It was hell…

Hell on, well not quite earth seeing as they were all flying, but still hell nonetheless.

But wait, there was more – because if he wasn't struggling with the logic behind a floating city, or raking his brain to find a way to get said floating city to stop without killing millions; then he was fighting robots. Oh yeah. A huge, persistent, silver, shiny ass robot army. Basically, he was fighting Terminators.

How was this even his life?

"Hey Captain?" Tony warned, noticing the signature of a few robots in his heads-up display. The red dots crept around the rubble, hunkered low as they hoped to get around the shield. "You got a couple trying to sneak up on you. Building to your left, behind the silver car. Three of them in total."

The sound of twisted metal echoed. "Thanks."

Shooting low over the man – and hopefully ruffling that perfectly coifed blonde hair – he hovered for a few seconds, checking the area for any outliers. "I think you're good here Cap, move further into the city," he instructed, using his hand to gesture towards the burning streets. "I'm gonna check the rest of the buildings, make sure we get everyone."

The man clad in red, white and blue managed an approving smile. "We will," Steve decided firmly, nodding once. "We'll get everybody."

Ah, the king of optimism.

Despite the almost bitter laced thought, Tony couldn't help but nod in time with the man. "I'm holding you to that," he teased absently, scoping out the area when he realised they'd been idly talking for too long. "I'm gonna head out. Be careful, those damn bots are – "

The repulsors on his legs gave out.

Tony tumbled sideways, yelling out unintelligible words as his weight pulled him down, world turning around on its axis. His view was limited to a mess of grey and red, and he struggled with his arms to right his way, knowing that when he hit the ground it would hurt. Just another day in paradise. His suit was a few feet from the ground when control returned, the repulsors spluttering back to life and his hands and legs working to stop a collision.

Once he was stable, he panted breathlessly for a few silent seconds. "Okay, uh, what the fu – "

"Language!"

Tony let out a short growl. "Oh, bite me Romanov!"

Steve, who was surprisingly letting the squabble and mockery of his words go, shifted on his feet, both arms up and stretching out. He looked like the prince getting ready to save the damsel in distress who had better not be him, or he'd shoot the stars and stripes off that man before he could blink. But seeing him rightened, the blond slowly lowered his arms, licking his lips. "Tony? What on earth was that? Were your… uh, your flight… flight… was your suit damaged?"

The genius hovered uncertainly, not trusting both his suit and the man apparently primed and ready to catch him if he fell again. "No! Besides a few chips in the bloody paint, everything should be fine! We're working at optimum levels, repulsors are eighty percent charged and – " He was cut short for the second time, his suit declaring something in his heads up display and blocking his vision of a spangly outfit.

What.

The.

Actual.

Bad language word.

"Friday," the billionaire started sweetly, starting to the side a little when a repulsor blinked out of life. It came back a second later, like the lights flickering during a storm. "What the hell is Windows Vista doing in my suit, and why the hell is it telling me I need to update?"

At the words, Steve's brow furrowed confusedly, and through their ear pieces they could both hear their red headed companion cackling wildly. Tony was about three beats away from telling the woman what he really thought of her stupid cat suit when the repulsors jerked, all at once, letting him deadfall for a split second before coming back to life.

"Friday!"

The new intelligence system only hummed in response, apparently unconcerned. "I am not sure, sir," she allowed, almost sounding mocking in the face of his problem. "But, I am sure that I was the one to recommend Apple systems over Microsoft."

The genius growled again, the sound reverberating through the armour as he fought to kept it in the air and balanced. "My suit is my technology, if you hadn't noticed. Mine! Not some stupid computer nut's. Get rid of them, raise the rent, whatever! I want them out!"

"Raising the rent is invalid. You don't have anybody physically in your suit, sir," Friday scolded.

And that's when the suit plummeted for the third time, suddenly making Tony wish he wasn't physically in it either.

On the ground, his blond companion started forward, arms out, and if the repulsors were working he would've been blasted point blank in the face. Tony didn't do damsel in distress and he didn't do being caught bridal style. Or any style for that matter. Grunting in annoyance, he managed to catch himself in time again, but only narrowly.

