Identity Within Part I

The noise of city life hit him at every angle, sounding from far down below and matching the same pace as the breeze passing on by.

It was distant, but audible; playing in the background while the hammering of his pulse took center stage.

Standing outside on the historic cathedral’s balcony, Tony paid none of it any attention. He looked out to the skyline ahead, with the tint of lavender over his eyes covering the towering buildings of Manhattan in front of him.

The city of New York was nothing but a background to the live video that played through his high-tech lenses; something he and only he could see.

“Thirty minutes before the ceremony starts.” Tony smirked, grabbing the balcony railing with both his hands and subconsciously gripping tight. “A little under the wire there, don’t you think?”

For a fleeting moment, one that came with the sudden gust of wind, Tony found himself taking in a deep breath of air; easily for the first time since arriving outside. That feeling, one normally taken for granted, was enough to relax him — if only by small measures.

Staving off a panic attack was surely the last thing he expected to be doing today. And yet here he was.

“What I think is that it’s very stereotypically egotistic of yourself to assume my timing was done on mistake.”

Tony looked back ahead at the video, his smirk only growing at the voice that followed.

“Mhm-hm,” he sounded, humorously; with a quick glance to the corner of his glasses causing his chest to tighten up again. The clock just wouldn’t stop dwindling down. “You sure you didn’t just get the timezones wrong?”

The look Shuri gave him was almost hot enough to be felt across the world.

“Oh, trust me,” she started, slyly, with an equally sly smirk. “When I had first inputted New York, New York, I was sure I had to be mistaken. You American’s have such wildly barbaric names for your cities, you know this, right?”

A part of Tony tried to be frustrated with the young girl’s attitude, but not even he could resist the good-natured chuckle that slipped through the tension in his jaw.

Receiving a personal greeting from the Princess of Wakanda was also something he didn’t expect today, but of all curve balls he could be thrown, that one didn’t bother him so much.

“Twenty-eight minutes,” he told her, the prideful spark in his eyes hidden behind the frames that he wore. Subconsciously, he looked beyond her view and into the distant background of the city skyline. It was easier than making any eye contact. “Hate to break it to you, Xena, but today’s kinda an important day and I’m kinda an important part of it. You might wanna shake a leg with the congratulations, time’s ticking down.”

The grin that stretched Shuri’s lips was almost as bright as the afternoon sun barreling down onto the cathedrals balcony. The few potted plants that lined the walls took in that sunlight with the same kind of glisten as her smile.

“And that is the reason for my timing.” Shuri leaned back into her chair, arms crossed with the glow of surrounding technology only highlighting her hubris.

Even on video call, her ego stole the room.

Tony gave her a look in return, his head leaning to the side with the grip he had on the banister only tightening.

“By all means,” he drawled out, letting a hard beat fall next, “feel free to elaborate.”

While Shuri’s ear-to-ear grin was as cocky as any teenage genius could get, Tony had no remaining energy to focus on anything other than the towering buildings of Manhattan from all around him. The near-afternoon sun had become bright enough to cast a sharp reflection off the many skyscrapers, adding a warmth to the air that didn’t do much to help his current breathing troubles.

It felt like an elephant was sitting on his chest. Or ten.

“Oh, there is nothing to elaborate on, Stark,” Shuri answered, a little too easily. “It is very obvious. You have cold feet.”

That got Tony to focus up.

“I have — wow,“ he scoffed a laugh, shaking his head in a way that brought his attention down to the ground. “Oh, darling — do yourself a favor. Forbes Magazine, 2001 cover page, Innovator Of The New Millennium interview. You’ll quickly discovery that Tony Stark doesn’t get cold feet.”

When Tony finally looked back at the video call — after some time and many chaotic taps of his left foot — he was greeted with a look more smug than he thought was physically possible.

“Denial.” Shuri smiled, teeth showing and all. “How cute.”

The instinct embedded deep into his bones told him to act suave — cool, calm and collected. But Tony’s only response was roll his eyes and look away, his lack of admission being more than enough for them both.

The urge to argue was lost in the breeze that passed by, catching in his chest like a hiccup.

Even outside, oxygen was getting hard to come by.

Tony, as smart as he was, figured out far too late that his nerve-racking tension wasn’t just everyday anxiety. This was something on a level he hadn’t felt before, a kind of stomach-squeezing uncertainty that lit up every neuron in his over-worked brain.

