Disclaimer: I don't own the Avengers, or any of the characters used in this fic. They all belong to Marvel and their respective creators. I only own any original characters that I choose to include, as well as any original plot ideas.
Chapter 14: Good Morning, Euphoria
A/N: The recommended tune for this chapter is "Weathered" by Creed.
Hours, if not a few days, he had been avoiding them, nearly shot out of the sky on a number of occasions and by various attackers. Fighter pilots, a tank or two, and, of course, those damned alien spies. He was scraped up, paint chipped and flaking off into the distance as he remained airborne, the thrusters now beginning to sputter as the alarm went off in Tony's ear, causing his eyes to open slowly as he awakened.
His hand moved to rub the sleep away, the fist smacking the face plate of the mask with a metallic sound that ground his teeth together in agony. Another headache, what with having had missiles and bullets blowing right past his now very sensitive ears.
"Sir, I highly recommend you get in contact with Ms. Potts."
Tony rolled his eyes, closing them again as he opted to allow the autopilot to continue running. Now, Pepper, he thought, would be sure to gut him if she found out he'd played dead. She'd hate him, scream at him, maybe even consider leaving him and taking the children along with her. The last part, he realized, was just his own fears at work. Not even a possibility. Not with the dangers lurking about New York, let alone the rest of the planet. Pepper wasn't foolish enough to run off on her own with two little ones on her hands. No. But she was, however, highly likely to kick his ass out of their bedroom and force him to sleep on the couch for the next two months. Far less extreme than leaving, but no more desirable.
"Sir, we are running low on–"
"Yeah, sure," Tony muttered under his breath as he began to doze off again. "Let's just get to... Houston before... I..."
The suit dropped, warning alarms going off in Tony's ears. His head spun, body tumbling over itself through the atmosphere as he fell, passing by clouds and finally coming face-to-face with the city below. His eyes widened as Tony began shouting, demanding to know why in the hell Jarvis hadn't mentioned the fact that the suit was low on power sooner than this.
"Shit! Shit! Shit!"
The Iron Man flailed, the display in his helmet indicating that the velocity of the drop was continually increasing. It flared red, alerting Tony to the building that was coming up below.
"Jarvis! Throw whatever we have left into the–"
It was with a hefty thud that he collapsed, smacked the rooftop far harder than anticipated, causing the suit's display to utterly black out. Tony groaned, head now throbbing as he moved slightly, one hand scraping the gravel atop the building while using the other to flip himself over onto his back. Reaching up, the helmet was removed and flung away, landing some several feet off to the left. That made two, he thought bitterly, noting how he'd already been forced to toss a helmet into the missile that had followed him after his departure from the bridge.
Another shaky breath, eyes moving to peer up at the sky where the sun loomed over him, bright and warm and burning into his retinas.
"As I was saying, sir, we are running extremely low on power."
Groaning, the billionaire pushed himself up on one aching arm, managing to drag himself across the roof towards the edge.
"And why... is that...?" he huffed, staring blankly down at the city below. Cars everywhere, filling the streets almost as they would have in Manhattan. Not quite as chaotic, but close enough. Certainly dangerous enough, as well. It would be a nightmare if he had to hike through Houston to reach his destination. "Why didn't we stop... earlier?"
"As you have been unaware," Jarvis explained, "I have made several pit stops along the way so as to allow your body to gradually become re-accustomed to normal temperatures and altitudes."
Tony frowned. Why the hell would that have mattered? "Jarvis, what in the hell are you...?" A pause. "Wait. What day is it?"
"January the twenty-ninth, 2017, sir."
"The twenty-ninth?!" Bolting upright, Tony looked from side to side for something, anything, that would display the time and date for his own eyes to see. But there was nothing. "Where the hell did the twenty-seventh go?!"
He could almost hear the sigh. "That's what I've been trying to tell you, sir. Even at our speed and with all the precautions we took, it has taken a good two days to ensure we have thrown off the Chitauri agents and successfully falsified your death. And, as I mentioned previously, the pit stops so as to allow–"
"God!" Tony lamented. "Two days?!"
"I thought it best to be very thorough, sir."
"Oh, God."
