A handful of missed calls and new texts sit waiting on Tony's phone, which is about par for the course since only a handful of people have this number. Two texts from Rhodey, which he'll need to deal with, but not right now. Two calls from the senior VP of something he doesn't care about. A text from another VP of something he would care about under normal circumstances. One call and one text from Pepper. Call dated Wednesday night. Text Thursday morning.
He flicks the text open. Four words only.
We need to talk.
Knowing the rock is going to drop is one thing. Actually watching it fall is a whole different story. And feeling it land... it hits with a dull thud just below his heart, sinking down and churning up a surge of queasy dread. Sickly heat pools in his shoulders as a bitter taste blooms in the back of his throat.
With numb fingers, he holds up the phone and presses the call button.
It takes Pepper too long to answer. "Hi," is all she says. Clears her throat.
All Tony says in return is, "Hi."
Noise rustles on the other end of the connection, sounding a lot like Pepper covering the phone with her hand, followed by a few muffled words: "Just give me two minutes." When she finally turns her attention back, it's with an apology. "Sorry. I'm trying to wrap up a meeting."
"On a Saturday?"
"Yes, Tony, on a Saturday." Her voice is thick with annoyance. "I work a lot of Saturdays, remember?"
He remembers. It's one of the star players in their fight arsenal. "Right. You spend every waking moment selflessly running my company to prevent me from making unsound business decisions and-"
"Don't even start," she cuts over him with a warning.
"No? You don't want to have this conversation again? I thought it was one of your favorites."
Through the grating pause that follows, he can almost feel the tension that he knows is tightening her jaw. Her eyes will be squeezed shut, crinkled in the corners, and her mouth thin as she bites her lower lip. He knows that face.
I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I wish I could say so, but Jesus fuck... if this is about to end, I'm not going to go quietly.
"Why are you such an asshole?" comes her eventual reply.
"Defense mechanism," he says. "It's the natural human response to being dumped by text message."
"I didn't..." The sentence never materializes, but instead devolves into a low groan. "That's not what I meant."
"Then what did you mean?"
"That we need to talk. A real, adult conversation for once."
"About?"
"A lot of things."
A lot of things that probably all boil down to one big thing. "Okay. Sure. I don't know if I'll make it back to New York tomorrow, but definitely Monday. Monday afternoon, we'll sit and talk about your things."
"No," she says, "because I won't be here. I'm flying to L.A. in a couple hours and won't be back until Tuesday night."
"What's in L.A.?"
From her frustrated sigh, it's either something he should know about or something she doesn't want him to know about. "Just... nothing. Meeting my cousin and a couple of her girlfriends. I need some time away, and it's Jen's birthday, and we made this last-minute decision to go to Disneyland..."
"Disneyland," Tony repeats.
"Yes. It's very popular with groups of single women in their thirties."
Oh. So this is how it ends. Not with screaming, not with threats, not with hateful insults honed sharp on too much truth. But subtly, with one little word sliding into the conversation. One word finding its foothold and becoming the new reality. As if nobody would notice its intrusion.
"I see. So you're a single woman now."
No sound from the other end. Not even a breath.
"When did that happen?"
"I can't do this, Tony," she says, so quietly. "I... I can't. Not like this. Not over the phone."
But he presses on: what else is there to do? "When did it happen? When did you decide?"
"I don't know! Maybe sometime since you stormed out of here eight days ago? Eight days where you didn't even bother to call or take two seconds to send a damn email, and I'm left wondering if you're even coming back at all? Because when you left you made it sound an awful lot like you were leaving me."
"No. No, that's not what I was doing. I was leaving..." All the stupid fights we keep having, over and over and over... "I was just being a dick. I was a dick. I am a dick. So what we need to do, once you're back from being single in Disneyland, is get together and talk about how much of a dick I am, and-"
"No," says Pepper. Groaning. "Tony, this is why I don't want to talk over the phone. You say something stupid like that, and I have no idea if you're deliberately being an asshole or if it's your roundabout way of apologizing... I don't know if you're serious or sarcastic... I just don't know. I never know with you. That's why this is so..."
She takes a breath.
"...impossible," she mutters.
Impossible. Not possible. Unable to continue. Devoid of hope. Tony closes his eyes. The phone is hot against his cheek and ear. Or maybe it's just his skin that's burning.
"...Tony?"