And apparently, much to his chagrin, it could be noticed all the way in Wakanda.

“Don’t worry.” Shuri flippantly waved her hand in a dismissive manner, easing what would’ve otherwise been an awkward moment for them both. “I knew you would want to talk of none of this with me. That is why I have called when I have called,” she said, standing from her chair and squeezing herself out of frame.

A lingering pause caught Tony’s attention. When he looked back to the video, he momentarily saw the image of an empty lab reflected back through his lenses.

“I worried, my friend,” the voice sounded before the figure came into sight, “that my travels back home were cutting it close.”

Suddenly, Tony smiled.

“T’Challa,” he warmly greeted, his grin stretching so far that he could feel every groove lining the skin around his eyes. A smirk pulled his cheek high to his earlobe. “Now hold up — what happened to not being able to make it because of Zimbabwe?”

The vivid, bold colors of T’Challa’s tunic spoke more to what Tony mentioned than anything else. The only thing brighter was his own grin, matching Tony’s and then-some.

“The Wakanda political front can take a rest for a day, to celebrate such a joyous occasion as this.” T’Challa sat down in the chair Shuri once occupied, slowly, with his hands settling softly and gently in the nest of his lap. “I am deeply sorry I cannot be there in person today, Mr. Stark.”

Tony threw him a look — still smiling, but serious all the same.

“Please. This is the last time I tell you to call me Tony,” he insisted, gaining back a sense of control to his voice that had briefly gone away. It tightened the muscles in his spine, bringing his posture straighter while the grip on the banister lessened. “And trust me, what you’re doing right now is far more important. The world needs more men like yourself, you know — you, you have courage to stand up to corruption, when no one else will. That’s a hell of a superpower right there.”

The King of Wakanda, never one to blush, took Tony’s compliment in stride.

“Thank you,” T’Challa said, softly yet sincerely — sternly yet simply. “But today is not about me.”

Normally one to thrive in the attention, Tony found his focus had been forced away again; desperate to seek out the skyline of the city in an attempt to avoid the sincerity looking back at him.

“How are you, my friend?”

It was as if he could predict the raw integrity that exuded from T’Challa, even from so far away.

Tony tried to take a deep breath in. It got caught somewhere halfway into his lungs.

“Well, let’s see—” he cleared his throat, not just once but twice, as his grip on the banister tensed. He was starting to lose feeling in his fingers from the constant clenching. “Believe it or not, after everything I’ve done — from taking on dad’s company at the ripe age of twenty-one, to escaping a cave in Afghanistan with nothing but a box of scrapes — I’m almost positive this is about to be the most important decision I’ll ever make in my life, one that will affect not just me but, god help me, a woman is…who is far more better than I am, and deserves far more than I could ever dream to give her, which is easily the most frightening thing I think I’ve ever taken on. The logic isn’t there. Can’t make any sense of it. Certainly frustrating.”

Tony’s knuckles turned white, but he couldn’t tell over the lavender of his glasses.

“And instead of preparing to make that decision, here I am. Standing on a balcony — hiding, we can say hiding, I’m okay sharing that. Hurts, but it’s true. Still have yet to get fully dressed, don’t know if you can’t tell, don’t know if you even know the customs for our weddings. Tie and jacket are somewhere around here, clearly it’s the least of my concerns. And why is that the least of my concerns? I know, to the minute, how long I have to spare before the ceremony starts — it’s twenty-four minutes, if you wanted to know, which just tells me my priorities aren’t in the right place. Not sure if they were ever in the right place. And that’s not a thought that helps. In fact, there’s not a single thought that isn’t causing me …acid reflux inducing nausea, the kind of indigestion that usually comes with a hangover. You know, the kind that makes you sweaty. I don’t normally sweat in a suit. That’s a new sensation for me. Feels wrong, if I’m to be honest.”

Even after a tangent long enough to give Parker a run for his money, Tony couldn’t take in a breath deep enough to replenish his lungs of much needed air. He settled on a sigh, instead. Exhausting every ounce of his nerves in the process.

“So, you tell me.”

The lining of sarcasm that traced his tone was plenty to broaden the grin on T’Challa’s face.

“My sister is right,” T’Challa spoke in a smile. “You have cold feet.”

