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ARMor-all
When the UN, the Accords Council, and the US government decided that executing the Rogue Avengers was a waste of more money (the US) and lives (everyone but Nigeria, Germany, and Romania) than they wanted to be responsible for, Tony Stark rolled his eyes and told all three entities straight up that he would not allow, much less house, said team of terrorist, betraying, treasonous dipshits to step foot in or on any property owned by or affiliated with Stark Industries, Tony Stark, James Rhodes, Virginia ‘Pepper’ Potts, Harold ‘Happy’ Hogan, Howard Stark, Maria Stark, or the stray cat who had claimed a territory of about a square mile surrounding his favorite coffee shop.
While they were spluttering at that, Tony also informed them that no, he was not donating his Compound for the cause, and it was only for sale with a cash offer for the full appraised value, along with that year’s property taxes and insurance.
He didn’t even give them a chance to splutter that time; he just regally swept out of the room while Jennifer Walters played Darth Vader’s Theme and finished it with the unmistakable swoosh of automatic doors closing in Tarkin’s face. Then she smiled maliciously at the stunned, gaping group of people who really should have known better and left the room as well.
Nobody had the balls to point out that her exit song was the main theme from Jaws, but everybody knew what it meant, and why.
Shockingly, they all collectively learned from the experience and Tony wasn’t bothered again.
At least not by that group.
For four glorious months, one less glorious week, and four ‘too good to be true’ days, he was also completely hassle-free with regards to the Rogue Avengers. This was mostly because the seven battalions of former SHIELD agents who ended up on SI’s payroll were rabidly, fanatically (some said ‘disturbingly’, but since those people wanted to bother, hurt, and annoy him, their opinion didn’t count) protective of him, and thus made it their mission in life to keep him from having anything more physically taxing than a hangnail and the common cold — and those were allowed only because there wasn’t a cure for either of them.
Then, because Fate got a kick out of tormenting him, the Defenders and the Rogues were forced to work together to take down a group of mechanical dinosaurs that looked disturbingly like the T-Rexes from the original Jurassic Park (hives. Just saying those words in a complete sentence regarding real life had given him hives) and it took all fifteen of them to subdue or destroy the things without leveling Dallas in the process.
To nobody’s surprise, Rogers kept trying to take over the mission, but Rhodes put paid to that by way of flying over to Rogers, snatching his shield out of mid-air in front of his horrified eyes, and sending it spiraling off in a perfect, deadly arc toward the dinosaur that had a twisted sense of humor and was way too maneuverable for something the size of a — well, of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, and kept slipping away from everyone at the last second. Dead silence fell among Rogers’ team when Rhodey’s throw took the thing’s head off just below the jaw.
His own jaw clenched so hard it had to have cracked something, Rogers pressed the button that would summon his vibranium teddy bear back to him, which jolted Spiderman into stopping it from ricocheting off a small skyscraper on the way back and causing a great deal of structural damage — not to mention endangering the people inside.
He’d been forced to do that all day, because Rogers in particular still hadn’t learned to look where he was throwing his oversized frisbee or where he was summoning it from and since Peter hated collateral damage to begin with, never mind the Defender’s 98% damage-free battle record, he took vindictive pleasure in webbing Rogers’ shield to the sidewalk a mile or so further down. No matter how strong the brat was, he wasn’t going to tear these webs, and it would take four hours for said webbing to dissolve.
And nobody could yell at Peter about it, because the recordings would clearly show that Rogers had endangered several hundred people by blindly summoning the thing, and Peter had carte blanche to prevent that kind of destruction.
Fortunately for — mostly Tony, actually — Rhodes and Peter were able to extract themselves quickly from Rogers’ presence and, after a reminder that the post-mission debrief was mandatory, the Defenders took off. If they were cackling like hyenas and disturbed the locals who heard them, well, yeah. They totally did.
See, missing a mandatory debrief for any reason other than ‘abducted’ or ‘in a coma’ was an automatic final warning for everyone. And since Rogers and his team were already on their final warnings just by dint of existing, none of them dared test the limits.
