Major shout-out to my friend Em, who made an awesome fan trailer for this fic, which you can find here: [youtube] /watch?v=sgrZ3p0I6Fg (sorry FF users, you'll have to type this out by hand)

I just wanted to say thank you, it's an amazing gift and i love it so much hnnnn

(casually not thinking of a new character for a Ryan Gosling face claim lmao)


Chapter Fifty-Six


"I thought I told you to stay here!" Tony Stark was absolutely furious when we returned to the garage.

The three of us stood around him, hangdog, in various stages of injury. Now under the yellow-green lights of the garage, I noticed Peter's split lip, bruised knuckles, and scraped up chin. Harley's clothes were burned, his potato gun melted to point of uselessness, and his face so thickly covered in soot and ash that his green eyes popped out like a jack-o-lantern. I had no idea how I looked; my entire body felt like it'd been through a blender. My right shoulder in particular felt pretty messed up, and there were burns all up and down my arms and hands. It all hurt too much to put my jacket on, which I wrapped around my fists.

"You all could've died, o-or worse!" Tony stammered. He himself wasn't looking too hot, either. He was favoring one leg and he had a significant lesion gracing his cheekbone and nose, layering on top of an already black and blue eye. His hair was even more awry than usual, and he still had a salvaged arc blaster gripped in his hand.

"This is exactly why I told you to go back to your aunts, I knew this would happen!" Tony snapped at Peter, then jabbed a finger at Harley. "And you were supposed to keep an eye on them!"

"What? They're bigger than me! And you were going to get roasted anyways!" Harley scoffed, wiping at his face and leaving long drag marks across his cheek. He wrinkled his nose at the soot that came away on his hand, then wiped it on his already-grease-covered shirt.

"Roasted? I was completely fine until you three showed up —"

"You were running out of a flaming bar," Harley snapped back. "In hand-cuffs! Farrah Fawcett had to rip them off!"

"Farrah what —" I blurted, half-offended and half-impressed Harley even knew who that was. Wait, did I never tell him my name?

"SPEAKING OF WHICH," Tony cut me off, accusatory finger switching to my face. "What the hell? Just — what? Explain!"

I gaped helplessly for a moment, holding up my hands in a silent plea for words. I didn't really know how to say it — not to a stranger like Tony Stark, or in front of a kid like Harley. Was now really a good time to get into angsty backstories? Peter had been hard enough. "I'm...a super soldier."

It came out like a question, like even I didn't know. I made a face, cringing inwardly. That was not at all how I wanted that to come out.

Tony just stood there, speechless. He held my gaze for a long, unblinking minute.

Then his hand dropped, arm flopping to his side. "Huh. Okay, then."

My shoulders sagged, weirdly relieved. I didn't think he'd take that so well. Then again, Tony Stark was an Avenger. He'd met super soldiers, and far stranger things.

The relief was temporary, however, as Tony quickly recovered his former righteousness. "But that doesn't change the fact you still didn't listen to me!"

"Well, you didn't listen to us!" Peter retorted, surprising me with his angry tone. Peter's jaw tightened, fists clenched as he continued, "We came here to tell you that those Extremis soldiers are unstable, they work for the Mandarin, and that they were made by Killian!"

"K-Killian?" Tony paused, his face going ashen. "As in, Aldrich Killian? How do you know all this?"

"Because we ran into them in New York! I called you almost two weeks ago and you actually picked up! And I told you the exact same thing! Don't you remember?"

"Uh, v-vaguely…" Tony stammered, glancing away and scratching the back of his neck. At Peter's Aunt-May-Approved-Disapproving-Frown™, Tony backpedaled: "Look, kid, it was really late! And I wasn't in the best place mentally, emotionally... alcoholically…"

He ended with a face-palm.

"We're not dumb kids, okay?" I just threw my hands up, speaking in Peter's defense. "We're not here just for shits and giggles, cashing in on Iron Man's street rep —"

"Speak for yourself," Harley interjected.

