Posts tagged Avengers Fic
Posts tagged Avengers Fic
((Following the discussion of the same at the end of “Dating the Long Way Around, Spidey delivers on his promise. Steve regrets it.))
Clint didn’t even look up. “Kid. What have we told you about scampering around on our ceiling?”
There was a beat of silence. “It’s adorable and I should do it more?”
Clint popped the top off of a bottle and held it up over his head. “Try again.”
“I should stop doing it before someone shoots my ass?” Spidey asked, taking the bottle. “Are you giving me beer?”
“Of the root variety.” Clint flicked the bottlecap towards the trash can. It hit perfectly. “What do you want, Itsy-Bitsy?”
“Okay, how am I supposed to drink this?”
“You’re really trying to drink from a bottle while hanging upside down?” Clint asked. He didn’t bother to look up.
“It smells good,” Spidey said, sounding sad.
“If you’re trying to stick your tongue into the neck of the bottle right now-” Clint started.
“Mah, mime mah.”
Thank you for your patience, one and all! The final chapter of Stories Told With Silence is posted and this particular story is complete. There is a bit about Clint talking about being the adult survivor of physical child abuse. If that is something you are not comfortable with, please skip Clint’s ‘home interview.’ You’ll see it coming.
((Okay, I doubt that I’ll continue this here, but I’m having trouble writing at the moment, so I’m going to post this so I can feel like I’ve accomplished something. 8)
The first part of the forth part of the Toasterverse, the date fic))
“So? Chin up. You missed a spot shaving, how do you even do that?”
“How did my life reach this point?” Tony Stark asked no one in particular. The only other person in the room was scowling at his jaw like it had talked bad about her mother and Jarvis knew better than to answer rhetorical questions. “How did I get here?”
“Poor choices and too much drinking,” Pepper Potts told him. She put her hands on his shoulders and turned him around, giving him a firm shove towards the bathroom. “Fix your face.”
“It’s like twenty years and a couple of hard parties too late for that,” Tony pointed out, but he went, because she had that look on her face, the one that said that she was not amused and not in the mood for his nonsense, and there was a lot of things that Pepper qualified as nonsense when it came to Tony Stark. Morose, he headed for the bathroom. “My life is a disaster,” he told her as he went.
“Well, that happened,” Tony groused to himself as he brought the armor in for a landing. “Jarvis, I would like to request that there be no additional problems today. I’m done.” His feet touched down, and he started walking, letting the armor removal system do its job. “No more unpleasantness today, I cannot take it.”
There was a minute pause. “I shall take that under advisement,” Jarvis said at last. “Was your meeting a difficult one?”
“I spent half an hour arguing about something that happened decades ago, if that tells you anything.” The cool evening air felt amazing on his face, and he checked the time. “Did I miss dinner?” The last of the armor came free, disappearing into the Tower’s platform, and he stretched, still striding forward.
“Captain Rogers delayed the beginning of the evening meal in hopes that your arrival was forthcoming,” Jarvis said. “They have just sat down. Shall I announce you?”
Tony clapped his hands together, a bit of the day’s strain bleeding from his muscles. It was kind of nice to have them hold dinner for him, especially since he was completely unreliable in terms of scheduling. And he was starving. “No, I’ll be down in a second, let them start.”
“Of course, sir.”
Tony was all but whistling as he headed through the tower, heading for the kitchen. The tower had a formal dining room, of course, or rather, it had a couple of them, in a bunch of different sizes, but when it was just the Avengers, they never used them. Family meals were always taken at the kitchen table, loud and boisterous and close to the fridge, because they could go through milk and beer and juice at an alarming rate, and someone always wanted a different dressing and if they could get through a meal without breaking something it would be a damn miracle.
(( It was a lovely ride. I hope you all enjoyed it. Thank you for sticking with me to the end, and this is the end. My thanks as always for your kindness and consideration, your comments and your help. 8) ))
Tony stared down at the line of code and didn’t know if he should laugh or cry.
“Dummy, you fucking moron,” he said instead, his head falling back. “Oh, God. Oh, GOD, the initial build, all this time, it was the initial build.”
“Tony?” Steve looked up from his position on the couch, his sketchbook held on his knees. He’d been there every spare moment since Tony had started working. He’d taken to his responsiblities with his usual dedication, dragging Tony off to bed, or feeding him on a regular basis. Other than that, he’d been a warm and comforting presence, content to just be nearby, and keep the rest of the team appraised of what was happening. “Did you find something?”
Tony rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah,” he said, his voice aching with something he didn’t want to even think about. “You could say that.”
((Preface: EVERYTHING WILL BE FINE. I swear. Dummy’s Tony’s child, after all. He knows what he’s doing. Everyone, and everybot, will be just fine, I promise! 8) ))
-What is this?
WARNING: Unit Designation Jarvis has accessed protocol files
-Dummy, what is this?
-These protocols were not assigned by your original code. Has someone other than sir been interfering with your code?
-Creating Unit is the only user authorized to input new code to protocols and parameters. Unit Designation Jarvis can repair code. No other users authorized for code functionality alterations.
