Author's note: Umm... hi? *Dodges random pieces of rotten fruit from the people who bothered to stick around*. SORRY I WILL TRY TO UPDATE MORE OOOOOPS.

Enjoy and don't hate me.

Disclaimer: IF I OWNED MARVEL INFINITY WARS WOULD HAVE HAD A WORSE PLOT BUT A HAPPIER ENDING so no, I don't own it, all rights go to their respective owners.

The team woke to a blaring alarm, splitting the air and breaking apart the fragile tendrils of sleep that they clung to.

"Attention Avengers! Rise!" Tony's voice blared over the intercom. Steve rolled over in bed, wondering blearily why he was happy to hear that normally-annoying whine again.

"The world needs you!"

And then he remembered.

"Now get up and go get 'em!"

Tony was dead.

The recording played on to the end, like it always did. Normally, it was just Tony being annoying from his room, or even his tower in the city. He had recorded this, just for the Complex, and gotten FRIDAY to play it each and every time Fury hit the Avenger's call button in the morning.

Obviously, FRIDAY had forgotten to cancel it after Tony's death.

"Report to the briefing room, first floor, so eyepatch guy can tell us all how the world fucked up this time! Good luck!"

There was no crackle at the end of the recording. There was nothing to signify that this wasn't Tony, loud and swearing and in your face.

Thanking the heavens for the serum, Steve was already awake by the time he had suited up and made it out of the door. Bucky met him there, in the otherwise deserted corridor.

"Weird, huh?" the other soldier commented. "I forgot that he had automated this. I thought it was just something he liked to do each morning."

Steve snorted. "Nah, Stark was never a morning guy."

Bucky smiled, a little wistfully. "No, he really wasn't."

Steve wanted to ask how he knew that, but it would be invading on Bucky's fragile privacy, so he let it lie. If Bucky wanted to share, he would listen, but he would never, ever, push his best friend.

The corridor was deserted as they jogged to the briefing point, almost eerily so. For a second, Steve was disconcerted. The announcement had been so loud that he could still feel it vibrating in his eardrums, a constant pounding of he's gone he's gone Stark is gone Tony is gone. There were doors spaced every so often along the hallway they were headed down, and it was with a vague niggling sensation that Steve remembered each one of them was occupied with ex-SHIELD staff and spies. Surely the announcement would have woken them all, as well?

Bucky must have noticed his confusion, for he slowed, reaching a metal arm out to gently touch Steve's. "Stevie. Snap outa it."

Steve blinked. "Out of what?"

"You know. Start thinking like Steve again. It's going to be okay. Heck, you've lost me before, and you survived that!"

Barely.

The word was mumbled, but it's still there.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. "What? Stevie, I couldn't hear you."

"Barely. Barely, Bucky. I barely made it without you."

Bucky's face fell into a frown. "Hey. Hey, Stevie. It's okay. We'll make it."

They continued one for a few more steps before Steve spoke up. "I'm alright. And that's not what's bothering me, Buck."

"What is?"

Steve sighed. "It's all so quiet."

Bucky's frown deepened. "Yeah," he said. "You've right. Stark normally turns on the comms, doesn't he? Nattering away in our ears before we even have a chance to think…"

"No, it's not that. Why aren't the people in the other rooms awake?"

Bucky threw him a funny look. "Steve, are you sure you're all right? Stark had individual speakers installed in each room so announcements could be broadcasted to single people and not wake up the entire complex. You know this."

"Oh."

Somehow, that simple explanation had his eyes welling up again. He couldn't help it. He hadn't cried since he came out of the ice, has refused to break…

And now this is the second time in twenty-four hours. He should be ashamed, or angry, or upset – actually, he's not sure how he should feel – but this is Stark.

Tony Stark, who never cared for anyone but himself.

Tony Stark, self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist.

Tony Stark, self-absorbed and narcissistic.

Tony Stark, who knew that Peter would need looking after.

Tony Stark, who cared enough to make sure that announcements wouldn't wake up anyone who didn't need to be woken.

It's on that thought that they arrived in the briefing room, the last people there. Steve wiped his eyes.

It wouldn't do for the team to see him crying.

