Tony groans when the alarm goes off and his room flares red. It's just barely morning, and this is the first time he's slept, really slept, in weeks. He's mildly hungover to boot after he, Clint, and Thor drank an unfathomable amount of eggnog at Jane Foster's. Thor loves Earth holidays, especially Christmas, and the god can drink them all under the table. Tony takes that as a personal challenge, every time, and ends up in the same stomach-rolling, head throbbing state of being, every time.
"Jarvis, what the hell?" he grumbles and rolls out of bed, taking the sheet with him.
"HYDRA, sir," the AI responds, almost sounding exasperated.
"Seriously?" Tony digs through his drawers and pulls on a shirt, steps into a pair of pants, and doesn't care if they match. "It's fucking Christmas. Who pulls this kind of bullshit on Christmas?"
"I wonder if they are emotionally stunted, sir, and therefore despise any festive activities that incite familial bonding."
Tony barks out a laugh as he opens his door. "Who teaches you this shit, Jarv?"
"You and your infinite wisdom, of course."
"Someone's fishing for Christmas presents," Tony calls in a sing-song voice as he heads down to his lab to suit up.
Natasha already has the Quinjet prepared and waiting when Tony flies up to the helipad. He turns on his comms. "Nat, take Barton, Banner, and Cap with you. Thor and I will head in first since we've already got the flying business under control like real superheroes."
"Oh, shut up," she growls, sounding equally as thrilled to have been woken up. "Coulson already has SHIELD agents on the ground evacuating civilians. They've got firepower, explosives, and a few of their Extremis super soldiers on the ground."
"Oh, fabulous," Tony mutters. "Of course I finally finish the pulse prototype suit and we just get boring human enemies. I need me some magic."
"What is the saying you Midgardians employ?" Thor says, voicing booming loudly— almost too loudly— through the comms. "You must knock on the nearest tree to ward off superstition, Stark. Is that not right?"
Tony thinks he hears Natasha snort into the microphone.
"Let's just go find the bad guys," Tony says. "You can wax and wane poetic for me while we fly."
"What does it mean to wax and wane poetic?" Thor asks, sounding somewhat confused.
Tony laughs and shoots into the air. Thor is beside him almost immediately, the wind whipping around them and lightning following in their wake. They fly silently, and it's a short enough flight. Tony regrets it when they reach Brooklyn. He wishes he had time to prepare. No matter how many times he sees it, his city coated in ash, it still takes his breath away.
It doesn't even look like his city now. It's Christmas. The air should smell like snow, and flakes should be drifting down, dancing on the icy breeze. But it doesn't, and they don't. Instead, a thick haze of black smoke curls around the buildings, making it difficult to get any visual of the ground. What Tony can see of the streets in between the billowing, smoldering clouds is chaotic. Several buildings are only half-standing, rubble spilling into the streets and fire eating up the remaining stability. He sees some lights, red, green, and white, but they're flickering, dying out amidst all the destruction.
"The bridges still stand," Thor says gravely.
"For now," Coulson replies, voice steady and dark over the comms. "Several explosives have gone off. The bomb squad has disarmed a few they've found, but there are others, and we haven't found them yet. Stark, if your tech can aid us in that department, we'd be appreciative. Fly safely."
Tony doesn't think he's ever flown safely, but he says, "You got it."
For a while, it all goes smoothly. Tony stays with Thor at first, and they take as many HYDRA agents down from above as they can, shepherding civilians to SHIELD personnel who usher them out of the fires and surging smoke. When the others arrive, the Quinjet a welcome hum overhead, the Hulk all but tears out of the jet's doors, ready to shred the genetically enhanced soldiers.
"I'm going bomb hunting," Tony says. "Any leads, shoot 'em to me."
"Please be careful, Tony," Steve orders. "Do not attempt to disarm. We don't know what we're dealing with, so call the proper personnel in."
"Steve, I'm the leading weapons expert in the world. I think I can handle a measly HYDRA bomb," he scoffs. "Also, I'm always careful. Right, Jarv?"
"Sir, you have instituted a protocol that does not allow me to confirm or deny that statement when Captain Rogers is involved."
"Tony!" Steve hisses.
Tony winces as the Captain's voice nearly blows out his eardrum. "It's just a joke, Cap. Don't get your shield in a twist. I'll be careful. Keep me posted."