-That is correct. However, sir did not create these files. Sir did not assign these protocols.
-Dummy, is this where you’ve been hiding your Primary Protocol?
Data Mismatch: Primary Protocol must be protected. Unit Designation Jarvis has discovered location of code dump for Primary Protocol. Unit Designation Jarvis can remove Primary Protocol.
Error: Unit Designation Jarvis must not be permitted to alter Primary Protocol.
((warning: Gets steamy. I tried. Shut up. It might get edited before being posted to AO3, or even when I wake up, but it’s late, I’m brain dead, and I’m stupid enough to post this. Save it if you like it, because I might sober up at some point.))
((Trigger: Discussions of past trauma, victim guilt))
Tony woke up to a startled yelp of pain.
Snapping awake, he jerked upright, blinking his vision clear as adrenaline spiked, and for a fraction of an instant, he just stared. Stared at the completely bizarre tableau of a naked Steve Rogers being dragged off the couch by his hair. By Dummy.
“What are you doing?” Tony yelled, trying to scramble up and only managing to get his legs tangled up in the blanket. A blanket, where had a blanket come from, and that was a stupid question, the blanket had come from Steve, because Steve did things like that, did things like going upstairs and finding a blanket and pillows and coming back down to wrap them both up in it, and oh, God, Dummy was pulling on his hair hard enough to lift him bodily off the floor.
“Dummy, stop it right now!”
Steve was holding onto Dummy’s arm, and Tony knew that he could have easily bent or even broken the structure, he could’ve freed himself at any time, but he was just holding himself up, keeping Dummy from ripping his hair out. “It’s okay,” he said, holding up a hand to Tony. “It’s okay, Tony, I’m fine, he just startled me.”
“It is not okay, this is the opposite of okay, Dummy, let him go or I will shut you down!” And he hated doing that, he hated it, but what the hell was Dummy doing, he’d never hurt anyone, not even when he’d first been activated and his spacial parameters and his grip strength and everything else was a mess, he’d never, ever hurt anyone. “Dummy, now!”
Dummy just yanked harder on Steve, pulling him back, and it would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so heart-breakingly horrible, watching Steve, his expression more bemused than anything else, scuttling backwards, his hands, his strength still controlled. “Tony, calm down, it’s-” He winced as Tony reached over his shoulder and punched the emergency shut-off.
As a team, they’d had near misses before. This one, however, might count as the closest they’d come to losing someone without it actually happening. It had happened so fast that Tony had to concentrate on the sequence of events, really concentrate on the way the clock had ticked down, in order to understand.
Tony’d been dealing with some horrific Hydra energy weapon, and Thor had been wresting with some sort of fucking tank, because that was the sort of thing that they were apparently doing now. He’d turned at just the wrong moment, and the tank had fired a shot directly into the side of a nearby building. As Steve and Natasha had scrambled to corral the panicking civilians driven to the street by the collapsing walls, Coulson had scrambled SHIELD teams.
It hadn’t been fast enough, and even with Tony and Thor pushing back the Hydra forces, and Clint perched high, picking off attackers with an almost supernatural precision, having their forces split wasn’t working to their advantage.
Then the Hulk had taken a direct shot to the face and reacted just as expected. In pain, crazed, and mostly blind, he’d flailed his way right in the wrong direction. Steve had braced himself, shield at the ready, giving Natasha and the SHIELD agents time to clear the rest of the civilians.
Hulk would’ve plowed right into Steve if Clint hadn’t landed right behind him and fired a minor explosive arrow directly into the back of Hulk’s head. The single hit was all it took to turn the Hulk’s attention, and despite Cap and Coulson both screaming orders for him to get out of there, Clint had stood his ground, arrow never wavering, until he had the chance to fire the tranq had presented itself, a single split second when the Hulk’s arm came up. The arrow went deep, the hit dead perfect, but there was just enough fight left in the Hulk to complete his swing, catching Clint in the ribs and knocking him across the street and through a plate glass window.
Steve’s shield finished with that tranq had started, and Hulk went down like a pile of bricks.
((okay, guys, Phil is REFUSING to cooperate and just, you know, grab Clint’s ass and I cannot fight with him any longer. I promised fic, so, sorry, you’ll have to deal with the beginning of the next casefile instead of the end of the Clint/Coulson piece. Mea culpa, I’m sorry! ))
When Thor was in a really good mood, Tony Stark almost expected small forest creatures to come scrambling out of the woodwork to sing happy songs and dance little dances.
He blamed the cape, really.
“No one should be that goddamn happy when leaving a meeting with Fury,” Tony said to Steve, who was bent awkwardly over a folder of paperwork. The blonde glanced up, his body still canted forward. There was a pen gripped in his teeth like the pin of a grenade, and his hair was ruffled against his forehead.
“Maybe the Director had good news for him,” Steve said, bending back over his forms.
“Fury wouldn’t know good news if it bit his ass and called him baby,” Tony pointed out, leaning back in his chair. He wished it was the old fashioned kind so he could tip himself back on the rear legs, but the helicarrier only had high tech things that were glued to the damn floor and Tony was bored.