He clears his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, I heard you."
"I... I have to go," she says. There might be a hint of her voice cracking in those quiet words. But then she coughs, and sighs, and makes a decisive little 'mm' sound, and the hardened professional tone takes over. "I'll give you a call when I'm back. We can set up a time to... meet and talk and... I'll call you. Goodbye, Tony."
"Bye," he echoes, though she may not hear because the call disconnects almost immediately.
Lowering the phone, he looks down at the screen. Call duration one minute fifty seven seconds. That's all the time it takes for everything in the world to fall apart.
And that leaves thirteen minutes three seconds to sit on the bed with his head in his hands, trying to pull it all back together before he has to answer to Romanoff.
ooo
The mood in the kitchen has changed by the time Tony returns. No more awkward nonchalance or cool uncertainty: now the air is saturated with tension that feels ready to sizzle into flame at any moment. Romanoff's come around to the other side of the island to face down Loki with one hand on her waist and the other holding some kind of Star Wars pistol. Loki, standing now, has his fists clenched at his sides and his face contorted with the kind of rage that indicates he might be trying to murder her telekinetically. And then Thor. Down from the second floor just in time for mayhem, he's positioned himself between the two of them, though from his stance it's impossible to determine whether he's siding with his untrustworthy brother or has decided to honor his tenuous alliance with S.H.I.E.L.D..
Romanoff's eyes flick over Tony's way. "Everything in order?" she asks, voice far too calm for the circumstances.
Tony just shakes his head. "Nope." And that's all he'll give her. Everything else is locked away to deal with some other time, when he feels up to the task. Maybe never.
"Do you have an answer for me?"
"Since I'm still a little unclear on what the question is... no."
"Stark," she says, in a tone that means 'quit wasting my time'.
"Just humor me," he continues as he steps up to take a place beside Thor. Neutrally positioned, neither with her nor with Loki. "Outline for me, exactly, in detail, what will happen. Step by step. Step one: I follow you back to base. Step two? What happens next?"
"If you want the honest answer, you'll probably wait around a while before Director Fury has time to see you. As I said, our focus has shifted recently and you've become low priority."
"And I'm guessing you're all about the 'hurry up and wait' mentality, and wouldn't allow me to come in for an appointment sometime tomorrow rather than sitting around aimlessly today?"
Romanoff's answer is exactly what Tony's expecting. "We'd prefer to keep you onsite and available."
"You mean 'under surveillance'," he says.
"I mean 'available'."
"You mean 'in prison'."
"I mean what I said."
It might be a subconscious reaction to the building hostility, the way she shifts her hold on her ray-gun. At least Tony's assuming it's a gun. It's not like anything he's ever seen before: compact, white and cylindrical with a shallow curve to the handle and something like a toy battery pack of pale blue plastic on top. The blue glows enough to be visible even in the kitchen's bright light, lit from the inside. Tony's stomach twists in sudden recognition.
Shit. She can't really have...
"Stand behind Thor, Tony Stark," Loki's voice hisses at his back, "if you value your life."
"You plan on shooting me with that?" he asks Romanoff. "Let me guess, phaser isn't set to stun?"
"I don't plan on shooting anyone," she replies, but levels the gun at him all the same. "Provided everyone cooperates, there'll be no need for violence."
"You know, you're doing a really bad job of making me want to come with you. Coulson was a lot more effective with his scientific razzle-dazzle bribery approach."
"Stark..." It's that warning tone again. The 'quit fucking around or I'll blast you with my sci-fi gun' tone. "Please stand aside. You can make your way to the front door. There's a car waiting outside."
"What about your show of good faith in allowing me to fly back to base on my own?"
She has no answer for that.
"No," he says, holding up his hands. "Sorry. That's my decision. I've thought it through, but I can't see how this can end well for me in any way. At best, I get my ass handed to me by Fury, a bunch of my tech is confiscated, and I'm placed on some kind of threat list that has S.H.I.E.L.D. agents showing up at my door every few weeks for a check-in. Oh wait! That's happening already. But at worst? Do I even want to think about the worst case scenario?"
"I already told you, right now you're low priority and-"
"Low enough priority that you're standing in my kitchen with a HYDRA gun in my face trying to black-bag me into your car out front?"
"The gun is for the Asgardians, Tony. Not for you. That's why I'm asking you to stand aside."
