The next day, they set out at dawn. Tony hadn't returned during the night, and Steve had to wonder how much longer Tripitaka would let him stay away. No matter he what he said; actions spoke louder than words. Surely Tony had to know he was pushing his luck – as terrified as he'd been of Tripitaka earlier, it seemed likelier that he wasn't just unwilling, but unable to return.
The weather grew steadily worse as the day progressed, to the point that by noon, Steve was growing concerned. Up until now they'd been pretty lucky – if there had been rain, it had been light, and though it was occasionally cold, it didn't get cold enough to ice the road – or maybe the road kept itself clear of such things, Steve didn't know. But the rain that poured down now was frigid and heavy, soaking them all through, until Steve's hands were starting to go numb even despite his gloves. His lower face, exposed without the protection offered by Tony's ultra-resistant-to-everything materials, had long ago lost all feeling.
"I think we'd best stop for a while," said Tripitaka, much more loudly than normal – winds were rising as well, buffeting them at random, and extra-strongly whenever they came around a corner or topped a rise. Tripitaka was probably absolutely miserable, Steve thought, glancing up – he'd pulled out two weather-resistant cloaks to wrap himself in, but since he was just sitting on top of Yulong, no doubt he was freezing.
Well, he'd survive – though Steve made a note to keep an eye on him: if he started going hypothermic, they'd have to stop. For now, though, Steve slowed their pace long enough to pull another grease-slicked cloak from Yulong's saddlebags, and tossed it up to the monk. "If we stop for every bit of bad weather, we won't make it there quick." And they might not catch up to Tony, either, but – "How much further is it to Maklu, anyway?" He didn't even know if that question had a meaningful answer, but hopefully it would distract Tripitaka from wanting to stop.
The question did make the monk pause for thought. "Well, my honoured namesake's journey took fourteen years, according to most interpretations of the lore."
Steve choked.
"But those are most popular closer to the Imperial Capital, which is at the center of the civilized world, and which I have never seen, for I was born in the very far western reaches of the Great Empire – although not quite so far west or nearly so barbaric as here. Then, too, there is to consider that my honoured namesake may have made a great many stops for weeks or months at various monasteries along the route; this is not universally agreed upon, but I think it likely; were I a more well-known or worthy scholar, to be granted such opportunities, I should do so in an instant." Tripitaka sounded wistful at this. "But perhaps... I'm not worthy of such a thing... so it is for the best that Heaven seems to have other purposes for us. Certainly our pace has been speeded greatly since you all joined me, such that I have made more progress in the last four weeks than I had hoped to make in four months – or even a year."
"What does that add up do?"
"I wouldn't be surprised to see the border any day now," said Tripitaka, more cheerful than he had been since they'd left the monastery.
It felt like the first good news he'd heard since they got to this world. If they were that close – Steve frowned where the road vanished behind the next hill. Tony had gone on ahead – what if he'd already crossed those borders? What if he'd gotten detained? What if that world had already broken to pieces?
"Damnit, Tony," he muttered, half to himself and half to the comm.
The rain didn't quite manage to turn into sleet before they topped a last rise, and were all of a sudden looking out over the road as it wound downward for perhaps another mile and then terminated in the sea. Or at least Steve thought it was probably the sea – he supposed that it could have been an awfully big lake instead. It stretched from one end of the horizon to the other, and the far side of it vanished in the rain, so he couldn't have said how far across it was. But out over the shore, hovering just above one of the many docks that dotted the water's edge, was a familiar red and gold speck. The armour was a bright contrast to the grey sea and sky, and Steve felt some of the tightness in his chest ease, allowing him to redouble his stride.
"Tony?" he tried his earpiece, for perhaps the twentieth time this morning.
"Hey, Steve," came the reply, clear and familiar – Tony sounded calm and at ease, almost languid.
Almost... a bit slurred, actually. The tension that had gone away returned, even though they'd be there in a couple minutes. "Sitrep."
"The road runs under the river – it's a weird river. Chock-full of nanites, it's like... singing."
"Tony, focus," Steve ordered, breaking out into an open sprint. "Are you – compromised?"
"What?" The slurring sharpened off. "No, sorry, Cap, just communing with the fishes. We do actually have a problem here – the road's field fades whenever I take my toes out of the water, and I don't have enough raw materials on me to build a boat, sorry to say."
Steve thought of the sheets of metal that Tony had pulled out of his subspace pocket – no, that wouldn't be enough to build a dingy, let alone something that could take Yulong's size. On the other hand – "Yulong can turn – back into a river-dragon."
"Oh, he's not stuck?" Tony asked, sounding delighted.
But Yulong shook his horsey head at him, snorting with more than the effort of pacing Steve. "Okay, maybe not," Steve admitted.
"Right," said Tony regretfully. "If he's a dragon, then he can't carry us for the same reason I can't carry you... so we still have a problem. Two problems, actually – there's a monster around here that eats kids."
Of course there was.
The houses that were built up on the river-side – and Steve had to admit skepticism about that; could something that big really be a river? – were larger than any of the farmhouses that they'd seen on their way here. Some of them were still farmhouses: the fields nearby were testaments to that. Although the rain was still pouring down miserably, it was clear even to a city-dweller like Steve that their crops were doing well – the grains were full and ready to harvest and fruit dotted the limb of each tree. Of course, that the houses were so large and well-decorated spoke on its own of these farmers' success. Cheerful lights glowed from within each, reflecting off of plentiful jade ornaments and gold leaf.
Much nearer to the shore – or bank – the buildings increased in density. No one else was about in the terrible weather, but music could be heard from some of the houses, barely audible over the wind and rain. From the center of the town the road split off, with the branch winding northwards out of the town and up a small hill, upon which lay as a large temple. Unlike the skillfully worked but ordinary materials from which the houses had been built, the temple had been constructed from the same material as the road itself, and faintly glowed through the rain: a brilliant white monolith. Yet no lights shone within, and Steve put a hand out to grab Yulong's reins for a moment, just enough to halt him, when the dragon-horse would have turned off the main road at Tripitaka's direction. "Hang on. I'm not sure I like the look of that place."
"But I have never seen a temple so well-constructed before," protested Tripitaka. "Surely they would welcome us inside, although it might be a bit small."
"It doesn't look like anyone lives there. Come on – none of us should split up until we can at least hear everything Tony has to say about this monster." He wasn't exactly happy about Tony splitting off in the first place, but this wasn't the time – it would never be the time to bring that up with Tripitaka present.
"He can meet us where we find shelter," said Tripitaka, peevishly. "It is cold and wet and I am tired."
"Good thing I got us lodging, then," said Tony over the comm. Apparently, he'd been listening in. A roar of repulsors announced his presence – did flying over the road not count, then, now that they were inside a town? "Local fisherman – friendly guy, hopes we can save his grandkid's life, you know how it goes. And yeah, you really don't want to spend the night in there." Tony turned his helmet toward the sullen temple, the eyelights on his helmet glowing like an omen of doom. "That's where the monster, uh, has dinner."
"We need to talk," said Steve, as soon as they were alone.
Their host had been profoundly glad to see them arrive. They had been provided immediately with warmed blankets, and then shown them to their rooms, which were richly furnished with so much silk that Steve was practically on tip-toes not to step on any and dirty it before he could have a bath – even though he was wearing slippers, his boots having been removed from him (almost by force) at the door and whisked away for cleaning.
And the baths – there was a steaming hot tub in the room he and Tony were shown to, set up with screens, and an attendant apparently to help him bathe – "No, thank you," Steve had said firmly, and although the attendant had seem surprised, he had left immediately with a bow.
"Sure," said Tony now, wandering over to the window and peeling back a corner of the curtain to stare out. Outside, the wind and the rain looked as miserable as ever. The walls and roof must have been made of something more than just silk, despite what they looked like – inside, it was warm and dry, without a single drip or leak.
Steve glanced over the room again and frowned. There was only one bath – only one bed – "Did you tell them you don't need sleep?" he asked suspiciously. Tony had only slept an hour last night. He needed sleep.