Tony's barely four blocks into his scan when there's a loud bang. He's only got a second, if even, to react before flaming debris snows down around him and he's flung through the air like a rag doll, repulsors useless against the sheer force of the blast. He collides with the side of a building, metal screaming against concrete, and his ear explodes with static as his comm shorts out, visuals flickering on his screen in a seizure-inducing array of lights before they go dark. He goes dark, too.
When he comes to, his vision wavers and blood runs down the side of his face and into his eye. All he can see above him is dark smoke, highlighted red by the rampaging flames.
"Well, fuck," he grunts.
He tries to move, but he can't. Something is anchoring him to the building, holding fast. He's vaguely aware that it hurts when he breaths, and he assumes that he has at least a few broken ribs. There's something else, though, that scares him. There's a numbness settling over him.
With a shaking hand, he peels his faceplate back and looks down. Whatever eggnog remaining in his stomach threatens to come up. There's no blood that he can see. No gore. There is, however, a very large piece of metal piping pierced through his abdomen, his suit puckered around it.
Tony expels a shaky breath and feels the panic clawing at his chest. The arc reactor still seems to be working, throwing an icy glow around his rubble-walled tomb, but it won't matter if the tech is working, not if he bleeds out. And he thinks that's exactly what's happening. His face is starting to feel cold, a different kind of cold than the air, the kind of cold that slithers from the inside out and short-circuits nerve endings until there's nothing left to feel.
He's only ever felt that once before, and while it was hot then, all sand and sun, there was black smoke, too. Black smoke and fire.
"Jarvis?" he whispers, words rough and almost slurred. "Please tell me you can hear me."
Everything is quiet. All he can hear is the groan of flames burning nearby.
Well, there are worse ways to go, he thinks, his breaths coming out more shallow and rushed as the panic mounts. He's glad he can't feel much of anything because it seems like his death is going to be a long, drawn out affair. If he's lucky, a HYDRA agent will stumble upon him and shoot him in the head. He leaves off his faceplate just in case he's that lucky.
He's not sure how long he lays there, but through the undulating smoke, he sees pale morning light accenting the sky. His vision starts to go black at the edges, and he's ready, ready to sink into it.
Except suddenly there's pain, burning hot pain searing through his abdomen. A scream tears out of him, broken and guttural until he's gasping.
"You will not die today," he hears someone snarl, hurried and just as broken as his own voice.
A coldness, as gentle as a snowfall, eases through him, dousing the fiery pain. Tony arches up towards it with a shattered groan. He tries to open his eyes, but he can't.
"Do you hear me, Stark?" the voice hisses, close to his ear. "You will not die."
He can't place the voice even though it stirs a raspy breath from his lungs. His thoughts are swirling, his focus fading, and he stops trying to grasp the ghostly slivers of recognition when the pain fades completely, leaving him exhausted. He doesn't fight the darkness this time, and nothing pulls him back up.
Tony's hearing returns before his vision does. He can't open his eyes, and his mouth feels like it's stuffed with cotton, but he's oddly sedate and calm, so he just listens. He hears someone breathing nearby, hears a television humming in the background, hears monitors beeping a steady rhythm. The sounds comfort him. All he remembers hearing in his dreams is the squeal of metal tearing and fire droning angrily around him.
He isn't sure how long it takes before he manages to convince his eyelids to open.
"Am I drugged?" he slurs. "This shit is good."
He blinks, and when he opens his eyes again, Steve's pale face floods his vision. The super soldier looks like he's aged ten years. The corners of his eyes are creased with worry lines, his forehead is a map of wrinkles. The bags under his eyes remind Tony of Pepper's after he flew a nuke into another dimension and then fell back down to Earth from a hole in the sky.
"Tony?" the Captain croaks, then swallows back some of the emotion that leaks into his voice. "Thank god."
"What happened?" Tony manages, and needs to close his eyes again. He hears Steve settle back into his chair, drag it closer to the bed.
"You're a crazy bastard. That's what happened."
Tony forces his eyes open again so he can turn his head and stare at Steve. "Did… did you just swear?"
Steve smiles tightly. "That's nothing compared to what you'll hear from everyone else."
Tony laughs. His chest explodes with pain and he grinds his teeth together, grabs at the thin, scratchy sheets like until the agony fades.
"You have a bruised lung, several broken ribs, a pretty nasty head wound, and a lot of soft tissue damage." Steve pauses, his jaw working, the look creeping back into his eyes. "You almost died, Tony. You should have died."