He questions himself even as he does it. Why bother? Why make this stupid, heroic gesture, and for somebody he should rightfully hate? But Tony's always been a contrary kind of guy. The first one jumping up to do something just because somebody else said it couldn't or shouldn't be done. And if Romanoff says he shouldn't oppose S.H.I.E.L.D.? Well then. He takes two steps to the left, positioning himself directly between her and Loki. "Give me a reason. Just one. One good reason why I should listen to you instead of my Asgardian buddies here. Who, I will admit, are total jerks because Thor trapped me in a magic chain and Loki threw me into a wall, but despite that... I still trust them more than I trust you."
The tiniest speck of annoyance manifests in Romanoff's flaring nostrils. It's probably the only emotion she's capable of showing. "You don't even know who you're siding with."
"I'm not siding with anyone. A wise Ent once said, 'I am on nobody's side, because nobody is on my side'. What I'm doing is standing against you."
She holds his gaze through a string of heartbeats, not speaking, not moving, not blinking. Like she's waiting for...
...the phone to ring. Silently, she nods to Tony, directing him to answer it. He slides over to the wall and picks up the handset already half knowing who's going to be on the other end.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Stark."
Bingo. "Agent."
Coulson's voice crackles over the bad connection, distant and distorted by a metallic echo. "I've been listening in on your conversation."
Tony nods to himself. "I'd be disappointed if you weren't. Where are you calling from, anyway? Let me guess: a flying saucer hovering over my house?"
"Close enough," says Coulson. "I wanted to let you know that you should give Agent Romanoff's suggestion some serious thought. You'd be better off getting into the car. We don't want this to get ugly."
He says that like it's not already ugly in here. Like this whole day hasn't been one big heap of ugly so far. Tony shoots a glance over his shoulder at brooding Thor and snarling Loki. Snarling Loki looks like he might be trying to silently snarl some words. "Uh," he begins, but whatever he wanted to say flies out of his head as Loki starts with the violent little hand gestures. Yes, Loki is trying to mouth something. Something angry. Too bad Tony's terrible at reading lips.
"I can give you five minutes to peacefully exit the building on your own. After that-"
Coulson's words are interrupted by a sudden buzzing in Tony's head, followed by Loki's voice rattling angrily through his skull. Get over here, you fool!
He can't help it; his body instinctively jerks away, even though it's impossible to escape from a sound that feels like it's blaring through headphones jammed directly into his brain. So that's the Jedi mind trick.
"-who will escort you out by whatever means necessary," Coulson's voice continues as if nothing just happened.
"Right, right," says Tony, edging back toward the breakfast nook, carefully stretching out the phone cord as he goes. (Who the hell still uses a corded land line these days?) "Sorry, how many did you say again? I missed that part."
"Eighteen out front. Another twenty-two in the back."
"Right." Fuck. If he stretches the cord as far as he can, he's just able to position himself in front of Loki. Thor moves over to stand at his side. "Thought you'd like to know we're surrounded by S.H.I.E.L.D. agents," he mutters to Thor, covering the phone mouthpiece with his hand.
"Then we fight our way out," Thor replies.
"You'll never make it!" hisses Loki. "I am sure the rest of them carry the same weapon the woman has. You must free me from this chain. It is the only way!"
But Thor just shakes his head. "No."
Tony returns to Coulson on the line. "Can we negotiate this? See, I
don't really like the idea of surrender without a bit of bargaining first."
Whatever Coulson says, he doesn't hear, and doesn't care, because Loki and Thor are bickering in his ear.
"Thor, you know it is our only chance! Undo the chain and release my magic!"
"No! We will fight our way-"
And then Romanoff has to join in the argument, because three people talking at once isn't enough for Tony. "Stark, move away from the Asgardians." A 'step aside' motion with the gun follows her words.
"No, do not listen to her," says Loki. "Stand behind Thor!"
"I'm not listening to either of you!" Tony snaps, and only realizes he just yelled into the phone when he hears Coulson's confused 'pardon?' over the line. He covers the mouthpiece again before speaking to Loki. "I'm sort of the only thing protecting you right now. If Agent Romanoff has to go through me to get to you-"
"It will go through you, Tony Stark, and it will still hit me! You do not know what that weapon can do! Stand behind Thor, or stand behind me, but do not stand in its path!"
"Sorry, this is as far as the phone cord stretches."