Tony snorted, and shifted his limbs in such a manner that he suddenly resembled a mannequin – one of those life-size Iron Man knockoffs that malls and storefronts loved to put out. "Construct in service to the Monk Tripitaka, who is making a pilgrimage to the west," he droned, with no inflection whatsoever – and then he relaxed and it was Tony again, a living person. "No need to specify after that. But hey, no requests for papers or passports."
Steve frowned at him. "Fine. You can catch a nap now, then, while I wash up."
There were a lot of things he wanted to say, and none of it on as little sleep as Tony had obviously had. Granted, Steve could have used a nap himself – but at least he'd gotten some sleep the night before. What were the odds that Tony had stopped to sleep, even after reaching the end of the road here?
Hell, for Tony it might have been far longer than a night, if he'd decided to leave the road at any point.
"I thought you wanted to talk."
"I do. At the moment, about your sleeping habits – or you could go to bed and skip the talk," Steve suggested, as he tugged off his gloves with his teeth, and fumbled for the uniform top's zipper with numb fingers. He got it in the end, and pulled the top over his head, before stripping out of the rest in short order. The steam wafting off of the tub was tantalizing.
Tony was still standing at the window, staring out – and letting in a draft. If it hadn't been for the horrid weather, Steve would have worried about flashing some pour soul out for a walk.
"Close the window and stop letting out the heat," he said instead. "And go to sleep."
"What, and miss the show?" Tony muttered, just audible enough for Steve to hear. And if it hadn't been Tony, Steve might have thought that an accident.
Steve rolled his eyes – if Tony thought he could embarrass Steve into dropping this, he had another think coming, 'distributed processors' and all. "Go to bed, Tony." He dipped a toe into the tub – it was surprisingly large, for something that seemed to have been filled entirely by hand – unless they had magic here to eliminate the need for taps. The temperature was perfect, and Steve lowered himself into it with a contented sigh.
"I could just sleep standing up," Tony said. "Not hard to program my limbs to do that – advantage of being a construct, and all."
And this was precisely the sort of conversation he didn't want to have until he could be sure Tony had slept more than an hour in the last week. "Sure, and I trained myself to sleep standing up during the War, but that doesn't mean I ever slept well like that," Steve said, tilting his head back and settling further into the water. Maybe he should have offered Tony the tub first – Steve didn't really have a problem with re-using bathwater, but Tony... yeah, no way.
Except he also didn't see there being any way to convince Tony to remove the armour at present.
"Floor or bed, Tony, I don't really care. Pick a spot to be horizontal and take a nap. I'll keep guard."
"You're sitting naked in a bathtub."
"With my shield right here," Steve pointed out, tapping his finger against the metal; the vibrations of it, almost too light to hear, were instantly soothing. He let his voice hit a dryer note. "Why, you doubting my prowess?"
"Never, Captain," drawled Tony, the armour's voice low and almost husky, and though Steve rolled his eyes again, refusing to let embarrassment make him squirm, there really wasn't any way to stop the blush that rolled up his face.
But at last Tony clanked himself down on the floor – still not opening the faceplate – so it seemed that opening himself up for that bit of teasing byplay had provoked the desired results. When Tony curled up on his side – back not to the thin wall, but to the bed mattress, which was placed on the floor and appeared to be solid through – the armour looked even more like one of those knock-off 'Avengers' toys – one that had gotten tipped over, maybe. Steve ran his fingers over his shield again, staring at Tony's motionless form for a long moment.
He really wished that he could tell that Tony was still breathing.
Clear warningLog
3910318 warnings cleared.
Warning: Errors remain unresolved.
exit
exit
exit
exit
exit
Warning: critical processes may be affected
override; load bootset ; instr
.shutdown
Shutting down...
Booting
Autorunning
Debugging...
...
...
...
Debugging...
...
...
...
{
spkr=SRogers;
syl1=toh;
syl2=nee;
infl=reg1;
t=523.332;
}
goto Interrupt
Closing debug.
Shutting down...
Booting
...
...
Debug report:
Debug halted at 71.18% of available space scanned.
3928 errors found.
3891 errors repaired.
37 errors flagged and quarantined.
2 root errors found.
Time elapsed: 3h 19m 45s
"Yeah, Cap?"
Tony blinked awake. Not that he hadn't been awake before, but this was... a very different sort of awake. And, oddly, it actually felt like he had slept. Well, shit. He could have been debugging himself before, instead of braving nightmares? He was an idiot.
Already knew that...
And... that was Steve's face he was staring at – actually staring at, not looking at through one of the suit's many cameras, but through the rather more organic optical devices embedded in his face – his eyes, he would have called them, except that they'd been grown and built like any other camera, so he might as well call a duck a spade. And he really needed to get over himself, already. Why was he having so much difficulty with –
I sent myself on a suicide mission and I don't know why I forgot – no, stop
- first things first, a quick system check to determine if he was naked. Answer: no. Because some kind soul (Steve) had pulled a blanket over him and the bits of armour laying about him.
Had he been thinking that he ought to debug instead of sleep? Yeah, that was a complete no-go. At least until he worked out a way to be sure he wasn't going to be shedding the armour at random while running it, Jesus fucking shit.
All this processed at approximately 31% faster than normal – that much of a speed boost, even with only 3891 errors repaired? Shit, he needed to look into what those errors had been. And run a debug on the remaining 28.82% of him... after he fixed the armour-dropping bug. Crap.
Faster speed aside, he could have been running five times as slow and Steve still probably wouldn't have noticed the pause before Tony sat up, the armour's plates leaping onto his skin like a pack of frightened monkeys. Steve, he noticed, looked almost disappointed at that – Tony waggled his eyebrows salaciously.
Predictably, Steve did not rise to the bait. "I wish you'd leave your helmet off," he admitted instead.
Huh. Tony tilted his head to the side. "It really bothers you that much?"
"I know it protects you," Steve said calmly. "Safe as houses with it on, right? But I can't tell – " he gestured at Tony's face, " – what you're thinking, whether you're... breathing."
Tony breathed out. Breathing was a necessity, yes; extremis aside, there was still quite a large number of organic systems in there, which, he had to admit, was kind of... odd. It wouldn't have been his first choice, for growing a new body, namely because although he could take most of them to school (thanks to six months of no sleep, working with three of the top biologically-inclined minds on the planet Earth) – well, he really wasn't a biologist. Extremis was an enhancement, but if he had to grow something entirely new...
Had he done it by himself? Or was Maya just the beginning of stop
Well, it had probably been easier to duplicate than to reprogram extremis to that extent. God knew it was hard enough to make the nanites form new macro-compositions quickly, even when it was something simple like armour plating, passports, or roller skates.
Point being, breathing was a necessity; he didn't have any sort of benefit from the immortality curse that his predecessor (in all likelihood) still bore. And Steve – well.
"Okay," Tony conceded. It felt... somewhat amazingly easy to do so. Shit, this was why sleep was awesome. Or a facsimile thereof – even better. "I can live – " he couldn't help the small, sarcastic quirk of his mouth, he really couldn't, " – with that. In private. I guess. I'm not driving with the top down, though, let's establish that up front – I have eaten my fair share of Earth bugs and have no desire to get smacked in the face with some alien ones."
"Fair enough," said Steve, with a lopsided smile of his own. It twitched downward to become something slightly more negative, more cynical. "It's also harder to ream you out when I can't look you in the eye."
A number of inappropriate jokes rose to mind – wow, he had not been in this type of mood for ages. Actually, he hadn't been in any mood like this in ages – where mood was measured in amplitude and not direction. How many stops had he had in place? The data rose in his mind – he banished it. "Technically, friend, not commanding officer, soo – "
"Friend lost in an alien world with you, I'd say I have a right to yell at you for running off and staying run off without warning like that. Come on, Clint gave me the horror movie tour – 'You dumbasses, don't split up now!'" Steve mimicked Clint's half-frustrated, half-gleeful tone.
"And technically, we're not in a horror movie," Tony pointed out. "Though it's had its... moments."
"Tony." Steve was far too earnest and square and blonde to be sitting in a butterfly-embroidered silk robe like that, reaching out to grab Tony – earnestly, of course – by the shoulder. Or by the armour pauldron, as the case might be. "This is teamwork. We're in an unfamiliar locale with no backup – we stay together unless we have to split, and if we do split, we set up times to get back into contact."