The erstwhile Captain America was definitely gearing up for it, yes. But he wasn’t quite there.
In the meantime, he had to swallow his pride and politely ask the designated clean-up team leader to spare a man to guard his precious shield until he came back to get it.
(this wasn’t the first time Peter had done it and while Rogers was a slow learner, he did eventually learn, much to the amusement of the clean-up teams)
Said team leader took a malicious joy in making him wait for it, a joy that Rogers clearly didn’t understand but to his frustration also couldn’t intimidate (the man was a reserve Marine), but like always, he eventually agreed to the request. He then proceeded to wait exactly until Rogers was out of the massive dinner plate’s sightline before charging $5 each for selfies and pics of people standing next to, in front of, behind, and on the shield, because all the money went into the designated ‘repairs’ fund. They made more than $5000 that day, which was why everyone in charge was dumb, deaf, blind, and stupid with regards to the practice.
Back at the Accords building, a small, unglamorous edifice two blocks from Stark Tower (which the Rogues were still complaining about four months later. How could Tony be so petty as to deny them space, luxury accommodations, all the food they could want even if they didn’t eat it, and bathrooms that royalty the world over would sign treaties for? Who cared if he and his employees didn’t want a team of backstabbing, destructive traitors freely roaming the halls?), said mandatory debrief was nearing the end when things took a turn for the unexpected.
For everyone but Spiderman, Deadpool, and Daredevil, that is.
Rogers was whining, though he doubtless thought he sounded commanding and intimidating.
“Tony, this is ridiculous. Bucky can’t function effectively in the field with this clunky arm he’s got, and you know it. You can make him one that’s much better and since you owe him an apology f—”
“Stop,” Rhodes ordered, his voice ringing with authority, and to everyone’s shock, Rogers obeyed. He was then treated to a glare so ferocious, it singed his eyelashes. “Let’s ignore the part where Barnes can’t function, because according to him, he’s doing just fine. I want to talk about this ‘apology’,” he stated, his voice suddenly taking on a contemplative note that made Romanova and Wilson nervous. Banner just shook his head and scooted his chair back a few inches, lest he get dragged into this insanity. Barnes sighed deeply and stood up, taking a position by the door and crossing his arms. His face was dark with annoyance and so were his eyes, but he made no attempt to interrupt. He knew perfectly well that there was no point, because this wasn’t about him.
This was nothing but a power play designed to get Tony Stark back under Steve Rogers’ control.
And had he bothered to talk to his team beforehand, every single one of them would have told him not to do it.
(he wouldn’t have listened, but the results might not have been so devastating for the rest of them)
Rogers didn’t appear to notice his movement. He did, however, shift his glower from Tony to Rhodes, upset that someone had interrupted him. It might as well have been a cotton ball for the attention Rhodes paid to it. Instead, his eyes narrowed and he leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table and letting them take the full weight of his chest as he pinned Rogers with a cold look that was wasted on him.
“Normally,” the colonel began in a soft, dangerous voice, “I wouldn’t dream of having such a personal conversation in a mission debrief. But since you can’t legally be alone with Tony and are also forbidden to speak to him outside of professional business, I’ve decided to make an exception. Once.”
He paused.
Everyone but Rogers and Tony swallowed hard.
Rogers glowered harder at him.
Tony smirked and pulled out his phone.
“And an example. Of all the ways I can waste my time, dealing with you isn’t on the syllabus.”
Everyone in the room was momentarily afraid that a few teeth would crack at how hard Rogers was gritting his teeth now, but to varying levels of disappointment, he managed to unclench his jaw before he actually hurt himself.
Though the immediate look of superior disdain he leveled on Tony made most of the observers long for the good old days of teeth grinding.
Tony still hadn’t looked up, even though his jacket might have been singeing from the force of his former teammate and current enemy’s furious gaze.