This time, Tony allowed himself take a hit to his pride.

It wasn’t like there was much left of it, to begin with.

“So the term’s global, huh?” he played along, allowing levity take away the gravity of the situation. If anything, it eased the pressure against his chest. He’d take a win where he could get one.

“Why, of course.” T’Challa kept his smile even as his words dipped with genuine intention. “We speak of love, after all. Love is…love is one of the most complicated parts of our species as humans.” There was a gentleness to his voice that felt as easy going as his stance; his arms crossing across the bright yellows and greens of his tunic, while he leaned back into the chair with ease. “There would be something wrong if you did not feel such trepidation towards such a tremendous moment in one’s life.”

Tony couldn’t resist the scoff that shook his back, so hard it managed to loosen a stress knot that had been irritating the back of his neck.

“Great pep talk.” He gave a shaky thumbs up that wasn’t seen over the glasses capturing his movements. “Really needed this.”

T’Challa laughed.

Not just a chuckle, not anything soft — a belly laugh caught Tony off guard, where he threw his head back and belted out a sound as happy as Tony knew today was supposed to be.

He just wished things felt that way, instead of the nauseating, electricity-induced nerves that shook him to the core.

It took a minute for T’Challa to quiet down. Even then, he spoke in the sounds of his amusement.

“You must not allow yourself to feel such unworthiness, Tony,” T’Challa insisted, genially, with his own smile tightening the skin around his eyes — but failing to crack his skin the same way it had for Tony, speaking to the youth of a King so young. “The universe will only grant us what we are deserving of receiving. And you…you must allow yourself to feel deserving of what you have been gifted. Only once you do that, will you find and feel the strength that you seek.”

T’Challa’s words overtook the sounds of the city around Tony, the honking and shouting from stories down below suddenly a distant hum to the echo of what was said.

The argument was stripped straight out of his mouth, his accustomed self-defense failing to keep up the walls that normally protected him from showing any signs of his weakness to others.

Deep down inside, Tony knew that was a lost cause around T’Challa. Considering all that had happened between them, it was impossible to keep those walls up. The man had seen him during one of his lowest moments, so far down to the depths of rock bottom that he had no way out.

The hand that pulled him from those depths saved not just his life, but another's.

And even after all that, Tony found himself in front of T’Challa again — barely knowing who he was, but still insisting to lift him up when he started to sink too low.

Tony didn’t know why, he didn’t understand how. But he knew that he didn’t just admire that, he envied it.

“Easier said than done,” Tony settled on saying, unlocking his grip around the banister and instead tapping a closed fist against the metal railing. The repetitive motion was an outlet for his nerves. “You know, I’m not — uh…I’m not someone who comes from many good things. What am I saying, of course you know that. The whole world knows that.” A harsh lump caused him to swallow down his anxiety. “I’ve done bad things. I’ve done…I’ve done wrong things. I’ve tried to right them. I’m not sure I’ll ever…you know — make up for all of it.”

It was strange — Roger’s having questioned how he and Pepper met was nothing more than friendly curiosity that Tony had no problem in satisfying. But ever since he went down memory lane that night, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get out of his own head.

Nineteen years Pepper had stuck by his side. Good and bad. A lot of bad.

Tony didn’t know why he was just now second guessing himself. All he knew was the weight of his past suddenly felt heavy against his chest, sitting firmly on the scar of a hole that once gave access to his heart.

“Someone like Pepper, she deserves…” Tony took a shallow breath in. It left just as quickly. “She deserves the best. And I haven’t always been that.”

There was no need to be suave around T’Challa — cool, calm, and collected weren’t exactly the traits he knew Tony to have, not after their time spent together.

A part of Tony couldn’t deny himself of that relief. Even with the raw exposure to his weakness, normally intrusive and damaging to his pride, there was a burden lifted off his shoulders to speak in words what had been so tangled up in his head.

“And that...that is what makes you human,” T’Challa said, softly — simply.

Tony looked up. An arched eyebrow spoke to his interest for the man to continue speaking.

Yet T’Challa kept the unspoken as just that. A soft-lipped smile took the place of the words that never left his mouth.

It didn’t need to be said. Tony knew it, long before it was ever implied — him, Tony Stark, not one to ever get nervous, was absolutely a nervous wreck.