"Friday, I will decommission you, and you'll never see the light of day again, I swear to god," Tony muttered, swallowing back slight nervousness. He could see red blips incoming again, the war apparently bored of waiting for them to come to it. "Steve, Captain, we have bogeys on our left."

The Captain spun, shield up, ready to fight.

"No, not – My left! Bogeys incoming on my left!" Tony shouted in exasperation, the suit going haywire as he tried to gesture to the rubble the bots were climbing over. There wasn't many, half a dozen at most, but he was a sitting duck in a heavy suit of armour – it wasn't going to end well. "Friday, sweetie, I really need a hand here. Imminent death and all…"

The intelligence took over the head's up, a soundwave now blocking his vision instead. "I am attempting to eliminate all traces of unfamiliar software," she informed him, every word creating a bump on the coloured wave. It was rhythmic and soothing and he tried to focus on that rather than the army of robots because, well uh, you know – priorities?

Another voice joined in, ruining his calm. "Hey Stark, you tried turning it off then turning it back on again?"

The billionaire shut his eyes, using muscle memory to keep both his body and the suit flying. "Oh Barton, tell me something," he started quietly, not sure even he liked how calm his voice was. "Did you want to be buried with your bow after the doctors surgically remove it from your ass or not?"

"Whoa, someone's grumpy. I get that you're like, ancient and tech confuses you, but don't fall into the cliché of being the bitter old man, yeah?" Clint continued, the absent and familiar sound of his arrows translating through the ear piece as well. "Nobody likes a spoilsport."

Tony ground his teeth together. "Friday…"

He was about this close to calling mutiny on the bird brain's ass.

The archer was either on a lull with the bad guys, or trying to get revenge for the endless stream of nicknames and insults the genius had tossed his way over the years, because he didn't shut up. "Anyway, just try not to let it affect you, yeah? It happens to the best of us and all that. You know? Performance issues aren't uncommon…"

This close.

"One out of five…"

He was ready to go and skin the man, suit damage be damned, when a strangled grunt from his blond companion nipped the notion in the bud. Tony wavered more, trying to see past the blurred heads up display and stay in the air away from the metal monsters – all as he tried to look for the other man. It was difficult, what with gravity working against him and said monsters owning pulse weaponry, but he managed to get a peek at muscled shoulders. It was probably the first peek at said shoulders he didn't enjoy.

"Friday, I need you to hurry the hell up," he announced, struggling to use only one hand to stay balanced while lifting the other. It was talent – real talent, not the bullshit skill firing a bow took – that saved the other man's ass, a clean shot from his repulsors spearing through one of the bots clambering over the good symbol of their nation.

Nervously tumbling lower to the ground, Tony called out a quiet, "Steve?" almost feeling something like fear when the answer wasn't immediate.

If the man died on his watch, all because his suit had a fault…

The body shifted on the rubble, barely noticeable through the busy action on his screen. "Ouch," Captain America groaned, but there was something similar to humour lacing his voice. "Thanks for that. I owe you one."

Tony gave a jerky nod in response. "You owe me one," he agreed, falling onto cockiness because what the hell else was he meant to say? No, thank you for being a good sport and not dying? He could try, but the words didn't sit right on his and apology weren't in the endless twists and turns of his vocabulary. "Are they all gone? I can't see shit through my mask right now. Friday, what the fu – fudge are you doing?"

"I'm updating sir," Friday came back with, still deceptively calm as every word made waves block his view. "This is quite a pleasant deal. Microsoft are us offering Word, Excel and PowerPoint free if we purchase – "

Tony felt his lips pop open in horror. "Don't you dare!"

The angry outburst was echoed by the sharp booming of an explosion somewhere behind them, and the suit took advantage of his momentary surprise, booting him out of the sky and sending him down. His body, wrapped up in the titanium alloy, hit the ground with a solid – and undoubtedly painful – thwack.

"Stark!"