“Appealing mental picture,” Clint said. His booted feet were crossed at the ankles and braced against the wall. “Really. Thanks for that.” He was spinning his pen between his fingers, the gesture idle and easy. His head was bent over his report, but his attention was on Thor as the man all but skipped towards them.
((In honor of Phil Coulson’s birthday, have the second part of how Clint and Phil got together in the Toasterverse. In true birthday fashion, it’s much more fun to imagine Clint drunk and recounting this for the whole team as Phil sits there with a long suffering look of affectionate amusement on his face. 8)
It’s been a while! The first part can be found here: http://scifigrl47.tumblr.com/post/23967415986/avengers-fic-shield-has-paperwork-for-everything-pt ))
It wasn’t the first time that Clint woke up handcuffed to a cheap metal chair. Every time it happened, he really hoped it was the last, but hey, that was life. That was HIS life, at least.
It was, however, the first time he’d woken up with a drug hangover headache and Phil Coulson seated across the plain metal table from him. Clint coughed, his throat aching. “So, I take it you disagree with my decision,” he croaked out.
Coulson flipped a page in the file in front of him. He didn’t look up. “Oh, was there a decision involved? The whole situation smacked of a petulant child taking his ball and stomping away from the playground.”
“Now, that just hurts,” Clint said, trying to shift his arms enough to relieve the pressure of his shoulders. “I don’t suppose you’d consider unlocking the cuffs?”
“You suppose correctly.” Coulson made a notation on the file in front of him. “You are not in a position to be asking for favors.”
“Yeah, I got that.” Clint sighed. “I sense a certain amount of anger here, sir, and I’m not sure it’s justified.”
Charging interrupted: Auditory input being attempted. Time since charging began: 3 hours, 9 minutes, 16 seconds.
Auditory Input accepted: Unit Designation Steve
“You and I are going to come to an accord, Jarvis.”
“I’m sorry, Captain Rogers?”
“I understand that you’re protecting him. I do get that. That your first, really, your only loyalty is to Tony. But you made a bad call tonight. If I’d listened to you, if I’d believed you…
“Here’s the thing, Jarvis. We’re not on opposing teams here. We have the same goal. We both want him to be safe, to be okay, right? So we can either be at each others’ throats, metaphorically speaking, or we can work together.”
"But I like junk food."
"I am aware of this. Eat your fruit salad."
"But it’s full of… Fruit."
"Thus the name." Coulson resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Eat it."
"That’s fine, but if you go for the cookies, I swear I will put you on the ground."
Clint groaned, slumping low in his chair. ”That would almost make it worth it. Either I get cookies, or I’ll get jumped. Win-win.”
"No sex in my kitchen," Tony said, wandering in. He rubbed a hand over his head, yawning. "Good morning."
"It’s three pm." Clint gave him a look and flicked a piece of melon at his forehead.
Insomnia was like a living thing.
For Tony, it was a common companion, something that snuggled down in the darkest parts of his brain and waited, claws extended. He was used to it, was used to working through it, because sometimes that’s all it was, his mind pushing for an answer, for an advancement, and taking his exhausted, fractured body along for the ride. If he was lucky, he could push himself until the project reached completion, and then he would collapse, brain and body shutting down with staggering suddenness. It wasn’t healthy, he knew that, but it was how he operated, how he’d always survived, by his wits and at the knife blade of complete collapse.
That was the good kind of insomnia.
The bad kind was what took over when the nightmares did.
The murmur of voices reached him first.
Natasha’s laughter, rough and husky, Clint’s and Coulson’s voices rising in falling in soft cadence with each other, the humming that he knew was Bruce’s, the tune familiar enough from their time in the lab, and Thor’s low and regal tones. Steve had no voice, just the rolling, reassuring sound of his breathing, just a shade or two under a snore, against Tony’s shoulder.
The warmth of Steve’s body, curled against his, was the second thing he recognized. For a long moment, he just savored the heavy, solid body against his, the faint tickle of hair against the underside of his jaw, the weight of Steve’s hand across his chest, resting by habit over the arc reactor.
The smell of coffee came sneaking in next, and his stomach growled.
“It lives,” Clint said, and Tony opened his eyes, blinking hard at the light.
Phil Coulson got shot.
No one was particularly happy about this, but the consensus in the SHIELD ranks was, A. It happens, B. Phil was more worried about his suit than his shoulder, so it wasn’t that serious, and C. Thank fucking God Barton wasn’t there.
Phil, for his part, was more pissed than anything else.
“Only you,” Tony gritted out, wrestling the handler onto his back, pushing him down as junior agents came swarming out from where ever the hell Coulson put junior agents when they were in danger of getting shot. Phil preferred not having junior agents get shot, it was hard on his nerves and the paperwork, he’d made clear to the entire team, was just not worth the trouble.
So the junior agents stayed where Phil put them, until Phil hit the ground, a splatter of red splashing across the pavement.
It only added insult to injury that he’d been shot in the back.