He could work with that. He – shit, he owed Steve an apology, and he could not get it out of his mouth while Steve was looking at him like that, calm and level-headed and –
"My bad," he managed, by force of will and camera-control so that even if his eyes were pointing forward he didn't actually have to be looking forward. He even managed it fairly calmly. "Right, sorry." He paused. "Have you practiced that line on those Wonder Twins?"
It wasn't like he was the only one of Steve's teammates with a tendency to screw the plan without warning. The thought was vaguely painful... in a bizarrely comforting way.
"Yes," Steve said, and settled back with a sigh, leaning back against the edge of the bed as well. "Which you'd know, if you weren't off being the internet, and all." His tone was gently teasing.
Oh, Christ, Steve was handling him with kid gloves.
Given the dauntingly large number of lines in the stop command log, though, Tony couldn't entirely blame him. Telling his brain to shut down was... probably not a very adult behaviour.
Necessary, though...
sto- Goddamnit – shut up.
Tony cleared his throat. "Right. We're. Dinner?"
"Pretty soon," Steve confirmed, climbing to his feet and checking out his uniform, where it had been laid out to dry. Tony took the opportunity to examine his work critically, pinging the nanites he'd scattered on it weeks ago – most of them were currently dormant, but still functioning just fine. He could see the rough wear that Steve had been putting it through, though – no chance for a proper cleaning. Anybody else, on the other hand, would have thought the suit was brand-new, just out of fabrication... except maybe Steve himself. Superhuman senses, etc.
"You did an amazing job with this," Steve said, holding it up and peering at it just as critically. "I was scrubbing it in the tub not five minutes ago, and it's already dry."
"That's actually a bit slow," Tony said, letting his mind pick at the problem. "It's supposed to dry near-instantaneously... if you weren't paying attention, maybe. Eh."
"Well, my skin doesn't dry that fast," Steve said dryly, untying his robe and carefully hanging it up before skinnying back into the suit. Tony eyed him, looking for signs of deformation in the fabric – self-repair aside, cumulative damage always added up. But it still fit Steve fairly snugly – only fairly, not perfectly, after weeks on the road on travel rations. He sent a couple of commands to the half-dormant nanobots which would take care of that problem over the next few days.
"We still need to talk, though," said Steve.
Tony groaned. "You practically ambushed me as soon as I woke up, we've already talked."
Talking about teamwork was one thing. Talking about his plans –
Still missing the point...
Augh, shut UP.
"There's one big drawback to this teamwork shtick of yours, you know," Tony said casually, leaning further back against the mattress at his back and kicking one boot overtop of the other. "The whole... planning, communication thing. Walls aren't too thick, y'know – this is what, silk?"
"They're rainproof," Steve said mildly, but his eyes darkened. Message received - and he ain't happy about it. Tough.
"You're talking to a materials specialist," he reminded Steve. "Trust me, the most annoying impurity in the world is oxygen."
"I thought you were a robotics specialist."
"What can I say, I had a spare night," Tony said, knocking the humour out of the room. He winced – more of a twitch of the nose than anything else. He hadn't meant to sound quite so... bitter.
"So what about impermeable materials, then?" Steve asked, and this was a ridiculous conversation – anyone eavesdropping would know who they were really talking about, if it was who they were really talking about. Not talking about it was no longer for the benefit of paranoia, but – ah, Steve was humouring his issues. Kid gloves. Great.
"Everything corrodes eventually," Tony said, fingers twitching – a nervous habit, one he'd stoped before.
Footsteps fell outside their door – much heavier than most people elsewhere in the house (complex, really. Tony could see through the not-so-impermeable not-silk walls, and it was more like five houses, clustered around a central courtyard – each house ridiculously small by his lofty standards, but although they added up to a decent size, they were set apart from each other so that it was more like a mini-fortress with a wall around it than a single building). Ergo, this was not on accident, which was made obvious when the door was slid back and a servant came in with a shallow but polite bow.
"Honourable Disciples – "
stop
" – a dinner feast has been prepared and your presence would be much welcomed, if it would not be too great an imposition for you to join us in the meal."
Yes, it's too great an imposition. I hate feasts.
"Sure," Tony said, climbing to his feet. He'd barely noticed the subroutine to close the helmet about his head activating, until, well, there it was. "Lead the way."
Feast was the correct word for it. They might not have made it to Maklu yet, but the smells parsing through his particle analytics were heavenly, and the low tables overfilling with food. Their hosts, though, were more animated with desperation than with joy: every adult in the room looked near tears whenever they glanced at the small boy and girl seated at the center of the table, clearly the place of honour. It was enough that Steve – who had begun the meal voraciously – didn't even manage to clear half his plate.
"You said that the monster ate kids," Steve accused Tony, "not that the people here sacrificed kids to it!"
Silence fell over the room. Two men, who had been seated on either side of the boy and girl, burst into tears and wept – other adult relations hurried them and the children away.
"You think us barbarians, scum of the earth," said an old lady seated at the end of the table. There was a vast number of wrinkles lining her skin – Tony's memory recorder tried to store the image and nearly got caught in a fractal error – and her spine was curving deeply, yet she gave the impression of sitting up very, very straight: unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. "What should we do? If the village gives up no children, then our crops all wither, locusts devour our stores, and all our cured meat rots, so that many more children than just two die. So we sacrifice two each year, and weep over it, so that their age-mates may live to see maturity."
Tony propped his chin in his hand, his elbow on a knee. "Have you considered moving away?" he inquired.
The table had been silent and ashamed before; now the collective mood was appalled. Tripitaka shot Tony an aghast look. "That would not end well," he said, very definitively.
"Then if you can't kill it yourselves, send out for aid," said Steve. "How long has this been going on? There's friendly dragons around here, for cripes' sake – Hell, this thing is supposed to come by tonight? We'll kill it ourselves."
"It's not so easy as that," said the old woman. "We have tried. In my youth I was one such warrior, who hid in the temple to wait for the monster to appear – but it did not. None of us alive has ever seen it. It appears at no other time save on the appointed night each year – four nights from now – and if there is anyone other than the children around, if there is the slightest sign of threat or disobedience, then it does not come at all and instead sends ruin down upon us."
"We had hoped," said the elderly-yet-much-younger-than-the-matriarch fisherman that Tony had briefly questioned the day before, "that such a holy monk as yourself," he bowed to Tripitaka, "might know of some ward or spell that would limit its power."
Tripitaka looked doubtful. "I must meditate on this, I think..."
Steve slammed his hand down, nearly upsetting the table, and scrambled to his feet with his usual grace. A subroutine ran to raise eyebrows - hmm– and Tony got up as well. A lifetime – not quite his, but his original's, which amounted to the same thing – of experience knowing and flaunting the rules of etiquette let him know exactly how rude they were being, and since the food was far more decent than had been available for the last month, he compromised on the side of manners: "We're... gonna go meditate as well. Mind bringing dinner to our room later?"
The elderly matriarch gestured; from experience with such matriarchs, Tony took it as given that this meant it would be done. Steve was already storming off back to the room they – well, Steve – had been given, and Tony followed, although he had to take care not to walk too quickly: the walls might not be silk, but the floor really was made of wood, and despite the fluffy booties over his jet-boots, a step too hard could tear through slippers and flooring both.
Servants could hear them coming anyway; through the walls, he watched their IR signatures veer away sharply. Steve in a mood was better than a Do Not Disturb sign, which was sort of unfair; people loved to disturb Tony when he was in a mood. Oh, well, Tony could pay it back in kind –"Steve," he tried.
Steve rounded on him. "How many kids are gonna die if we delay getting the cure for extremis for four more days?"
...ah. Tony tilted his head. "I could tell you, but since you haven't studied probability it won't make much sense to you."
"I'm a fast learner, try me."
