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cap_ironman2008-05-28 05:02 am
seanchai.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2008-05-28 05:02 am
Entry tags:
Hostages to Fortune 4/7
Title: Hostages to Fortune 4/7
Authors:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seanchai and elspethdixon
Rated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan.
Warnings: No much, really. Some swearing and violence.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Summary: The sequel to Readjustment. Things are finally settling down, and the Avengers are settling in. It's time for disaster to strike again.
X-posted to Marvel Slash.
And again, our thanks totavella for the great beta job.
Hostages to Fortune
As Steve stepped into Tony's room, he could hear the familiar beeping of a heart monitor -- too fast for someone unconscious, just as Dr. Brackett had said. That had to be a good sign; as long as Tony was awake, he wasn't dying.
"Tony?" he said tentatively. Tony might not have responded to the doctors, but maybe he would react to a familiar voice.
There was no answer, except for a slight increase in the speed of the heart monitor's beeps. Tony was huddled in a ball in the middle of the bed, eyes open, apparently staring blankly into space. Or maybe, Steve thought, his eyes were fixed on something that no one else could see. At least they were blue, no sign of the scrolling computer code or black film that covered them when he was immersed in the Extremis. The hospital's equipment, if nothing else, was safe.
As Steve walked over to the side of the bed, Tony's eyes refocused; he was looking at him, tracking his movement across the room. Thank God, Tony was awake. He was aware of his surroundings, he just hadn't spoken yet.
"Tony. I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. They wouldn't let me in the ambulance."
Tony didn't say anything. He just kept staring at Steve -- not blankly, not like someone who wasn't really there, but with an odd expression somewhere between sorrow and horror.
Steve sat down in the plastic chair someone had left beside the bed, absently wrapping one hand around the metal railing that formed the side of the bed. "You're lucky I thought to try my old access code for the armor," he said. "I can't believe you didn't change it. I can't believe I didn't think to ask for a new one."
Again, there was no response, and Steve glanced up at the green lines and curves of the EEG read-out, wondering whether Tony was actually seeing him, or if he was looking through Steve, to someone or something else. He had obviously been hallucinating earlier, with his talk about blood and bodies.
Steve closed his eyes for a second, hating this, and hating whoever had released that toxin. Tony was hurting, and there wasn’t anything he could do. He couldn't even be there for him, not really, not if Tony didn't even know he was in the room.
Even during the very worst of Tony's breakdown, when he'd been trying to drink himself to death, Steve had still been able to get through to him, even if he hadn't been able to help. Now...
What if Tony didn't come out of this?
What if he stayed trapped inside his own head, with whatever demons were in there with him, forever?
It wasn't fair; this was his second chance, this was their second chance. Red Skull was dead, Doom and the Mandarin were defeated, the Registration Act was gone... they were supposed to have the rest of their lives together. What was he going to do if he got everything else in his life back but lost Tony?
They were rebuilding the mansion, rebuilding the team, but if Tony wasn't there to do it with him...
There was a faint thump, and a scratching noise from the window, and Steve looked up to see Redwing landing on the sill. The heavy, sick feeling in his chest lightened just a little; it wasn't much, but it was nice to know that Sam would be there for him if he needed it.
"If you wanted to try and get out of sparring with me," Steve said, trying to make his voice light, and failing miserably, "all you had to do was ask."
Tony kept staring at him, eyes bright with unshed tears, seeing God knew what.
***
In Peter's experience, St. Vincent's was generally pretty crowded, being a big hospital in a major metropolitan area, but it wasn't usually this crowded. From the moment that he, MJ, and Aunt May had shown up for Aunt May's one o' clock physical therapy appointment, he'd known that something was wrong.
At first, he'd thought it was maybe a fire, or a major traffic accident, one of those things where four cars and a greyhound bus all pile up on each other. Then the guy behind the reception desk checked Aunt May's name against the appointment list, then looked up and said, "Parker? Hey, are you that Peter Parker Spiderman guy? How come you're not with the other costume people?"
Peter still hadn't gotten used to people doing this -- every time he got a, "Hey, aren't you Spiderman?" comment, he felt this automatic impulse to freeze, look around to see if anybody had heard, and maybe climb out the window or hide behind somebody. A little, paranoid part of him nervously expected receptionist-guy to call the cops on him, or turn out to be the Shocker in a cunning hospital-worker disguise.
"What other costumed people?" MJ asked, while Peter was still getting over being frozen.
"Captain America and the Avengers brought in people from some mass poisoning on Wall Street." Receptionist guy grinned, rolling his chair back a foot or so and putting his hands behind his head. "Do you know he's, like, seven feet tall?"
"Actually, he's six foot two," MJ told him. "I used to play pool with him. Luke Cage is a lot taller."
"That sounds dreadful," Aunt May said. "Were many people killed?"
"Naw." He wrinkled his nose. "It's some kind of drug, not something lethal. Hey, they brought that rich businessman guy in. Wall Street, you know?"
"Norman Osborn?" Peter guessed hopefully. Fate was never that ironically kind to him, but a guy could dream.
"No, the one who gives all that money to the Avengers."
And the old Spidey luck was working true to form. He might still be mad at Tony, but that didn't mean he wanted him to be poisoned.
"You used to play pool with Captain America? For real? What does he look like under the costume. I bet he's hot, right?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," MJ said. Peter couldn't even feel jealous, because even as a straight guy, he could admit that it was true. Cap looked kind of like one of those statues of Greek gods from the Met, if you painted it with an American flag.
"I should," Peter started, "I mean, um..." He wasn't an Avenger anymore, but Cap, Tony, and the others had been his teammates for a while there.
"Why don't you go see how Steven and the others are doing," Aunt May said, cutting him off before he could stammer something else inarticulate. She frowned. "Somebody should call Edwin and tell him what's going on. They're not going to think of it. Mary Jane, would you? I need to get to my appointment, and they won't let you use cell phones in here."
"It screws up the equipment," Receptionist Guy said helpfully.
"I'll go back out to the lobby," MJ said, reaching into her purse and pulling out her cell phone.
"Right," Peter said. "I'll, um, come find you guys after I see them."
As he left, he could hear the receptionist saying to Aunt May, "So, is he really Spiderman? I thought he'd be bigger. Oh, and what's it like being Spiderman's mom?"
There were times when Peter thought he'd almost be willing to sell his soul to get his secret identity back. For one thing, the New York State school board had decided that, as a superhero, his schedule was just too "unreliable" to consider re-hiring him. It was a good thing Ben Urich had apparently blackmailed Jameson into offering him his old job back, even if J.J. did insist on calling him "Spiderman" instead of "Parker" and lecturing him on how his deceitfulness and lies were "everything that was wrong with the youth of America" every time Peter entered his office. Without the Bugle job, things would be getting pretty desperate right about now. As it was, he'd started to catch himself looking back wistfully at the old days when Jameson had lectured him on how his laziness and unreliability were everything that was wrong with the youth of America.
Jameson would still be blissfully unaware of Spiderman's identity if it weren't for Tony Stark. That didn't mean Peter wanted him to die, though. The receptionist had said that whatever he'd been exposed to wasn't lethal, but he wasn't a doctor -- he was just some guy in a rolley chair with stupid, gelled-and-spiked hair, who was in charge of making people fill out insurance paperwork.
