You try to get through life without any regrets, but Steve is not so optimistic that he thinks you actually can without getting your hands dirty — case in point, a lot of the things in his life up until now: things like not kissing his mother on the cheek enough or reminding her just a little more how much he loved her; like letting Bucky fall; like letting Peggy down; like trusting who and what their country was ran by too naively; like lying to Tony when his friend deserved his honesty; like not picking up the phone and calling. Oh, there's more, plenty more. But at some point, if you don't let some of it go, what becomes of you? He'd already ripped away the stars and stripes and put aside his role in the story.
After Thanos and Steve's particularly grizzly injuries that followed that battle, he figured he would take a step back behind the curtain at let the next generation bow at the crowds they can inspire. Kids like Peter Parker, he realizes later on. Kids like Shuri, who are so intelligent and good-hearted.
His time's done. It's probably even been done, all things considered.
Or at least that's what it felt like, before the Avengers facility was attacked in the middle of the night. Bum leg and aching bones be damned, he was rushing out into the cool air and throwing his fists like he wasn't at half-strength and half-stability. He rips the spear from one alien attacker's hands and plunges it into its chest cavity, letting the gurgling breaths tell him its time to move on to the next soldier.
Natasha skids by him with perfect precision, kicking a leg out from an armored warrior trying to get the drop on him. Explosions echo in the distance, and he bites his lip until it bleeds; there's nothing he can do about that kind of firepower right now, and in so many ways, he envies Stark in that moment. Captain America fought well with his fists and shield — but stopping a nuke, a bomb, an aerial attack? He can only leave it in Iron Man's capable hands.
"Careful, Steve, you wouldn't want to get too shabby," Bucky yells at him, aiming and firing as he flanks left to cover his friend.
Steve's leg hurts, and he medicates it by saying, "What do you mean? I could do this all day!"
They're nearly launched across the field by the blast that hits the side wall, and Steve's head whips around with panic. Natasha and Peter's rooms. Nat's out, but Peter — Peter...!
As he starts running back toward the facility with Bucky close behind, they're whipped right off their feet by one of those familiar beast-like figures, the same breed that had thrown their lives away so eagerly against Wakandan forcefields. Steve nearly loses an arm as the thing lashes out, but gunfire from above spares him anymore scars as Rhodes propels by and launches an all-out attack on ground forces. Steve can just barely make out Rhodes on his comms device, which never leaves his pocket at this point: "I — Wanda — down — injured — "
"What happened?" Bucky asks, and Natasha's on the same page as Steve.
"Wanda's injured, I think."
And soon Iron Man and Falcon, too.
Metal coils around Sam like a houdini trick that he's not prepared to get out of and crash-lands ungracefully nearby. Steve's clocking one of the Black Order across the jaw and limping his way toward his fallen friend, but soon he's face-first in the grass with knees digging into his back. Their side is missing too many key players, he thinks. He's too out of comission, and Wanda's hurt, and the kid's still a ghost wandering the halls (god, unless he's dead, he prays he's not dead), and half of their team is out. It's not good.
He struggles to be freed as Natasha and Bucky end up face-planting on either side of him, thoroughly held down by too many bodies.
"We learn from our mistakes," one hisses, and Steve thinks it must surely be a survivor from the battle in Wakanda.
"If you actually did, you wouldn't be here," he hisses into the soil, dirt against his teeth.
His arm is hiked back and burns from the pull, but he doesn't give the bastard the satisfaction of hearing his growl of pain. He instead looks up where Ebony Maw hovers down to meet Tony — Tony, who is forced onto his knees with his metal arms pulled taut on either side of him. Maw's telekinetic powers, Steve thinks as he pants for air. Tony told him about this guy; he was supposed to be an icy statue drifting through space, but it just figured that that's not the case. His misshapen face is covered in long scars, the flesh raised and gnarled.
With a gentle wave of Maw's hand, Rhodes is left paralyzed mid-air before being cast aside like garbage; he hits a tree and shatters it to bits. "I'm well-aware they're not here in the facility, Stark," Maw says. "I can find the Time Stone on my own, but I know you have three."
"Two, actually," Tony manages, and he sounds like his ribs are getting pushed against by his own suit. "But yeah, no, I'm not telling you—"
The snarky reply is cut off into a pained noise that riles Steve's ire, and he trembles as he tries to shove off the many hands keeping him down. So that's what this is, then — an interrogation for the stones, the only reason they're not all being slaughtered in such a surprise attack. After all, it'd be so much easier to get the locations of the Mind and Soul Stones before they're killed.