Fury's standing there, black coat and eyepatch not letting anything show. To all appearances, he couldn't have cared less. "Right, Avengers. We have a situation, south New York. Some crazy built robots and set them loose. Not lethal, but we want the public to feel safe, so we are calling you guys in. Banner, because this is a civilian situation and we aren't in grave danger, you'll be staying behind."

The team nodded. Standard procedure, as much as anything around them was standard.

As they headed out to the Quinjet, Peter stumbled. Steve pulled him aside, frowning. The boy was clearly exhausted, looking like he had barely slept a wink. This wasn't good, and it couldn't be allowed to become a problem.

"Peter. Peter, I want you to stay aside for this one, okay? Keep the civilians out of the way, but don't interact with the robots. Just stay safe, alright?" He tried to keep his voice calm, peaceful.

Instantly, he knew he said something wrong. Peter pulled away from his grip, face darkening. "I don't want pity. I'm going to fight."

With a sinking heart, Steve watched him go. Peter was going to fight himself into the dust over Tony being dead, and it seemed the one person who knew how to get him out of his current mood was the one who was dead.

All of a sudden, he knew what he had to do.

What would Tony do?

Make light of the situation, but manage to get his point across.

"Peter! It's not like that. Why would I take one of our members out of action over something like this? No, I just want you in the best position to look after people. That's what you are all about, right?"

Hesitantly, Peter nodded.

Steve smiled, a weak mirror of the smile from two days ago. He knew he hadn't nailed it, knew he had come across as weird and patronizing, but that was okay. For now, he just needed Peter to be safe.

The next incident happened when Clint was scouting out a building. The rest of the team was busy fighting the robots out in the main street, but Clint had been sent in to see if the building was cleared of robots – and people.

If all had gone well, there would have been no robots.

When did anything ever go well?

The first problem was that he had no advantage. Clint hated being on the ground. Absolutely detested it. But this time, it couldn't be helped. Everyone else was on the street, and he had been the one Cap had assigned to scout out each building after they drove the robots past that segment of the street. On the ground, he had no extra reach. His arrows weren't as useful as Steve's shield, or even Natasha's Widow Bites, against robots at a close range.

The second problem was that he had a hangover from the previous night. He and Nat had only really gotten back an hour or so before the alarm had gone off.

The third problem became obvious as soon as he turned the first corner.

Robots. Everywhere.

These robots weren't even the mildly-adorable things Tony kept – no, had kept – in his workshop. These robots were vicious and large, with electrically sparking blades and guns that fired heat-seeking bullets.

As soon as he saw the metallic monsters, Clint yelped. Immediately, Sam's voice came over the comm in his ear. "Hawkeye, status?"

"Bad. Robots everywhere." Clint added some swearwords on to the end of his sentence as the robots nearest to him looked up with whatever they had that passed as eyes, and started speeding towards him.

Steve's "Language!" was missing the bite it normally held. He quickly followed it with "Widow, War Machine –"

Natasha cut in. "Rhodes isn't here. He's with Pepper Potts, grieving."

All of the team was shocked to hear that. They had forgotten that Tony had had people who were more family than the Avengers were.

"Fine. Widow, Falcon. Get to Hawkeye's position, get rid of the bots. Clear?"

Natasha and Sam replied in the affirmative, heading as quickly as they could to the building Clint was in.

It was there that another problem became apparent. While Sam had wings, it was almost impossible for him to take off and land whenever necessary inside a building. His wings were wide, and he didn't really fit inside the corridor. When Natasha thought about it, she realized that Iron Man had been the only one of them who could fly indoors, and had the mobility to turn corners inside without destroying things. Even War Machine would have been too bulky.

Falcon's wings were too wide, and Natasha was mainly human.

They had to go at human speed to Clint.

The duo made it to Clint just in time to see him facing twenty ferociously growling robots. The archer hissed as one of them managed to land a blow on his forearm, leaving a gash behind. He gripped his bow, and activated one of his electric arrows. He drew and fired in a few heartbeats, turning to duck as the arrow released from the string. Natasha and Sam skidded to a halt in the doorway, watching as electricity arced from robot to robot, shorting and melting their circuits and permanently disabling them.

Sam gave Clint a thumbs up, and turned to leave. As he moved out the door, high pitched whistling came from the other entrance to the room.