With one of those patented 'you're an idiot' looks, Loki knocks the phone out of his hand, sending it skittering across the tiles. Tony's not exactly sorry to see it go. "...It was a boring conversation anyway?" he says.
"Stark," Romanoff warns, "if you don't move..."
This is getting ridiculous. "No," he says, turning to face her. "I won't move. I decline your offer to arrest myself, tempting as it is. Instead, I opt to take my chances with the God of Thunder and this other guy who allegedly is a very powerful sorcerer even though so far I've only seen him use his magic to remove bathroom mirror fog." He can hear Loki's annoyance at that. Good. "Between their superpowers and my supervision while they own your ass, I think we're set."
"That's your decision?" she asks.
"Final answer, Regis."
Slowly, she nods. "I'm sorry to hear that. Coulson, send them in."
The next few seconds are like something out of a movie, only with less shaky camera work. The patio door explodes into a rain of glass as gun barrels followed by armored troops smash through. A resonating crash from the front hall probably means the front door's been busted down too. The house rings with shouted orders, the kind of military code that could be a football call for all the sense it makes. Almost before Tony can blink, he and the Asgardians are blocked in by a wall of guns. Some the regular kind with bullets. Some the unnerving white ones, bigger versions of the pistol Romanoff carries.
"Down on your knees!"
He can't tell who said that; they all wear full face masks
"Now! On your knees!"
"The chain, Thor!" Tony hears as he instinctively kneels, hands folded on the back of his neck. "Release me!"
From his vantage point, he can see Thor's fingers flex before clenching into a fist. Amazing how easy it is to tell what a person is thinking just from watching his hand.
"It's our only hope!"
At this point, neither talking nor fighting their way out of here is going to happen. Tony's pretty sure of that, based on the number of weapons currently aimed at him. Just a guess. Loki-wan Kenobi really is their only hope. Tony elbows Thor in the leg. "I say listen to him."
And that earns him the business end of a white gun in his face. "Don't move!"
Another one butts up against Thor's chest, ordering him to his knees. Thor complies. So does Loki, sinking down to the floor along with all of Tony's hopes for escape.
It's weird what comes to mind in situations like this. Not panic. That already passed, in the briefest of flashes, at the first sight of soldiers. Not questions on how he might get out of this mess. Those will come later, once he's locked up and has had enough time to get good and angry. The revenge plots always take a while to form. He knows that from experience. So right now it's just acceptance. Like this is inevitable: S.H.I.E.L.D.'s here, they're doing their job, and they're going to take him away. Okay. He can live with that. It's fine for now, and almost a comforting feeling to give up and go with the flow. He'll get out of it. He always does. But this fight's over.
"The chain," Loki whispers.
Then Thor nods. And from his kneeling position, carefully situated next to Loki, his hand reaches out to grasp the handle of his hammer.
ooo
No matter how hard Tony tries, he can't find a way to adequately describe what just happened to him. Sufficient words do not exist in the English language. The closest he can get is 'turned into a series of sentient particles and forced through a rift in the space-time continuum'. There's more to it than that, including some stuff about extra dimensions and different ways of moving that seemed to make perfect sense when he was in loose particle form, but his newly reconstituted human brain isn't capable of processing any of that. In fact, it's having enough trouble trying to reconcile the comparatively simple problem of why he is now standing in the middle of a desert when a moment ago he was kneeling in front of a HYDRA gun in the kitchen.
All the cells in his body seem to be vibrating. He has the nasty suspicion it's because they're still trying to fit back together in their original places. Some move more than others, like they're shifting, and the sensation is nauseating. His stomach tightens with a sickening heave as he turns to look at Thor and Loki.
Thor has a faint green pall to his face, his mouth is hanging open, and he's breathing heavily. So maybe nausea is a normal side effect to what just happened, if anything about just having teleported to God-knows-where can be called normal. Loki, though, looks like death warmed over: white as a sheet with hollow cheeks and bloodless lips. While Thor's at least steady on his feet, Loki sways, unbalanced with one of Tony's backpacks looped over each arm, staring at nothing with glassy eyes. He takes one wobbly step before dropping the packs and falling to his knees. Like Cinderella at midnight, the illusion of his fine suit begins to crumble away, disintegrating into gold powder and then nothing at all. When Loki lurches forward and falls face first into the dirt, he's wearing only the towel.