"How the h-hell'd you even sur-survive back then, anyway?" Tony coughs.
Ebony Maw smiles, flicking his hand — a huge piece of Tony's suit flies off. It doesn't replace itself.
"A foolish choice on the boy's part, not considering if I would die in the vacuum of space. How I found safety is of no concern to you." He flicks his wrist again, and one of Tony's metal legs bursts apart, leaving the singed pajama bottoms underneath. "I've grown much stronger. Strong enough to become the next Thanos — strong enough to carry on and repair his legacy you've so foolishly taken from him."
"You're got to be kidding me," Sam bites, struggling to free himself from impossible metal restraints where he lay. "You ain't shit."
"I will be the new leader of the Children of Thanos!"
Tony's left arm is stripped of his armor.
"His will is mine! It's always been mine! And I will be in possession of those stones!"
The arm suddenly twists an unnatural angle, and Tony screams.
"Tony—!" Rhodes yells, struggling back to his feet.
A pulse of red light from behind them nearly blinds Steve as it crashes down around them like waves. He peels his eyes back open to find the enemy hands holding him have suddenly vanished; the Black Order foot-soldiers are thrown forward, thrust into a crimson tornado they can't be freed from. Maw stares in slack-jawed confusion as Wanda floats down from the destroyed cliff-side of the facility, blood dripping down the side of her head and eyes glowing in a rage, and Steve pushes himself back to his feet and launches forward for a weapon.
It's not over yet, and as the alien ships close in to fire on them, Wanda's hands are doing their melodic dance in the air —
The smaller spacecrafts slam into an invisible wall, many bursting into fiery explosions.
"I'll hold the ships back!" she yells, both hands raised as if in violent praise. "Move it now!"
They rush into battle — too far from Tony to stop Maw's attack, as he lunges backward in the air with arms held out.
A half-destroyed ship is catapulted straight for Tony's half-crumpled figure —
— and is stopped mid-fall.
Steve thinks it's Wanda's doing at first, until his brain catches up and sees the silvery string of web pulling taut in the air. Spider-Man flips through the moonlit scene, twisting himself around like a dancer as he slingshots the ship right back into the Ebony Maw's stunned face. Steve can see Bucky's grin in the corner of his eye, when Peter staggers to stand on the rooftop of the Avenger's headquarters, iron body glinting and spidery legs unfurling from the back of the hero's suit.
Steve can't help but smile, too, even with the danger still so pervasive.
And what's the first thing that the kid decides to say, in their company?
Peter yells, his dark silhouette pointing with a convulsing, accusing finger, "Don't you fucking touch Mr. Stark, you ugly ass creep!"
Steve breathes out a disbelieving laugh.
Language.
(Peter wanders into the facility when the outside world is sleeping soundly, with rips and tears in the spider suit under his jacket and hair askew as he removes his mask. He's got his backpack with him and he's pulling materials out left and right from the main pocket before he ultimately gives up and pours it all on Tony's lab table. "Mr. Stark, could I come over to work on this project I'm doing? I mean, I've got like five hours to finish this thing."
"Jesus, Pete, it's three in the morning."
Peter looks sheepish. He's got a black eye from god knows what. "I know, you're right, I should've... I should just—"
"No, no, don't finish that thought." He starts up the coffee machine in the kitchen. "C'mon, let's get to work then."
Peter's face lights up.)
Tony's not new to getting his ass kicked, and he's not new to getting bones broken, either; Thanos and his flunkies had done a number on him back when the last big battle went down, and most of the Avengers had wounds that needed setting, that needed healing. Steve had nearly lost his leg, and he had been on bed-rest himself long enough to forcibly go into the lab and work on the gauntlet. So yeah. This kind of pain? Just the usual. He's not even surprised when he feels his left arm dangle in throbbing agony; why is it always that arm? It's a cursed goddamn limb, is what it is. Something hexed it long ago.
He struggles to sit up on his good arm and figures he's as good as dead, when the ship-turned-missile is thrown at him; the iron suit isn't regenerating quickly enough to blast him out of there, and something keeps him pinned to the spot anyway, so he bows his head and waits to kick the bucket — lo and behold, the bucket is never kicked. In fact, the ship slams into Maw and leaves him reeling down towards earth, landing half-assedly on his feet as debris rains down all around him.
The sound of a cursing teenager clears Tony's pain-fogged mind and leaves him speechless.
"... Peter?" His throat grows a knot, eyes burning. It can't be. But it is — holy shit, it is.