"Or I could just point out that we're not going anywhere until the weather clears up. I've been studying that river since yesterday evening, and the way the nanites in it interact with the road is frankly nightmarish. It's going to be hard enough staying exactly on course in good weather, and if we slip off – well, it's not like taking a piss-break off the edge of the road; stray over the line and wham, we're gone, even I don't have any clue where we'd wind up. But I'd be willing to bet it'd take a lot more than four days to get back on track. Flight navigation's got nothing on this – I don't even know where to begin with the mess it makes of space-time."
"People around here have boats. They must know how to deal with it."
Well, that was what Tony got for trying an approximate explanation about a very precise concept. But since it would take more than four days to lecture Steve on enough mathematical and physical theory for the precise explanation to make sense, Tony went for another approximation. "They stay in the shallows. Space doesn't get really snarled up until it's got enough nanites between it and the road – about eight metres of water. One klick out, it's at least twenty metres deep. I asked around yesterday. The only people who cross this river are pilgrims."
"You want to be delayed here?" Steve folded his arms over his chest, assuming a looming posture. That had worked a lot better before Tony had grown a couple inches – in the armour, now, he was actually slightly taller than Steve. Wow.
And two could play at the game of invade-your-personal-space. Tony leaned forward in the suit, a motion much more about intent than actual movement. "What I want doesn't have much to do with anything. I'm playing the hand I've been dealt and maybe saving some lives. This is not some conspiracy I cooked up just to piss you off, Captain."
Steve... backed off. "No conspiracy accusations, Tony. Just worry."
"You sure about that? Because you seemed pretty concerned about what I might be conspiring to do to certain 'people' earlier." 'People.' Loki didn't really count as a person – in any sense of the phrase.
"Yeah, how dare I be concerned about collateral damage from somebody who set off the zombie apocalypse," snapped Steve.
They both froze.
stop
Well, that was... bitchy -
stop
i wondered when he'd finally
stop
that wasnt actually
stop
"Point taken," Tony said slowly. Steve looked stricken – but he didn't move forward, didn't offer apology or comfort. He didn't even try to ignore it, like he had in that early, inauspicious meeting when he'd insulted the Tower – such a tiny, meaningless thing –
stop
Instead he just stood his ground, waiting. The regret in Steve's eyes wasn't due to his own actions, merely their necessity.
"I suppose the best I can say is that I wanted you along." A purely emotional need; the need to keep a promise... and there had been fear, but –
stop
- that had been a long time ago. "It wasn't just – because I said I would. I thought... a second set of eyes."
"Doesn't do any good if you won't show me what you're talking about," countered Steve.
"No," agreed Tony. "Five million, six hundred eleven thousand, forty one." He paused – unnecessarily; Steve had gotten it instantly. "But the deviation's so large as to make the expected value meaningless. Weather, natural disasters, bureaucracy, nuclear intervention, SHIELD developing weaponry effective against the enhanced, other various... organizations developing such weaponry, counter-hacking, terrorism, biological disease outbreak, mutation of the enhancile – "
"I get the point."
"Do you? That's four Earth days. God knows what it's been already, I can't compensate for the road. I still don't even know how the damn thing works. The survival statistics are meaningless."
"I get the point," Steve ground out, and despite everything , Tony held his breath. Here it was, make it or break it – no, that was just as meaningless as the stats; there would be other opportunities, Tony could make his own luck – "You're forgetting that I've lost at those kind of odds, Tony. Stop trying to scare me off of this. The ends don't change the means to get there."
"You've lost a world," said Tony. "You've never seen a universe go dark."
"What difference does it make?" Steve threw up his hands. "A million lives or a billion – " and he was aiming far too low, far too low, " – you're still just one person who saw it. You can make mistakes. Get caught in your own head." He was – sympathetic. What? Steve wasn't supposed to be sympathetic right now. "Come on. Let's go for a walk, you can write it out. I know you've got a screen somewhere – Hell, you can write it in the damn mud."
"The rain would wash it away," Tony said absently. Not the worst scenario, although of course a screen would be far more efficient – and, of course, Steve was right: he did have one. Or rather, could make one easily enough. He did so now – nanites responding in the same way that they had when he'd mocked up passports on the fly: sloppy, prone to disintegration, but capable of storing memory. He didn't take it from the armour, though – "It's still miserable outside, Steve."
"I'm not gonna melt." As if determined to prove this, Steve spun on one foot and began marching for the door. Tony found himself hurrying after – almost scurrying, because he couldn't manage his full stride at speed without putting his foot through the damn floor.
The servants standing beside the door did not so much as glance at them as Steve hauled the door back and marched right through, despite the rain and the wind. This was Captain America – this was Steve Rogers, who did not give a damn about the weather, because there was evil to fight.
Envy. Almost suffocating envy, for that kind of certainty –
stop
Tony followed him outside.
'The other sorcerer you met, Stephen Strange, who said that the realms of the gods were cut off? He wasn't wrong,' Tony wrote, as they trudged up the road toward the darkened temple. They made slow going of it, not because the wind and the rain had both increased – they had – but because they had no particular reason to hurry. Steve wasn't exactly thrilled to be out in the elements, but the purpose was to be outside, away from human-like aliens and monster-like aliens both.
'I know,' Steve said back – well, mouthed; no sound escaped his lips. Tony had apparently assembled something of a lip-reading program in the last few weeks. It did make things easier – he'd have been hard-pressed to type very fast on the tiny glass screen Tony had handed him. 'Or I figured it was true for here, too. Thor hasn't been back in months. And Dr. Foster figured out theoretically how to get a signal to another world, but her machine kept failing – it's been driving her nuts for weeks.'
'Eh. I knew about Foster – didn't realize you did, though.'
"I had plenty of reason to pay attention." Those words, he said aloud – silence couldn't convey the proper degree of dryness that went along with them.
'Fair enough.' Those words were a slightly smaller font size than what had come before, and what followed: 'Loki must have slipped, to let enough of his presence be known. Or maybe it's part of his plan, whatever that is. It doesn't matter. They raised the walls, but it's too late: he's already behind them.' The font went sharp, and almost ragged at the edges: 'They're doing a heck of a job keeping me out, though.'
Steve wanted to look away – but even if he could have let himself, he'd still need to be facing Tony so that Tony could read his lips. 'If you're looking for advice on assassination, you should have asked Clint or Natasha,' he said-without-speaking. He wasn't being petty; he was being practical. And both of those two would agree.
'But if I was looking for advice on breaking into a fortress, I'd talking to the right guy. As it is, though, I'm not. I mentioned that Maklu is positioned weirdly in space and time, right? It's connected to everywhere.'
"You think you can – "
"Yes," Tony cut him off, and silently, 'The sort of shields they're using to lock out portal travel won't work from here. They've got to have something else protecting it – but if there's two points connected in 3D space, it doesn't matter what's standing in the way. I can get past it.'
Steve grit his teeth. "When were you planning on telling me this?" And before Tony could answer, because he knew it was going to be a deflection, "Don't tell me you're telling me now. You weren't planning on it." Had he been? Steve prayed he hadn't been – if he had, then the way he'd been acting suddenly took on a manipulative cast darker than all of Tony's previous excuses and avoidances combined.
"You aren't coming with me."
"Like Hell I'm not."
"Someone has to get the cure back to Earth. That has to be you." Tony held up a hand, forestalling objection, and over his better judgement Steve gave him a few moments more. "Someone needs to get back to Earth with the cure and convince people to use it. That's not going to be me. Even if I came back it would still need to be you. This is a technology that people have been writing horror stories about for half a century, and the cure's gonna be more of the same thing that's been making zombies – there is no damn way a single soul will listen to me if I tell them it will save them. But you? That's half your superpower – except it never came from the serum. People listen to you, Steve. They'll let you save the world."
Steve shook his head. He hadn't even been able to get Tripitaka to listen to him, and Tripitaka wasn't exactly what you could call strong-willed.
Hell, at the moment he wasn't able to get Tony to listen to him.
But he had to admit that people at SHIELD still listened to him. Not all the time, but even though the entire agency thought he was crazy, they listened to him more often than not. He'd made speeches to Congress twice since coming back from that other world, and they listened – sort of. Usually, he tried not to think about it too much, because God knew he screwed up enough on his own.