"Anyways," I said through gritted teeth, cutting Harley a look. "We know what we were doing. It's not the first time we've been in danger. Or fought Extremis. The Mandarin's always been one step ahead of you, you still don't have a working suit, and everyone thinks you're dead. We knew we could help, so we did."

"First of all, debatable," Tony Stark snorted, holding up one finger, then two. "Second of all, it's a work in progress, so unless any of you know how to recharge my self-powered suit on nothing but potatoes and used car batteries — and I already know you don't — then you can all go home. Well, except you, kid. You live here, I guess."

Tony ended that with a sharp nod and planting his hands on his hips, as if that settled the matter.

Peter and I exchanged knowing looks, then turned back to him, speaking at once: "We're not leaving."

"I — what?" Tony blinked, apparently flabbergasted that we rejected his attempt at authority. Apparently not knowing what else to do, he once more pointed his finger, this time at the door. "I'm ordering you to leave! Right now! Go home before you keep getting hurt because of me!"

"And what, leave Harley on his own to do it all for you?" Peter pointed out, wrinkling his nose in distaste. "Let a ten-year-old take your punches for you?"

"Twelve!" Harley complained.

"No! Yes! I mean —" Tony dropped his head into his hands, letting out a long groan. "Fuck. Cap makes it look so easy…"

Harley let out a scandalized gasp, and threw us a melodramatic look of horror. "Iron Man said a bad word!"

I just rolled my eyes and cuffed him on the back of his head. Harley snorted and ducked away, cackling into his hands.

"Alright, alright, fine," Tony said, bringing his head up again, eyes closed for a long moment. He inhaled deeply through his nose, perhaps summoning whatever amount of patience he had left. "If you're all gonna stay here and be dumbasses, you might as well be useful ones. Harley, get over here and help me with rebooting JARVIS. Parker, you know your way around a sautering iron? Get inside this chest plate and tell me what's wrong with my suit."

While Peter and Harley exchanged fist bumps, Tony Stark turned to me and said, "As for you, giant blonde — go sit outside."

"What?" I almost yelped.

"You heard me. Two's company, three's a crowd," Tony seemed completely unruffled by my outrage. "Besides, you caused the most collateral damage today and I don't want those super strong hands of yours touching any of my stuff."

"Collat — you knocked down the water tower on top of the entire town!"

"You're the one who helped set it on fire!"

"Oh, yeah, like you totally flooded the place on purpose!"

"Ah, dissidence! Antagonistic behavior!" Tony called, almost gleeful. "You're creating a hostile work environment — can't have that while the nation's in danger! Adios!"

"That's totally unfair —"

"Mia." Peter cut me off, leaning into me and speaking in a low tone. "Mr. Stark's already letting us stay. Maybe we should listen to him — he's the only one who knows how to fix his suit, anyways."

I met Peter's gaze with a glare, but his calm, if slightly wincing interjection prevented me from firing back. I didn't want to argue with him, too. And maybe he had a point. Dammit. I wanted to say I could help, but I didn't know a damn thing about Tony Stark's tech.

Fighting a grimace, I switched my glare to Stark, before turning on my heel and stalking out the door. On the way, I muttered under my breath, "Hmph. Not 'letting' me do anything…"

Tony shouted after me, triumphant. "Ha, see? You make my workforce uncomfortable —"

I slammed the door behind me, cutting off the rest.


~o~


I sat on the frosted curb, glaring at a patch of black ice glimmering on the tarmac a few feet away. Angry thoughts swirled in my head, but the overwhelming feeling was regret and shame. I'd acted so childish, arguing with Stark, slamming the door like some kid who just got their Xbox taken away. And now I was pouting.

What a true, hardened soul I was.

Most of all, though, I felt useless. And lonely. At least the cold air was soothing on my burns, but I couldn't help but think of the boy's club happening inside the garage. Man, Peter must be having the time of his life right now, working right alongside his favorite hero on his famous suit of armor.

And here I was, left out in the cold. Literally.