The main nurses' station was nearly deserted, probably because of all the poisoned people, but he managed to catch a blonde woman with a clipboard just as she was leaving. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you tell me where Tony Stark and the other Avengers are?"
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Don't tell me," she said. "You're a relative, too."
"Um, no," Peter admitted. Tony had relatives? She must be talking about Cap. "I'm," he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a near whisper, "I'm Peter Parker, I'm, um," God, this never got easier, "I'm Spiderman. I used to be an Avenger?"
"You have a camera around your neck," she said dryly, leaving unspoken the assumption that he was therefore a nosey reporter trying to get pictures of Tony Stark in a hospital bed for the front page of the Daily Bugle.
"Well, yeah," Peter said, "I'm a photographer. When I'm, you know, not wearing spandex."
She gave him a long, level look. Peter glanced around warily, making sure everyone in the vicinity was looking the other way, then held out his right hand and sent a thin strand of webbing at the corner of her clipboard.
"Well, I guess you are Spiderman," she said, eyes widening for a second, before her expression eased into amusement. "Second floor, left wing, room 37a. Do you wear some kind of device that lets you do that, or is it organic?" she asked, tugging at the strand of webbing that was now attached to the corner of her clipboard.
"I used to have these web-shooter thingies I wore. Now it's organic. Here, I'll get that," he added, as he watched her tug futilely at the webbing. He reached out and grabbed the corner of the clipboard in one hand, and jerked the webbing loose with the other. He'd used the non-sticky kind, so it came loose after a couple of hard yanks -- one of the benefits of the organic web-shooters was that he could control the consistency of the webbing without changing cartridges. "Sorry about that," Peter said, shoving the webbing into the pocket of his jeans. "Thanks."
Cap was sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, head bowed, one hand wrapped around the bed's metal railing. Tony was a motionless ball in the bed, which, yeah. That wasn't good.
"Is now a bad time? Because I can come back later," Peter said. Maybe he should have knocked.
"Peter?" Cap didn't look up or take his eyes off Tony. "What are you doing here?"
"Aunt May has physical therapy on Thursdays. The guy at the desk in the rolley chair said you guys were here. What happened?"
"A.I.M. released some kind of drug or poison -- we don't know what yet -- into the ventilation system at the restaurant where Tony and Jan were having lunch." Cap's voice was matter-of-fact; he didn’t sound angry or upset like Peter had expected, just kind of grim.
"Was it some kind of society function thing?" A.I.M. went through brief periods of pseudo-Marxist anti-capitalism in between their longer spells of pure anarchy. Peter had never been able to work out exactly when and why their ideologies shifted back and forth; he thought it might have something to do with the phase of the moon.
"No," Cap said. "Just a restaurant. They were meeting with a reporter. I think it was just bad luck."
"Is it just me, or is that the only kind we get?"
Cap shook his head. "I've had good luck recently, until today." He reached out with the hand that wasn't holding onto the bed and took Tony's wrist.
Tony went stiff, and the beeping from the heart monitor picked up a little.
Cap let go and slowly withdrew his hand, looking miserable. He reached back and rubbed the edge of his shield, sighing. Peter wondered if Cap was even aware of that particular nervous habit; he was pretty sure he was the only one who had noticed it.
Peter scuffed the toe of one shoe on the floor, trying to avoid looking at Tony; something about the way he was just lying there was just creepy. "The guy at the reception desk said it wasn't lethal. So he and the Wasp should be okay, right?"
Cap closed his eyes for a moment, then, "Hank doesn't know what it is yet, and the hospital doesn't know how to treat it. Two of the other victims have already died of heart attacks, and four of them are in comas. And he won't talk to me." His voice got softer, face twisting for a second. "I don't think he knows I'm here."
Oh, God, what was he supposed to say? He'd never been all that good at comforting people or other things which required tact, and this was Cap, who was always confident and in control. He'd been confident and in control two days after coming back from the dead. In his shoes, Peter would have still been freaking out and checking every hour to make sure he wasn't growing extra arms, which was what he'd been doing two days after coming back from the dead.
Cap looked back up at Peter, and tried to smile for a second. He didn't succeed very well. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with all of this."
"No, no, it's great. I mean, it's okay," Peter managed. "I know if it was MJ in here I'd be a complete wreck." He edged closer to the bed, really looking at Tony for the first time. He was staring at Steve as if hypnotized, eyes wide and horrified. "What did this thing do to him?"
"It makes people hallucinate," Cap said. "Things so bad that they started stabbing each other with silverware and jumping out tenth storey windows to get away."
Peter crouched down in front of Tony, trying to get a closer look. Tony's pupils were all dilated, but his eyes were tracking; as Peter moved into his field of vision, he blinked, eyes refocusing.
"Peter?" his voice sounded distant, weird. "You shouldn't be here. You need to leave, before you get hurt, too."
"Tony?" Cap's voice was raw with relief. "Do you know where you are?"
Tony kept staring at Peter. "You need to leave," he repeated, voice hoarse and desperate.
"I'm not going to get hurt," Peter said, feeling terribly out of place here, with Tony looking at him that way. Tony wasn't supposed to be concerned for him like that anymore. "We're in the hospital. You're the one that got hurt. And anyway," he added, "Aunt May's appointment downstairs is going to last at least another hour." He was babbling, and he knew it, but he couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. "I mean, I thought Cap wanted us all to try and reconcile and get along, and you kicking me out isn't exactly-"
"Peter," Tony said matter-of-factly, "go away and leave me here with the ghosts before you end up as one of them."
Peter recognized that voice; it was the "shut up and get in the Quinjet" voice. And that was just so many different shades of disturbing that he didn't even have names for them all.
Ghosts, he thought, and the way Tony didn't want Cap to touch him, and he wouldn't talk to him, and the way he had been staring at him...
"I think he thinks you're still dead," Peter blurted out.
"He was hallucinating earlier," Cap said, very softly. "When I got up there, he said-" he broke off, suddenly pale, and closed his eyes again. "Not still. He thinks I'm dead again. He said 'repulsor burns don't bleed.' He thinks I'm dead and that he killed me."
"Oh," Peter said, softly. That was... he remembered the sharp jerk at the end of his webline as Gwen stopped falling, remembered Harry lying on a gurney as the Goblin serum in his system degraded into poison. "That must be horrible. I hope he comes out of it soon."
Tony closed his eyes. "Peter," his voice a rough whisper, "why are you still here? You need to-"
"I should probably leave," Peter said, before Tony could finish. "I... do you think Dr. Pym could use a lab assistant? I did major in chemistry."
Cap put one hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."
"No problem," Peter said, and went to find the hospital's lab. MJ and Aunt May would understand when he was late.
***
The emergency room was a little less crowded than when Clint had first come in -- the car crash victims had been seen to, and several of the people with the flu were gone, too. They'd probably taken one look at the huge crowd of potential poisoning victims and given up and gone home.