He could feel the tremors rocking the city, knew that they were needed back in the fray, but when twin hands rolled him over all he could was groan. "I think I broke something," he muttered, grunting when the suit died around him. With everything going blank, he lost both the communication systems and his link to the artificial intelligence he needed to fix this mess. "And I don't mean the suit…"

Steve was nothing more than a dark blur outside the headset, the smaller holes available for sight heavy with machinery. "Your arc reactor, the light, it's gone…" he stammered, and a pressure pushed onto his chest. "It's not meant to go out."

"I know that," Tony snapped back impatiently, mentally begging the suit to go online again. "Damn it. Okay, drag me into a building. One that doesn't look like a soft breeze would knock it over. You need to get back into the fight."

He could feel the other man's hesitance. "I don't think…"

"Good. Don't think, just do."

It was vaguely that he heard the; "Don't be mean to the Captain, you'll make him cry," and his expression mirrored the exasperated one on the blond's features. The archer really didn't understand the whole time and place thing.

The twisted sound of metal scraping along concrete made the billionaire scrunch up his face, wincing when the horrible shrieking screamed in his ears. It was similar to nails on a chalkboard and he whined low in his throat, hoping the man would make this quick. The weak noise was a form of rebellion against the other sound, but the man carrying him thought otherwise, firm steps faltering.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Steve demanded, sounding concerned. "That was a hard hit."

"Don't worry, he took the impact with his face."

Both pointedly ignore the voice, the blond pretending he wasn't listening and the brunet acting as though the suit muffled the yelled insult too much for coherency. If the archer was put out, he didn't show it, instead letting out a quieter; "Ooh burn," as the rapid whistle of arrows started up again. Tony figured they had about five minutes before the commentary was back.

And those five minutes were dedicated to getting his suit back online. "I'm fine, don't worry," he promised, already seeing how much movement he had in his hands. "Damn. Can anyone access Friday? Through their comms. maybe?"

Steve's voice was uncertain. "Friday? Can you hear me?"

"Yes. Tis I, Friday!"

Tony felt his eyes slip closed. The man was dead. If they survived this frankly ridiculous situation, then it would become the genius's life mission to ruin everything that made the archer happy. "I hate you," he whispered, hoping the other could hear him. "I hate you and I hope Ultron sticks you in his human farm for the rest of your days."

The grip on his armoured shoulders slipped slightly. "Human farm? I don't understand?"

"The Matrix. Add it to your list," Tony instructed tiredly, slumping back. The grip on his shoulders didn't slip this time around, but completely left him, dropping his suited body onto the floor harshly. "Not now! Add it later, goddamn it!"

Steve stammered out excuses, hurrying up pick him up again and drag him the final few feet into a sheltered building. "I wasn't going to do it now," he defended quietly, almost sounding like his lips were tainted by a pout. "I don't carry my notebook around with me all the time. That would be weird." The awkward chuckle sounded next and the billionaire wanted to bang his head against the wall in sheer frustration. "I uh, I just thought I saw something, you know. Middle of a war and all…"

Tony felt his body being propped up against metal beams, absently making the mental note to restrict the joints' ability to lock when disengage. It would be helpful that, should this ever happen again, he would be able to move afterwards. "Of course," he allowed. "Now shoo, we're in the middle of a war remember?"

He could feel the blond's hesitance, but it was a few seconds before the familiar light sound of his steps echoed. When the man was gone, the genius slumped, the bitter and almost frightened taste sitting on his tongue again.

They were gonna survive this right?

Okay, so yes, they were technically in a flying city – one that was lifting the death toll along with it – and there was almost zero chance of actually escaping from that. Sure, he'd had a chance, what with the ability to fly in his repertoire but now? Now he was as screwed as the rest of them. Not that he would've let the others die. He was an asshole sure, but he was their asshole. He would've gone to extreme lengths to save them.

Except Clint.

Clint could burn in hell.

But that didn't matter because now he couldn't even save himself, let alone the others. His suit was dead – just like his dreams – and the connection to his artificial intelligence was gone. He had no access to the resources he'd once taken for granted and maybe there were a few things he was beginning to regret, things that –

Oh god, oh god, was he was having a midlife crisis? He was, wasn't he? Midlife crisis – Avengers edition.