Rhodes manfully ignored this power play, though he mentally gave Tony full points for this round and a solid lead. Outwardly, he pinned the former Captain America, now just ‘Rogers, Steve’, with his own look of superior disdain (which was promptly rated as 9/10 by the assembled horde. It was so coldly effective that it actually knocked Rogers’ score from a 6 down to a 4.5)
“You may ask your question, Rogers,” he stated in a hard voice. “But: you will be respectful. You will be polite. You will be courteous. You will allow Tony to speak his piece until he is done, which means you will not interrupt for any reason. Depending on certain things, you may be allowed a follow-up question or a request for clarification. If you break any of those rules, you will be escorted to the brig and stay there for the next three days. No!” he said harshly, cutting off the objection before the other man could even open his mouth. “You have no power here, and you sure as hell have no authority. This is a courtesy because nobody needs or wants to have this — whatever this is — hanging over our heads like the Sword of Damocles.”
Rogers’ confused expression was also ignored, though several people released tiny sighs when they saw it, and Rhodes sharply finished, “So ask your question — respectfully. Wait patiently and politely for an answer. Accept that answer. And then we can all get on with our day.”
While Rogers fumed and Wilson halfheartedly consoled him, the colonel turned to Tony and waited mostly patiently for the eight seconds it took for him to meet his eyes, then said, “You will also be polite and respectful. Sarcasm and smartassery are not allowed in this discussion. Understood?”
Shocking every single one of his former teammates, Tony nodded. “Understood,” he crisply replied, putting his phone facedown on the table, and giving Rogers his full attention. Everything about him — his posture, his calm expression, his clear eyes — screamed ‘polite, indifferent interest’.
It terrified the former Avengers . . . hell, even Rogers was shaken. But he shook it off quickly and dived directly into his grievance.
“Why have you refused to apologize to Bucky, Tony? And why are you forcing him to work with substandard equipment when you owe him a replacement since you destroyed his original, better working arm?”
His words rang out clear and loud, almost deafening, in the silent room, until everyone but Tony sucked in a harsh, shocked breath at both the arrogance and the presumption.
The man in question just cocked an eyebrow and waited, letting the tense silence stretch out until it had passed ‘deafening’ and gone into ‘my eardrums have just exploded’. Rogers’ temper did the same thing, but he somehow managed to hold his tongue and wait for an answer.
Once it was clear that he had nothing more to say, Tony sniffed somewhat disdainfully and leaned back just a smidge.
Well, maybe two smidges.
The point needed to be made, after all, and even though Rogers would never get it, Romanova did. So did Banner and Barton, and Wilson looked vaguely ill, so he likely had an inkling or twelve.
“Why would I apologize?” Tony asked insouciantly, eyes darkening with rage despite his otherwise stellar control of his body. “It’s not like he murdered my parents, attacked me after I punched you in the face for knowing and lying about it for two years, then, instead of admitting that you had it coming and surrendering because the supposed ‘threat’ didn’t exist, he tag-teamed with you to fight me and hit me so hard that he was able to get close enough to the arc reactor to yank it out, and got his arm shot off as a preprogrammed protective measure built into my suit.”
The pause was astonishingly delicate, especially since Tony had just detonated an atomic bomb.
“W—what?” Barton rasped, his eyes full of horror as he gazed desperately at Rogers.
He was completely ignored in favor of his target giving Tony a look a mingled anger and disappointment, but he didn’t get the chance to actually voice either of those thoughts.
“So, since he tried to kill me by yanking the power source out of my suit and lost the arm in question due to a purely defensive reaction that he triggered by his aggressive, potentially lethal actions, why do I owe him another one? But let’s say, quid pro quo, that I do. That means that you owe me a brand-new Iron Man suit, since you destroyed the one I was wearing in Siberia when you tried to murder me.”
He took a quick breath, but a chorus of “WHAT?!?!” interrupted him and everyone in the room turned to stare at Rogers. Their expressions ranged from stunned surprise to furious disbelief to incandescent rage, but the other twelve people listening, half of whom hated the other half with a passion, were in that moment united in their desire to hurt Steve Rogers.
Because even though half the room hated or despised Tony Stark, it never occurred to any of them to think he was lying. Even Barton knew he had no reason to, because he could simply have said ‘I don’t want to’ and Steve would have been forced to accept that answer.
At least for a little while.
