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cap_ironman2009-12-20 10:50 pm
jazzypom.livejournal.com) wrote in cap_ironman2009-12-20 10:50 pm
Fic: Finding Day
Title: Finding Day
Posted by:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jazzypom on behalf of anonymouse
Disclaimer:Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Universe616
Pairing/Characters: Steve, Tony , Dr Strange, Dr Blake, Maria Hill
Word Count: Approximately 1600
Betas: jazzypom
Author's note:cheers to jazzypom
Summary:Tony's back, but he's in danger. Steve's back, but he's only human.
"He's coming around again."
Don Blake didn't sound happy about it, either. He sounded tense and worried.
"Tony, " said Stephen Strange. "Tony, can you hear me?"
Tony Stark's eyes snapped open and he surged upright on the gurney, neck cording. "He's dead. I killed him. I killed Captain America! Jesus Christ, he's dead!"
Blake caught his arms and tried to restrain him. "Easy, man, take it easy."
"Quiet," ordered Strange.
Tony struggled under their hands, blood suffusing his face and his breaths coming ragged. "I fucked it up," he panted. "I fucked it all up. Steve's dead... I killed Cap..."
Tony's monitor began to shrill. "He's crashing," snapped Blake.
"Tony!" barked Strange.
Steve Rogers, watching from a corner of the room, had had absolutely enough. He pushed past them both and took Stark by the shoulders, pressing him down, bringing his face in close.
"Calm down, mister. You hear me? Calm down now."
Stark stilled instantly, his rolling eyes locking onto Steve's. The blood drained from his face.
"Interesting," muttered Strange. He placed a swift hand on Stark's brow and Stark's muscles went limp.
Stark's voice was a dying whisper. "Steve?"
"Yeah. It's me. You need to calm down now. You're really sick, Tony."
"I've got him," said Strange. "I've got him."
Stark's lids began to flutter. "What happened... what happened..."
"Just go to sleep now," said Steve. "Don't fight it. We'll talk about it later."
Stark obeyed, sliding into oblivion again, abruptly as peaceable as a child.
Steve Rogers straightened, ran a hand over his face, and left the room. Maria Hill moved aside, and Carol Danvers opened the door for him gently. Nobody, not Strange or Blake or anybody, looked him in the eye.
***
Steve Rogers walked straight through the rubble left by the Ghost's recent incursion, and out into the fields. The fields were never far from anything in Broxton, Oklahoma -- the back of Donald Blake's shabby safe house opened right onto them. Across a graveled road, the absurdly green soy fields stretched on forever, baking and shimmering. The air was heavy and hot and still, and Steve began to sweat instantly under his mail shirt.
A black bird with a red patch on its wings darted in and out of the planted rows, up and down, up and down. Steve watched it, his mind weary and blank.
Behind him, a screen door creaked and then clattered into the dust as the hinges gave way completely. Steve turned to see Dr. Strange eyeing it wryly.
"I seem to have broken the door," he said.
Steve grunted. No putting this conversation off, then, not even until supper. "Okay. Right. How's he doing?"
Strange joined him and they stood side by side, staring out at the fields. Strange combed his goatee absently with his misshapen fingers. "He's quiet now. I believe he'll make it. I threw a -- well, a sort of life ring around his mind. He's in a much happier place, if you know what I mean, and I think that for the moment we should leave him there. Until he's stronger, of course."
"Of course," echoed Steve, weary unto death. "What... kind of happy place?"
"I can hardly say. I didn't really see it. But he's not in hell anymore, and at least his body will get a chance to heal."
"Right."
"Well," said Strange crisply. "I'd best go relieve Dr. Blake. There's something he needs to attend to, as... you know. "
"Yeah," said Steve.
Strange cocked his head. "Get out of the sun, Steven. Go inside and have something to drink. Take some rest, if you can."
"Yeah, I will. Okay."
Strange left him. Steve watched the fields and the black bird for a while longer, then followed. He didn't bother with the screen door.
***
Steve woke on the battered couch, which still smelled faintly of smoke. The light coming through the broken window was green. He blinked at it stupidly for a moment, trying to remember where the hell he was.
Feet thumped on the stairs and Maria Hill was before him, her short black hair clinging damply to her forehead. "We've got trouble, Captain."
Steve was up instantly, reaching for his shield. "What trouble?"
Maria was already moving past him, heading for the back door. "Tornado. Does this place have a basement? Where's the fucking basement?"
Steve gaped at her, then looked out the window again. The green light was coming from the sky itself. The clouds were black and roiling, and the world was green. Somewhere in Broxton's tiny town center, a lone siren began to wail. It started low, wavering, then increased in pitch and volume. It sounded like something cranked by hand.