He was in the middle of a war zone and all he could think about was how maybe he shouldn't have been such an asshole. How maybe, there were a few things he'd done that he shouldn't have. Like last week, when he'd waited for the Hawk to go into the air vents before sealing them closed with a blowtorch. Or a few days ago, when he'd stupidly – and somewhat unwittingly – created another artificial intelligence that had a striking resemblance to Skynet now that he thought about it.

Good god, he was an asshole.

If I survive this, I swear to god almighty I will change my ways. No more insults. No more wild parties. I won't drink, I won't seal air vents. I won't break laws – Correction, I won't break many laws. And this, this is the important one. I won't kill Clint. I'll let the feathery twat go back to his farm and perfect little family without so much as – Oh.

So, he may or may not have been caught, one hand in the air like he was taking a vow, by his backup suit.

"Um…" Tony looked to his awkwardly lifted hand – the suit was damn heavy, why was he only noticing this now? – and then back to the red and gold suit hovering before him. "Fancy seeing you here?"

The eyes flashed as a voice sounded from within; "Mister Stark, I bought you another suit," Friday announced almost smugly. "The one you're currently using needs to restart to finish the installation."

Whatever embarrassment he'd been feeling vanished. "Finish what? Friday, I swear…"

"That was a joke."

Tony eyed the suit nervously before nodding, looking down to the one he was still tied up in. "Well, you know, help would be pretty good right about now," he hinted, struggling to lift even his legs. The downed suit flickered to life around him, falling away and letting him stand with a muted groan. "Yup, oh yup, I broke something. Something more than my pride, I mean."

The backup suit idled closer, opening in the front so he could more or less slide on in. As the mechanics whirled around him, he could've sworn he heard a whispered, "It was not a joke," sound in his ears.

With the reassuring weight on his shoulders, Tony ignored the potential shit storm that was Microsoft claiming one of his suits and booted back up into the air. He had teammates to find and a certain archer to slap. In the face. With a brick. And by brick, he meant he was going to sit on the bastard until he tapped three times.

And by three times he meant until his arm had fallen off from exhaustion.

And by exhaustion he meant –

"Oh look at who's back in action!"

Tony let the suit zoom in on the source of the voice, ignoring the few bots on the ground that shot at his figure as he hit the pavement with a heavy thud of metal. "Ah, just the man I was looking for," he drawled, pretending to crack his knuckles. "You said goodbye to your wife right?"

The archer scattered.

"That's what I thought," Tony grumbled, turning to take off again before an energy shot hit him square in the chest. He skittered back a few feet, eyes dropping to take in the smoking mess of his arc reactor before he made an annoyed sound. "You little shit! You could've told me I had bogeys on my tail, you piece of – "

"Tony. Language."

"You want language, Cap, I'll give you language," he muttered darkly, but didn't say anymore, instead taking out the bots with perfect aim. They were the smoking messes once he was finished with them, and he took in the damage with pride, canting his head to the side. "Hey Clint, you see that? That's you in about three minutes."

"Ooh, I'm shaking in my boots," the archer feigned a frightful tone, the whisk of his arrows echoing again. "Do what thou wilt. I can take it."

"Yeah, that's what your mum said too."

A snorted laugh startled them all, making even the man wrapped in iron flinch back, thinking an opponent was letting out a war cry. It took a few seconds for the team to realise who'd made the sound, and by then the blond was muttering; "Sorry, sorry, I'm sorry," over the communications array, no doubt while as red as a tomato.

Captain America had quite the mean streak…

Tony shot into the air again, taking in the destruction around him with a heavy heart. The city hadn't been stunning before all of this, but it had an edge to it, what with the stone work and classic structure. It was a place he'd barely had time to admire before something he'd done had torn it down. His promises from before came back in that moment, and even thought he'd made them not expecting to have to go through with them, he steeled his resolve. He would try better after this.

Turning in the air with new found determination, he started to zip through the streets, taking out strays and stranglers. "We need to get these people to safety," he instructed, hearing a strangled cry from somewhere nearby. He dropped to the ground, blasting through a door and catching the back of a bot as it cornered a familiar youth. "Wanda? Are you okay?"