"Oh, shit..." Tony mutters under his breath. He clamps his arms around his middle and draws in a few deep breaths to quell the nausea, which doesn't work, because now his blood is buzzing and it tickles. "Thor, for the love of all that's holy, please tell me all of this is normal. I don't want to know what just happened. I don't want to know how we got here, or even where we are. I don't think I can handle that yet. Just please, please, tell me everything is okay and this is all fine and Loki's going to stand up any second now and take us back to New Jersey and we're not going to die."
"Everything will be... fine?" answers Thor, neither sounding nor looking the least bit convinced of his own words as he kneels down next to Loki.
"Not good enough. I want you to tell me, right now, that you've done this before and it all worked out eventually and I shouldn't worry about how my skin feels like it's a tiny bit too big right now, because I kid you not, I'm really close to freaking out." Also really close to puking as panic squeezes his chest. "Just please humor me with empty reassurance," he adds through clenched teeth.
Thor tries to smile, but it looks more like a grimace. "I am sure all will work out in the end, Tony Stark." Then he places his hands on Loki's shoulders and carefully rolls him over.
Tony's expecting Loki to be unconscious again. Not fully awake, snickering to himself, and wearing a big old shit-eating grin.
"Loki?" Thor shakes his brother's shoulder. "Can you stand?"
"Yes," says Loki, and he lifts his head only long enough to glance around before falling back down and laughing like a fool. "I mean... no."
Well, this is great. Teleported to the middle of nowhere and now their only mode of transportation has turned into a giggling idiot. "What's wrong with him now?" More wrong than usual, Tony should add.
"Magic," Thor answers, huffing out a frustrated sigh as he stands back up. Loki, meanwhile, rolls onto his side to curl into a ball, shaking with laughter. "He's used too much power and the accumulated magic has overwhelmed him."
"He looks drunk."
"Yes, it distorts the senses, much like drink."
"Literally drunk on power," says Tony. "Awesome. So what do we do now? How long does this last?"
'An hour or two,' he's expecting Thor to say. "A day and a half," is Thor's actual answer, making Tony's heart drop.
"A day and a half?! We have to wait a day and a half for him to sober up enough to get us out of this place?!"
"I am sorry, Tony Stark, but there is nothing we can do. Today is only the eighth day of the cycle. Loki's magic will restore itself after moonrise at the end of the ninth day. Until then..." He pauses, scanning around them in a full circle to take stock of their location and looking way too much like a man with a mind to sit right where they are for the duration. "We wait."
The hell they will. "No. Sorry. I'm not sitting around for a day and a half or however long it takes for Loki to get over himself. We need to figure out where we are and find a town."
"But we could be anywhere in Midgard."
Exactly what Tony's afraid of, but he can't let himself dwell on that. "Until proven otherwise, for the sake of my sanity, I'm going to choose to believe we're still in the United States of America. Because if your dipshit brother dumped us in the middle of Kyrgyzstan or somewhere..." Nope, not worth even thinking about. He shoots a glare down Loki's way. Loki's managed to pull himself up onto his knees and is now almost choking he's laughing so hard, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. He stills just long enough to grin at Tony like a demented jack-o-lantern before collapsing again. This time onto his back, writhing in the dirt. Towel slipping.
Tony knew he had a good reason for preparing a Ninja Turtles backpack full of extra clothes, and frustrated as he is with everything to do with Asgardian magic right now, he has to admit he's incredibly grateful Loki remembered to bring it. "I think I'm going to take advantage of Loki's incapacitation to get him fully dressed for once," he says to Thor, grabbing out a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts. "Give me a hand with this, will you? We may be in the desert, but the pants rule still applies."
One of these days, Tony's going to remember. One of these days, the file folder in his head that stores such gems of information as 'don't feed a mogwai after midnight' and 'never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line' will also contain the rule 'do not touch Loki under any circumstances, ever'. That day, though, is not today. The bolt of Loki's magic tears through his skin, fiercely powerful, surrounding every cell in his body in the blink of an eye. He pulls back with a shout, overbalancing and falling flat on his ass.
"Tony Stark," Loki groans, reaching out to grope at the air as Tony scrambles away.
"Loki's touch has so strong an effect on you?" Thor asks.
"Yeah," says Tony. Hoo boy, yeah. "A very... unpleasant effect." Which is a bit of an understatement. He waits a moment before trying to stand, letting the magic fizzle out. It's not exactly wise to trust his legs just yet.