"Steve!" It was Carol, calling from upstairs. "Steve, give me a hand!"
Steve took the stairs in three bounds. Carol was struggling with Tony's gurney. Tony was out of it completely.
"Maria says we have to get him into the basement," said Carol. "I can't balance this thing by myself. Take a hand, hurry!"
Steve took the heavy end. "Where's Strange?"
"Outside, doing what he can. He says weather is a delicate business. A tornado, can you believe it? Wait, left me lift this end more, hold on --"
They reached the battered ground floor as Maria reappeared, furious. "There's no basement! Nothing. What the hell! This is Oklahoma!"
"Dammit, Thor, where are you," hissed Carol.
The walls began to tremble as a burst -- a fist -- of wind struck the house. The very air began to pop and roar.
"Okay, into the toilet!" yelled Maria. "Get him off that gurney! Come on, let's go!"
They put Tony into the bathtub and piled on top of him. The wind was screaming. It sounded like nothing Steve had ever heard.
"Maybe I should fly us out of here!" shouted Carol in his ear.
"Don't ! Too -- big --!" Maria's voice was barely audible.
"Take Tony and go!" roared Steve.
Then the house came apart around them.
****
Steve carried Tony out of the wreckage in his arms. Carol carried Maria. The sun was sinking fast and an icy rain was falling. Broxton was unrecognizable -- not one brick stood upon another, and even the trees were stripped bare. Where the post office had been, a transformer was sparking.
"We have to look for survivors," said Steve and Carol together.
"You go," said Carol.
"You go," said Steve.
"Where the hell is Strange?" said Carol. "Where's Thor?"
The devastation was total. Soaked by rain, blinded by streaming wet and numb with cold, Steve lifted and heaved and pulled filthy, stunned civilians out of what had been their homes. their gas station convenience store, their little diner. He laid the bodies of the dead gently and discreetly apart, under a tarp that Carol had rigged. Just as night came down like a hammer, Steve heard the shriek of rescue trucks, it was one of the sweetest sounds he'd heard in years.
He was talking to a fire chief, trying to coordinate the response, when someone touched his arm. It was Tony, pale and unsteady and composed. He waited until the firefighters moved off and then asked, "What happened to the Raft? What the hell's going on? Where do you need me?"
Steve caught Tony as he sagged and swore under his breath.
***
The ride to the county hospital took an hour. It was a cortege of ambulances in the night. Occasionally flashing squad cars raced toward and past them, heading for Broxton, and then the night closed in again.
Tony was flat on his back once more, on a drip, trying not to wince as the ambulance jolted and shuddered. Once or twice his hand drifted to his chest, near the repulsor device implanted there, but then his face would cloud and his hand would stop. He never quite touched it.
"What happened to the Raft?" Tony asked again. Then he smiled. "I must've have taken one hell of a hit. I can't remember anything."
"Yeah," said Steve. "You took a hell of a hit."
"Where are we?"
Steve glanced out the back window. "Oklahoma."
"Oklahoma?"
"Yeah."
Tony shook his head in disbelief. "There was a breakout on the Raft. Then... were we on the Helicarrier? The next day?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Was it attacked? How did we end up in Oklahoma? I'm not following this at all."
"You were hurt, Tony. " Steve folded his arms, staring out the window. "You were hurt and you've forgotten some things. It's not important right now. Just rest."
He could feel Tony watching him. After a pause Tony asked, "What's bothering you, Steve?"
"Nothing. It's not important right now. I told you to rest."
"You need to --"
Steve turned on him. "I told you to shut up and get some rest. Hear me?"
Steve saw the flash of hurt in Tony's eyes, but then it faded and was replaced by that maddening, habitual trust -- the trust Steve hadn't seen in years.
"Yeah. Okay, Steve," said Tony. He didn't sleep, but he didn't talk either, not even as the night turned to blue dawn and the ambulance braked to a stop at County ER. As the medics slid his stretcher out and Steve climbed down beside him, Tony raised his eyes to Steve's face and Steve relented.
"We'll talk tomorrow, Tony. Okay? When you're feeling better."
Tony smiled, and they rolled him away.
Fin.
Posted by:
jazzypom on behalf of anonymouseDisclaimer:Characters and situations are the property of Stan Lee and Marvel Comics. No profit is being made off this fan-written work
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none
Universe616
Pairing/Characters: Steve, Tony , Dr Strange, Dr Blake, Maria Hill
Word Count: Approximately 1600
Betas: jazzypom
Author's note:cheers to jazzypom
Summary:Tony's back, but he's in danger. Steve's back, but he's only human.
"He's coming around again."
Don Blake didn't sound happy about it, either. He sounded tense and worried.
