romanoff: Steve isn't back yet. Keep him distracted.
Frantically angling his phone away from the billionaire's prying eyes, he typed a response.
I'm with him. Get Steve quickly. I don't want to be around when Tony goes Code Green.
The man in question shifted, looking over at his friend. "What's that?" he asked in a monotone completely devoid of his usual flamboyancy.
"Natasha was checking up on us," Bruce lied, feeling that at least he was partially telling the truth: Nat was asking about him, at least. It seemed that Tony was improving. After all, he was talking now, albeit in a voice less human than JARVIS'.
After another ten minutes of silence and the disposal of the strewn fragments of glass, Bruce coaxed his friend off the couch, and into his room.
Halfway through the hall, the emotionally exhausted billionaire slumped onto Bruce's side, the other scientist just managing to catch him in his unconscious state. With much effort, as Tony was unusually heavy for a man so small, Bruce lugged the sleeping man into his room, dumping him unceremoniously onto the bed.
It was practically untouched, as Tony almost never used it. Looking around, Bruce noticed the small photographs in one frame on a nightstand and a sizeable window that nearly covered a wall. The cleanliness was definitely a testament to the genius' habit of sleeping in his workshop.
Meanwhile, in his sleep-daze, Tony had managed to splay himself out on the bed, limbs angled awkwardly, and it didn't look like a very comfortable sleeping position. Bruce just left with a sigh, hoping to catch Steve soon. It was time to put an end to Tony's misery.
When In Doubt… supply awkward humor. Efficiency!
Until that day, Steve thought it was impossible to spell his name incorrectly.
He was wrong.
Finally retrieving the stack of pastries and piping hot cups, the captain awkwardly stumbled his way out of the coffee shop, concluding that they were evil places and should never be approached without proper preparation and reinforcements.
He did his best to hail a cab, to no avail. Even when he set the coffee down, he couldn't seem to find an empty taxi. Luckily, he did have a metro card on him, and the subway wasn't far.
It was only until he reached the turnstile that Steve had trouble balancing his load. Unfortunately, it were simply too much of a burden, and, backtracking, he set it down by a few strangers huddling against the wall with cardboard signs and watching the man with desperate, wild eyes.
He smiled at the muffled thanks and continued, feeling lighter and in a considerably better mood. Of course, Steve couldn't have one moment of satisfaction without life giving him a nice slap across the face, and so that is how he found himself on the one train that had broken down mid-transit.
The poor man was very close to losing his cool, and the others in his car weren't much better. A fistfight had already broken out within the first five minutes, but he had quickly put an end to that. Steve kept himself distracted by thinking about his team. He hoped that Tony would be awake by the time he returned. All that Nat had mentioned before sending him on his merry way was that the inventor had passed out after getting Clint to safety.
He was pulled abruptly into reality by a force he was well acquainted with: gravity. The train lurched forward, causing him to tip forwards and nearly smother the elderly man sitting beside him. He was luckier than some, as was evidenced by a few raised voices in the back and the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh. It was sadly familiar to the captain, who managed to zone out and nearly miss his stop.
All in all, things weren't looking too bright when he finally reached the Tower, especially since the sun was already beginning to set. Between the traffic, endless lines, and train accident, the hours had slipped away with nothing to show for it. Steve felt relieved to be home and rather disappointed in himself for failing in his duty as errand boy.
Oh well, he thought as he approached the common floor. It's not like Tony would care, but I'll try to pay him back anyways. At least the food's going to those who need it. It was a small comfort, and the captain mentally prepared himself for coffee-deprived Avengers.
When he stepped out of the elevator, he was greeted with two concerned faces and one on the verge of panic.
"Steve!" the three exclaimed, rushing over.
"Didn't you get our calls? We've been worried all afternoon! Tony—"
Steve spoke over all of them, realizing, "I left my phone with the stuff. Sorry, Nat. I'm fine, but what about Tony?"
A shattered mug answered him, and he looked up to see an ashen-faced billionaire, staring at the scene in utter shock.
"…He's not dead," Tony said after a stretch of silence.
"Who's not dead?" Steve asked, and the others took that opportunity to edge towards the elevator.
"Wait, guys, what—" The captain was engulfed in a crushing hug by the shorter man, who was trembling. "Tony, what's wrong? What happened?"
"You… you… dead… and I…" Tony nearly sobbed into Steve's shirt, tightening his grip on him.
"I'm not dead. Shhh, it's okay. I'm here, okay? I just went to get coffee. There was an accident, and I was delayed. That's all," Steve said reassuringly, returning the embrace. "Who told you I was dead?"
Tony just buried his head into his teammate, shaking his head. He could get his revenge later. Right now, all he card about was that Steve was alive. He was okay.
He couldn't exactly say the same for his other teammates, though. He actually almost felt sorry for the tirade he was about to unleash on them.
When In Doubt… write an epilogue. Happy Endings!
The joke was on Tony.
Sure, dying his teammates' hair in a splendid rainbow wasn't super original, but Tony had made the dye to be bright on all colors of hair, and it didn't wash out easily. Fortunately for the others, he chose the day of the Gay Pride Parade.
…so maybe it wasn't the best plan. What could he say?
Even Thor—when he returned in his Asgardian glory—got the hair treatment. Eventually, they all did it, parading down the streets with the best of them, the captain and inventor arm-in-arm.
It drew some attention, but looking down at Tony, Steve had never seen him happier in his life. The smiles all around were infectious, and the leader couldn't help but grin along as he practically bounced his way along. Everything, it seemed, had been forgiven.
…except for when the dye didn't wash out.
AHAHAHAH- I regret nothing.
