Hey everyone! Thank you for reading! A quick update on why this chapter took so long; I have been studying for and taking my teacher certification exams. Now that that's all over, I should be back to updating at my regular pace—one chapter per week. I hope you enjoy!
–Marvelous Winchester
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Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part One
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Tony limped across his workshop to type hurriedly into the keypad on his desk. His eyes weren't focused on the output as it appeared on the monitor. He was in his head right now. His fingers flew across the keys, trying to keep up with the speed of his thoughts. His typing slowed as he finished inputting the code, finally focusing on the screen for a quick scan.
"Alright, JARVIS," he said. "Give that a whirl. I would prefer to avoid a horrible injury next time I call the gauntlet."
"Of course, sir," came the clear voice of the AI.
Tony leaned his weight wearily against the desk as he waited for JARVIS to scan for bugs.
Their mission earlier that day had been a challenge.
Tony was used to things getting hairy—in fact, he often caused the hairy situations. But this time was different. Ninety percent of his team had either limped away from the battle or had to be carried. Tony knew that his left knee was a mess. He had to use the suit's internal mechanisms to hold it steady, and he had slapped a brace on the mangled joint as soon as they reached the Tower. But he wasn't the worst for wear by a long shot.
Clint had been knocked unconscious sometime during the battle. The blow to his head wrapped around to his face, purple bruises blossoming along his temple and jawbone. Tony had carried him to the jet, vision wavering from the throbbing pain in his knee. Steve had managed to get himself and Natasha to the jet, despite a grotesquely broken left arm and enough bruising to his ribcage to leave most men grounded. The super soldier would heal faster than the rest, but even his advanced healing capabilities wouldn't be able to make him battle-worthy anytime soon.
Natasha was fine, save for an arrow through her right quadricep. Nobody was sure where it came from, and Tony knew it wasn't one of Clint's—he had made them, after all. Bruce was exhausted, Thor was a little bloodied, and Tony was nursing an injury that he didn't feel like mentioning to his team. They had been through enough. He would eventually hobble up to the medical floor and have someone take a look at it.
"Sir, the prototype is ready for testing." JARVIS's voice was soft, almost concerned. "May I suggest that you leave this for another time?"
Tony's vision was starting to grey around the edges, so he gave in with a sigh. He stiffly limped over to the worn couch and lowered himself onto the comfortable fabric. He moaned as his actions jostled the swollen knee.
Without having to be asked, JARVIS dimmed the lights to 10 percent, closing down the displays that held Tony's calculations.
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Steve awoke to the sound of a blaring siren. He started, throwing the covers back, instantly choking back a moan and cradling his casted left arm.
"JARVIS," he yelled over the siren. "What's going on? What does the siren mean?"
JARVIS's cool, automated voice played as the siren cut off. "Captain, I apologize for waking you. There are intruders in the Tower. The siren is only audible in each Avenger's room. Your quarters are soundproof, as I hope you know. I advise caution and silence if you choose to leave."
Steve pushed himself up out of bed, wincing as he aggravated his knitting ribs. Of course he was going to leave the room—he had to protect his team.
"Before you leave, Captain," JARVIS said, "I suggest you take advantage of my knowledge to have a better understanding of your surroundings."
Steve nodded tightly. "Brief me."
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Tony's torrential stream of cursing was brought to a halt by a hot, nauseating pain in his knee.
"Fuck," he gasped, hands hovering over the joint but afraid to make contact.
"Sir, please remain still," JARVIS said. "I am running a medical scan on your person."
"I'm fine," Tony groaned, realizing that his denial sounded more like a cry for help. The sound of the alert had startled him from a light, troubled sleep. He had jumped from colorful, dizzying dreams to a short fall from the couch. His knee had not agreed with the quick stop at the bottom.
"JARVIS, I just need to know what's going on," he said. "What triggered the alert? Where's the Tower breached?"
"You have damage in your knee that goes beyond 'taking it easy.'"
How the hell does he manage to make air quotes with his voice? I don't remember programming that.
Tony glared at nothing, directing his frustration at his AI. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "So my knee's a little banged up—I need information, and I need it now. Don't make me override you."
JARVIS made a small noise that could be classified as "disapproval" or perhaps "concern."
"There are four teams of intruders in the Tower," he said. "They have already dismantled some of the surveillance capability I possess and are heading toward the communal floor. My research into their backgrounds suggests that they may be after Captain Rogers' vibranium shield."
