Rag-Tag Tower Defense Part Three

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This is the final chapter of the Rag-Tag Tower Defense story, but there are more chapters of Practically Brothers to come! Thank you for reading!

-Marvelous Winchester

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The first group had been a piece of cake. Comparatively, putting those guys down had been as leisurely as a walk in the park. The second group hadn't proved to be so easy.

Steve was currently sitting on his ass, uninjured arm wrapped tightly around his ribs. The last remaining soldier of the second group had managed to knock Cap's legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the floor. Steve had landed with a thud and a gasp, the air whooshing out of his lungs. Tony now stood behind him, letting the injured super soldier lean his back against his good leg. The other leg trembled uncontrollably, weak despite the support of the brace.

Steve was hacking; coughing deep, painful-sounds barks that brought tears to his eyes. His body was trying to force the air back into his lungs—that much was clear—but his injured ribs were making it difficult.

"Deep breaths, Capsicle," Tony said, voice a little less steady than normal.

Steve coughed again, gagging with the involuntary force. "I'm trying," he gasped, face pale with pain. A wild panic was beginning to touch his eyes.

Clint crouched in front of Steve, unceremoniously yanking up his t-shirt. Dark purple bruises wrapped around his chest, focused mostly on the left side. Combine that with the hideously broken arm, and Tony was shocked that the man even gotten out of bed, never mind taking out the entire second team on his own. He hadn't come away unscathed, but damn.

Steve managed a pinched, wheezing breath through his nose without coughing, then another. Tony could see the panic begin to recede from his face as he brought in more air.

He used to have asthma.

The random fact floated through Tony's mind, read long ago in an old, yellowed manila folder. Gasping for breath wasn't pleasant for anyone, but Steve had suffered with a similar feeling for years. A terrifying reminder of that feeling was enough to bring anyone to the brink of a panic attack.

Tony met Clint's gaze, letting his eyebrows drift up in question. The archer may have been concussed, but he was an excellent field medic. His opinion was valuable here. Should Cap be sidelined, or could he power through?

"Oh come on," Steve wheezed, levering himself up to sit on his own power. He reached for the back of his head with a wince. "I know what you're doing."

He glared at Clint, turning his head with a flinch of pain to glare at Tony as well.

The corners of Clint's mouth tightened with worry as he gently felt the wounds on Steve's ribs. A muscle in Steve's jaw jumped as he clenched his teeth through the pain, but he didn't make a sound.

"I don't think we're really in a position to be choosy here," Steve ground out. Tony could tell something was off with the other man. His gaze was uncharacteristically vacant, despite his tone.

Clint finished his quick exam and shrugged at Tony, pulling Steve's shirt back down with a sigh. "You're definitely going to need multiple days to heal from this, Cap," he said. "But I don't think any of this is life-threatening for you."

Tony felt a spark of hope, staggered toward the wall for support. He bent down to adjust the brace, trying to hide his alarm at the swelling and bruising around the joint. Clint meandered over to him, unsteady on his feet and looking more out of it than Tony would prefer.

"Hmm," Clint said, poking gently at the swollen knee. "You're going to need some medical imaging to know what's going on in there, but you will probably—definitely—need surgery."

Tony groaned, "I fucking thought so."

"'Probably definitely', Agent Barton," came JARVIS's dry tone. "Is that your official diagnosis?"

Clint smiled good-naturedly at the ceiling, losing his balance at the sudden move of his head. "Yup, it's official."

Tony reached out to steady Clint as Steve finally pushed himself to his feet. Despite his imposing height and broad, muscular frame, Steve looked more like an injured child. His casted arm was pulled tightly to his left side, right arm wrapped around his chest to protect his ribs. He let go with a grunt as he reached down for his shield, but stopped mid-motion and groaned back to standing.

"Two more teams to go until the Tower is clear," JARVIS said.

Clint started to giggle. Tony stared at him in exasperation, looking to Steve for backup, but he saw their captain shaking with quiet laughter. It obviously jostled his ribs, but he couldn't seem to stop.

"Alright," Tony growled, "what the hell is wrong with you two?"

"I'm sorry," Clint gasped, "it's just hilarious! Earth's mightiest defenders, brought down by some freaking house invaders!"

Steve shuffled over to the wall, leaning against it as he shook with silent laughter.

"Seriously?" Tony said. "Seriously? You're both going to go slap happy on me at the same time? Pull it together, guys—damn it, I'm surrounded by idiots."

Tapping his earpiece twice, Tony shifted to a private channel between himself and JARVIS. "Okay buddy," he said in a low voice, "I've got the inklings of a plan."

Tony limped over to Steve and Clint, pushing both men down the wall to seated positions.

"Keep watch," he ordered, fulling expecting them to zone out.

"Yes, sir," Steve said, lazily saluting and giving Tony a wink.

"God, did you hit your head?" Tony muttered some quick instructions to JARVIS and had a scan of Steve and Clint within seconds.

"Sir, it does appear that Captain Rogers has a concussion. According to my visual records, it occurred roughly four minutes and 32 seconds ago."

Tony snorted at the use of "roughly."

"When he was slammed into the ground by the last of the soldiers in the second group, he hit his head with enough force to render an average human male of his size unconscious. It is very likely that the serum is keeping the symptoms to a minimum, though he does appear to be somewhat unaware of his environment."