Despite the fight earlier, the town had gone quiet. It was almost...cozy, the way the town just fell right back to sleep after that. Festive lights twinkled on rooftops around me, a plastic Santa on a nearby lawn swayed gently in the wind. Occasionally there was the sound of a revving engine in the distance, the drifting tunes of Christmas music, but besides that, all was silent.

I planted my chin on my fist, scowling at my scuffed-up boots. I was a super soldier. A fighter. Someone who broke things, not one who fixed them.

Like Tony Stark. Like Peter.

Maybe Brandt was right. Maybe killing, destroying was just in my nature now. The Crucible had irrevocably altered my entire being, consciousness included. I did let her die after all. Didn't particularly try to stop her from destroying herself. I wasn't ashamed of it, either. Not proud, but just...I accepted it. Just like on the train. Better them than me.

Something soft and heavy fell across my shoulders. A blanket. I jumped, startled, as Tony Stark sat down next to me on the curb. I hadn't even heard him approach.

Stark let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair as I plucked cautiously as the fleece blanket. "...I will admit, not my best decision to tell a kid to sit outside at night in zero-degree weather. My bad."

Brow furrowing, I glanced between him and the blanket. "Oh. Thanks. I guess."

"You know, I try to be a good person," Tony Stark continued, pressing a hand to his chest. He pursed his lips, squinting a little as if he didn't quite believe his own words. "Really, I do. I know it doesn't always come off that way. And I don't want you guys to get hurt, especially not on my account. I just… I don't really get kids. One of you is bad enough. But three? I'd probably lose my mind. I guess I'm like my dad that way. He couldn't even handle one of me."

I wasn't sure what the hell was going on right now. I had been angry earlier, but this sudden honest moment with Tony Stark was...well, it was weird. Weird enough I forgot why I was angry for a minute.

So, I raised my eyebrows and nodded along. "One of you is a lot."

"Exactly! And you know what, I'm starting to understand him a little bit more," Tony nodded enthusiastically, apparently pleased that I agreed. "If you were my kids, I'd send you off to ten years of boarding school, too!"

"That sounds...awesome." I said lamely. What else was I going to say?

"But I wouldn't, and you wanna know why?" Tony Stark asked, giving me a significant look but not waiting for me to reply. "Because as much as I suck at dealing with kids, I know that shoving them away in a corner won't help them. My dad tried it, and it just made me worse. The last thing I need — or want — is more of me happening in the world."

"Is this an apology?" I asked skeptically.

"What? No, I already apologized." Tony said, shaking his head as if I was just distracting him. "I just — I know you've been through some shit, Mia. I knew it when I saw Bruce helping you up. Like a girl who can punch through walls gets a panic attack over a job interview. It's always more than that."

I pulled the blanket around me to cover my arms. Damn, so he really did remember what happened at Stark tower. (I knew I had been memorable!) I wasn't quite ready to be reminded of it, though. Or the fact that he'd seen through my act so easily, so early in the game. "Oh. Is this about the super soldier thing?"

"Ye— no. Maybe. Honestly, I'm not sure," Tony sighed, dropping down next to me on the curb. His voice sounded easy, but his shoulders were tense, as were the expression in his eyes when he met my gaze. "Don't get me wrong, that's fucking weird, but in the grand scheme of things, not the most important detail. Mia, I need you to tell me everything you know. Starting right now."

I nodded, my hands twisting together nervously. It took me a moment to just...prepare myself. It was like when he asked me earlier, how I could do what I did. This wasn't like with Peter, who had just come out with his own massive secret after years of being my family and friend. This was Tony Stark. Iron Man. Avenger. A guy who'd seen the end of the world and came back to tell about it. How would he react to my story?

I guess I was about to find out.

So, for the next half hour I spoke, explaining Brandt and Savin, their creation, Killian's whole deal, and his ties to the Mandarin. Tony Stark occasionally asked a few questions, but for the most part he just listened, hands tucked under arms, eyes on the ground. I couldn't tell if he believed me or not, but Stark seemed to be considering my words seriously. I had no other proof besides.