Ironically, at the moment, he was having a hard time not agreeing with Tony. People might listen to him – they wouldn't listen to Tony, because they didn't know Tony except as a dead monster – or martyr, depending on how much stock the person in question put in the various conspiracy theories floating around. No, not a martyr: a patsy. Somebody who'd gotten killed because he hadn't realized what he was sitting on.
Steve needed to be back on Earth for the cure to be accepted. So where did that leave the approach to Asgard? Earth couldn't afford to wait for Tony to finish his private war with Loki – Earth might be gone already. If time ran at the same pace, then it was spring in the northern hemisphere, and if SHIELD hadn't worked the kinks out of their weapons then that meant that either the zombie apocalypse in Europe or a world-wide nuclear holocaust was imminent. Probably the latter: Steve knew how much France's increasing xenophobia scared Fury.
But Maklu had similar shields to Asgard, it seemed – something powerful enough to knock them off-course, anyway, even if it had dropped them somewhat nearby. Combined with what Steve already knew, it strongly pointed to them being on a war-time footing – against Loki. Tony, and Steve by extension, was gambling that the were-gild would be enough of a reason for the Makluans to let them in – but if things were so desperate that they were literally under siege, then did the multiverse have enough time to wait for the Earth to be saved before Tony came back for Loki?
Splitting up was the reasonable option, and Steve hated it. Hated it, because at the end of the day a talking cat had said that Tony was going to do something that sounded an awful lot like it might destroy Maklu, and Steve couldn't trust that he wouldn't – even if he wasn't planning on it.
"So. How are we gonna kill this thing?" Tony asked aloud, planting his hands on his hips and staring up at the temple.
That, at least, was easy to answer. "You made yourself look like the sorcerer before."
"Yeah, it's a bit touch-and-go to avoid falling into the uncanny valley, but the ICG's good for more than just invisibility," Tony agreed. And then, sounding uncannily like Steve himself, all the robotic overtones stripped out: "And it's not that hard for the speakers to sound like whatever. I see where you're going with this. But it won't work."
"My voice isn't that high," Steve objected.
"Your own voice sounds deeper to you than it does to anyone else because your bones transmit its lower frequencies better than air does." That was really creepy.
Steve gave him an exasperated look. "I know that." Well, maybe not the why, but he knew that he sounded different on recordings. "And I've seen enough of my own films that I know that my voice is not that high."
"Hah," said Tony cheerfully. Then he sobered. "It still won't work. This monster's a cautious one – I'm betting it doesn't come out right away as soon as the adults have left the kids in the temple. No, it waits. The ICG can do a damn good imitation, Steve, but it can't do it for more than a half-hour at a time – and then, well. Everything's kaput. Including me, since apparently... that's a thing again."
He still needed the arc reactor? Why? It had nearly given Steve a heart-attack, watching him take the thing out, back when he'd had shrapnel that could have killed him if he'd been able to die – but if Tony had aged himself backwards by two decades and grown three inches, why wouldn't he fix his heart? "You use it to run extremis," Steve realized.
"Bingo. Hansen and Borjigin made theirs run on something else – alien tech, I think. It almost looks like mono-scale fusion, which, even giving them all due credit, I don't think they could have come up with on their own. It's not a feature included in my version."
Steve narrowed his eyes. "You stripped it out?"
"I must have," said Tony, and what was that supposed to mean? "The point is, an illusion's not gonna last long enough to avoid spooking the monster."
"You've got three spare arc reactors in your subspace pocket." Did Tony really think he wouldn't have noticed those?
Tony flicked his fingers toward the glass screen Steve was still holding, and Steve glanced down. 'One to get you home, one to get me to Asgard, one to get me home.'
"If Maklu's got a means to get us home then you won't need at least one. Try again."
"...they're powering things that they really shouldn't be disconnected from."
"To save the lives of two kids," Steve reminded him.
"Yes," agreed Tony.
Doomsday weapons. Steve had taken on some of the most terrifying fortresses of WWII with Stark weaponry – but Howard had never turned anyone into a zombie, or had the potential to destroy the entire world.
Hadn't he?
Stop deluding yourself, Rogers.
No civilians. Not this time. Not if Steve could help it.
"Then can you make more?" Steve asked. "This town looks pretty prosperous – one advantage of cutting deals with the devil, I guess." The old lady had said that if they hadn't, they starved – did she mean that they really did starve, or did they just think they were due to the loss of such luxuries? What was the point at which they decided it was fine to give up their kids?
"Prosperous, yes, but what it takes to make one of these? Doubtful."
"You could at least look. I thought you synthesized a new element in your basement?" Steve made in not quite a direct challenge – go on, take the bait...
"This," Tony tapped at the reactor sitting in the centre of the armour's chest, "This is to that reactor as that reactor was to the one I built in a cave: orders of magnitude better. Synthesized vibranium is just not up to the quality natural stuff – and I can guarantee you that they don't have the natural stuff here. They're rich, not emperors. Although you probably don't appreciate how rare the stuff is, considering that you regularly lug around Earth's largest known supply of it."
The reactors used vibranium? That, Steve hadn't known. "Then I guess it's good you don't need to go looking for any, considering I'm lugging around the Earth's largest known supply of it." Just saying it made his heart feel like it was going to plunge through his stomach.
The faceplate of the armour melted away, and Tony – although he flinched back from the near-freezing rain – looked at Steve with a stricken expression. "Steve. That's your shield."
"Well, I'd appreciate it if you actually check to see if it's more common in this world first," Steve said, and now his voice really was sort of too high-pitched, the way Tony had been mocking him earlier. He tried to make it firmer. "Kids, Tony. It's not a question."
The armour still covered Tony's neck entirely, but it was obvious when Tony swallowed anyway. "We can come up with a different plan."
"And we'll try to. But if it's our best option, then we're going with it."
In the morning, the weather had not relented. Steve didn't know how to feel about that. But it was what it was, and if life as a soldier had taught him anything, it was that cursing circumstance was only good as a casual hobby; if you took it too seriously you were in trouble. So he put it from his mind, at least long enough for Tripitaka to say over breakfast, "I need to go to the temple. I want to try to put up a ward against this creature," thereby giving him something else to curse over.
Tony was at the table again, but he'd been doing his best impression of a statue since Steve had woken – thinking, he claimed, so Steve had left him to it. But now, at least, this was something that Steve could help with, unlike the problem of pulling power sources out of thin air. "You should stay here," he told Tony, instead of responding to Tripitaka. "Ask the locals about the materials you need." Their hosts hadn't known anything last night, but someone else in the village might.
"...sure," said Tony, after a noticeable pause. "I can do that." And, though the earpiece, "I really don't need your protection, Steve."
"If the monster is such a coward anyway, then I'm sure I'll be quite safe with Steve," said Tripitaka. Steve just shrugged at Tony.
"He's not going to do anything to me to teach me a lesson," Tony said through the comm. a few minutes later, as Steve and Tripitaka made their soggy way down the road. "Maybe I should be worried about leaving you alone with him."
"That occurred to me," Steve muttered, quietly enough to – he hoped – be inaudible to Tripitaka over the drumming rain. "I swear I'll keep my temper." Perhaps Tripitaka would keep to his beliefs, as inside-out as they were, but perhaps he wouldn't. Steve had a better track record for being able to keep an eye on him.
"Hmm," said Tony, and now Steve had to fight to keep his sigh entirely inaudible – the mic would pick up on the slightest noise. He wasn't sure he entirely succeeded. He hoped he did. Tony – despite his protests – wasn't here. That meant more than anything he might say.
"I sense now the gloom you spoke of yesterday," said Tripitaka as they made their way up the steps of the temple. It was different, seeing it in the cloudy light of day, rather than the brilliant but limited light that Tony had shone upon it. The massive immobility of it was still impressive, but it was a dour and sad thing rather than hair-raisingly shadowed. It was carved to mimic the pagodas, but made of stone, yards thick, rather than wood and silk. For all its size, most of it was walls, and there was only one room, which they entered directly from the steps: there was no door.