The female looked to him, and absently he wished he could smile to her in reassurance. Not that she would want it from him anyway. "I am okay," she promised slowly, looking down to her hands and the red energy engulfing them. "What do I do?"

Tony lifted his face plate. "You fight. Then when we win, you come home with us and you make a difference."

"T-the archer, he said, he said that if I go out that door I become like you," Wanda gestured to the empty doorway, the crimson in her hands scattering the remnants of the wood. "I will become an Avenger… and I do not think I can do that."

The genius shook his head, moving closer before turning and looking out the door like the young woman was. He saw destruction, fire, and could vaguely hear screams carried over the wind. To him it was familiar, and almost like a second home, but to the youth it was fear, plain and simple. "I think you can," he decided, meeting her eyes and trying to show in the brown orbs what he couldn't say out loud. "I know you can. But all that needs to happen for you to be one of us? For you to go out there? Is that you need to know it too."

Wanda's lower lip trembled, and the realisation she was barely more than a child hit him hard.

"Oh man, I think I have a tear in my eye right now."

Tony didn't know how he did it, but he managed to forgive the archers comment, watching as the woman's eyes lit up slightly. "Hey, you ever had shawarma? After this shit storm, I am really feeling getting something to eat. I don't have my wallet on me, but I'll shout if you're interested? And also, you have somewhere to stay after this right? I have this thing I've been working on, it's a secret so you can't tell anybody…"

The youth had slowly straightened as he spoke, and the ruby red energy was sparking out around her, cracking the wooden walls of the home but caressing his suit as they passed. "I've never had shawarma," Wanda informed him. "And my brother and I, we do not have a home."

As cliché, and as terribly sappy as it was, Tony gave her a lazy grin. "You do now. So come on miss… uh… Scarlet woman? Crimson witch? I don't know, make up your own damn nickname, or better yet, let the tabloids do it for you. You'll be surprised what some newspapers came up with. It's almost impressive. But they can screw up too, so be careful."

"You're just mad that the New York Times called you an overrated toaster oven," Clint muttered over the comms.

"The suit can do many things but it never has, and never will have, the ability to toast bread," Tony grumbled, storming forward before hesitating and looking back. "You coming, love?"

Wanda nodded, eyes and hands flashing.

"Let's go then. We have a battle to win," he clapped his hands, the strange metal on metal sound making him wince. He lowered the face plate again as the sunlight hit him, the girl hesitantly climbing out behind him.

Wanda caught him before he shot up again. "And then shawarma after?"

Tony felt his lips crack in a grin. "And then shawarma after," he promised.

They were all – strangely? – shocked he'd managed to keep the construction of the Avengers Compound under wraps for as long as he did. Slightly insulted that they couldn't think he was capable of keeping a secret, he'd just shrugged and given some vague sarcastic comment when they demanded answers on things like costs and permits. He had his ways and that was all they needed to know. There was no bribing of officials, no extra money for rushed orders, nothing of the sort.

It was silly talk, and he'd told them as much.

But even with the suspicious glances, they'd all been more than happy to settle within it as they nursed dark bruises and new scars back to health. And they were in a plentiful supply of those – emotional or physical. It hurt to realise that the times were changing and with every new announcement from a previous teammate, it felt like someone cracked one of his ribs.

But all wounds could heal, right?

Bruce was long gone, but the small postcard – yes, a postcard, the little green shit was in for a pounding by very feminine fists when he came back – claimed he would return within a few months, so he counted that as a wound healed. Thor also decided to move on, but the blond said he'd be back as well, after he did some god like studying. So that was another wound checked from the list.

And while the temptation to give up his avenging was strong, Tony stood tall in face of it all. He wanted to make a difference, and he couldn't by running away. And that there, that healed a wound he never thought could be put back together.

"But if you put the hammer in an elevator…"

"It'll still go up."

"Elevator's not worthy."