And, frankly, it wasn’t like any of Steve’s team would have believed him.
But that was Before.
Before the other lies, the painful facts, the brutal truth of the reality they were now living in.
Yes, the Rogue Avengers hated and despised Tony Stark.
But they had finally been forced to acknowledge that he wasn’t a liar.
Unfortunately, since there hadn’t been a trial, a lot of highly pertinent, extremely relevant facts never came to light.
And when Rogers spluttered, hands flailing in incoherent fury and face red with embarrassment or shame or anger or, hopefully, all of the above, even Wilson knew that he was guilty.
Tony ignored the byplay like it wasn’t actually happening and leaned forward just enough for Rogers and Rhodes to notice. The former glared furiously at his now-sworn enemy while the latter summoned a repulsor glove and set the power level to ‘electrocute’.
Tony ignored that, too.
“I don’t owe Barnes an apology, Rogers. I don’t owe anyone an apology except Rhodes and Peter. I don’t owe him a new anything, either,” he hissed, eyes black with rage. “Yeah, I know he didn’t consciously murder my parents, but he did consciously try to murder me. And despite your opinion of me, nobody owes their attempted murderer an apology, or grief, or special gifts for protecting themselves. You know, from their would-be murderer?”
Rogers’ gaping mouth and wide, unblinking eyes gave him the chance to lean in even more, only to make everyone but Jessia jump in surprise when, in a voice loud enough to carry across the entire floor, he announced, “But you know what? I’m a generous guy. Barnes, I’m sorry that you got stuck with this selfish, arrogant, self-centered sociopath pretending he cares about you and had no way to escape until you were put in separate prison cells.”
Once more, Rogers’ stellar goldfish impersonation commenced, with everyone else serving as surprisingly good backup dancers.
“I appreciate that, Stark, and I should say ‘thanks again’ for the arm. You did exactly what I wanted and it’s working beautifully.”
Had it been possible to choke to death on nothing but air, Steve Rogers would have dropped dead at that exact second, no resuscitation required. Rhodes positively cackled with glee and the other Defenders were in similar hysterics; other than Peter, they hadn’t known this little tidbit, but it didn’t matter. They knew Tony, they all despised Rogers, and they respected Barnes even if they didn’t yet fully trust him or, in most cases, even like him on a personal level. To them, this was the best prank ever in the history of pranks.
The Avengers, on the other hand, were all shocked, horrified, and appalled — unless you were Natasha, who was also visibly alarmed at all the secrets that were coming to light today.
But an alliance of . . . mutual aid . . . between Tony Stark and James Barnes, who still possessed all the skills of the Winter Soldier, was genuinely frightening. Her opinion of Tony was in the toilet, but she was able to recognize that others did not hold themselves to her high standards and if Barnes truly felt indebted to the man . . .
The thought of Tony Stark having full access to James Barnes’ abilities was terrifying.
Fully aware of her sudden panic, Tony sent a look of such smug delight at her that she would have shot him on the spot if weapons were permitted in the building. But even she couldn’t bypass Tony’s security when he didn’t want her to, and he had lost all patience for their games and tolerance for their attitude and, frankly, all vestiges of giving a damn about them on any level had been shattered at Leipzig.
Barnes was aware of the tension and knew quite a bit about the reasons for it, but he didn’t know everything, so he decided to keep going with the light humor he’d originally been aiming for.
“But I, uh, dropped my notebook in the toilet. You know, the one where I was keeping track of my repayment schedule?” he said almost hesitantly, flicking an unnoticeable look at Rogers as he spoke. “So I — well, I need a new copy.”
The entire room went dead quiet and fourteen pairs of eyes locked on to James Barnes in patent disbelief.
Sixteen, if you counted JARVIS and FRIDAY.
The only person missing from the collective visual jawdrop was Tony, and that was because his eyes were closed and he was pinching the bridge of his nose, looking for all the world like an elephant had just sat on his head.
. . . which, honestly, wasn’t that far off the mark.
With a sigh pulled from so deep in his lungs it had to have originated in China, Tony tilted his head back, obviously didn’t get whatever he was praying for, and then fixed Barnes with a flat look that made everyone but Rogers and Barton nervous.