When I was finished, there was a stretch of silence. My knuckles were white, clenching my fists so tightly around the blanket my fingers were starting to tingle. It wasn't exactly pleasant to be talking about this, but my comfort in the matter was of less importance than the threat Killian and the Mandarin posed.

At long last, Tony Stark finally said, "And I bet they're the same people that did that to you, huh?"

"What?" I asked, blinking up at him.

Stark just raised his eyebrows at me, then gestured to my exposed shoulder. The star. "I'm supposed to believe you just got that tatt out of some misguided-but-well-intentioned love for Sum 41? And not actually, like, Communist Russia? I'm not saying I know what's going on with you, or why a teenager possibly aligned with a defunct government would want to save Iron Man, the coolest Avenger, but I do know a survivor when I see one. This world that we're in? Completely FUBAR. That's why it's my job, and people like us, to live just one more day, all for another chance to fix it."

I did a double-take. "Is this a pep talk? Because we're the ones that saved you, not the other way around."

"Excuse you, Beanstalk, who's the older one here?" Tony Stark raised his eyebrows, pointing at his face. "That's right, me, which means I have a commodity on pep talks and inspiring my underlings to do great things. So just answer the damn question: did Killian do this to you?"

Eyes on the ground. I picked at my nails, shoulders hunching up. "...No, not really. I mean, he probably helped b-but — no. It wasn't him."

"You got any other secret powers up your sleeves? Because from what I've seen so far, you're a lot like this other guy I know. Likes to wear stars, too. Except a little more patriotic. And bossy."

I threw Stark a look. I didn't have to ask who he was talking about. "What you see is what you get."

That actually made Tony laugh a little, smacking his knee. "Oh, that's good! That's good stuff. So, you're just gonna leave it like that, huh? No deep explanations on how some eighteen-year-old girl —"

"— Fifteen —"

"— Christ, fifteen-year-old girl got doped up into a super soldier. What about the weird Soviet undertones? No? Nothing? Okay, just leave me hanging, I guess. No hard feelings."

"I'm not a Communist. I didn't want this tattoo."

Tony Stark opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again. Then raised a finger. "...You know, this is gonna sound kinda mean, but that just raises more questions than I'm emotionally prepared to ask right now. Sorry."

"What a great pep talk. Wow." I said, completely deadpan. "It really feels like you understand what I'm going through."

"Alright, fine, you know what? This is the way I see it," Tony Stark rolled his eyes, apparently losing his patience with my sarcasm. He held out both his hands between us. "You've got two options here, Fletcher. You can either get crushed under the weight of your past, or put it beneath you and use it to stand a little higher. You're never going to get rid of it, no matter how much you forget, so might as well use it to your advantage, yeah?"

"...I-I guess." I mumbled, adjusting the blanket around my shoulders. It stung against my skin a little, but I found those words to be more startling, somehow. I frowned as the words came apart and pieced themselves back together again in my head. Picking them apart. Figuring out why they hit me at the core with so much force I actually felt it in my chest, tightening around my lungs and heart.

There was a wisdom there I didn't expect. Not from Tony Stark. Still, I found myself sorely confused and helpless. "But how do I do that?"

"Pfft," Tony Stark just made a raspberry and shrugged. "Hell if I know. We all got our ways of dealing with our shit. Me, its building a tin can to walk around and shoot tank missiles with, and its broke right now. I definitely wouldn't recommend that solution to you."

"But Peter running around in a suit and mask is okay, for his shit?" I demanded.

"The kid stops runaway trains and purse-snatchers, not psychotic terrorists and foreign tyrants," Tony replied, with an aggrieved expression, his lips pressed flat. "That's Parker's wheelhouse, okay? I trust him to keep the little people safe. And he's good at that. Hell, he loves it. Who am I to judge? Who are you to judge, Miss America?"

