Tony slumped over his armour, the short walk anything but easy. Metal hot to the touch, Tony's other bloodied hand still holding his side.
His tired eyes poured over the damage his creation had sustained. The sand was stubborn, not to mention persistent in sticking to his skin and clothes.
"Go help the others, this won't take long." Tony attempted to be rid of Natasha, her eyes burning a hole in the back of his head.
"What are you planning, Stark?" Natasha limped over, sitting beside him. Awkward in her descent due to her own injury. It was hard to think, the sun's heat was relentless in its attempt to drain him of any useful cognitive ability.
"I was thinking, maybe I…" Gun fire cut him off mid-sentence, sand being kicked up around them as the bullets struck the innocent ground. Out in the open they were target practice. Natasha gripped what she could of Tony's shirt, lifting him out of the sand in her endeavour to get them to cover back over the sand bank which was where the nose of the ship had made its final rest. In contradiction to his companions will, Tony turned back, motioning with his hands at his suit. A gauntlet sprung from the rest of the armour. The internal built in thrusters brought it to him, the metal latching on to his hand like a leach. Seconds later the ground erupted where the armour had laid, a heavily armed helicopter on the horizon having been aiming for them.
Thrown back, a ringing in Tony's ears left him disorientated.
"Up!" Natasha ordered, grabbing hold of him once again,
Snapped back to reality by the imminent danger, he found himself half-walking and half-crawling, adrenaline blocking out whatever discomfort his body screamed back at him. Practically on all fours up the small bank of sand, Tony and Natasha rolled down the other side. Steve arrived swiftly and aided them. Shield up, he led both to cover behind the dismembered head of the jet. Clint and Banner were already there, crouched for protection. Clint stood on the brink of cover with an arrow knocked in his bow, a bow he had fortunately managed to unearth. His quiver however was unfortunately bare, only containing three arrows.
Tony felt weighed down by the gauntlet on his left arm, practically being brought to the ground by tardiness of his limbs and the unbalanced nature of his form. Tony heard Natasha drop her pistol's magazine into her hand, then the sound of a distinct click of it sliding back into the gun, locking in place.
"Ten rounds." She let the others know.
Everyone was crouched, with gunfire rattling around them, striking, piercing their metal cover.
"We hold out!" Steve insisted, peeking out in the short reprieve of gunfire.
From Steve's positioning it was hard to see over the sand bank that safeguarded them, Steve having to turn to what he had seen in the desperate dive for cover. The helicopter's presence was hard to go unobserved, blades beating the air viciously as they spun in a blur. Steve looked round at his team. They were vulnerable, not prepared for such an attack. Not knowing how many they were to face was not helping in developing a strategic response.
"Natasha you take the left side with Barton, I'll draw their fire." Steve directed his team, trying not to be distracted by the struggling light of Tony's arc reactor. The Captain gripped his shield with a firm hand, the round face ready to be pelted with inferior metal. "Banner stay with Tony; we go down, you know what to do." Benching the Hulk might not have been one of his best ideas, but with Banner's most recent transformation Steve was concerned for his friend, seeing it only as a final resort. His decision also based on the fact their enemy was unknown, sending their muscle in blind was suicide.
Steve sprung from cover, shield up to protect his chest and head. The thumping of the helicopter above menacing, gunfire terrifying. Steve looked up, wishing in ways he had not as the helicopter was right above him. He had to make a choice, with his shield being peppered with ammunition he decided to roll. Rolling onto his shield and up and over his own head he righted again, launching his beloved shield right at the flying menace. The unbreakable shield met with the helicopter's blades. Getting caught immediately. The shield found itself in the crossfire of the rotating rotary wings, causing them to simply snap. The helicopter dropped like a stone, spiralling before crashing a distance away. The flames were explosive, heat somehow hotter than what the sun had to offer. The force of the explosion knocked Steve on his back. He shook it off, hurrying back to his feet, the sound of engines starting to approach. He found three pickup trucks barrelling towards him: two front seats to each vehicle and the cargo beds in the back full of armed foes.
No shield. He was defenceless.
Like a deer in headlights he watched on. An arrow struck through the gaps in the central vehicle's steering wheel. This event panicked the driver, and the sudden adjustment to wheel caused it to steer into another. Both vehicles rolled, those in the truck's cargo bed crushed in the carnage. This left one remaining vehicle on four wheels. Steve had to dive to the ground as the remaining attackers resumed their fire in his direction. When forced to reload, Steve pushed himself off his chest, his shield coming in to view. The red, white, and blue stood out even between the orange spitting flames of the wrecked helicopter.
He made a run for it, sand kicking up from the sudden efforts. Gliding through the loose ground he took hold of his shield. More gunfire caused him to raise it defensively, he felt no force against the shield, indicating no bullets struck. Lowering the shield, he caught the final moments of the approaching terrorists, faces covered as they slumped over in their seats, having been fatally shot. The vehicle came to a halt a few meters away.