Inside, there was an altar covered with silk and laden with gold and incense. Someone must have been in here since last night, Steve realized; the incense had been changed, although he couldn't have said he liked it anymore than he had the previous kind. They were both too thick and cloying, almost choking – he wondered that were usual, or if someone was trying to spite the monster in an underhanded fashion. It wasn't just his enhanced sense of smell, he was sure, because Tripitaka started coughing as soon as they entered, and wound up holding his sodden sleeve over his nose and mouth.
"That is very insulting to a spirit," Tripitaka coughed out. "And to any mortal who might have to be here."
"They don't like this spirit," Steve pointed out. He crossed the room to look out the other door: set at a right-angle to the first. While the door they'd come in looked out on the town and the road, this door looked out over the water, and just standing in the threshold gave him the creeps, like someone had dumped cold slime over his head.
"I will meditate," Tripitaka declared, and he settled down on his knees in front of the altar.
Steve left him to it, venturing out the monster's door to look at the river beyond. There was no road past this door, nor any houses: anything that came from the river would have unobstructed access – and there was nothing to hide behind. If they were going to set up traps, they were going to have to use the temple itself to do it.
Still... he said quietly into his comm., "Can you ask Yulong to come out here, please?"
"Got an idea?"
"Maybe. He's a river dragon, right? Maybe he can hunt it down. He was pretty stealthy when he snuck up on us."
Yulong, when he arrived, was splattered with mud, and gave Steve a distinct stink-eye. Steve raised an eyebrow at him – it wasn't like Steve was any happier about the situation, but the first thing he'd learned about leadership was that however much your guys complained, you complained a hell of a lot less.
"If the monster comes from the river, can you cut off its escape?"
The answer... wasn't a definite yes. Yulong tipped his head from side to side, in a cross between a nod and a shake that was almost dizzying to watch on someone with a face that long. Then he snorted, and trotted off down to the water's edge, apparently to sniff around. Steve thought he might decide to investigate the river as a dragon, but Yulong didn't transform, just went up and down the bank, occasionally pawing at the ground and snuffling at the mud.
"Oh," said Tripitaka quietly, back within the temple. If not for the serum, Steve wouldn't have heard him. "This is very bad."
Steve jogged back inside, braced to see that Tripitaka had done something really stupid – but the monk was still kneeling in front of the altar, although he now wore a melancholy expression. "What is it?"
"The bond between this village and its spirit has been cemented with too much blood, too freely offered," said Tripitaka. "It's never wise to run from a spirit that has noticed you, but I don't think this spirit could be left behind even if it wanted to be. It would follow them even into a desert, until the very last of them died of thirst."
"Isn't there any way they can break the connection?" Steve asked.
"There may be Great Sages who could do so, but I am not one," said Tripitaka, looking troubled. "And any temple that could do so would charge a ruinous price, for that is the way of the temples in these modern times – and that is why I am travelling to Maklu. Do you not see?" He looked at Steve pleadingly. "And that is why I am caught! If each person in this village took vows and ate nothing but plain rice, and drank nothing but plain water, then at the end of nine years of teaching them I might be able to dissolve their vow... but I don't have nine years. Heaven is under siege, and we must travel there as quickly as we can. Oh, Sacred Kuan-Yin, guide me! I am forced to choose the lesser evil."
The lesser evil – the greater evil – the Great Sage they'd met before, Soen, had refused to choose between the two, but her logic had been so convoluted that Steve couldn't think she'd succeeded at avoiding either. At least Tripitaka was trying. Was that because he wasn't powerful enough to charge a ruinous price? Soen had had two children to attend her, and luxurious clothing, and gemstone-studded jewelry that had to be worth a fortune. She'd been willing to see both Steve and Tony dead, even when the difference in what 'death' meant for them had been explained to her. Tripitaka, Steve had to admit – no matter how grudgingly – was at least trying.
If Steve could just get through to him...
"You could stay," Steve suggested. "Look, the urgency is whatever Tony might have done, or might do. You don't need to come along for that. We could go on ahead."
"I am your master, as you are my disciples," Tripitaka protested, drawing himself up sternly at once.
"You can say that until the end of time, it doesn't make it any truer," said Steve.
Tripitaka deflated. "Perhaps. The dog cannot be taught unwillingly. It knowingly offends. But must not the offer for enlightenment be made continuously?"
"No matter what you think about us, these people's lives are more important," said Steve. "We'll try to kill the thing, but if we fail, a lot of them are going to starve, or they'll be sacrificing more kids to it sooner or later. You could prevent that, if you stayed behind."
"But how many would starve in the meantime, when kings ignore the cautions of the peaceful temples and hire the warrior monks of the powerful temples to lead their armies into battle? You may go and see to setting right what Tony did, but neither of you plan to return to these lands. You will not bring back holy wisdom, or scrolls of knowledge, or any Greater Truth that might see this Empire restored from sinful decadence. No. To go on is again the lesser evil of two evil choices." Tripitaka stood up. He wobbled a bit, and needing to brace himself against the altar to make it. "There is nothing more I can do here, and the smoke is hard to breathe. Let's go back."
"Alright," said Steve quietly.
Yulong was waiting for them outside, his hooves making a joyful clip-clopping sound against the road that was at odds with the gloomy rain. "Well?" Steve asked him. "Think you can take it on?"
The dragon-horse whinnied and repeated his earlier gesture, the weird head-shake-nod, then raised his three front hooves, one at a time, drawing each in as large a circle as his limbs could manage. He whinnied again and looked at Steve expectantly.
"It's... a large area?" Steve hazarded, which earned him a bobbed head.
Great. Steve avoided making a face, while Yulong, apparently losing interest, went down on his front knees so that Tripitaka could scramble up atop his back. Miraculously, despite the rain having soaked Yulong from mane to tail, and the lack of a saddle, Tripitaka managed to stay on his back instead of slipping right off the other side.
"A thin fallback is better than none," Steve said, looking west past the muddy bank, out over the water. "We'll try it."
"Seriously, this is jumping the gun," Tony said, two days later, as Steve stood with the shield held out like an offering. It was an offering, in some sense of the word.
Speaking with their hosts had only confirmed their lack of other options, because when the little old lady had mentioned previous attempts to drive out the monster, she hadn't been exaggerating. The thing would wait for hours. It could detect apparently anyone in the temple, no matter how well hidden – although, upon witnessing Tony's charade as Steve, she agreed that the ICG made for a much better disguise than any other she'd seen. It was still a risk that the monster might see through it – but it was the best shot they had.
But the adults all agreed that it took ages for the beast to make its presence known. At least, that was the consensus from those who had waited outside the temple to bear witness – waited for the screaming. And since the very thought of that made Steve feel about a thousand times worse than he did at the thought of losing his shield, it was not very difficult to stand here now and hold it out to Tony.
"Shut up and take it," Steve snapped. The alternative was infinitely worse; that didn't mean he liked their plan.
Reluctantly, Tony took his shield and set it down, concave-side up, on the work table he was using. Their hosts, upon being told of a viable plan, had fallen all over themselves to provide whatever materials Tony had requested. Vibranium, much to everyone's dismay, had been the single item they'd failed to find – and they had turned the entire town upside-down trying to make up for that lack. Steve had no idea what half the things in this workshop were – he wasn't sure even Tony knew. Some of them were distinctly alien.
"I could use the third arc reactor instead," Tony blurted. "It could be sync'd with the other two, then disconnected..." he was staring far away, with an expression of fierce concentration – and quite a lot of doubt.
"You said that would be a bad idea," Steve reminded him. "Come on. You won't need – the entire thing." It wouldn't be the same – his shield was perfectly balanced as it was, and honestly, Steve wasn't sure how Tony was going to get any of the vibranium off of it without horribly damaging it, but – "You can re-cast it for me when you're done, right?"
"Not with what I've got here," Tony admitted. "Vibranium is a bitch to work with." He looked at Steve apologetically.
"Then when we get home," Steve said firmly. "Sooner or later, we're both going to get home."
"Yeah," Tony mumbled, looking down at the shield. Then he picked up a – Steve wasn't really sure what it was, but it was glowing brightly at the tip – and the faceplate flowed over his face again. "Yeah. I will."