("And Ned's got a brand new video-game he's dying to try out, but I dunno if he can handle it; it's a horror game, you know? He's kind of a big softy — oh."
Tony glances at Peter with a scoff and a raised eyebrow, though his smirk fades a little at what has drawn the kid's already battered attention span from the conversation. Peter holds an old trophy in front of him that he had taken off the nearest shelf: a replica, actually, but still no less important. It's the arc reactor, etched with those intimate, familiar words that Pepper still whispers to him when they're alone and living in their own little world.
"Aaww, look at that," Peter says with a playful smile, pressing the trophy against his chest, where the reactor would've resided in Tony's. "... Proof that Tony Stark has a heart." The sight of it leaves Tony feeling a sense of purpose that he can't quite identify. This is before everything. This is before Peter ever crumbles away to dust under his hands. It's peaceful. It's just what Tony needed.
"Give that here, you little punk," Tony huffs.
He drags the boy into a headlock and ruins his carefully combed hairdo, leaving wild curls in his wake.
"Mr. Stark?" Peter asks later, when he's packing up to go. Tony looks up expectantly. "Thanks for everything.")
Maw's vibrating with rage. "You again, you disgusting bug!"
Tony whips his wide-eyed gaze around as Peter leaps into action, swinging himself down from a high point as Ebony Maw launches an attack — shrapnel from the ship, all aimed at Peter, and no matter how thick the bleeding tech armor is it's not gonna stop Maw's puncture power. Tony grits his teeth in a panic (don't become me, don't let that shit pierce your chest, get near your heart, don't let it kill you kid, not again), but Peter yells over any warning he may offer: "I'm an arachnid! Get it right!"
The shrapnel skims him, doesn't kill him, but he can't afford anymore cuts — can't afford to lose anymore blood. He sounds shaky. Pete sounds shaky. He's injured under that suit. Yet despite that, he leaps from ship to ship, blasting webs left and right and pinning ground troops and keeping Maw's attention away from him; keeps Tony Stark alive, even with a hole in his shoulder and a set of nearly crushed ribs.
Then Peter's suddenly flung through the sky by Maw's will, where Tony can't follow to catch him.
No no no no—
"Pete!"
("What are you so afraid of?" Pepper asks him.
"Of letting him down," Tony says, playing with his food. "Of not being what he deserves."
She smiles, all pale teeth and love. "You're starting to sound like a real father.")
Tony's armor is in ruins, but he can't let Peter fall; he couldn't let Peter fall on his watch. He forces his damaged suit to work as much as he needs it to and blasts through the air with what little juice is left in the propulsion system. Everyone's trying to survive, and Peter's falling like a rag doll, he's falling and Tony needs to — he needs to catch him—
("Ha, imagine that. Me, a dad. You're funny."
But it sows the seed. Morgan is a good name for a baby.
When she's born, Tony wishes Peter could have been alive to hold her.)
The kid's barely conscious from the blow he'd taken as he plummets through the sky, but Tony meets him halfway down and throws his good arm around Peter — and then his broken one, too, clinging tightly to him and praying his rockets hold out long enough; they never do, though, not when he wants them to (needs them to) most, because that's just a Stark's luck. The left one goes out first, and then the right, and before he knows it he's falling toward the earth as bits of armor fleck off him like chipping paint. Peter's arms wrap around his middle, and hey, if they fall from this high, Peter'll probably survive it—
The sound of a feral cry, deep and vibrating, jars him to life again.
Then a flash of green color assaults Tony's vision before thick, muscular arms encircle the two free-falling heroes; suddenly they're skidding down the wall of Avenger's headquarters while nestled in the protective arms of the Hulk. Tony winces at the flicking of cement against his body, curling closer to Peter protectively as they're lowered to the earth with a cautiousness he didn't think the big green bastard had in him. Peter flops weakly in his arms, his head barely sitting upright on his neck.
"Hulk saves you."
Tony pats the large green leg next to him. "Yeah, yeah. Tony appreciates."
Peter. Pete. Kid.
He carefully pats Peter's cheek trying to jostle him to alertness. The paleness of his face is concerning, and there's a telltale stench of blood where it's managed to stick to the kid's skin. But Peter's eyes open, full of clarity and focus and all the things that made him a worthy Avenger to begin with; he stares back at Tony for a long moment, sweat-drenched and fighting against exhaustion. And then the kid smiles, trying to speak around a lump in his throat.
"See, I t—told you I'm back-up."
"You definitely saved me, back there."