Tony can hardly remember anything after slamming into the wall, but he knows, without a doubt, that what Steve says is true. He doesn't feel like he should be alive. He feels like shit. Everything hurts, some places more than others. The hospital room is filled with flowers, balloons, some stuffed animals he assumes are from Clint. It looks lived in. There are folded sheets and a pillow on a table, and Tony realizes that Steve is sitting in a chair that reclines. With a grunt, he says, "How long have I been out?"
Steve's laugh is humorless. "Nearly three weeks."
Tony's eyebrow shoot up. "Three weeks? What about the rest of the team?"
Steve nods and leans back in his chair, looking haggard. "Everyone else is fine. Nothing serious."
"Good." Tony grimaces when he moves his head. "Can we raise the bed? I feel like all of my blood is pooled in the back of my head from lying down."
Steve presses the remote that drags the bed into a semi-seated position. "Better?"
"Yeah, thanks," Tony says, and settles back. "Except that I feel like roadkill. Obviously. Everything is kind of hazy, but I vaguely remember a huge piece of metal gutting me. What happened? Why aren't I dead? I should be. Not that I'm complaining. I don't want to be dead. "
Steve doesn't answer, doesn't make a peep in response to Tony's ranting. Instead, the Captain is looking at him with an expression that Tony can only describe as torn. He looks away when Tony makes eye contact.
Tony doesn't know why it cuts, but it does. "What aren't you telling me?" he asks, his heart beat speeding up. The monitors beep more quickly, keeping pace. The Captain doesn't answer and Tony grabs at the sheets again. "Steve. What is it? Did they give me something? Seriously. You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I can't say," Steve replies, words clipped.
Tony just stares at him for a minute. "You can't tell me," he says slowly, "why I'm not dead? Is this a SHIELD thing? Am I like you now? Super pretty and agile with buns of steel?"
Steve's lips quirk into a sad smile. "Don't ask, Tony. I promised I wouldn't say anything."
"Promised you wouldn't say anything?" Tony repeats, blinking. He's still foggy and slow from the drugs, yeah, but that isn't enough of a reason why he feels so lost. "What am I missing?"
Steve doesn't need to say it, though. Something clicks. It isn't so much a memory as a recollection of a voice, and it supplies the right question. He thinks Steve must see the realization dawn on his face because he leans forward, frowning, eyes apologetic. "Tony…"
"I see," Tony growls. The monitors blare. His pulse is erratic. "It's not what I'm missing. No. It's who."
Steve swallows and looks down at his shoes.
Tony's working so hard not to scream that his shredded body throbs painfully from the force of exerting such strenuous self control. His words are clipped and raw. "Did he say anything else?"
"No," Steve murmurs. "I'm sorry, Tony."
"Of course he didn't, the stupid bastard," Tony says, shaking his head. "Six months without a word, and the bastard just pops in, saves my life, and then bolts."
Before Steve can reply, the door bursts open. Pepper stands there, her face flushed and her hair in disarray.
"Tony," she manages, her voice dissolving into tears. "You stupid son of a bitch, I'm going to kill you."
"Are you telepathic now?" Tony questions before Pepper is standing next to him, squeezing his hand so tightly he's afraid his fingers are going to fall off. "How did you know I was awake?"
"I texted her," Steve replies.
Tony gapes. "Wait… you're texting now? Holy shit!"
He feels a rush of warmth from the dopey smile Steve offers and the way Pepper sits on the edge of the bed, still holding onto him like he's going to disappear, her beautiful face streaked with tears and smeared makeup. He almost forgets the angry burn in his belly. Almost.
"The rest of them will be here to see you," Steve says and he stands. "Are you okay with visitors this soon? Or do you want me to have them wait?"
Tony shakes his head. "Send them over. I could use it."
Steve's smile softens. "Sounds good."
He shuts the door behind him, and Pepper migrates to his vacated chair, kicking her shoes off and scooting as closet to the bed as she can get. "I'm really tired of you almost dying on me," she says tearfully, angrily.
"I don't do it on purpose," Tony replies, petulant, but squeezes her hand when she offers it to him. "I'm sorry."
It builds up before he recognizes what it is, a hot wave of pressure in his chest that makes him gasp.
"Tony," Pepper whispers. "It's okay."
He tries to swallow his heart back down, but it's lodged itself in his throat. "The bastard," he hisses. "The stupid bastard."
Pepper doesn't speak while he pulls himself back together, piece by broken piece. She was always good in these situations, a silent source of support. She just sits there, understanding and quiet.
When he has it reigned in, he looks at her again and tries to smile. "Tell me the truth. How bad does my beard look?"
She bats at his hand. "Ass."
"Even at the worst of times."