Steve left. It was ridiculous, but he couldn't watch.
"Here," said Tony, waking Steve from a light doze as he stumbled into their room sometime just shy of dawn – although given the way the skies were still perpetually crowded over, day might have broken already without Steve noticing. Steve managed to not quite snatch the shield from Tony's loose grip – he could tell in an instant that it wasn't right. The balance was different. He turned it over: a very thin ring of metal was missing from around the edge on the underside. Obviously, Tony had taken pains to keep it as intact and symmetrical as possible.
"Thanks," Steve said softly. He eyed the slump to Tony's shoulders – visible even though he was fully encased in armour. "I'm impressed – I wouldn't even know the difference."
Tony snorted. "You're a shitty liar, Rogers."
Well, he'd... tried. "You did a good job," he insisted anyway, because Tony had. "It's great. I – appreciate it." Oh, Lord, could he sound any stiffer if he tried?
"I'm sorry, Steve," Tony said, regret heavy in his voice, even through the armour's filters.
"It's necessary," Steve said, and that, at least, had enough truth to it that he could say it whole-heartedly. "It's a lot better than I'd feared." He tried a smile. "You look like you could use some sleep." He was sure Tony hadn't gotten any more sleep since that one nap. Not that Steve had been doing much better himself. But they were running a mission – "We need to be on-form for tonight."
"Yes, mom," Tony mumbled, heading toward the bed again – not to sleep in, but to put his back towards.
Steve ran his fingers over the new edges of his shield, and kept watch.
"Wow, Steve, lookin' good," said the small, wide-eyed and adorable-looking girl with the voice of a man at least four times her age. At least seven times her age, if Tony hadn't chopped a few decades off of his own, but his voice had become more youthful with the rest of him. "A bit... blobby, at the edges... give me a moment to calibrate it."
Unlike when they'd both been simply cloaked by the ICG, Steve couldn't see what Tony really looked like. He couldn't even see what he really looked like. The world wasn't made of brilliant colours; instead, all the reds, blues, and greens seemed to... wave, slightly. It wasn't a pleasant sight. Every time he moved his head or even looked in another direction, the world seemed to slide over just a bit further than it should have.
"You're going to have to fix the voice," said Steve.
The illusion flickered off. "So are you," said Tony, and Steve could hear that he was pulling a face beneath the helmet. "God, that sounded weird."
"I'm not sure how much use I'm gonna be trying to fight with that thing on me," admitted Steve, scrubbing at his eyes with one hand. It didn't make the red of Tony's armour look any less weird. With his other hand, Steve checked the straps holding the new arc reactor and ICG to his belt, and adjusted them again – it was a minimal weight, but it stuck out of his side too much too be comfortable. He'd need to be careful of it in a fight – Tony had assured him that the reactors could take a beating, but they might need this one again.
"I'll drop it as soon as the monster fully materializes, or whatever it does," Tony assured him. "Waste not, want not."
"It's the best likeness I have ever seen," said Tripitaka, sounding subdued. Since their visit to the monster's temple he had been quiet, spending most of his time meditating, and eating only rice and water at meals. "As good as that demon's."
Steve could only be glad that he was being quiet – and that, just maybe, he was reconsidering staying behind. At least he was staying indoors. It was risky enough having him alone in this village with a monster on the loose. Yulong had gone down to the river hours before to settle himself in, and once Steve and Tony were within the temple, if the monster got past them...
Tripitaka might think it a sin to punish somebody without a soul, but he was willing to sacrifice this entire village to get to Maklu quicker. Steve couldn't trust him not to punish Tony, in order to punish Steve.
You're not any better about the village, a small voice in the back of his mind pointed out.
Pre-mission jitters. Steve ignored it.
"I do not care if you are a demon or a sorcerer, or merely a construct gifted with powers," said a shaky voice from the door, and Steve turned to look. It was one of the men who had been led away weeping the first night – his eyes were full of tears even now, but the look on his face was one of utter relief and joy as he took a few quick steps into the room. "Honoured ones, you have saved my children from the lot; I shall light incense and candles to you every day for the rest of my life." And to Steve's horror, he went to his knees right there, and then bowed, prostrating himself so that his head hit the floor.
Steve stepped forward quickly to take his arm and urge him back to his feet. "It's our honour," he said firmly. It was what was right. These people had tried to take out the monster and failed – they didn't deserve to have to bow just because somebody came along with better technology. Hell, they didn't even know for sure that the monster wouldn't be able to see through Tony's cloak – they were gambling. Gambling with the express permission of the matriarch, and the somewhat divided support of the local elders – but it was a gamble. If they lost, the monster would take it out on these people. "Don't thank us yet."
Which didn't mean that Steve thought that those elders who had argued against it were any better than scum, but that was a separate issue. There were the lives of children at stake.
"Come," said the family matriarch imperiously. She had been watching the demonstration, kept on her feet by the attentive grip of two younger women, one standing at each elbow, and now she shuffled forward while they carefully continued to support and balance her. "It is time to lead the 'children' to the temple."
"Here we go," said Tony, and the world became dizzying again as the illusion fell over them both. "You'd better not talk," he continued, in a high-pitched little girl's voice. Steve wasn't sure if that wasn't actually worse than before – sure, it fit the image better, but Steve knew it was Tony sounding like that. The dissonance, on top of the wonkiness of the illusion, was almost staggering.
"Slowly," cautioned the matriarch – damn. Apparently he had actually staggered.
"Steve?" asked the little-girl-not-Tony.
"I'm fine," Steve said. At least he sounded like himself. He just needed to... not look down. For one thing, it left him staring at the top of his illusion's head: he couldn't actually see his own body, and that was... really weird. The illusion's legs and arms moved the way Steve could feel himself moving, but they were so far away... "I'm good. Let's go."
"Yeah, you better leave the talking to me," said Tony, with a decisiveness and authority that seemed downright bratty coming from a little girl. Or maybe adorable.
This was so weird.
Fortunately, they didn't need to move any faster than a shuffle, since that was all that the matriarch could move at. Steve thought about suggesting that she be carried in a chair, and then looked at the way her two helpers paid attention to her every movement, and thought better of it – if the lady wanted to walk, well, evidently she was used to getting her way. It made the trip up to the temple just bearable – serum or no, it was a damn good thing Tony would be dropping the illusion as soon as they had the drop on the monster, because there was no way that Steve could fight effectively like this. Especially not when the shield sat so wrongly on his arm.
What felt like an eternity later, they reached the temple – a walk that had taken them only a few minutes at a sedate pace earlier that day. The old woman straightened up as best she could with the curve in her spine, and told them gently, "Go on, children. Go into the temple and stay there until morning. We will come back for you then, and have a great feast."
Tony's little girl face was full of doubt and uncertainly, not at all covered by a child's attempt at bravery; the sight of it made Steve nearly choke on rage. This woman had said those same words before, to actual children, knowing that they were going to their deaths – he turned away toward the temple, letting his hands ball up into fists. God save him from adults who felt they had no other choices.
The illusion of the girl reached out and grabbed the sleeve of the illusion Steve was wearing – and something also closed on Steve's arm, although Steve couldn't see it. Then again, he couldn't see his arm, either. "Not so fast, big brother," said the girl, a hint of a whine in her voice, and Steve slowed his stride – of course. A kid couldn't cover that much distance so fast. "I can't keep up."
"Sorry," whispered Steve, barely more than a breath.
"No talking," scolded Tony over the comm.
There were already lights inside, candles that the villagers had been bringing in all day – candles, and offerings, including pillows and small toys to amuse children who would eventually get tired and fall asleep long before the monster showed up. Unlike previous years, hangings had been added to all the walls as well, covering the bare stone from floor to ceiling – Steve's idea. The ones over the doors covered quick-release portcullises that Tony and the village smith had designed and cast two days before. The hangings themselves were marvels of art and, so Tony claimed, technology – the cloth couldn't conceal a living presence, but it would hide the extension of the walls perfectly. Since they didn't know anything about the skills of the creature other than that it was sneaky and good at running away, they'd stacked the deck in favour of trapping it in there with them.
"We could hide explosives with this," Steve had speculated.