Clint leaned against the wall, pressing one hand to the puncture wound on his leg. It wasn't really bleeding anymore, but it hurt, and as soon s people started poking at it, it was going to hurt more. Cap and the Falcon had told him to come down here, Clint reasoned. They hadn't actually told him to go over to the nurse's station and fill out paperwork. So he wasn't actually ignoring Cap's orders by just standing here. Plus, once he actually got someone to look at him, he would have to explain to people exactly how he'd been injured -- "You see, doc, first she stabbed me in the arm with a fork, and then she grabbed one of my own arrows and stabbed me in the leg" -- and having to admit to that was just all kinds of lame.
Clint had been standing there for a couple of minutes when the nurse from before, the good-looking, blonde one, materialized next to him.
"Ah," she said. "One of Mr. Stark's 'relatives.'" Clint could actually hear the quotation marks around the word 'relatives.' "Come along, Mr. Hawkeye." She gestured with her clipboard for him to precede her. "Why don't we get you seen to?"
Clint obediently let her usher him to an exam table. "So," he said. "Do I get to have the hot, blonde nurse stitch me up, or do I have to settle for a grumpy doctor?"
"You'll have to settle for a grumpy doctor," she said dryly. "If it helps, the doctor I'm thinking of inflicting on you is also blond."
"Really, I think I just need a band-aid," Clint started. "The bleeding's stopped, and-"
Nurse McCall gave him a level look. "It's a puncture wound. At the very least, you'll need to have it disinfected, if not stitched up. And you really ought to get a tetanus shot."
"I've had three in the past two years," Clint protested.
Nurse McCall ignored him, ducking around the exam curtain and calling out, "Don? Kel's busy. If you were serious about wanting to help out, you can come take care of this guy for me. He needs wound irrigation and stitches."
Why was everyone so intent on jabbing sharp things into him today? Silverware, shots, needles... and wound irrigation sounded both disgusting and unpleasant.
What was happening to Jan and Tony while he was stuck down here? Sam had promised to call him if anything happened, but what if something happened so quickly that they didn't have time to call him? What if something happened that was serious enough that Cap didn't think of it?
It was just wrong to see Jan like this. Jan was never the one who fell apart, except for that one time with Hank, and that had had an obvious reason they could do something about. Tony, too. Tony was all about control, even when he lost it -- maybe especially then. Carol had mentioned how screwed up he'd been while Cap was gone. Everyone had mentioned it. Clint hadn't been there for that, but he'd seen Tony out of control before, and it wasn't scary like this.
Clint heard the rustling sound of the plastic curtain being shoved aside, followed by a pained groan. He looked up and found himself staring at a familiar set of flat, Scandinavian cheekbones, set in a face that would have been pretty if it weren't for the flattened nose, which had to have been broken at least once, and the thin lips. Granted, he was more used to seeing that face towering above him and twice as broad, and there was usually a winged helmet above it instead of an ugly, shapeless hat, but there was still no mistaking exactly who was currently starring at him with a distinctly deer in the headlights look.
"Thor! You're alive!"
Clint jumped up, pain jolting through his thigh as he put more weight on his leg than he'd meant to, and flung both arms around Don Blake.
Don went stiff. Clint didn't let go, babbling, "Oh my God, I can't believe you're back, Big Guy! When did you come back? Why didn't you tell us?" he demanded, cheerfully ignoring the hypocrisy.
"I have a very large stick. Let go of me, or I will hit you with it."
"You need to come upstairs! Nobody's going to believe this!" Though, given that he and Steve had already come back from the dead... "Or maybe they will."
"Could you please let go of me? And sit down. I need to look at your leg."
"Oh. Sorry." Clint let go of Don and hopped awkwardly back up onto the table. "I'm not going to have to take my pants off for this, am I?"
Don raised his eyebrows. "You've got a bloody hole in your leg. What do you think?"
Clint sighed. "Damn. I was afraid of that."
Leather was very practical for a superhero costume -- it looked good, and it offered more protection than spandex -- but it was also a bitch to get off when it was tacky with half-dried blood. Thank god his pants weren't as tight as Cap's, or getting them off would really have been not fun.
Don poked at the puncture wound on the outside of Clint's thigh, cleaning the dried blood off with an alcohol swab. "This was made by one of your arrows, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." He might as well get the humiliation over with quickly. "And the one in my arm was from a fork."
"What happened?"
"A crazy woman stabbed me with a salad fork." Clint flinched as Don started dripping some kind of clear fluid that burned like hell into the arrow-wound. "Then, after I took the fork away from her, she grabbed one of my arrows and stabbed me with that. Of course, that was after she'd already stabbed the Falcon, so at least I'm not the only one who looks really lame." Now that he thought of it, why wasn't Sam down here getting a tetanus shot?
"Let me guess. One of the poisoning victims?"
"You know, we really could have used you. There were people jumping out windows left and right." It was only a slight exaggeration. If there had been a time for Thor to make a big, dramatic return, flying right into the middle of the whole mess and catching some crazy sonuvabitch who'd just flung himself out the window would have been it. Instead, here was Don Blake, lurking in St. Vincent's emergency clinic. Clint frowned. "Why are you here?"
"I..." Don looked awkward for a moment, frowning down at the curved needle in his right hand as if he was hoping it would answer for him. Awkwardness was not something Clint had ever previously associated with him. "I was in town on family business, and I heard about the mass poisoning. I used to work here, once upon a time, so I thought I should come here and help out."
"No," Clint corrected, "why are you here and not at the Avengers Tower telling us you're back? Say, about... when did you come back, anyway?"
That got him a long, flat look. "Because no one is going to force me to follow some stupid human law and 'register.'" The air pressure in the room dropped palpably.
Clint blinked at Don. "You know that's all been over for more than a month? We've all kissed and made up, some of us more literally than others."
"Iron Man and Yellowjacket built an evil clone of me and used it to kill people."
"Creepy evil government people made them do it." Clint waved a dismissive hand. Sure, he'd been pretty mad about the whole thing too, but it was over now, and the way he figured it, it wasn’t exactly surprising that the mad scientists followed their natural inclinations when left to be supervised by the kind of government official who thought that selling out to the Nazis was a good idea. "Seriously, where have you been for the last month? Creepy evil government people were behind the whole thing."
"Oklahoma."
"You should really go upstairs and tell Cap you're here. Things are..." his memory offered him a vivid image of Jan huddled in bed, tears streaking her face "not good. And ow, do you really have to do that so hard?"
"I'd say that it wouldn’t hurt so much if you held still, but it would be a lie."
"What have you been doing in Oklahoma?" Clint had been to Oklahoma. There was nothing there to write home about.
"I had some..." Don hesitated, "family business to take care of. I still do."
Family business. He'd said that twice now. All of the other Asgardians had been killed in the Ragnarok, Clint had heard, and Don Blake, while he'd always been a little bit more than just Thor in mortal disguise, had been created by magic or something, and didn't have a human family. Maybe the other Asgardians had come back from the dead, too? Clint tried not to twitch as Don shoved the giant needle -- which felt much bigger than it looked, they always did -- into his thigh again. The local anesthetic wasn't working; they never did.