"Tony, " said Stephen Strange. "Tony, can you hear me?"
Tony Stark's eyes snapped open and he surged upright on the gurney, neck cording. "He's dead. I killed him. I killed Captain America! Jesus Christ, he's dead!"
Blake caught his arms and tried to restrain him. "Easy, man, take it easy."
"Quiet," ordered Strange.
Tony struggled under their hands, blood suffusing his face and his breaths coming ragged. "I fucked it up," he panted. "I fucked it all up. Steve's dead... I killed Cap..."
Tony's monitor began to shrill. "He's crashing," snapped Blake.
"Tony!" barked Strange.
Steve Rogers, watching from a corner of the room, had had absolutely enough. He pushed past them both and took Stark by the shoulders, pressing him down, bringing his face in close.
"Calm down, mister. You hear me? Calm down now."
Stark stilled instantly, his rolling eyes locking onto Steve's. The blood drained from his face.
"Interesting," muttered Strange. He placed a swift hand on Stark's brow and Stark's muscles went limp.
Stark's voice was a dying whisper. "Steve?"
"Yeah. It's me. You need to calm down now. You're really sick, Tony."
"I've got him," said Strange. "I've got him."
Stark's lids began to flutter. "What happened... what happened..."
"Just go to sleep now," said Steve. "Don't fight it. We'll talk about it later."
Stark obeyed, sliding into oblivion again, abruptly as peaceable as a child.
Steve Rogers straightened, ran a hand over his face, and left the room. Maria Hill moved aside, and Carol Danvers opened the door for him gently. Nobody, not Strange or Blake or anybody, looked him in the eye.
Steve Rogers walked straight through the rubble left by the Ghost's recent incursion, and out into the fields. The fields were never far from anything in Broxton, Oklahoma -- the back of Donald Blake's shabby safe house opened right onto them. Across a graveled road, the absurdly green soy fields stretched on forever, baking and shimmering. The air was heavy and hot and still, and Steve began to sweat instantly under his mail shirt.
A black bird with a red patch on its wings darted in and out of the planted rows, up and down, up and down. Steve watched it, his mind weary and blank.
Behind him, a screen door creaked and then clattered into the dust as the hinges gave way completely. Steve turned to see Dr. Strange eyeing it wryly.
"I seem to have broken the door," he said.
Steve grunted. No putting this conversation off, then, not even until supper. "Okay. Right. How's he doing?"
Strange joined him and they stood side by side, staring out at the fields. Strange combed his goatee absently with his misshapen fingers. "He's quiet now. I believe he'll make it. I threw a -- well, a sort of life ring around his mind. He's in a much happier place, if you know what I mean, and I think that for the moment we should leave him there. Until he's stronger, of course."
"Of course," echoed Steve, weary unto death. "What... kind of happy place?"
"I can hardly say. I didn't really see it. But he's not in hell anymore, and at least his body will get a chance to heal."
"Right."
"Well," said Strange crisply. "I'd best go relieve Dr. Blake. There's something he needs to attend to, as... you know. "
"Yeah," said Steve.
Strange cocked his head. "Get out of the sun, Steven. Go inside and have something to drink. Take some rest, if you can."
"Yeah, I will. Okay."
Strange left him. Steve watched the fields and the black bird for a while longer, then followed. He didn't bother with the screen door.
Steve woke on the battered couch, which still smelled faintly of smoke. The light coming through the broken window was green. He blinked at it stupidly for a moment, trying to remember where the hell he was.
Feet thumped on the stairs and Maria Hill was before him, her short black hair clinging damply to her forehead. "We've got trouble, Captain."
Steve was up instantly, reaching for his shield. "What trouble?"
Maria was already moving past him, heading for the back door. "Tornado. Does this place have a basement? Where's the fucking basement?"
Steve gaped at her, then looked out the window again. The green light was coming from the sky itself. The clouds were black and roiling, and the world was green. Somewhere in Broxton's tiny town center, a lone siren began to wail. It started low, wavering, then increased in pitch and volume. It sounded like something cranked by hand.
"Steve!" It was Carol, calling from upstairs. "Steve, give me a hand!"
Steve took the stairs in three bounds. Carol was struggling with Tony's gurney. Tony was out of it completely.
"Maria says we have to get him into the basement," said Carol. "I can't balance this thing by myself. Take a hand, hurry!"
Steve took the heavy end. "Where's Strange?"
"Outside, doing what he can. He says weather is a delicate business. A tornado, can you believe it? Wait, left me lift this end more, hold on --"
They reached the battered ground floor as Maria reappeared, furious. "There's no basement! Nothing. What the hell! This is Oklahoma!"