“Really?” he drawled as his eyes met Barnes’ and his arms slowly, deliberately, crossed over his chest. “A notebook? You just asked me for a notebook. Were you this brain-damaged before HYDRA o—”
“Last four months,” the man in question replied in the same lazy, dangerous drawl. “But I’m also old-school and it’s really satisfying to physically cross something off a list with your own hands.” He paused, blue eyes suddenly gleaming with mischief, and added, “Kinda like slamming the door in someone’s face. Or hanging up on them and making sure they know it.”
All the air was sucked out of the room when Rogers stiffened with remembered insult.
The only people who hadn’t literally slammed doors shut in his face were his trustworthy, loyal teammates and his court-appointed lawyer — and even he had shut the door very firmly every time he left a meeting with Steve.
Nick Fury had hung up on him four times before Steve realized he wasn’t going to help and stopped calling.
A soft burst of amused laughter pulled his attention back to the head of the table, where Tony and Bucky were grinning at each other like they were friends, and he gritted his teeth at not just the sight, but also the memory of Tony sneering at his demand for an apology and an arm for Bucky.
(and an apology to Steve himself, though he was careful to never say that out loud)
Because they’d already done that. And Bucky hadn’t told his best friend. He’d let Steve wallow in indignation and righteous fury on his behalf and never even hinted that he and Tony were getting along.
He didn’t have the chance to get any more worked up about it, though, because Tony laughed again and said, “Sure, Armor-all. JARVIS is keeping track — that last job got you down to a million, by the way — but far be it from me to deny you something so simple and yet so satisfying. Get him an industrial order, J,” he instructed the ceiling, eyes dancing with mirth now. “That way he can lose as many as he likes for . . . what, a month?”
“Jackass,” Bucky muttered so softly that only Steve heard him over the polished tones of JARVIS’ reply of, “Of course, Sir. Any preference for color, Mr. Barnes?”
“Not pink or yellow,” was the immediate reply, which pulled a quickly-choked giggle from one of the Defenders — Steve was pretty sure it was Deadpool, who he both disapproved of and was nervous around. The man clearly wasn’t sane or stable, but he was trusted completely by everyone except Steve’s team.
While they were treated with hostility and judgment from every corner and he was powerless to stop it, despite his attempts.
“Oh, since this is the last time we’re having this discussion, Rogers, do yourself a favor and actually listen to what I’m saying this time,” Tony said out of nowhere, startling him back to the present. Once Tony’s words sank in, he bristled, especially since they were said in that snide, ‘I’m so important’ voice that meant he was about to start bragging about . . . something. It took a lot of effort for Steve to keep from rolling his eyes, but he managed to meet the other man’s gaze with his own steady look.
The disdain that greeted him was surprising. It wasn’t like Tony had any legitimate reason to feel that way about Steve, or any of his former teammates, for that matter.
But he’d always been egotistical and it had apparently gotten worse in the two years the Avengers had been in Wakanda.
“I don’t owe you, or anybody, jack shit,” Tony declared in a firm, even voice that wasn’t remotely loud but still managed to fill the entire floor with its intensity. “Not my time, not my money, not my attention, and certainly not my weaknesses. I know that you think you’re the injured party and nothing in the universe will change that. And that’s okay, because finally, you’re the only one who’ll suffer from the fallout of that delusion. But you threw away the right to ask me to do anything, including helping old ladies cross the street, and it’s time you understand that I can and will defend myself from you.”
It took several seconds for the meaning to register, but anger swept through Steve like a tidal wave when it did.
He got as far as sucking in maybe half of a deep breath.
“Not that he’ll have to,” Bucky said, pushing away from the door and walking around the table with that unnatural fluidity that always reminded Steve of a lion or a leopard. Hope sprang to life when Bucky stopped at his side and looked down. He didn’t even get a chance to register the icy hatred in that intense blue gaze before his throat was circled by an inhumanly powerful hand and he was yanked out of his chair and hoisted off the floor. Stunned and quickly running out of air, his own blue eyes sought Bucky’s, wide with confusion and wild with fear, both of which only deepened when Bucky snapped, “I called first dibs on ripping your arm off if you ever try to approach Tony again, or so much as insinuate that he owes you something. And if you survive that, the rest of our team drew lots.”