"You have family here, too," Clint said. Mildly, because he wasn't the one holding the needle. "Some of them are upstairs in hospital beds."
That won him a visible wince. "How bad is it?"
"It's," going to be okay, he wanted to say, because it wouldn't be fair if Jan and Tony didn't get better when Clint finally had some of his family back, but Clint had known since he was twelve that life was never fair, "bad. Sam left Redwing outside the window to spy on Cap because he's worried something might happen while he's in there alone." There were occasionally perks to having a feathered sidekick to spy for you -- Sam didn't have to sit around metaphorically biting his nails and wondering what was happening.
"What happened to him?" Don went still, lips thinning out further. "Is he-"
He didn't actually say "dying again," but Clint could fill in the blanks. "Cap's not hurt," he said, shaking his head. "Just-- Jan and Tony were there when all of it went down, and they were both affected. Jan... she's awake, but she's really messed up. Tony's in some kind of coma."
Don's expression went flat. "Oh."
"Of course, you wouldn't be in any way concerned about whether the people you're not talking to are going to be okay."
Don's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Clint could smell ozone. "Watch your tone, Hawkeye."
"Steve wasn't involved in cloning you," Clint went on, knowing he was pushing it, but when didn't he push it? If it weren't for blind chance, Don probably would have walked right out of the hospital without letting any of them know he was there. "Hank screwed up big-time, so did Tony, but how many of us haven't?" He'd already had this conversation with Carol, but he felt it bore repeating. "You guys gave me a second shot, well, Cap did." And hopefully he'd give Clint a third shot when Clint told him about Wanda. Eventually. There were more immediate things to worry about right now. "Come on, if I just walk up there by myself and tell everyone you're back, they won't believe me." He paused. "Well, actually, they probably will. But that's not the point."
Don finished tying the last of Clint's stitches off and snipped off the extra surgical thread. "You do have a point, but I'm not ready to deal with them yet. Half of me wants to beat Tony to death, and the other half's inclined to just stand back and watch. And I don't think now would be a good time for that."
"Probably not," Clint admitted, poking tentatively at his leg. It actually did hurt less now that it wasn't pulling open whenever he moved.
"Your arm doesn't need stitches, but I'd recommend a tetanus shot."
"I had one last-" Clint started. Don gave him a look. He could be almost as intimidating in this form as he could when he was Thor. "Right. Tetanus shot."
Don shrugged uncomfortably, reaching up to adjust his hat, which didn't fit. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this quiet. There are still things I need to take care of, and I need some time."
“You need to get your head together. Got it. I kind of did the same thing for a while.” Clint could relate to that. He still had only hazy memories of those first few weeks after coming back. "That hat's too big for you," he added.
"I'll grow into it," Don said defensively, tugging at the brim again and turning to leave.
"You do realize it makes you look like Gilligan?" Clint called after him.
Don turned back for a moment, looking at Clint over his shoulder. "You never saw me."
"Fine, whatever. See you around," Clint said, getting to his feet more carefully this time.
Don limped off down the hallway. Between the cane and stupid hat, it vaguely reminded Clint of something, but he wasn't sure what.
***
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven
Authors:
seanchai and elspethdixonRated: PG-13
Pairings: Steve/Tony, Hank/Jan.
Warnings: No much, really. Some swearing and violence.
Disclaimer: The characters and situations depicted herein belong to Stan Lee and Marvel comics. No profit is being made off of this derivative work. We're paid in love, people.
Summary: The sequel to Readjustment. Things are finally settling down, and the Avengers are settling in. It's time for disaster to strike again.
X-posted to Marvel Slash.
And again, our thanks to
tavella for the great beta job.As Steve stepped into Tony's room, he could hear the familiar beeping of a heart monitor -- too fast for someone unconscious, just as Dr. Brackett had said. That had to be a good sign; as long as Tony was awake, he wasn't dying.
"Tony?" he said tentatively. Tony might not have responded to the doctors, but maybe he would react to a familiar voice.
There was no answer, except for a slight increase in the speed of the heart monitor's beeps. Tony was huddled in a ball in the middle of the bed, eyes open, apparently staring blankly into space. Or maybe, Steve thought, his eyes were fixed on something that no one else could see. At least they were blue, no sign of the scrolling computer code or black film that covered them when he was immersed in the Extremis. The hospital's equipment, if nothing else, was safe.
As Steve walked over to the side of the bed, Tony's eyes refocused; he was looking at him, tracking his movement across the room. Thank God, Tony was awake. He was aware of his surroundings, he just hadn't spoken yet.
"Tony. I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. They wouldn't let me in the ambulance."
Tony didn't say anything. He just kept staring at Steve -- not blankly, not like someone who wasn't really there, but with an odd expression somewhere between sorrow and horror.
Steve sat down in the plastic chair someone had left beside the bed, absently wrapping one hand around the metal railing that formed the side of the bed. "You're lucky I thought to try my old access code for the armor," he said. "I can't believe you didn't change it. I can't believe I didn't think to ask for a new one."
Again, there was no response, and Steve glanced up at the green lines and curves of the EEG read-out, wondering whether Tony was actually seeing him, or if he was looking through Steve, to someone or something else. He had obviously been hallucinating earlier, with his talk about blood and bodies.
Steve closed his eyes for a second, hating this, and hating whoever had released that toxin. Tony was hurting, and there wasn’t anything he could do. He couldn't even be there for him, not really, not if Tony didn't even know he was in the room.
Even during the very worst of Tony's breakdown, when he'd been trying to drink himself to death, Steve had still been able to get through to him, even if he hadn't been able to help. Now...
What if Tony didn't come out of this?
What if he stayed trapped inside his own head, with whatever demons were in there with him, forever?
It wasn't fair; this was his second chance, this was their second chance. Red Skull was dead, Doom and the Mandarin were defeated, the Registration Act was gone... they were supposed to have the rest of their lives together. What was he going to do if he got everything else in his life back but lost Tony?
They were rebuilding the mansion, rebuilding the team, but if Tony wasn't there to do it with him...
There was a faint thump, and a scratching noise from the window, and Steve looked up to see Redwing landing on the sill. The heavy, sick feeling in his chest lightened just a little; it wasn't much, but it was nice to know that Sam would be there for him if he needed it.
"If you wanted to try and get out of sparring with me," Steve said, trying to make his voice light, and failing miserably, "all you had to do was ask."
Tony kept staring at him, eyes bright with unshed tears, seeing God knew what.
In Peter's experience, St. Vincent's was generally pretty crowded, being a big hospital in a major metropolitan area, but it wasn't usually this crowded. From the moment that he, MJ, and Aunt May had shown up for Aunt May's one o' clock physical therapy appointment, he'd known that something was wrong.
At first, he'd thought it was maybe a fire, or a major traffic accident, one of those things where four cars and a greyhound bus all pile up on each other. Then the guy behind the reception desk checked Aunt May's name against the appointment list, then looked up and said, "Parker? Hey, are you that Peter Parker Spiderman guy? How come you're not with the other costume people?"