"God, don't call me that," I groaned, hiding my face behind my hands. It was better than admitting he had a point.

"Fine, I won't. But you could follow his example. Or maybe you could do something different," Tony suggested. "Whatever it is, don't drown yourself in your past. I've been there, okay? It's a dark place, and once you're there, it's tough to get out of, and feels just as impossible. So, don't start." he paused, then smacked himself. "Dammit, I sound like an anti-smoking ad now. Rogers would be living if he heard me just now. Anyways, do you get what I'm telling you, Mia?"

I looked up at the twinkling roof tops. Slowly, I started to nod. "Yeah, I think so. Don't drown. Stand up."

"Good," Tony seemed relieved, and for a second, I thought that was the end of it, but then he placed a hand on my shoulder. Bowing his head, Tony Stark added, "And I'm not just telling this for your own health. I don't want Peter to see you go down that road, either. You weren't there, but you should've seen the way he tore himself up about you when you were gone. The kid worries about you more than himself. He blames himself for enough already. You two both deserve better than what life gave you, but I think you're both strong enough — stronger together — to get through it, make something better out of what you got."

The skin on my back and down my arms itched at those words. A sudden burning behind my eyes, and I turned my face towards the opposite end of the street. I knew Peter liked to talk to Tony Stark about his life, but I never knew that.

"Okay!" Before I could think of any decent reply to that emotional bomb, Tony Stark suddenly let go of my shoulder, clapping his hands together as if he just completed the dishes. "Pep talk over. Phew. That wasn't too hard. Now back to our regular hour of teenage angst."

It was such a sudden and cavalier end to the whole moment that I almost got angry again. Was Stark really just gonna leave me like that? I turned back to him, opening my mouth to be a smart-aleck, or just pissed off, but before I could get a word out, another voice called out.

"Guys!" Peter rushed out of the garage, panting, cheeks red. "Th-the Mandarin! He's on TV!"


~o~


We stood around the old CRT TV in front of the couch, watching in stiff, frozen dread.

Flashing images. People screaming. Riots. Car crashing into civilians.

"Mr. President." Headshot of the Mandarin. No sunglasses. Just dark, cold eyes staring into camera. Despite the title, appeared Caucasian. "Only two lessons remain. And I intend to finish this before Christmas morning. Meet Thomas Richards."

Wide shot. The Mandarin on his throne, decorated with pulled pierced MP helmets resting on statues of Chinese dragons. An antique telephone on a side table on frame right. And, at the Mandarin's feet, a middle-aged businessman, trembling as he lied on his side, eyes focused on the camera in terror. The Mandarin pointing a pistol at his head.

"Good strong name. Good strong job," The Mandarin continued. "Thomas, here, is an accountant for the Roxxon Oil Corporation."

Close-up of Thomas Richard's weeping, pleading face.

"But I'm sure he's a really good guy," Cut to the Mandarin, speaking in an earnest, subtly mocking tone, blinking and nodding emphatically. "I'm going to shoot him in the head, live on your television, in thirty seconds."

Thomas Richards cried out, at the words, but his pleas went unheard to the man sitting behind him. The Mandarin gestured to the phone on frame right. "The number for this telephone is in your cell phone. Exciting, isn't it, imagining how it got there?"

"That's not possible, is it?" Peter whispered to me, as if the Mandarin might be listening. We were behind the couch, Harley sitting in front of us, Tony Stark off to the side, biting his fist. I couldn't tell if he was angry or scared. "Can he really do that?"

I could only shrug helplessly. If the Mandarin could hijack the networks of the entire Eastern Seaboard, who knew what else he could do.

"America," The Mandarin continued to preach. "If your president calls me in the next half-minute, Tom lives. Go."

The four of us watched the screen. The Mandarin sat there patiently on this throne, staring into camera as serenely as a man watching the ocean. Like there wasn't even an audience. Like he was afraid of nothing. His pistol remained trained on Thomas Richards, hand steady and unwavering.