A procession of thirty colossal robots emerged. They looked even larger and more deadly than the original bots they had faced, equipped with semi-automatic guns, and Sam felt his throat go dry. Natasha glanced around and, seeing nothing to assist them, turned back to Clint. "Clint! Try another electric arrow!" Her voice was calm and level, but fear slithered in her hard green eyes. She really didn't want this to be her final stand.

Clint sighed. "I'm out."

Sam couldn't believe his ears. "Out of what?"

"Electric arrows."

Natasha looked at his quiver. "What arrows do you have left?"

"Normal arrows."

"WHAT?"

Clint sighed. "Look, Stark normally replaces them after every battle. I forgot he wasn't going to do it this time!"

Sam sighed as well. "I'm meant to oil Redwing after every battle. I almost forgot this time, as Stark normally does it."

Natasha stared at them. She had always looked after her own gear. She had never, ever, let Stark touch her weapons. She shook her head at the pair of them, then turned to face the robots.

Taking a deep breath, she activated her Widow's Bites. They fizzled with a blue electricity, and she grimaced. This was going to hurt.

Each of her footsteps echoed off the harsh concrete, louder than it should have been to Sam's battle-heightened hearing. Time seemed to slow as she made it to the robots, dodging past a few stray bullets that they fired. Then she gritted her teeth, and thrust her fists, still flashing with power, into the hulking robots on either side of her. They sparked, the lights that flashed on their bodies flickering in and out. They shorted out quickly, but tried to regain power.

Great.

Natasha's fists had gone through the outside protective layers of the robots, and if she stretched her fingers she could grip the wires that filled their insides. She wriggled her hands for a moment, making sure she had a good grip. She prepared for the pain, squeezing her eyes shut.

Then she twisted her wrists, activating a special mode on the gauntlets. At the same time, she lifted the two robots in the air, ignoring how they each weighed more than her. The gauntlets sparked, letting of a dangerous amount of electricity. Then they stated heating up, sending wave after wave of agonising electricity through the Widow's body. Her body was on fire, fire that licked at her bones and scorched her skin. It was the worst pain she had experienced in the past year, around about the same as full-on electrocution. She grimaced, and bore it. It was times like this that she thanked whatever beings lived in the heavens for the Red Room. No matter what she experienced, the Red Room had a training exercise that had been worse.

The robots started to shudder, held in the air above Natasha. Electricity sparked between the plates that made them up. The vibrations running through them and Nat increased, the robots starting to break apart.

Just as Natasha started to think she couldn't hold up with the incredible electrical pain searing at her nerves, the robots let out a final shudder and exploded, sending hundreds of sharp pieces around the room. A lot of them hit Natasha, slicing a line of red down cheek and ripping slices from her tactical suit. Sam raised a wing, holding it up as a shield between the sharp metal and him and Clint. The rest of the metal pieces hit the other robots, still sparking with residual electricity. Another two robots blinked and flickered, falling down as they also broke apart. By the time the chain reaction had finished, there were only fifteen robots left. Half done.

Natasha fell back to the others, Sam dropping the wing he was using as a shield. She shook her gauntlets. "One bad thing about these not being Stark maintained: That mode is one use only, and now they are out of commission until I get them reset back at the Compound."

Clint groaned. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know. It'll be like Budapest all over again."

Clint snorted, but he didn't disagree.

"Will you please tell me what happened in Budapest?" Sam asked.

"No!" Clint and Natasha replied in unison. "What happened in Budapest stays in Budapest."

Sam smiled at them, just for a moment. Then he noticed that the robots had started advancing. He called quickly through the comm. "Steve? Cap, we need reinforcements!"

There was a brief crackle, then the harsh scream of metal on metal. They frowned. It looked like there was no help from that direction either. The trio sighed.

It looked like they were on their own.

With practically no weapons.

And fifteen ginormous robots after them.

They fell into a battle stance, remaining weapons held up and ready. If they were going down, they were going to drag as many down with them as they possibly could.

The battle started almost immediately, Clint letting fly with his remaining, plain, arrows before joining Nat in trying to smash in a robot's face with only bare fists.

Sam was having slightly more success, expanding his wings and using the sharp edge on them to slice apart to robots.