"We've tried," the matriarch had told him, her face grim and grieved. "It wounded the creature. It killed the children."
There needed to be some sort of bait, to get the monster into the temple. Steve let his eyes close, shutting out the colours of the offerings and tapestries – warped as they were by the illusion, they were nausea-inducing. Tony's hand on his arm guided him fully into the temple: he could tell because the cloying smoke thickened almost unbearably. No more kids, he promised the place silently.
"Lots of toys here," commented Tony aloud, in that little girl's voice – it was beginning to be more than a bit creepy. He let go of Steve's arm and wandered over to examine a pile of offerings on the far side; Steve cracked one eye open to better keep track of him. "And look, a place to sleep. I'm tired, aren't you?"
Very, Steve thought, but instead of answering he faked an enormous yawn. He wasn't the sort of tired that any sleep would help with – he had actually slept earlier that day, after he'd managed to convince Tony to catch a few hours' rest.
"I'm going to sleep," the little girl mumbled, and curled up with one of the blankets around her. "I figured out what's off about the design of this place – no right angles. Everything's leaning. The doors aren't square, the walls aren't – and none of it's curved, either. It's completely different from all the other buildings around here – built by somebody else entirely, maybe?"
Steve found a patch of wall and sat down, shifting around until he found a position he could stay in for hours without discomfort – not easy, considering he was sitting on stone – that would still allow him to leap upward. At least sitting down like this he could close his eyes and shut out the beginnings of an actual headache. Apparently even the serum could be overwhelmed by the type of off-kilter scenery that the cloaking device caused. Tony rambled away in his ear without need to pause for breath – a pleasant distraction, and something to ground him in the here-and-now without keeping his eyes open.
"... give every mathematician over the age of forty a heart-attack. Multiple unique straight lines through two points? Even to me it sounds insane, but if you – oh, heads up, Cap. We got company."
Steve could feel it, too: a creeping sense of dampness. He roused himself enough to look around, but his vision was so off that it was pointless. He shut his eyes and listened, instead: Tony's little-girl illusion even had the sound of breathing, sub-audible to human ears, and it pinpointed him sixteen feet to Steve's two o'clock. The occasional crackle, very small, from one of the candles; drafts, reaching through the mostly-open door; and, of course, the overpowering scent of incense, almost destroying his ability to smell anything else. Outside, the wind and the rain – and now inside, with a plunk of drip, drip, drip.
It wasn't fully there. He opened his eyes again, but he couldn't see it. The illusion of the little girl stirred restlessly in her sleep.
"Come on, you bastard," Tony breathed in Steve's ear.
They waited. Steve did not dare move, for fear of making some sound that would give him away as something other than what his illusion seemed to be. The damp presence grew stronger, and Steve felt condensation collecting on his face. Drip. Plunk. They waited. Steve closed his eyes and recalled to mind the new balance of his shield – imagined feeling it in his hand, how it would arc, how that little bit less mass would affect it as he swung. They waited, and Steve pictured exploding into a standing position, ran the angles at which he'd have to duck to avoid Tony's fire. He knew this already. He knew it in his bones, and he let his mind empty of other concerns until his sole focus was remaining on that edge of movement.
Squish, squish, went something, and Steve remained motionless except to open his eyes. The monster beyond the river-side door was perhaps eight feet high, a mad scientist's nightmare attempt to cross a person with a fish gone wrong. It had two legs, and it carried a trident in its hands – but it was stretching the definition to call those hands, although they could apparently grip quite well. Its head was fully that of a fish, bent down on an eel-like neck so that it could look forward, its mouth opening and closing obscenely; and it was dressed in river weeds. It dripped mud and muck onto the floor with every step it took closer to the door.
The little girl illusion sat up. "Who's there?" she called, and her high voice was tremulous, afraid.
"Oh ho ho," boomed the river monster, in a voice deep enough that Steve could feel it in his bones. It wasn't at all like he thought a fish would sound like. "Two tasty treats are awaiting me!" It stopped in the doorway and stared at them, hands planted on its hips, smugly satisfied.
The little girl screamed – high-pitched, ear-piercing – and scrambled away until she, until Tony, was on the opposite side of the room and strategically positioned to pin the thing between him and Steve. Steve waited. They had one shot at this. They could not let it get away.
"Noisy little treats," said the fish-monster, sounding annoyed, and it squished its way into the room in a hurry, reaching for the illusory girl with one webbed and slimy hand.
"Try snacking on this," said the little girl, and opened her glowing palm to blast the fish-monster in the face.
It reeled back and behind it, now between it and the door it had come through, Steve exploded to his feet, shield up, the world righting around him as the illusions dropped. A rush of air informed him that Tony had triggered the portcullises, a moment before the blocks met the floor with synchronized clangs. The shield sung in Steve's hand, its harmonics familiar but changed, and he brought it around and down – but the fish, although reeling from Tony's surprise attack, was fast – and tough. A repulsor blast like that would have put a hole through any human; the fish-monster was just badly burned. And not so badly burned that it didn't get its trident around in time to block Steve's strike, either, and parry the follow-up – with the sort of force that Steve associated more with Asgardians.
"Treachery!" it wailed, a booming din, as Steve flattened himself to the floor and two blue beams – Tony's lasers – crossed the air overhead. Something thumped wetly to the floor, and the fish screamed, then screamed again as Steve whipped his leg around to kick in the back of its knee. Watery blue light burst like a star above his head, and Tony began cursing. A trident-point nearly skewered Steve's leg, and he rolled away, flinging himself back up to his feet – and the monster set off some sort of flare that left him blind.
He could hear it squishing, fleeing – he flung his shield forward and himself after it, and heard the satisfying thruung of the shield meeting its target – but Tony's armoured grip closed on his shoulder with a hasty, "Shit do not walk into that, Steve!"
Steve froze; his shield arced back around and, lacking him to grab it, clattered against the temple wall behind him. The bright white that had taken out his vision faded to spots, and he blinked hard: he could barely make out something like a watery blue net in front of him, fading almost as rapidly as his vision was returning. The portcullis across the main door had been blasted open and the fish-monster was nowhere to be seen – but over the sound of the rain, Steve could hear a loud splash, as if something enormous had just belly-flopped into the river.
"Yulong – "
Tony remained still for a moment, then shook his head, a short, jerky motion. "It dove straight out. The river-nanites – we can't follow it."
They'd missed their shot.
"These people are going to starve."
"Maybe it'll convince them to pack up and move instead of letting it chow down on their kids."
"If they could move they would have before," Steve said grimly. "You don't know what starvation's like." The gnawing, empty feeling – he'd stolen and lied for food, once, at the worst of times. Though he'd never have let a kid be eaten.
Damn it. What now?
"Should've used missiles on it anyway," muttered Tony, going over to the long, scaled arm lying grotesquely on the floor of the temple. He picked it up and checked the stump. "The lasers cauterized it, it won't even bleed out."
"Too close-range for missiles," Steve muttered. Although with Tony, maybe not. But then again, Tony knew his own arsenal best – if Tony hadn't used missiles, in the face of whatever the fish had been throwing at him that Steve hadn't quite caught, then it had probably been the best course of action at the time.
Tony was already stomping his way out of the temple, the metal of his boots meeting the stone of the steps and then the road with harsh, abrupt clicks that spoke of stress and strain – except that for all that the road looked like stone, it really, probably wasn't. It didn't break or shatter beneath Tony's feet, at least. Steve retrieved his shield, and snuffed a few candles that had gotten overturned in the fight before they could start any minor fires. The people of this village would need the rich offerings they'd left in the months to come.
The elderly woman, again supported by her two younger relatives, was waiting for them at the doorway of the house they'd been staying at: she only needed to take one look at the fish arm and Steve's face to find their answer, or perhaps she, too, had heard the splash. "You failed."
Steve met her eyes. There was no recrimination there – nor even resignation. He couldn't read her at all. "I'm sorry. It might stay away," he nodded to the severed arm, "but we couldn't kill it."
"It had to be tried," she said, and with the help of her aides, she turned and slowly made her way inside. A few white flakes drifted in after her – the rain had turned to snow.