"Dammit, Thor, where are you," hissed Carol.
The walls began to tremble as a burst -- a fist -- of wind struck the house. The very air began to pop and roar.
"Okay, into the toilet!" yelled Maria. "Get him off that gurney! Come on, let's go!"
They put Tony into the bathtub and piled on top of him. The wind was screaming. It sounded like nothing Steve had ever heard.
"Maybe I should fly us out of here!" shouted Carol in his ear.
"Don't ! Too -- big --!" Maria's voice was barely audible.
"Take Tony and go!" roared Steve.
Then the house came apart around them.
Steve carried Tony out of the wreckage in his arms. Carol carried Maria. The sun was sinking fast and an icy rain was falling. Broxton was unrecognizable -- not one brick stood upon another, and even the trees were stripped bare. Where the post office had been, a transformer was sparking.
"We have to look for survivors," said Steve and Carol together.
"You go," said Carol.
"You go," said Steve.
"Where the hell is Strange?" said Carol. "Where's Thor?"
The devastation was total. Soaked by rain, blinded by streaming wet and numb with cold, Steve lifted and heaved and pulled filthy, stunned civilians out of what had been their homes. their gas station convenience store, their little diner. He laid the bodies of the dead gently and discreetly apart, under a tarp that Carol had rigged. Just as night came down like a hammer, Steve heard the shriek of rescue trucks, it was one of the sweetest sounds he'd heard in years.
He was talking to a fire chief, trying to coordinate the response, when someone touched his arm. It was Tony, pale and unsteady and composed. He waited until the firefighters moved off and then asked, "What happened to the Raft? What the hell's going on? Where do you need me?"
Steve caught Tony as he sagged and swore under his breath.
The ride to the county hospital took an hour. It was a cortege of ambulances in the night. Occasionally flashing squad cars raced toward and past them, heading for Broxton, and then the night closed in again.
Tony was flat on his back once more, on a drip, trying not to wince as the ambulance jolted and shuddered. Once or twice his hand drifted to his chest, near the repulsor device implanted there, but then his face would cloud and his hand would stop. He never quite touched it.
"What happened to the Raft?" Tony asked again. Then he smiled. "I must've have taken one hell of a hit. I can't remember anything."
"Yeah," said Steve. "You took a hell of a hit."
"Where are we?"
Steve glanced out the back window. "Oklahoma."
"Oklahoma?"
"Yeah."
Tony shook his head in disbelief. "There was a breakout on the Raft. Then... were we on the Helicarrier? The next day?"
"Yeah, that's right."
"Was it attacked? How did we end up in Oklahoma? I'm not following this at all."
"You were hurt, Tony. " Steve folded his arms, staring out the window. "You were hurt and you've forgotten some things. It's not important right now. Just rest."
He could feel Tony watching him. After a pause Tony asked, "What's bothering you, Steve?"
"Nothing. It's not important right now. I told you to rest."
"You need to --"
Steve turned on him. "I told you to shut up and get some rest. Hear me?"
Steve saw the flash of hurt in Tony's eyes, but then it faded and was replaced by that maddening, habitual trust -- the trust Steve hadn't seen in years.
"Yeah. Okay, Steve," said Tony. He didn't sleep, but he didn't talk either, not even as the night turned to blue dawn and the ambulance braked to a stop at County ER. As the medics slid his stretcher out and Steve climbed down beside him, Tony raised his eyes to Steve's face and Steve relented.
"We'll talk tomorrow, Tony. Okay? When you're feeling better."
Tony smiled, and they rolled him away.
Fin.
no subject
Uh it hurts so good!
LOL, I'll send word!
no subject
The ending was beautiful, too. Tony's trust as a painful thing was great but so, so sad.
Cheers on her behalf. :D
no subject
To feel impatience, and worry, and be too exhausted to act on either one.
To get what you want most... and live with that.
Very well done, here.
On behalf of anonymouse
no subject
thank you on behalf of anonymouse for reading :D
no subject
I imagine that Tony, upon hearing a summary of the last few years, is going to react pretty much the way any of us would react upon hearing a summary of the last few years: "And then what? That's insane."
LOL, I agree
Re: LOL, I agree
I did have one second of bogglement at the idea that Carol would need help with the gurney (she's super-strong, so the weight wouldn't bother her, and she can fly, which means that keeping her balance isn't a problem). However, that's a trivial point. Of more importance was the really impressive way that the mousey handled the characters, especially Steve's anger and self-control. I also really liked her handling of the setting: space, heat, color, etc. For instance, she noted the "absurdly green" soy fields, and then the green light coming from the sky as the tornado approached. It was very effective at making the scene look real in the mind's eye.