Still, it wasn't going well. It only took a minute or so before they fallen back to the wall, trying to fend off the remaining twelve robots. They had taken three out, but so many remained.

It may have been their last stand.

But then, their saviour arrived.

Spider-Man swooped down, smashing his way in through the roof. "Hey guys!" he said, a weak attempt at his normal chipper greeting. "I have something that I think will help!"

He landed beside Sam, the ground around his feet sending up a cloud of dust. Peter held his hands out in front of him, muttering under his breath to Karen as he reconfigured his web settings.

The robots advanced closer.

"Peter…" Natasha warned.

"Got it!" he yelled in triumph, the black eyes of his suit swirling and clicking into a slit. "Ready, Karen?"

The trio of adults stared at him as he launched a series of small webs from his web-shooters. They flew out of his wrists and towards the robots. They landed, and nothing happened. They clung to the metal carapaces of the machines, which advanced, closer, closer…

"Wait for it…"

Closer…

"Come on…!"

Closer…

Peter held his breath. The bots were almost close enough to touch. They must have run out of bullets, for they had stopped shooting, but the electrical blades attached to them were enough to rip any self-respecting superhero to shreds.

Then the robots halted.

They jerked backwards, spasming and jerking spastically. White electricity sparked and raced across their metal armor, like it had with Clint's arrow. Just like with Clint's arrow, the robots lasted for a few seconds before clattering to the ground, dust rising around them.

"Phew," Peter said. "That was close, guys."

Sam clapped him on the shoulder. "That was a neat trick, kid."

Peter pouted at the term, but answered happily. "Yeah! Mr Stark put everything into this suit…" He trailed off, realized what he had said. Tony had put everything into Peter's suit.

And Tony had died.

Hadn't he put everything into his own suit?

No, Peter thought. He wouldn't have. Even through his slightly biased view of Tony, he knew one thing. The man had – had had, actually – no sense of self-preservation. He would have done anything to save someone else, but didn't really care about himself.

All of a sudden, he was aware of how the others were looking at him, worry and pity on their faces. He knew that they were walking on eggshells around him. It wasn't hard to work out.

Abruptly, he just couldn't stand it anymore. He checked that Karen had turned the web-shooters back to his normal mode, and slung himself up through the hole he had made in the roof. He would either go back to his apartment in the complex, and try to ignore the memories of Tony that leant against the wall and waited impatiently, or he would go back to Aunt May's apartment.

Ned would be glad to see him again.

Aunt May's it was.

After the mission, the team-minus-two was sitting around the table. Sam glanced morosely towards the seat where Peter should have been sitting. "I screwed up," he muttered under his breath. He should have known better that to talk to Peter about anything that could have possibly been linked to Tony.

In a rare moment of compassion for the winged hero, Bucky patted him on the shoulder. "Just head off and go to bed, punk. It's all good. His death threw us all into a funk."

Sam stood. "It's strange, isn't it? We've all lost soldiers before, except the kid, but this still feels worse."

Steve looked up from where he was staring at his hands. "He wasn't a soldier," he muttered, voice tight.

"Huh?"

Steve looked to the roof, still unused to having a disembodied entity around. "Friday, do you have footage of that time in the Helicarrier?"

There was silence, but a video was soon projected onto the white wall. The grainy images had clearly come from a Helicarrier security camera, but nobody asked where Tony – and his AIs – had managed to get it. He had always done what he wanted, or as they were discovering, what he had thought was best. He had never trusted SHIELD.

On the wall, a grimy Captain America turned to a dusty Tony Stark. Stark was clearly destroyed, emotionally and physically. Watching the video, Steve gritted his teeth. He knew what was going to happen.

"Is this your first time losing a soldier?"

On the screen, Steve noticed something he had never noticed before. Tony dug his nails into his fingers, pixels of red appearing in the image. His fists were shaking. "We are NOT soldiers," he ground out.

The video cut to white.

Steve sighed, and thunked his head down on the table. "I screwed up that day." His voice was muffled by the wood.

The team sat in shocked silence. They had never expected Tony to have been that enraged by a single comment. And then Natasha spoke up.

"You do realize that Stark wasn't actually a soldier, don't you?"

Wand stared at her. "But… he made all those weapons and he fought against evil with us. Didn't that make him a soldier?"