"Dammit, dammit, dammit," Tony muttered as he pushed himself to his feet, blinking as his vision nearly whited out from the strain. He thanked nobody in particular that he had thought to use his specially-designed brace earlier. It wouldn't prevent the puke-inducing pain, but it would probably prevent more damage to the joint. Provided somebody didn't shoot him in the knee or set him on fire.
Knowing me, those things will probably happen simultaneously.
"Alright, JARVIS, what suits have I got?"
"None," he could practically taste the sarcasm, "sir. You have managed to reduce yourself to zero fully-functioning Iron Man suits. Given the time, we could likely piece the functioning pieces together and create one battle-ready suit."
This time Tony practically threw something at the wall. He knew JARVIS wasn't secretly living in the paneling, but it would feel good to express some of the frustration.
"Do I have functioning gauntlets?"
"The left and right are functioning at 45.7% and 16% respectively, but they are indeed…available."
"Geez, JARVIS," Tony muttered, staggering over to the table and fitting the gauntlets on his arms. "No need to be such a smartass."
"I take after my creator, sir." JARVIS said, making a noise that resembled a sigh. "I have briefed Captain Rogers on the situation. He has informed me that he has his shield and is coming down to get you."
"Get me?" Tony sputtered, aghast that he was seen like some maiden in distress. "You can tell his ass that I'm coming up to get him."
At that moment, something heavy slammed into the door. Tony heard what might have been cursing before the door slid open and their resident super soldier staggered in with Clint in tow.
"I thought you were some kind of genius," Clint glared, hair mussed from sleep and eyes red against the colorful bruising on his face. "How the hell are people breaking into your Tower?"
"Oh now it's my Tower," Tony snarled, pushing off from the couch to limp over to them. He ended up whimpering as his knee buckled, throwing his arms out to catch himself on the nearest desk surface. Papers, pens, and tools toppled to the workshop floor, clattering as Steve strode over to Tony.
"What did you do to your leg, Tony?" He demanded.
Tony could tell that Steve was in a fair amount of pain himself. He walked with a hitch—most likely from ribs that had yet to heal—and his casted arm had to be throbbing angrily. Steve deposited his shield on the ground next to Tony as he pushed the other man's pant leg up gently. He whistled and winced in sympathy as he caught a glimpse of the mottled, swollen skin beneath the brace. The sweat pants caught on the top of the brace, keeping Tony's knee out in the open.
Clint's glare because a little less intense, touched with a hint of remorse. "Man, you really know how to mess yourself up," he said. "Was that from earlier, or did you somehow manage to do that to yourself down here?"
"Earlier," Tony said shortly, leaning down to yank his pant leg back over the brace. "I was planning on getting it looked at, but I fell asleep and then everything went to hell."
"You should've gotten it looked at when we got back, jackass," Clint snorted.
"Wow," Tony growled, "maybe I didn't want to be in medical with the rest of you because you call me names," he finished with a mutter, "dickwad."
Steve shot them both a reproachful glare, obviously almost out of patience.
"If you two could knock it off, we have a small problem to deal with," he said through gritted teeth.
"Right," Tony said, faking enthusiasm. "And tell me again, who here is capable of moving on their own and fighting a battle?"
Steve straightened back up with an almost inaudible grunt of pain. "I can do what I need to—I heal pretty fast."
Steve looked hopefully at Clint.
"No luck, Cap," Clint shrugged. "I'm still pretty concussed. I barfed all over the place when the alarm went off—I blame you, by the way—" he said, pointedly looking at Tony, "and I can barely see straight. I would just as likely shoot one of you two clowns."
Tony powered up both gauntlets, watching the metal glide from his forearms to cover his hands, repulsors whining as they came online.
"So just a recap—Steve, you're mobile-ish, you've got one good arms, and a blow to the chest will probably bring you to a grinding halt," Tony said airily. "Clint, you look like you fell face-first into a palette of Midnight Hues eyeshadow, your aim is shot, and you're basically useless."
Clint shot him a grin. "And, I'm still nauseated, so that's exciting."
Tony set his face in determination. "Alright, here's how this is going to go. Obviously, we need to find the others and make sure everyone is okay. Clint, you're going to be my crutch so I can actually fire these gauntlets, Steve you're going to be our shield, and JARVIS is going to help us booby-trap the shit out of these fuckers."
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PART TWO COMING NEXT WEEK!