Peter just grins at him, like he knows everything Tony doesn't. He crushes the kid into a one-armed hug then and there, and Peter nearly snaps his back returning it. The warmth in the gesture is one thing, but to feel Peter grip him back so fervently makes his heart swell with relief and pride and all kinds of shit he swore he'd never let a kid cause in his life. Well, it happened, and it's too late for take-backs. "Oh my god, Pete," he croaks, not bothering to keep up appearances anymore. "I thought you were... Oh, goddammit it, I was so— you little shit—"
"I know," the boy mumbles into his neck, sniffling weakly; the trembling outline of a smile is there, too, but he's shaking so badly that Tony recognizes it intimately as quakes of pain. Peter forces his way through it, though, like the tough little punk he is, and Tony feels hot tears welling up in his eyes. They don't even threaten to fall — they just do — as Peter chokes out, "I know, I know. I'm sorry, I tried to come back sooner. I swear—"
"No time to relax just yet, fellas," Sam says in warning, freed of his bonds and taking up a new protective stance in front of Tony and Peter. The two injured Avengers turn to look where Maw rises through the sky, like a beacon of chaotic energy, his jaw clenched and his forehead pulsing with raw, outraged power. Steve and Bucky and Rhodes meet alongside them, as Wanda drifts down with blood-doused determination etched in her brow. Hulk's fists clench where he towers behind them.
Maw wipes at the wound on his cheek, persistent as fucking ever. "It doesn't matter, you're all still outnumbered!"
"You sure about that, turdbiscuit?!"
They all look up at the sky, and above the giant enemy front-line there's a gleam of a ship that's going almost too fast to see — the Guardian's Benatar swiftly ducks and weaves through the crowded airspace, raining blasts down on the heads of their enemies; there are bursts of light and garbled screams as the Black Order's fighters eject from their seats or are decimated altogether. Tony can't see Peter Quill as he speaks through the intercom, but he can hear the shit-eating grin when the man yells, "Bet you didn't notice us tailing your asses through space, huh?!"
"This can't be," Maw hisses, watching his small army shrink smaller and smaller. "No!"
"Oh, it gets worse, it gets so much worse," Quill laughs. "Even if you screwed with their communications, us Guardians just so happen to have a particular unattractive god's number on speed dial, you no-nose-having bitch."
The clouds above swirl, and Tony sees him now — sitting on the nose of the Benatar, Thor holds up the Stormbreaker in one strong fist as strings of electric light dance across his figure. As the ship hovers before the panicked crews of the Black Order, it takes one sharp and swift blow from the axe as Thor cuts through the sky; bursts of energy like none other claw through the air, tearing past all the smaller vessels and ripping a massive hole in the hull of the mothership.
The Maw's hands rise to fight, because the bastard doesn't seem to realize when he's been thoroughly beaten. But as those gnarled, ugly fingers move to try and manipulate the world to their bidding, a familiar red cape slams into the side of his head with a gusto to steal Maw's eyes and breath. It's more than enough time for the good Doctor Strange to appear from beyond and sharply gesture with his scarred and shivery hands — and as Maw rips away the cloak from his face and flies upward, he only has a fleeting moment to take notice of the portal forming above him before it closes right over his neck.
The master of the mystic arts doesn't bat an eye at the headless alien corpse that crashes to the earth, nor at the way everyone stares at him in bafflement. Wong steps up beside his friend with arms folded at his back, as the two watch Thor's lightning tear through the skies and decimate what is left of a fleeting army. "You copied my move."
"Dude, they busted up our wing," Quill hollers from afar, "Nebula, if you crash her, I swear to god—"
"If you don't shut up, I'll have reason to!"
"... I can't believe this is our team," Rhodes says plainly, sniffing blood back up his nose.
Natasha looks around at the half-destroyed property, clutching her sore side as Wanda leans against her. "... Clint is going to be so angry he missed this."
"I bet he will," Peter laughs weakly, shivering.
And then promptly passes out in Tony's arms.
"Aw, man...!"
Giant-Man sighs where he towers over the smoldering front half of the Avengers compound, minutes behind their victory. He'd seen the crazy damage going on from a breaking news report and flew an ant over as fast as he could — to no avail. He looks sheepishly over. "I was too late, wasn't I?"
"... Yyyyeah," Rocket speaks for everyone, arms crossed as he kicks at a dented up helmet abandoned on the lawn. "Yeah, you're stupidly late, it's insanely embarrassing. But hey, checkout this cool robot arm I stole off some alien's corpse!"