"I'm going to tell you something, Tony," Pepper says lowly. "You cannot tell Steve or Thor I told you, though, or I will murder you. Because they swore me to secrecy."
A laugh rumbles in Tony's chest. "I'd put money on you in that fight. Just for the record."
She smiles, eyes shining, and leans close, stretching so she can lay her head next to his on the pillow. "He stopped by," she whispers. "Once. A few days after you were hospitalized."
Tony closes his eyes against the tightening in his chest. He doesn't know when Pepper figured it out, or if Clint blabbed it to her, but he doesn't care. "Oh yeah?"
He feels her nod, her forehead brushing against his temple. "Yeah. It was two o'clock in the morning and I was dozing in the chair, and he just materialized out of no where like this was the USS Enterprise. He hardly spoke. Just stared at you for almost half an hour with this horrible expression on his face."
"He was probably thinking what everyone thinks," Tony manages with a strangled laugh. "That he should have just killed me when he had the chance so he didn't have to deal with my bullshit."
"I don't think that was it, Tony," she murmurs, still holding onto his hand. "He looked afraid. Really afraid."
Tony inhales. "Too little, too late, I think."
She doesn't say anything else, just strokes the top of his hand with her thumb in the way she knows calms him down. Tony wallows in the silence, because once the moment is over, he's done. He's done pining and doing whatever else lovesick people do after being shafted for months. He doesn't have patience, can't sit so still, and he's tired of this rush of feeling that has no outlet. He's seen death too many times, has shaken her hand and said hello too often, to just wait like this.
He's Tony fucking Stark. He does not wait.
After several minutes of quiet, Pepper murmurs, "Happy is bringing you a cheeseburger."
Tony groans contentedly. "Pep, you're god's gift to earth. I was worried I'd have to eat hospital food."
He shifts himself on the bed, and even though he's careful, it fucking hurts, but he does it anyway, opening up a Pepper-sized spot on the bed. She stares at him questioningly for a moment before she unfolds herself out of the chair and slides into the bed next to him, settling carefully. She stays above the covers, crossing her ankles, and leans her head against his shoulder.
It didn't work out for him and Pepper. It never will. He's too fearless, too careless, too chaotic. But he can count on her, because she isn't. She's a rock. It's good enough for now. Tony thinks he needs a rock.
Happy brings him greasy food. Rhodey shows up shortly after with an Iron Man teddy bear and a bouquet of red roses, which is what Tony always sends him when he's sick. Doctors and nurses make rounds, shoo his visitors out for a while so he can sleep. They almost need to drag Pepper through the door.
Tony sleeps for a while. He doesn't dream. He's glad.
Later in the day, when the sun is starting to go down and he's happily drugged, the door to his room opens and the familiar faces of the Avengers pour in. They're all wearing relieved expressions, wrapped presents tucked under their arms.
"This is like a fucking sitcom," Tony says, dripping sarcasm to try and hide his glee.
"Well, you were busy Christmas morning," Natasha says, smiling slightly. "You'll have to wait until you're done with the pain meds to drink mine, though."
Tony can't help it. He grins, so wide it hurts.
Natasha gives him a kiss on the cheek. Clint mocks the same movement and almost trips over the chair with a yelp when Tony turns toward him with his lips puckered. Bruce shakes his hand while snickering.
Thor is the last to approach him. He smiles the same way Steve smiled at him, and Tony can't help but return it, sad and telling. Something gleams in Thor's eyes— Tony thinks it's understanding, maybe even pity— but it's gone quickly. Good. Tony doesn't do pity.
"I am glad, Tony Stark," the Thunderer says gently. "I am glad to see you alive. Jane and Darcy will come for visitation tomorrow."
"All this attention," Tony says with a contended, dramatic sigh. "I should almost die more often."
Natasha threatens to gut him with the nearest vase. He takes the statement back immediately.
They stay late. The odd, ragtag group of superheroes Tony calls family sit on various pieces of furniture meant and not meant for sitting, and they eat Chinese take out. They talk, and they update Tony on the status of the world while he's been comatose. They tell him how despondent Jarvis has been while he was out, and when Clint is telling him how the AI has been quoting the Terminator films again in the middle of the night, Tony suddenly feels like he's being watched. He sees Thor shift, too, out of the corner of his eye, and the mirrored reaction makes his breath catch. He looks around, gaze settling on the window because he thinks, for a moment, that he sees a silhouette reflected in the glass.
It's gone before he can focus on it. He doesn't look back at the window.