Peter still hadn't gotten used to people doing this -- every time he got a, "Hey, aren't you Spiderman?" comment, he felt this automatic impulse to freeze, look around to see if anybody had heard, and maybe climb out the window or hide behind somebody. A little, paranoid part of him nervously expected receptionist-guy to call the cops on him, or turn out to be the Shocker in a cunning hospital-worker disguise.
"What other costumed people?" MJ asked, while Peter was still getting over being frozen.
"Captain America and the Avengers brought in people from some mass poisoning on Wall Street." Receptionist guy grinned, rolling his chair back a foot or so and putting his hands behind his head. "Do you know he's, like, seven feet tall?"
"Actually, he's six foot two," MJ told him. "I used to play pool with him. Luke Cage is a lot taller."
"That sounds dreadful," Aunt May said. "Were many people killed?"
"Naw." He wrinkled his nose. "It's some kind of drug, not something lethal. Hey, they brought that rich businessman guy in. Wall Street, you know?"
"Norman Osborn?" Peter guessed hopefully. Fate was never that ironically kind to him, but a guy could dream.
"No, the one who gives all that money to the Avengers."
And the old Spidey luck was working true to form. He might still be mad at Tony, but that didn't mean he wanted him to be poisoned.
"You used to play pool with Captain America? For real? What does he look like under the costume. I bet he's hot, right?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," MJ said. Peter couldn't even feel jealous, because even as a straight guy, he could admit that it was true. Cap looked kind of like one of those statues of Greek gods from the Met, if you painted it with an American flag.
"I should," Peter started, "I mean, um..." He wasn't an Avenger anymore, but Cap, Tony, and the others had been his teammates for a while there.
"Why don't you go see how Steven and the others are doing," Aunt May said, cutting him off before he could stammer something else inarticulate. She frowned. "Somebody should call Edwin and tell him what's going on. They're not going to think of it. Mary Jane, would you? I need to get to my appointment, and they won't let you use cell phones in here."
"It screws up the equipment," Receptionist Guy said helpfully.
"I'll go back out to the lobby," MJ said, reaching into her purse and pulling out her cell phone.
"Right," Peter said. "I'll, um, come find you guys after I see them."
As he left, he could hear the receptionist saying to Aunt May, "So, is he really Spiderman? I thought he'd be bigger. Oh, and what's it like being Spiderman's mom?"
There were times when Peter thought he'd almost be willing to sell his soul to get his secret identity back. For one thing, the New York State school board had decided that, as a superhero, his schedule was just too "unreliable" to consider re-hiring him. It was a good thing Ben Urich had apparently blackmailed Jameson into offering him his old job back, even if J.J. did insist on calling him "Spiderman" instead of "Parker" and lecturing him on how his deceitfulness and lies were "everything that was wrong with the youth of America" every time Peter entered his office. Without the Bugle job, things would be getting pretty desperate right about now. As it was, he'd started to catch himself looking back wistfully at the old days when Jameson had lectured him on how his laziness and unreliability were everything that was wrong with the youth of America.
Jameson would still be blissfully unaware of Spiderman's identity if it weren't for Tony Stark. That didn't mean Peter wanted him to die, though. The receptionist had said that whatever he'd been exposed to wasn't lethal, but he wasn't a doctor -- he was just some guy in a rolley chair with stupid, gelled-and-spiked hair, who was in charge of making people fill out insurance paperwork.
The main nurses' station was nearly deserted, probably because of all the poisoned people, but he managed to catch a blonde woman with a clipboard just as she was leaving. "Excuse me, ma'am, could you tell me where Tony Stark and the other Avengers are?"
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. "Don't tell me," she said. "You're a relative, too."
"Um, no," Peter admitted. Tony had relatives? She must be talking about Cap. "I'm," he leaned forward, lowering his voice to a near whisper, "I'm Peter Parker, I'm, um," God, this never got easier, "I'm Spiderman. I used to be an Avenger?"
"You have a camera around your neck," she said dryly, leaving unspoken the assumption that he was therefore a nosey reporter trying to get pictures of Tony Stark in a hospital bed for the front page of the Daily Bugle.
"Well, yeah," Peter said, "I'm a photographer. When I'm, you know, not wearing spandex."
She gave him a long, level look. Peter glanced around warily, making sure everyone in the vicinity was looking the other way, then held out his right hand and sent a thin strand of webbing at the corner of her clipboard.
"Well, I guess you are Spiderman," she said, eyes widening for a second, before her expression eased into amusement. "Second floor, left wing, room 37a. Do you wear some kind of device that lets you do that, or is it organic?" she asked, tugging at the strand of webbing that was now attached to the corner of her clipboard.
"I used to have these web-shooter thingies I wore. Now it's organic. Here, I'll get that," he added, as he watched her tug futilely at the webbing. He reached out and grabbed the corner of the clipboard in one hand, and jerked the webbing loose with the other. He'd used the non-sticky kind, so it came loose after a couple of hard yanks -- one of the benefits of the organic web-shooters was that he could control the consistency of the webbing without changing cartridges. "Sorry about that," Peter said, shoving the webbing into the pocket of his jeans. "Thanks."
Cap was sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, head bowed, one hand wrapped around the bed's metal railing. Tony was a motionless ball in the bed, which, yeah. That wasn't good.
"Is now a bad time? Because I can come back later," Peter said. Maybe he should have knocked.
"Peter?" Cap didn't look up or take his eyes off Tony. "What are you doing here?"
"Aunt May has physical therapy on Thursdays. The guy at the desk in the rolley chair said you guys were here. What happened?"
"A.I.M. released some kind of drug or poison -- we don't know what yet -- into the ventilation system at the restaurant where Tony and Jan were having lunch." Cap's voice was matter-of-fact; he didn’t sound angry or upset like Peter had expected, just kind of grim.
"Was it some kind of society function thing?" A.I.M. went through brief periods of pseudo-Marxist anti-capitalism in between their longer spells of pure anarchy. Peter had never been able to work out exactly when and why their ideologies shifted back and forth; he thought it might have something to do with the phase of the moon.
"No," Cap said. "Just a restaurant. They were meeting with a reporter. I think it was just bad luck."
"Is it just me, or is that the only kind we get?"
Cap shook his head. "I've had good luck recently, until today." He reached out with the hand that wasn't holding onto the bed and took Tony's wrist.
Tony went stiff, and the beeping from the heart monitor picked up a little.
Cap let go and slowly withdrew his hand, looking miserable. He reached back and rubbed the edge of his shield, sighing. Peter wondered if Cap was even aware of that particular nervous habit; he was pretty sure he was the only one who had noticed it.
Peter scuffed the toe of one shoe on the floor, trying to avoid looking at Tony; something about the way he was just lying there was just creepy. "The guy at the reception desk said it wasn't lethal. So he and the Wasp should be okay, right?"
Cap closed his eyes for a moment, then, "Hank doesn't know what it is yet, and the hospital doesn't know how to treat it. Two of the other victims have already died of heart attacks, and four of them are in comas. And he won't talk to me." His voice got softer, face twisting for a second. "I don't think he knows I'm here."
Oh, God, what was he supposed to say? He'd never been all that good at comforting people or other things which required tact, and this was Cap, who was always confident and in control. He'd been confident and in control two days after coming back from the dead. In his shoes, Peter would have still been freaking out and checking every hour to make sure he wasn't growing extra arms, which was what he'd been doing two days after coming back from the dead.