"Steve behind!" Natasha's voice cried over the crackling of the flames. He spun to find the single surviving helicopter pilot, holding a pistol pointed right at him. Steve had to decide, weather to raise his shield protecting what he could, or to throw it offensively.
He never had the chance to make such a crucial choice.
A bright blue, almost white light, struck the foe in the chest; the acquainted sound of a repulsor going off in his ears.
Enemy down, Steve looked to Tony behind him, gloved hand stretched out. His other hand reaching over and grasping his wounded side. Bruce was rushing up behind him, grabbing his arm when he wobbled on his own two feet.
With the gauntlets reserve power all but gone, Tony had to practically pry each piece of metal from his hand. From the single shot, the stored power was drained because the arc reactor was not connected to sustain its energy needs. Steve watched him with an unidentifiable emotion across his face.
Tony wanted nothing more than to sit down and hope the pain would go away. Unfortunately sitting down would have to wait just a little longer.
Natasha and Clint arrived. Both holstered their weapons, having just dealt with any lingering survivors.
"Everyone alright?" Steve snapped himself out of whatever thought had gripped him. Steve received exhausted but confident nods from almost all members of his team.
"Peachy." Tony sarcastically replied, as he stripped his arm of all metal, the pieces laying in the sand.
"Barton, what supplies did you find?" Steve asked, wanting to get back on track. Clint scratched his head, wiping sweat off his face regrettably with a sandy hand.
"Other than my bow and Natasha's gun, some clothes for Bruce." Clint reviled, clearly disappointed in his haul. "You?" He then asked back.
"Some bottled water, not a lot but it's better than nothing."
"Two of the trucks are totalled, we might be able to get some miles out of the third." Natasha discussed.
Tony noticed the concerned look in her eye whenever she watched him for more than a second. He could only deduce he looked even worse than he felt, which he had not thought possible in his current state.
Even with the awful constant pressure on his wound, fresh blood had managed to stain his top again, but he concealed it with his hand easily due to the dark fabric of his top.
"We head for the outpost." Steve put a hand above his eyes looking at the barren horizon. The ground appeared to flatten at least and harden up ahead, making travel easier.
"Those weren't the last to come for us." Natasha clarified. "We might be heading straight into another gunfight."
Tony watched the great Captain America think, always keeping a sense of calm even in such a dire situation.
"We need to get away for here, then we find somewhere to hold out until nightfall; then we move for the outpost." Steve instructed. No one questioned him as they stood in a circle formation, hot and sweating.
"Natasha clear the truck; Bruce, Tony, you go with her." Steve attached his shield to the harness on his back. "Barton we'll give the wreck one last look for supplies."
Tasks set, they parted ways again.
Tony could feel the sensation in his legs fading, the loss of blood getting to him. With Bruce's help they both passed the destroyed Iron Man armour, heading for the pickup truck Natasha was pulling bodies from.
"Saves me a job." Tony attempted a laugh, looking to the shredded pile of metal, only distinguishable as his armour due to the flecks of red and gold paint that remained. Tony never would have left the suit behind in one piece anyway, not willing to let his tech fall into the wrong hands. And with A.I.M supposedly skulking nearby, the armours complete obliteration was the perfect outcome. However, this did mean his original idea to use the armour to attempt to contact support, or possible use parts to repair his dying reactor, was destroyed along with the suit.
The corpses removed; Bruce helped Tony into the back of the pickup. The genius collapsed against the side of the cargo bed, Bruce patting him on the shoulder before taking a seat in front of him. Clint then hopped in the back with a bag of salvaged goods.
"Natasha you've got the wheel." Steve announced taking the passenger seat, door creaking before slapping closed
"Barton." Steve then said, holding out a bottle of water through the smashed back windshield. Clint took the plastic bottle from the Captain, settling next to Tony as he unscrewed the lid.
"Here" He offered to Tony. With an annoyingly shaky hand he took it, taking only a few sips before passing it to Bruce. The sensation of the warm water was better than nothing on his tortured dry throat.
The car sputtered into life, pulling off with a few protests from the engine.
"Stark let me take a look." Even with Tony's best efforts, Clint had noticed the fresh blood creeping through his top. The black fabric shiny from the slick blood.
"I'm fine." Tony blatantly lied. Bruce screwed the lid back on the bottle, watching as Clint ignored Tony and pulled back his top.
"How's it looking?" Steve asked from the cabin of the truck. Clint hissed as he got a better look at the wound. Even with the pressure of the strap, blood had soaked the fabric and was dripping around the edges. Not to mention the arc reactor still dangerously flickered, at times staying unlit for an uncomfortable number of seconds.
"Pains me to say, but he has looked better." Clint returned the top, taking one of Tony's hands and putting it over the wound.
With the beating heat of the sun still on his head Tony let his eyes close. Just wanting it all to fade away. The heat, the pain and soon the voices of his team.
Authors Notes
Another day another chapter, looking to upload every couple of days give or take :P Hope your enjoying the story so far! See you soon.