Tony glanced around to see Steve absently picking at his cast with his right hand. Clint was slapping his hand away gently, gazing at the super soldier with concern. The archer seemed to be past the giggles, looking pale and drawn as the reality of the situation hit him.

Clint pushed himself up and staggered over to Tony.

"Please tell me you have a plan," he said.

"Why don't you go sit your concussed ass down with Captain Slappy over there while JARVIS and I iron things out," Tony said, gesturing toward Steve.

"Yeah, okay," Clint muttered, kneeling beside Steve and snapping his fingers in front of the other man's face. Tony didn't need to be closer to realize that Steve's eyes weren't focusing like normal.

He is going to have the worst headache—you know, if the serum doesn't fix things faster than it normally does.

Ironing out the plan didn't take as long as Tony expected. JARVIS projected a small 3D model of the Tower schematics and Tony walked him through some modifications of his security systems. Some re-coding, hotwiring, and brainstorming later, they had a trap laid out for the remaining teams. It took seven and a half minutes.

Turns out, having two concussed, practically useless teammates can really motivate a genius. And now we need the bait.

Said bait was looking a little green around the gills, but Steve managed to listen and digest most of what Tony told him.

I think.

Basically, Steve just needed to attract the fuckers who had infiltrated the Tower. JARVIS had been keeping them busy with malfunctioning doors, wayward bots, and other creative scare-tactics, but they were converging on the three wounded Avengers.

"Steve, hey, Steve," Tony snapped in from of the super soldier's face. Steve may have been out of it, but he managed a weak glare.

"I'm not stupid, Stark," Steve mumbled. "I can bait the trap. Just like you told me."

"Right," Tony said, offering a hand and pulling Steve to his feet with a groan and a grunt. "Good Lord, you're heavy."

"S'all muscle," Steve slurred.

"Of course," Clint muttered, getting a shoulder under Steve's arm. He huffed out a little breath of air as Steve put more of his weight on him.

"See?" Tony said a little snidely.

Steve stared at Tony's face vacantly. "See what?"

Clint rolled his eyes—thank God he was lucid right now—and said, "Okay Cap, we know they're after your shield, so step one: make some noise and let them know we're here. That will lead them to the entrance of the hall and right into our trap."

Tony snorted. "Our trap. Legolas, you crack me up."

Clint glared, suddenly looking alarmed as Steve made a gagging noise in his throat.

"Don't feel so good," he moaned.

Clint leaned away as Steve buckled and threw up. The archer's nose crinkled as Steve clumsily pulled up the hem of his t-shirt and wiped his mouth.

"I should've been more clear," Tony said, limping over and picking up the shield, "the first step was not concussion-puking all over everything."

Without warning, Tony powered up his right gauntlet and slammed the gold-titanium alloy into the vibranium shield.

"That's right, you bastards!" He yelled. "We'll put you all down, you sons of bitches!"

"Sorry Cap," Tony said with a shrug as the sound of booted feet on hard flooring became louder, "I figured I could lay the trap for you."

Just as the men rounded the corner—JARVIS had said twelve soldiers remained—electricity surged through the hall. The air crackled with power and the smell of burning skin filled the air. Tony turned and covered his head, fully expecting a hail of bullets to careen down the hall, but nothing happened. He heard the sounds of bodies falling and weapons clattering to the floor.

Tony whooped with excitement. "We fucking did it! JARVIS, is the Tower clear?"

"It is, sir. I believe congratulations are in order."

Clint smiled and gave a tired thumbs-up while Steve just groaned.

"Anyone up for a trip to medical?"

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Two days later, the team was lounging on the communal floor, chowing down on pizza while watching some mindless TV. Steve was bruised and pale, but the serum was already doing its job. His ribs were knitting and the bruises over his ribs were fading to yellowish green. He claimed that all signs of a concussion were gone, but Tony still occasionally caught him rubbing at the back of his neck with a pained expression. He would be back to 100 percent in no time.

Clint was unabashedly soaking up the attention from every member of the team. The bruising on his face was magnificent, still mottled and purple. He had jealously pointed out that Steve's bruising was nearly gone while his bruising had only gotten more colorful.

Tony's knee was bandaged and braced, tiny incision neatly stitched. The doctors had been impressed by how well his brace had secured the knee. Tony had promised to share the designs with SHIELD Medical so that they could mass produce the braces.

Nat was lazily draped over one of the many couches, bandaged leg extended on a small pile of blankets.

Bruce had joined them minutes ago, hair wild as he jotted down notes in his composition book. It was obvious that he had just come from the lab.

Thor was sitting patiently in Terran street clothes, Mjolnir resting inconspicuously near his feet.

All eyes were on Tony as he animatedly told the story of the Tower Defense. Steve blushed when Tony recounted his concussion antics. Clint glared and said Tony could have left out the detail of him puking in the hall. Tony gesticulated wildly as he told of their last stand, and of the 'genius booby trap' that had saved their lives.

"So why didn't you start there?" Nat asked, peeling a piece of pepperoni off of her pizza.

"Yeah, it sounds like the booby trap could have worked for all four teams," Bruce said.

"I have never questioned your prowess in battle before," Thor said, "but this instance seems to be—what is your phrasing—a 'no brainer'."

"Tony kicked ass," Steve said, his face registering surprise as the words came out of his mouth.

Tony gaped at him, leveled by the praise. Natasha hid a smile by taking a bit of her pizza and Thor grinned at their captain.

"Don't take it to heart," Clint muttered. "He's still concussed."