Cap looked back up at Peter, and tried to smile for a second. He didn't succeed very well. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to burden you with all of this."
"No, no, it's great. I mean, it's okay," Peter managed. "I know if it was MJ in here I'd be a complete wreck." He edged closer to the bed, really looking at Tony for the first time. He was staring at Steve as if hypnotized, eyes wide and horrified. "What did this thing do to him?"
"It makes people hallucinate," Cap said. "Things so bad that they started stabbing each other with silverware and jumping out tenth storey windows to get away."
Peter crouched down in front of Tony, trying to get a closer look. Tony's pupils were all dilated, but his eyes were tracking; as Peter moved into his field of vision, he blinked, eyes refocusing.
"Peter?" his voice sounded distant, weird. "You shouldn't be here. You need to leave, before you get hurt, too."
"Tony?" Cap's voice was raw with relief. "Do you know where you are?"
Tony kept staring at Peter. "You need to leave," he repeated, voice hoarse and desperate.
"I'm not going to get hurt," Peter said, feeling terribly out of place here, with Tony looking at him that way. Tony wasn't supposed to be concerned for him like that anymore. "We're in the hospital. You're the one that got hurt. And anyway," he added, "Aunt May's appointment downstairs is going to last at least another hour." He was babbling, and he knew it, but he couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. "I mean, I thought Cap wanted us all to try and reconcile and get along, and you kicking me out isn't exactly-"
"Peter," Tony said matter-of-factly, "go away and leave me here with the ghosts before you end up as one of them."
Peter recognized that voice; it was the "shut up and get in the Quinjet" voice. And that was just so many different shades of disturbing that he didn't even have names for them all.
Ghosts, he thought, and the way Tony didn't want Cap to touch him, and he wouldn't talk to him, and the way he had been staring at him...
"I think he thinks you're still dead," Peter blurted out.
"He was hallucinating earlier," Cap said, very softly. "When I got up there, he said-" he broke off, suddenly pale, and closed his eyes again. "Not still. He thinks I'm dead again. He said 'repulsor burns don't bleed.' He thinks I'm dead and that he killed me."
"Oh," Peter said, softly. That was... he remembered the sharp jerk at the end of his webline as Gwen stopped falling, remembered Harry lying on a gurney as the Goblin serum in his system degraded into poison. "That must be horrible. I hope he comes out of it soon."
Tony closed his eyes. "Peter," his voice a rough whisper, "why are you still here? You need to-"
"I should probably leave," Peter said, before Tony could finish. "I... do you think Dr. Pym could use a lab assistant? I did major in chemistry."
Cap put one hand on his shoulder. "Thank you."
"No problem," Peter said, and went to find the hospital's lab. MJ and Aunt May would understand when he was late.
The emergency room was a little less crowded than when Clint had first come in -- the car crash victims had been seen to, and several of the people with the flu were gone, too. They'd probably taken one look at the huge crowd of potential poisoning victims and given up and gone home.
Clint leaned against the wall, pressing one hand to the puncture wound on his leg. It wasn't really bleeding anymore, but it hurt, and as soon s people started poking at it, it was going to hurt more. Cap and the Falcon had told him to come down here, Clint reasoned. They hadn't actually told him to go over to the nurse's station and fill out paperwork. So he wasn't actually ignoring Cap's orders by just standing here. Plus, once he actually got someone to look at him, he would have to explain to people exactly how he'd been injured -- "You see, doc, first she stabbed me in the arm with a fork, and then she grabbed one of my own arrows and stabbed me in the leg" -- and having to admit to that was just all kinds of lame.
Clint had been standing there for a couple of minutes when the nurse from before, the good-looking, blonde one, materialized next to him.
"Ah," she said. "One of Mr. Stark's 'relatives.'" Clint could actually hear the quotation marks around the word 'relatives.' "Come along, Mr. Hawkeye." She gestured with her clipboard for him to precede her. "Why don't we get you seen to?"
Clint obediently let her usher him to an exam table. "So," he said. "Do I get to have the hot, blonde nurse stitch me up, or do I have to settle for a grumpy doctor?"
"You'll have to settle for a grumpy doctor," she said dryly. "If it helps, the doctor I'm thinking of inflicting on you is also blond."
"Really, I think I just need a band-aid," Clint started. "The bleeding's stopped, and-"
Nurse McCall gave him a level look. "It's a puncture wound. At the very least, you'll need to have it disinfected, if not stitched up. And you really ought to get a tetanus shot."
"I've had three in the past two years," Clint protested.
Nurse McCall ignored him, ducking around the exam curtain and calling out, "Don? Kel's busy. If you were serious about wanting to help out, you can come take care of this guy for me. He needs wound irrigation and stitches."
Why was everyone so intent on jabbing sharp things into him today? Silverware, shots, needles... and wound irrigation sounded both disgusting and unpleasant.
What was happening to Jan and Tony while he was stuck down here? Sam had promised to call him if anything happened, but what if something happened so quickly that they didn't have time to call him? What if something happened that was serious enough that Cap didn't think of it?
It was just wrong to see Jan like this. Jan was never the one who fell apart, except for that one time with Hank, and that had had an obvious reason they could do something about. Tony, too. Tony was all about control, even when he lost it -- maybe especially then. Carol had mentioned how screwed up he'd been while Cap was gone. Everyone had mentioned it. Clint hadn't been there for that, but he'd seen Tony out of control before, and it wasn't scary like this.
Clint heard the rustling sound of the plastic curtain being shoved aside, followed by a pained groan. He looked up and found himself staring at a familiar set of flat, Scandinavian cheekbones, set in a face that would have been pretty if it weren't for the flattened nose, which had to have been broken at least once, and the thin lips. Granted, he was more used to seeing that face towering above him and twice as broad, and there was usually a winged helmet above it instead of an ugly, shapeless hat, but there was still no mistaking exactly who was currently starring at him with a distinctly deer in the headlights look.
"Thor! You're alive!"
Clint jumped up, pain jolting through his thigh as he put more weight on his leg than he'd meant to, and flung both arms around Don Blake.
Don went stiff. Clint didn't let go, babbling, "Oh my God, I can't believe you're back, Big Guy! When did you come back? Why didn't you tell us?" he demanded, cheerfully ignoring the hypocrisy.
"I have a very large stick. Let go of me, or I will hit you with it."
"You need to come upstairs! Nobody's going to believe this!" Though, given that he and Steve had already come back from the dead... "Or maybe they will."
"Could you please let go of me? And sit down. I need to look at your leg."
"Oh. Sorry." Clint let go of Don and hopped awkwardly back up onto the table. "I'm not going to have to take my pants off for this, am I?"
Don raised his eyebrows. "You've got a bloody hole in your leg. What do you think?"
Clint sighed. "Damn. I was afraid of that."
Leather was very practical for a superhero costume -- it looked good, and it offered more protection than spandex -- but it was also a bitch to get off when it was tacky with half-dried blood. Thank god his pants weren't as tight as Cap's, or getting them off would really have been not fun.