Steve was staying – duh – and while he wasn't too keen about the young twins, he swallowed his pride and welcomed them with open arms as well. So there he had it. Two new wounds healed before Tony could even feel the pain, and an old festering one finding the ability to stitch itself back together with time and attention.

Speaking of pain – get it, 'cause she liked to inflict it? – Natasha was staying as well, her ledger still dripping red in her eyes even though she'd cleared it long ago. And that meant the nice crack to his pride would heal at some point during her prolonged stay so yay for him, and yay for his dignity. Oh, and the red thing that had adopted his butlers voice and mannerisms – yes, he'd been called sir three times now and it was hilarious – wanted to help the world too, sparkling cape and all.

He really wanted to count Vision in on the whole healing process, since the poor sod wanted to be included in everything, but he'd known him for less than a week. Barely enough time for the being to cut into him like the others had managed. But he was still part Jarvis so maybe…

And then there was the other newbie. Steve would kill him if he forgot Falcon but he didn't even know the guy, so…

Yeah, nothing lost there.

Tony hesitated, lips moving silently as he questioned his sanity before he continued walking forward, tablet in hand. He wasn't sure if he wanted to move into the compound like the others were currently debating, but he still had a workshop up and running in the lower levels below the gym. And right now, he had a suit waiting for his inspection, strange mental wound analogy be damned.

Nodding once to the female youth as he passed her, Tony wandered into the elevator. "How you settling in?" he questioned dully, falling into the mathematics and schematics covering the holographic screen.

"You have been very kind…" Wanda answered carefully. "Thank you."

Tony blinked. "Oh, uh, yeah, kindness is my middle name," he replied flippantly. "But you didn't answer my question. You settling in okay? Natasha isn't scaring you is she? I know she does this death glare thing but she won't actually kill you. She just has a reputation to keep up, you know? And I think she'd practising for when Bruce gets back."

Wanda let out a tinkling laugh just as the elevator opened, revealing the mess he called a workshop. "I am settling," she promised, waving him on. "My brother and I are cooking tonight. Which means you and Steve are on clean up duty."

"Ew gross, fine," Tony sighed, stalking out of the steel trap. "See yah."

The youth echoed his farewell as the doors shut, leaving him alone with the empty faces of his suits. He didn't focus on most of them however, even with the damage to the odd one from the previous week of fighting, and instead pushed all of his attention on the singular suit at the back of the room. It's red and gold paint was chipped, the metal dented in places but it was still one of the most gorgeous things he'd ever seen. His contribution to better the world.

"Right," he declared, stripping the jumper hugging his upper body. "Let's take her out. Friday, we still unable to pick up any traces of Microsoft in my baby?"

"Readings are clear, sir."

Tony grinned and stepped forward, the suit enveloping him in a steel hug. "Brilliant, let's do this," he hyped, shrugging out his shoulders before moving towards the open end of his workshop. The metal edged alcove in the corner would carry him up towards the garage, and then, should he chose it, out into the world. "Just in case somethings happens, let's not go above a thousand feet."

Friday mocked the sentiment. "Agreed, sir. Repulsors ready."

The suit hovered in the air, and the feeling of breathlessness was still as strong as when he'd gone for his first flight. Tony tried to be thoughtful about it, nervous the suit would blanch out on him again, but he stupidly shot out of his workshop and out into the world. Red and gold still flew like a dream and he closed his eyes, embracing the view of blue sky and –

Blue.

Blue everywhere.

Tony yelped when the suit plummeted again, hands and legs flying as he dropped like a weight. This was why he'd said less than a thousand feet. This was why he tried to be logical about it because when he hit the ground it was going to hurt. His eyes widened. Correction – when he hit the roof, it was going to hurt.

Later, he would be proud to note that he made a bigger dent in the concrete than Loki had managed back in his tower. But for now, he was more focused on the whole…

"Friday. What the hell is the blue screen of Death doing in my heads up display?"

Yes, yes, I know, I have other stories to work on, but poohey to you. This was five thousand words of epicness and I have no regrets about pouring over this for a few hours and spending more time than I should've giggling at my own jokes. Seriously. Why aren't I a world famous comedian yet?

Taila xx