“Indeed we did,” Matt Murdock, Daredevil, confirmed in a voice so cheerful that everybody in the room, AIs included, turned to gawk at him. Barnes even put Steve down so he didn’t kill him too soon. Murdock ignored the aborted attempted murder as he just as cheerfully informed Rogers, who was so shocked at Bucky’s assault that he was actually paying attention to the lawyer in the room, of how the world worked now. “You are on probation, Mr. Rogers. And not the positive, hopeful kind. Tony actually considered letting you play your games with him just so we could be rid of you sooner, but he got overruled because the rest of us refuse to let him sacrifice himself for you. Not that there’s any legitimate reason for us to have to deal with you, but you’ve proven to be remarkably thickheaded.”
“Stupid,” Jessica Jones muttered under her breath.
If, of course, one considered ‘under her breath’ to mean ‘loud enough for someone the next room over to hear’.
Murdock gave her a grin but his eyes never moved from that baby blue gaze as he placed a sealed, notarized folder on the table and slid it across to rest a bare two inches away from the chair Rogers had just collapsed into.
“So this is your only warning, Mr. Rogers: stay away from the Defenders. You don’t think about us, you don’t talk about us, and you don’t try to approach us or contact us in any way. Should you violate these rules . . . to be honest, the violation will determine the consequences, but at the very least, you will lose a limb. After seeing four years of demonstrations of your habits, not to mention how informative Mr. Barnes has been, the Accords Panel has agreed to our terms and conditions. We didn’t say anything before today because we’d actually allowed ourselves to hope that you’d learned something, since you’ve been fairly well-behaved these last four months.”
“Yeah, that’s our bad,” Danny Rand interjected, looking both lazy and dangerous as he lounged so far back in his chair people were mentally taking bets on when he’d go over backwards. “The Tonester warned us, but even he was surprised that this hasn’t happened yet. But whatever; the rule still stands. You don’t bother us, you keep all your body parts in working order. Bother us, and you don’t get a replacement, assuming you live through it. You ready to finish moving, Barnes?” he asked, and the question was so unexpected and so incongruous that everybody but Peter and Wade Wilson blinked.
To most people’s surprise, Rogers reacted immediately to that and said, “Move?”
He sounded plaintive, childlike, almost wounded, and it made a lot of stomachs churn. Barnes just gave him a razor-sharp grin that visibly sliced him open and replied, “Yep. I want to be around people I trust and get along with. Me and Danny and Wade are splittin’ a place.”
Rogers stuttered, his face chalk-white, but was ruthlessly ignored by the only thing he honestly believed he cared about it.
Certain people took great enjoyment in his pain.
Certain others had more important things to worry about.
“Oh, dear God,” Jessica whispered, horror flooding her face that was quickly echoed by everyone else, and it only deepened when the three men left the room on a wave of deranged laughter, leaving a stunned Steve Rogers and two terrified teams in their wake.
“That’s fucking terrifying,” Luke Cage announced. “I need Indian food from that place that set Wade on fire last time to burn the memory out or I’ll never sleep tonight.”
“Oh, hell, yeah,” Jessica seconded, accepting Peter’s high-five with a grin. “Since Tony hasn’t invented brain bleach yet, that shit’s the best option.”
“Hey! That’s Peter’s job, not mine,” Tony objected as he got up and pulled Peter into a rough side-hug. “He’s the chemist; I’m just the engineer.”
“Yeah, yeah. Quit making excuses and just admit you like seeing grown adults cry,” Jessica jeered in response as the Defenders left the room in one massive group that somehow managed to clear the door without having to form a line.
Left behind, the Avengers stared at the empty room, swiveled to gape at the open door, and finally met each other’s eyes across the table.
Perhaps appropriately, it was Barton who summed things up.
“What the fuck just happened?!”
~~~
fin