Don poked at the puncture wound on the outside of Clint's thigh, cleaning the dried blood off with an alcohol swab. "This was made by one of your arrows, wasn't it?"
"Yeah." He might as well get the humiliation over with quickly. "And the one in my arm was from a fork."
"What happened?"
"A crazy woman stabbed me with a salad fork." Clint flinched as Don started dripping some kind of clear fluid that burned like hell into the arrow-wound. "Then, after I took the fork away from her, she grabbed one of my arrows and stabbed me with that. Of course, that was after she'd already stabbed the Falcon, so at least I'm not the only one who looks really lame." Now that he thought of it, why wasn't Sam down here getting a tetanus shot?
"Let me guess. One of the poisoning victims?"
"You know, we really could have used you. There were people jumping out windows left and right." It was only a slight exaggeration. If there had been a time for Thor to make a big, dramatic return, flying right into the middle of the whole mess and catching some crazy sonuvabitch who'd just flung himself out the window would have been it. Instead, here was Don Blake, lurking in St. Vincent's emergency clinic. Clint frowned. "Why are you here?"
"I..." Don looked awkward for a moment, frowning down at the curved needle in his right hand as if he was hoping it would answer for him. Awkwardness was not something Clint had ever previously associated with him. "I was in town on family business, and I heard about the mass poisoning. I used to work here, once upon a time, so I thought I should come here and help out."
"No," Clint corrected, "why are you here and not at the Avengers Tower telling us you're back? Say, about... when did you come back, anyway?"
That got him a long, flat look. "Because no one is going to force me to follow some stupid human law and 'register.'" The air pressure in the room dropped palpably.
Clint blinked at Don. "You know that's all been over for more than a month? We've all kissed and made up, some of us more literally than others."
"Iron Man and Yellowjacket built an evil clone of me and used it to kill people."
"Creepy evil government people made them do it." Clint waved a dismissive hand. Sure, he'd been pretty mad about the whole thing too, but it was over now, and the way he figured it, it wasn’t exactly surprising that the mad scientists followed their natural inclinations when left to be supervised by the kind of government official who thought that selling out to the Nazis was a good idea. "Seriously, where have you been for the last month? Creepy evil government people were behind the whole thing."
"Oklahoma."
"You should really go upstairs and tell Cap you're here. Things are..." his memory offered him a vivid image of Jan huddled in bed, tears streaking her face "not good. And ow, do you really have to do that so hard?"
"I'd say that it wouldn’t hurt so much if you held still, but it would be a lie."
"What have you been doing in Oklahoma?" Clint had been to Oklahoma. There was nothing there to write home about.
"I had some..." Don hesitated, "family business to take care of. I still do."
Family business. He'd said that twice now. All of the other Asgardians had been killed in the Ragnarok, Clint had heard, and Don Blake, while he'd always been a little bit more than just Thor in mortal disguise, had been created by magic or something, and didn't have a human family. Maybe the other Asgardians had come back from the dead, too? Clint tried not to twitch as Don shoved the giant needle -- which felt much bigger than it looked, they always did -- into his thigh again. The local anesthetic wasn't working; they never did.
"You have family here, too," Clint said. Mildly, because he wasn't the one holding the needle. "Some of them are upstairs in hospital beds."
That won him a visible wince. "How bad is it?"
"It's," going to be okay, he wanted to say, because it wouldn't be fair if Jan and Tony didn't get better when Clint finally had some of his family back, but Clint had known since he was twelve that life was never fair, "bad. Sam left Redwing outside the window to spy on Cap because he's worried something might happen while he's in there alone." There were occasionally perks to having a feathered sidekick to spy for you -- Sam didn't have to sit around metaphorically biting his nails and wondering what was happening.
"What happened to him?" Don went still, lips thinning out further. "Is he-"
He didn't actually say "dying again," but Clint could fill in the blanks. "Cap's not hurt," he said, shaking his head. "Just-- Jan and Tony were there when all of it went down, and they were both affected. Jan... she's awake, but she's really messed up. Tony's in some kind of coma."
Don's expression went flat. "Oh."
"Of course, you wouldn't be in any way concerned about whether the people you're not talking to are going to be okay."
Don's eyes narrowed, and for a moment, Clint could smell ozone. "Watch your tone, Hawkeye."
"Steve wasn't involved in cloning you," Clint went on, knowing he was pushing it, but when didn't he push it? If it weren't for blind chance, Don probably would have walked right out of the hospital without letting any of them know he was there. "Hank screwed up big-time, so did Tony, but how many of us haven't?" He'd already had this conversation with Carol, but he felt it bore repeating. "You guys gave me a second shot, well, Cap did." And hopefully he'd give Clint a third shot when Clint told him about Wanda. Eventually. There were more immediate things to worry about right now. "Come on, if I just walk up there by myself and tell everyone you're back, they won't believe me." He paused. "Well, actually, they probably will. But that's not the point."
Don finished tying the last of Clint's stitches off and snipped off the extra surgical thread. "You do have a point, but I'm not ready to deal with them yet. Half of me wants to beat Tony to death, and the other half's inclined to just stand back and watch. And I don't think now would be a good time for that."
"Probably not," Clint admitted, poking tentatively at his leg. It actually did hurt less now that it wasn't pulling open whenever he moved.
"Your arm doesn't need stitches, but I'd recommend a tetanus shot."
"I had one last-" Clint started. Don gave him a look. He could be almost as intimidating in this form as he could when he was Thor. "Right. Tetanus shot."
Don shrugged uncomfortably, reaching up to adjust his hat, which didn't fit. "I'd appreciate it if you kept this quiet. There are still things I need to take care of, and I need some time."
“You need to get your head together. Got it. I kind of did the same thing for a while.” Clint could relate to that. He still had only hazy memories of those first few weeks after coming back. "That hat's too big for you," he added.
"I'll grow into it," Don said defensively, tugging at the brim again and turning to leave.
"You do realize it makes you look like Gilligan?" Clint called after him.
Don turned back for a moment, looking at Clint over his shoulder. "You never saw me."
"Fine, whatever. See you around," Clint said, getting to his feet more carefully this time.
Don limped off down the hallway. Between the cane and stupid hat, it vaguely reminded Clint of something, but he wasn't sure what.
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven
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I feel so sorry for Steve, having to watch Tony stuck inside his own head, torturing himself over his hallucinations. :(
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PETER!
OMFG! Of course Tony would think he killed Steve, and OMFG! Tony loves Peter like the little brother he never had. EEEEE!
I wonder what the two of you are trying to pull with the hints of Wanda's involvement and now Thor dealing with his 'family'.
Ohh, will the Avengers finally be whole?
LOVES!
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PETER!
That's exactly the reaction we were hoping for ^_^.
OMFG! Of course Tony would think he killed Steve, and OMFG! Tony loves Peter like the little brother he never had. EEEEE!
We didn't even have to come up with a Greatest Fear for Tony to hallucinate under the fear toxin's influence -- Bendis kindly already told us what it was a while ago in New Avengers, when Starnge casts a spell that makes all of the Mighty Avengers see their deepest fear. For Tony, it's that he's responsible for Steve's death (once upon a time, it was that he start drinking again and/or be rejected by the Avengers, but life was happier then).
