The Empire Strikes Back
PenPatronus
Chapter 10
Second Nature
"You wanna mope? Go to high school. You want to make amends? Get off your ass."
-Clint Barton
Scott set the unconscious Natasha on the floor of the Quinjet and started digging through every first aid kit like there were prizes at the bottom. "Steroids? Stimulants? Aha! Naloxone." Lang drew 2mg into a needle and stabbed it into the Black Widow's leg. Nat's breathing went from shallow to normal in under two minutes, and two minutes after that she opened her eyes.
"Clint?" Nat whispered. With Scott's help she sat up and leaned against the wall.
"Bad guys got him. I'm sorry," Scott said. "I don't know what happened to the others."
"Dammit," Natasha grumbled. "We have to, um…Call Vision. Fury. Coulson. That Spider-Child if it's not past his bedtime…We need backup." She struggled to stand as the last of the drugs disintegrated in her system.
"I don't think there's time." Scott took a deep breath and said, "The men who took Barton away? They said something about an execution. We're past Ross' original deadline. Romanoff, they could already be dead."
Fire blazed in Natasha's eyes. She shoved Scott aside and stumbled to the weapons locker. "Load more syringes."
Scott watched her attach guns and magazines all over her body. "Romanoff, they're expecting us. If you charge in through the same doors you'll just get captured, too."
"I don't care." Tears burned Natasha's eyes. "I just got my boys back. If the Avengers are going to die, we'll die together." She marched past Scott and down the ramp. In the distance, lights came to life on every floor of the factory. Ross wasn't hiding anymore. A small brigade started filing out of the building. They were heading straight for the jet.
Natasha gasped when a sleek, slim ship descended from the clouds with a swan's grace. It landed beside the Quinjet and two figures jumped out. "I overheard your little game," T'Challa called to Scott as he and Bucky approached. "I played a similar one when I was a young man. If I was King of Wakanda," he said with a smile, "I would help my friends."
Wanda Maximoff didn't understand what she was seeing. In recent years she had come to accept impossible things—she was one, herself—but this scene was beyond her. As she hung from her binds, vaguely listening to Rogers and Ross trade insults, she spotted a herd of Bull Ants carrying a syringe up the wall. In her dazed fugue state, she didn't feel the initial pinch when the ants stabbed the needle into her hip, but she did sense the effects of the drugs almost instantly. The room came into focus as if it had morphed from black-and-white to color. Wanda's powers pulsed in her fingers. She smiled a "thank you" at the insects as they scurried away.
"Bring them down," Ross called. Rollins and several other HYDRA mercenaries untethered her and Sam and tossed them onto the floor with Clint, Steve, and Stark. Wanda kept her head down, pretending to still be helpless from the tranquilizers. She inched closer to Tony until she could slide her hand under the back of his head. With the red energy in her fingers hidden, she got to work healing Tony Stark's mind.
Tony only saw the world through the images playing in the foreground of his mind. It was like watching one TV show directly on top of the other. In the first image he was back in Siberia, back in that silo, beating on Captain America with all of his might. He pinned Cap to the ground, ripped the cowl off, and then raised his repulsors over Steve's chest. Instead of Rogers plunging his shield into the armor, Tony stabbed his lasers straight through Steve's heart. Blood splattered out of Cap's mouth. He gasped Tony's name, shuddered, and died…And then the scene started all over again.
Beyond that—like the window pane past a curtain—was the stage. Ross crossed it. Rollins dragged a body in and tossed it beside Tony. Goons without nametags carried in a man who looked suspiciously like Clint Barton. For a second that idea almost distracted Tony from the repeating horror, until he remembered the hologram.
For the longest time he was alone with the new memory. Momentarily he remembered that it was new, that it was different, that it was a corrupted version of what happened in Siberia. But he saw it so many times, and it was bound to him so deep that, eventually, he forgot how the real story ended. Steve was dead. That was the new truth. Dead by his hands. Tony could justify that so many things weren't his fault, but this…
He felt Steve's blood on his hands. It was so warm.
The Clint hologram spoke to him. Why was Ross bothering? Didn't he know that Tony wouldn't fall for that trick? What did he want to know, anyway? His questions before had been all about Steve, but Steve was dead. What else mattered if Steve was dead?
"PEPPER'S ALIVE!" holo-Barton said. He raised his hand to strike Stark and, vaguely, Tony acknowledged that this hologram was left-handed.
Warm, calloused hands took his. "I'm with you," the ghost of Steve Rogers said.
Tony drifted. He watched himself murder his friend over and over again. The shouting in the world beyond grew dim…
Red light in his eyes. Scarlet energy attacked the memory like lightning bolts. It disintegrated bit by bit until, after a series of blinks, Stark was no longer seeing it at all. As an experiment, he tried to recall the memory, but the only one he had was of Rogers straddling him and dropping the shield like a guillotine. Even the memory OF the memory was fading.
Hot sizzles attacked the drugs in his veins. The real world came into focus. He looked up and saw Wanda leaning over him, her long hair an umbrella sheltering both of their faces. She winked at him and he gave her a grateful smile. Tony lifted his head and saw Ross conversing with Rollins. Goons moved equipment through the far doors.
His brain worked Tony Stark-fast. He evaluated his body—stiff, ribs broken, more bruise than not, barely movable. He evaluated the room—counted the guards, measured the distance to the exit, diagnosed Ross as "impatient." "What do you mean you can't find the jet?" Ross bellowed at Rollins. "Security cameras confirmed its location. Even if it went into stealth mode the teams would've heard it take off!"
Tony looked to his left. Wilson was shaking his head like he was trying to knock water out of his ears. His eyes were unfocused but wide, like he was fighting to concentrate. Barton was beside him, eyeing Ross warily. Wanda had turned her attention to him. She pressed her hand against his back and sent red energy into his body—why would she do that if he was just a hologram? Tony stared at his friend for half a minute before he was completely convinced that he was real. "Clint," Stark gulped. He took a fistful of Barton's shirt.
"Tony?" a voice gasped on his right. Steve leaned over him. Tears stung Tony's eyes. He was embarrassed by them, but didn't fight them off. Steve was ALIVE. He cupped Tony's cheeks between his hands and beamed at him. "Got your letter," Steve sniffed.
"It was unfinished," Tony whispered.
"Yes, it is," Steve stated firmly. "And it'll stay that way, Tony. You were gearing up to say 'goodbye'."
"Didn't think you'd come," Tony whispered. He tasted the salt of his own tears. "Any of you," he said, turning back to Clint.
Barton took his hand. "I'm supposed to go waterskiing with my family," he said. "You can buy the Avengers a boat, right?"
"Family vacation?" Stark grinned. "Looking forward to it." Tony tried to sit up, then, but didn't get very far. "I might not be much help, fellas," he groaned, wincing and flinching and trembling. "Busted up pretty bad…"
Steve wiped his wrist across his eyes. "We're going to have to make a move soon, team. Here's the plan—"
"Um," Sam said quietly. A warning of some sort reverberated in his voice, and the other four immediately looked at him. "I've been watching something tiny buzz around the room. Don't everybody look at once, but it just landed on Cap's shield, and it looks familiar."
They couldn't help it. As one, Steve, Clint, Wanda, and Tony looked at the wall behind them. And there, squatting in the center of the Avengers' "A," no larger than a cup of yogurt, was the Quinjet.
Steve aimed a small salute at the jet's windshield. "At my signal," he instructed. He wasn't entirely sure, but he thought he saw a tiny hand give him a thumb's up.
To Be Continued