Five seconds passed. I knew the US Government didn't negotiate with terrorists, but surely, they'd do something here.

Ten seconds.

My fists curled into the couch's upholstery. Call, dammit.

Fifteen.

The antique phone by the Mandarin started to ring. The Mandarin blinked in recognition. But he did not reach for it.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Crack!

The Mandarin pulled the trigger. He didn't even glance down.

"There's just one lesson left, President Ellis. So, run away, hide, kiss your children good-bye, because nothing, not your army, not your red-white-and-blue attack dog can save you!" The Mandarin snarled, shaking his head in disgust. He took a deep breath through his nose, looked into the camera one last time.

"I'll see you soon."

The screen fizzled out to rainbow bars and white noise. The four of us just stood there in silence, watching with wide, unblinking eyes. Didn't even look at each other. Didn't have to. We all understood what had just happened. It didn't occur to me until later that Harley just witnessed a murder on live television and none of us thought to get him out of the room first.

Then I looked at Stark and realized he was shaking.

"Mhmm, that's it," he seemed to be talking to himself, muttering under his breath and nodding his head sharply, before briskly walking over to shut off the TV and walk straight out the door. "Harley, keys!"

"W-what?" Harley seemed dazed in his seat, and only belatedly pulled his eyes away from the black screen. He didn't rise or move to do what Tony said, even as he left.

Luckily, Peter was on the ball. Thwip! Snatched the keys off the wall hook ten feet away, before jogging after Stark, back out into the night. I went after the both of them, feeling internally numb and outwardly surprised. What was Stark doing?

He headed straight for the car parked on the curb. Turning around, Tony raised his hands and in response Peter threw the keys, shouting, "Where are you going, Mr. Stark?"

"To deal with that glorified son of a bitch, that's what," Tony said, catching the keys and panting a little, voice pitched oddly high. God, maybe he was scared. "Besides, I can't stay here, it's not safe. The Mandarin probably already knows what happened. Can't put you guys at risk. I'll call, give you the 411 later when my suit's charging. Parker, you already know what to do, right?"

"Yeah, recheck the wiring, test the outputs, replace any fried circuits," Peter nodded along, glancing at me in worry. When Tony got into the old sedan, he added, "Wait, you can't just go by yourself! You don't even have a gun!"

"Don't need one!" Stark called back, before slamming the door. As the engine started, we drew to his window, and he rolled it down. "Trust me, better off on my own. Underage bodyguards, also not legal. Besides, I'm trusting you three with my suit, so don't mess it up. Especially you, Beanstalk. Keep those grubby hands away from my tech."

"Hey!" I crossed my arms, miffed.

Harley appeared next to us, dismay written across his face. "Y-you're just going to leave? Just like that?"

"Uh," Tony Stark adjusted his seat, then the rearview mirror. He glanced at us. "Ya."

Harley's eyebrows rose, voice growing tiny. His shoulders hunched up and he wrapped his arms around himself. "You're not coming back?"

"If all goes well, won't have to."

"B-but I thought we had a connection…"

"We are not having replay of your daddy issues, kid, sorry."

I threw Stark an annoyed look. It didn't occur to me that Harley might be playing it up, being melodramatic or goofy, after the scene we just witnessed on TV. Either way, Stark was being kind of an asshole, and not giving us a lot of answers. "So, what are you going to do? Fight the Mandarin in your poncho and a stolen '92 Camry?"

"Not just that." Tony Stark gave us a rare, somewhat crazed grin. "I think it's about time someone gave him a great big welcome to America, home of the good ol' red, white, and booze! Yeehaw!"

And with that, tore off with a roaring engine and the squeal of rubber.

"He's gonna die, isn't he," Harley said, sounding completely dead inside.

"...It's okay," Peter replied dimly, as we watched the rear lights of the Camry disappearing around the corner. "Mr. Stark's a responsible adult. He's done this before, right?"

"Yeah." I wrinkled my nose and nodded with more confidence than I actually had. "I'm sure he'll be fine."