Tony and Peter's friendship in the earlier New Avengers stuff was ridiculously cute -- one of the many sad things about Civil War is not getting to see any more of it.
I wonder what the two of you are trying to pull with the hints of Wanda's involvement and now Thor dealing with his 'family'.
Ohh, will the Avengers finally be whole?
You have figured out our sekrit plan ^_^.
edited to fix my html
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DOOOOOOOOOOOOOON
-- what he wasn't there as Thor. ^_~
I love you for including him this way and getting him involved even if he won't be immediately in the fray yet. I'm liking where the Thor comics are at right now and just wish there was some way he could get back into the rest of it again without the 'meet and beat' policy marvel has on superhero hoedowns.
Clint has to get his tetanus- ha
Peter couldn't even feel jealous, because even as a straight guy, he could admit that it was true.
- Awww Peter, admit it you webswing both ways.
Lastly Yay for Peter using his brains, non-erased identity reveal and Jamieson keeping him around if only to keep berating him for his heroness. ^_^
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-- what he wasn't there as Thor. ^_~
I love you for including him this way and getting him involved even if he won't be immediately in the fray yet. I'm liking where the Thor comics are at right now and just wish there was some way he could get back into the rest of it again without the 'meet and beat' policy marvel has on superhero hoedowns.
Don Blake and Thor are both too awesome to not include, now that Thor is back in the Marvel U. And Straczinski's Thor comic is my one remaining core-canon happy place, especially since I love Norse mythology (
The 'meet and beat' thing reminds me of shounen manga, where all of the badass warrior characters have to throw down when they meet one another for the first time.
Awww Peter, admit it you webswing both ways.
I present as proof his relationship with Harry Osborn.
Lastly Yay for Peter using his brains, non-erased identity reveal and Jamieson keeping him around if only to keep berating him for his heroness. ^_^
Marvel didn't begin to get the mileage out of people knowing Peter's identity that they could have before the whole Brand New Day stupidity started. And Jameson probably enjoys the chance to yell at Spiderman in person ("Spiderman! These pictures are crap! Crap, crap, crap! The only reason I'm going to print them is because tomorrow's edition is already late, and we don't have anything else for the front page. Bring me something better next week, unless you're too busy running around in a Halloween costume to remember that you have a real job.")
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Tony - wibble. And Peter has to be an Avenger again, because he loves them all really.
Still loving this!
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"I think he thinks you're still dead," Peter blurted out.
"He was hallucinating earlier," Cap said, very softly. "When I got up there, he said-" he broke off, suddenly pale, and closed his eyes again. "Not still. He thinks I'm dead again. He said 'repulsor burns don't bleed.' He thinks I'm dead and that he killed me."
Oh Tony. Guh. It hurts to think about. I would not like to be in his head right now. Tony definitely needs an 'Apply Hugs Here' note stuck to his back.
"...Half of me wants to beat Tony to death, and the other half's inclined to just stand back and watch. And I don't think now would be a good time for that."
Ouch... Canon sucks. D:
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poor, poor Tony, but Thoooooooor! yay for Norse God!
and hooray for Peter!
but Thor! Oh my god...
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I love this line. It's so, so Peter.
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"Iron Man and Yellowjacket built an evil clone of me and used it to kill people."
"Creepy evil government people made them do it."
*hugs Clint like whoa* Hee, and Thor! In his sorta-mortal guise, which is a rare treat. XD
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What was he going to do if he got everything else in his life back but lost Tony? ::wibble:: that hurts too much to think about! I'm glad this story has a happy ending right!? ::poke:: RIGHT!??
Bright unshed tears ;____;
--and maybe climb out the window or hide behind somebody-- peter is fricken adorable! :D
statues of Greek gods from the Met, if you painted it with an American flag-- OMG i love you guys! like for serious!
what's it like being Spiderman's mom?-- i lol'd
even if J.J. did insist on --snip--everything that was wrong with the youth of America.-- i lol'd again :D
"Well, yeah," Peter said, "I'm a photographer. When I'm, you know, not wearing spandex."-- that and the webbing! AH! You guys write a GREAT peter!
Peter had never been able to--snip--phase of the moon. --so much love!
He'd been confident and in control two days after coming back from the dead.-- this is so true! like every time too! Cap is amazing :D
"I'm not going to get hurt," Peter said, feeling terribly out of place here, with Tony looking at him that way. Tony wasn't supposed to be concerned for him like that anymore. -- ok seriously i like started to tear up! ;__;
"I... do you think Dr. Pym could use a lab assistant? I did major in chemistry." ::hugs peter for being such a great guy!::
Plus, once he actually got someone to look at him, he would have to explain to people exactly how he'd been injured --snip-- and having to admit to that was just all kinds of lame. <3 <3 <3
"Ah," she said. "One of Mr. Stark's 'relatives.'" ::gummbles and laughs at the same time::
Oklahoma lol
"You have family here, too," Clint said. Mildly, because he wasn't the one holding the needle. "Some of them are upstairs in hospital beds." -- NICE HAWKEYE! A+ <3 <3
That hat's too big for you," he added.
"I'll grow into it," Don said defensively. ::pets Thor::
I can't wait for the next chapter!!!
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Now this is the reason you guys got me into Steve/Tony, because you don't just limit yourself to what happens in bed with the boys naked. You write actual stories with plots and mysteries and...
Well basically, I just love this.
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*wibble* Tony! Steve! *clings to Steve* He'll come back! The Avengers always find a way back!
On a happier note, Peter! And I love how, while Peter is being somewhat inarticulate, Aunt May just steps in and sorts everything out. *giggles* Yep, she and Jarvis make a good pair. :-)
Also, Thor! I'm really abusing the exclamation marks, but...Thor! It makes me sad that he's so angry, but he would be. :-( First step, get him back. Second step, every body starts working out their issues. :-) Also, sometimes I love Clint: "We've all kissed and made up, some of us more literally than others." LOL!
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But in any case: Thor love! Also much love for concerned!Clint. Those two made for a fun interaction. Also, I share Clint's hatred for Tetanus shots...
I love how you guys keep making references to the fact that Peter is actually pretty smart.
I guess the good thing about being late reading this is that I can go read the next chapter right now :D
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But now I'm having a serious moment of mixing my fandoms, because when I read the last line:
Don limped off down the hallway. Between the cane and stupid hat, it vaguely reminded Clint of something, but he wasn't sure what.
...all I could think of was Urahara Kisuke (http://i272.photobucket.com/albums/jj193/otakucenter_com/bleach/urahara_kisuke/urahara-mangacover.jpg) from the anime series "Bleach." ^^;;;;
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I really need to get around to seeing or reading Bleach sometime. Right now we're still working our way through FMA and Tsubasa.
Clint's actually subconsciously thinking of Odin, who's supposed to visit mortal men while in disguise as a traveler with a walking stick and wide-brimmed hat (or, being Clint, he's probably thining of Gandalf instead -- he has a big staff/walkig stick and a hat, too).
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That said, once