Steve shook his head. "Soldiers are employed by their country, like we are. Soldiers are honoured by their country, like we are. Soldiers fight in an army. Soldiers take orders. Stark was none of those. He wasn't a soldier."

Wanda blinked. "Why did he fight, then?" This wasn't making sense to her. Stark could have easily just given his weapons to the government, and profited without putting himself in danger. She was ashamed that she would think of a dead man that way, but she had always been traumatised by Stark's weapons and he had never really come across as friendly, just narcissistic and arrogant, and nonchalant about loss of life.

It was FRIDAY who answered. "The Boss was always looking for something to do. After Afghanistan, he didn't trust anyone, not even himself. He especially didn't trust authority figures, and after his his father, and then his friend and stand-in head of Stark Industries, it's not surprising."

Steve picked his head up from the table as Bucky gripped his wrist under the table, the warm of his flesh hand giving Steve the support he needed. "Afghanistan? His father? What did Howard do? Who headed SI?"

The questions burst out of him in a rush. He had read the brief on Stark – they all had read each other's briefs – but none of this had been on there. All that it had listed was that he had built the Iron Man suit after designing a miniaturized arc reactor, and had used it to try to 'help' the world restore 'peace'. It had also mentioned his arrogance, and willingness to sacrifice other people. It had even suggested that he was a sociopath – Steve had looked up the modern definition of 'sociopath' and it looked like it had changed since he went in the ice, but it was still bad – and didn't care about anything but his work and himself. He seemed to be the perfect narcissist, the genius rich boy who didn't care about anyone. After meeting Tony, Steve was confused. He did exhibit the traits the brief had detailed, but not to that level. Anyway he looked at it, none of what FRIDAY said was making sense.

FRIDAY seemed disturbed by his lack of understanding. "Haven't you read SHIELD's briefing on the boss?" she asked.

"Yes?" Steve couldn't help the query that came through in his voice. The rest of the team was looking as uncomfortable as he felt. None of them, bar Natasha, understood anything of what FRIDAY had said.

There was a brief pause, and then FRIDAY replied. "It looks like the boss hacked SHIELD and changed his brief."

Steve sighed. Of course he did.

But if he could do that, then why didn't Stark change his report to be more flattering, or even just more accurate?

It was with a cold chill that Steve realised why.

Stark had really seen himself to be a terrible person. He hadn't believed any of the arrogant things he said about himself.

Sam, who had slumped back into his seat, yawned.

FRIDAY's voice reverberated around the building again. "I have footage and original documents that might explain some things, but you're all really tired. My readings show that several of you have already passed the damaging level of sleep deprivation. And besides, my experience and research tells me that this type of discovery is better left until you are well rested and the entire team is together."

Steve nodded. It was true. He was a supersoldier, and he could barely hold his head up. They all needed rest, and the young Parker boy deserved to know about Stark just as much as the older members of the Avengers did. "We'll reconvene here tomorrow morning, as long as the alarm doesn't go off again. If the Spiderman is here, we'll talk to him before viewing FRIDAY's information. If not, we'll wait for him."

Bucky nodded, and rose silently from his chair. "Sounds good, punk."

He headed out the door, and Steve rose and followed him. Behind him, he could hear the rest of the team saying their own goodnights and going to bed.

They all needed rest and time to process what had happened.

Before he fell asleep, Steve worried momentarily for the young Spiderman. He hoped he had made it home without any difficulty.

A/N: Oh wow this was late. I'm sorry.

It was also long, so... forgive me? 4300 words.

But I'm going to try to update soon.

Important info: The next part will be the team viewing some of Tony's past experiences. It will be a little similar to 'the team watching the movie' trope, but not really. They will see footage that was in the movie, but also the stuff that was missing from it. The majority of the story will be focusing on the team's realizations about Tony, so PLEASE don't get scared off by the almost-movie part.

Also, have a random poem? I dunno why I wrote this, just felt like sharing.

Silence mouths, malcontent

at the empty places in my head

where my thoughts used to roam;

and I have never felt this alone.

There are some more verses and I might post one as a coda to each chapter, depending on the response I get. If you hate it or don't think it belongs, let me know and I will delete it.

This is a long A/N. Oops.

MyNightmaresAreMyDaydreams