Thor looks to Loki with a thoughtful frown. "Strange. I have never known it to cause negative reactions."
Only psychologically, Tony thinks, but says, "Mm. Negative. Very negative."
"But you are mortal," Thor concludes with a shrug, like he's rationalizing to himself, "so perhaps it affects you in unexpected ways."
Unfortunately no; based on Loki's explanation, Tony's reaction to the magic is entirely within the realm of 'normal'. But Thor doesn't need to know that. Thor just needs to manhandle Loki into some clothes so they can get going and find their way back to civilization.
Easier said than done. Loki's stuck on the idea of climbing all over Thor for some clumsily executed snuggling, clothing be damned. Five minutes in and the shorts are on but the shirt's only over his head. Whatever effect his magic has on Thor isn't helping either. The more Loki tries to cuddle, the more Thor loses interest in trying to dress him in favor of stroking his hair and squeezing his shoulders and murmuring assurances that everything will be fine, they are safe, they are well, and Asgard is waiting to welcome them home. An overabundance of brotherly protection.
"I love you," Loki sighs into Thor's shirt.
Tony turns away as Thor's face crumples. Loki's punch-drunk antics are one thing, but this... watching this feels a little too much like intrusion. He stares up at the sky, pretending he's not there, pretending he's not listening, as Thor mumbles a quiet reply.
"I love you too, brother."
The sun hangs almost directly overhead. So it has to be close to noon, which means, Tony realizes as his stomach does a joyful leap, they're probably still in the States. It was about quarter after one when he called Pepper. Traveling west a couple timezones would put them roughly somewhere between Texas and Arizona. Or, okay, Mexico, but that's still on the right continent and a shit-ton better than the opposite side of the world.
Unless they also traveled forward or backward in time, but Tony's happier believing Loki doesn't have the power to do anything that crazy.
They're in Texas. They have to be in Texas. Maybe if he keeps telling himself that, it'll come true. He looks back at Thor, who's now all hunched up with his forehead resting against Loki's ear. "I think I know where we are." In a very vague sense, but that's still better than what he had a minute ago. "But we need to get a move on. Every minute wasted is a minute closer to sundown, and I really don't want to be stuck out here at night with coyotes and scorpions and drunken rednecks on ATVs. Can you walk and cuddle at the same time?"
With obvious reluctance, Thor pulls himself to his feet. Loki's both cradled in his arms and clinging to him as if somebody's life depends on it. (Maybe it does. Tony wouldn't be the least bit surprised if Loki's magic ended up having a death clause attached.) "I can walk," says Thor. "Which way do we go?"
"Straight," Tony answers. "Until we find a road. And then we follow the road until we find a town."
"And how long will that take?"
Between one and eighty hours? "Not too long," he promises, clapping Thor on the shoulder. "There are probably towns all over this foreboding and inhospitable part of... where we are. Yeah. All over. You carry the prisoner, I'll carry the supplies and worry about navigation."
"I love you, Tony Stark," Loki's muffled voice says, filtering out from the shirt bunched around his neck.
Tony grits his teeth. "No you don't, you're drunk."
"I do. I do I do I do I do I do I do. I love my friends. We are all good friends now..."
Yes, because good friends are frequently slammed into walls and thrown into kitchen cupboards before being teleported across the country and dumped in a wasteland of tumbleweeds... though there's no use arguing with a magic-drunk halfwit so Tony lets it go. Good friends forgive each other like that.
"Just... follow me," he tells Thor, hitching up the backpacks, one on each shoulder. "Funny enough, this isn't the first time I've been stranded in a desert."
But this time it's unlikely that a rescue helicopter's going to appear, and if one does, it'll belong to the guys he has no interest in seeing right now. Time to start walking. Just put one foot in front of the other, and repeat, and repeat, and repeat again a couple hundred thousand times while hoping there's a road somewhere ahead. Because six juice boxes and a backpack of salty junk snacks aren't going to go all that far in keeping three people alive.
Focus on the positive. Stay positive. For the love of fuck, there has to be something positive.
Positive: he hasn't had time to feel sorry for himself or mope about Pepper in at least fifteen minutes. That whole thing seems kind of pointless now.
Nothing like facing potential death and rattlesnakes and a long walk across parched earth to really put things in perspective.