Two days, and everyone back in New York, let alone across the globe, was under the impression that the great Tony Stark had been taken out by a group of extraterrestrial minions belonging to a bastard with a serious complex. Not a one of them knew that he was alive, let alone that the plan had never been meant to be quite so extreme. At the very least, he'd wanted to let the others know he was fine.
"Idiot!"
Swing by the tower, he'd said. Show that bastard Loki just who it was he was playing hardball with. And then they had come, as if summoned on the wind, chasing after him with their guns and missiles, trying to drag him to hell as they followed him through the city. It had been an all-out air battle, he recalled, firing back and forth and working to lose them amid the mass of buildings. Explosions, bullets, pieces of skyscrapers tumbling into the streets below. Just like the first time. A quick change of direction, towards Central Park, in hopes that he could drop out of the suit and land in the lake while Jarvis took care of the rest.
Of course, as Tony was sitting atop a building in the middle of Houston, only a part of his plan had worked out.
"Where are we?" he asked with a shake of his head. "And, so help me God, Jarvis, if you say 'Houston' or 'Texas,' I will short out your system when we get back."
"We are precisely two blocks northeast of 17893 North Slater Place."
His legs shook as Tony forced himself to stand, wobbling back and forth a moment to collect the helmet before lining himself up with the corner of the building and turning around.
"That way, right?" He pointed straight ahead, indicating the structure situated catty-corner his stance. "Say yes, Jarvis."
"That is correct, sir. But, if I may ask, what is it you're planning to–"
"Hit the thrusters when I say 'now,' Jarvis!" Tony shouted back, and took off running towards the opposite side of the building.
"Sir, this really is not advisable, as we are almost out of pow–"
"Just do it!" He felt himself fall, the concrete vanishing from beneath him as Tony stepped off, arms waving as though they'd keep him afloat. "Now!"
The suit teetered, the thrusters buzzing and sputtering as Tony managed to propel himself forward, touching down on the top of the building as the power was cut.
"Keep it going!" he instructed, and kept on running. "Just like walking on water!"
"Sir, I really don't think that, in the time of Christ, anyone had jet-propulsion technology."
Groaning into the helmet, the man refused to dignify the comment with a response, managing to make it to the corner of the next building before the pinger in his helmet went off, signifying that they were in the right place.
Yanking off the helmet again, it was tucked under his arm as Tony stepped off the side, slowing his descent with one chipped and dented hand. The ground greeted him with a heavy welcome, the impact of having touched down while still in the suit suddenly shaking him through to the bone. Tony flopped backward and landed on his ass in front of the door, groaning as he leaned further back so as to lay down.
"Okay," he wheezed, eyes closing, "I'm done. I'm just gonna, you know, hang out down here until our fictional friend Mr. Samuels arrives to–"
"Oh, God. Stark?"
Tony cracked an eye open, whining quietly as the sun jabbed him. A shadow hovered slightly between him and the light, the silhouette slightly smaller than he remembered. And with a good deal less hair.
"Hey," the billionaire greeted, waving a hand lazily. "How's it going, Ed?"
The other man sighed, shaking his head slightly as he bent down to offer Tony a hand and pull him up.
"How the hell did you find me? I... You're not supposed to be here."
Tony sighed. "Yeah, Doc, I know. I better get my ass out of town before the green guy–"
"No," Bruce interrupted. "What I mean is that you're supposed to be dead. It's all over the media. You..." The doctor frowned and swallowed. "I thought Loki managed to get rid of you."
Shedding the suit, it collapsed into a cube roughly the size of Tony's palm as he began dusting himself off and wiped his brow. "Yeah, well, Loki's an idiot. You know. 'King of Midgard' and all that crazy shit."
Bruce shrugged. "Point taken. But that doesn't explain why you're here. Or how you found me."
"Hell, all I know," Tony said, "is that I woke up after an awesome night of drinking, and found this address in my pocket along with your cute little fake name." He pinched the other man's cheek. "And now I'm here... hoping you'll reconsider and come back to help us."
The doctor's expression changed, his hand moving to slap Tony's away. "No." He swallowed. "No, I can't go back there. I... I've killed too many people with this. With what I am."
Bruce pushed past him, their shoulders bumping as the doctor moved to unlock the door, shut it hard behind him.
"Bruce!"
"I'm not going back, Tony," came the muffled reply. "I can't. I'm sorry, but more people will die... if you allow another monster into the city."