He realized that now, finally understanding what brought him out here. And why, for once, he couldn’t escape the tangles of his own thoughts.

A quiet huff barely came through his lips. To think he always preached that to the kid — ‘don’t get stuck in your own head.’ It was no wonder Parker wouldn’t listen to him. He couldn’t even listen to himself sometimes.

“Do not ever question what the universe has done for you.” T’Challa cut through his thoughts with a knife as strong as Vibranium. It took Tony’s attention, and not once did the view of the city take that focus away. “Perhaps, your heart now, makes up for the heart you had then. And perhaps, it is only now…that you can appreciate it, to its fullest extent.”

Tony decided there wasn’t a good enough answer to follow T’Challa’s advice. Instead, he nodded in the place of his words; the tension in his shoulders lessening along with his hold on the railing.

The city life kept on around them, with honking cars playing out in a desynchronized tune, joined with the hollers of citizens down below. Every day life carried on around him, while he stood standing still on a unoccupied balcony of the church cathedral, watching the minutes count down until the moment his life drastically changed — for the better, and no doubt about it, but still in a way so monumental; and yet no one walking the streets down below had an inkling of an idea.

Slowly, Tony's hands dropped off and slid into his pant pockets with ease.

All the while, T’Challa smiled.

“Remember what it is I have told you about the past,” he said, soft spoken enough that the city life almost overtook his voice.

Tony had a feeling no noise would’ve kept him from hearing T’Challa’s words. They played back in his head no different than all the times before, a mantra that he never intended to color his spirit in the same way as the dying words of a good man from Gulmira.

As heavy as the past had been on his mind leading up today, Tony knew he couldn’t make it his permanent resting stop. As painful as those times were, as hard of a journey as it had been getting to where they were now — Tony had to appreciate the struggles for what they were.

He may have cursed the miles in between, but without them, he certainly wouldn’t be here today.

A blush caught the skin of his cheeks and Tony bowed his head until the heat went away. The noticeable difference of weight against his chest was too hard to deny, and he let himself smile away the discomfort that came from his vulnerability.

“Alright, your highness. I suppose your timing isn’t so bad after all,” Tony fell back on what felt the most natural — sarcasm. He had to clear his throat to get the words out, but he managed.

Not a second late, and a voice shouted from out of frame,

“Told you so!”

Tony chuckled, hard enough to unload a margin of stress that was making it so hard to breathe. It wasn’t much, but when he tried again, his lungs finally expanded as far as his ribcage would allow.

It was the first time he tasted the city air since stepping out. And with it, his head didn’t feel quite as heavy as before.

“Yiba nokholo, sihlobo sam.” T’Challa’s native words rolled off his tongue like butter, catching Tony’s attention — quickly and sharply. When he looked back to the video, a smile bridged the words spoken. “Have faith, my friend.”

Tony returned that smile, easily. While the exposure to what laid behind his guarded walls still felt strange and jarring, the sense of relief that came with T’Challa’s encouragement was plenty enough to overcome that discomfort.

It was funny, when he really thought about it. He’d assumed the tale of his self-growth had come to a conclusion some time ago; that there was nothing else he could possibly go through to re-shape and re-mold who he was.

Looking back at T’Challa, Tony noticed the tint of lavender from his glasses covered the man in a purple hue, no different than the glow that radiated from an herb no longer in existence.

The past year he’d experienced told him he still had a lot of growing left to do.

“Enkosi, T’Challa." Tony didn’t speak with quite the same smoothness as T’Challa, having only recently picked up the language to learn. Slowly, he knew he’d accomplish that goal. He was, after all, Tony Stark.

T’Challa didn’t mention the amateurish attempt at his language. Even though it could be seen in the humor that crinkled his eyes.

“Congratulations, Tony. To you, and to the one that you wed.” His smile grew as he bowed his head, just slightly. “May love bless you with its strength.”

Letting himself be the first to end the call, Tony watched as T’Challa disappeared from the video playing through his lenses — and much to his affliction, it only brought further attention to the clock nestled in the corner of his glasses.

Nineteen minutes.

The tension in his jaw reappeared as quickly as it’d left, and Tony bit back a sharp curse. As the video ended, the clock laid sprawled out across the skyline of Manhattan, having no mercy with each second counted down in his view.

It was only by the saving grace of his phone that Tony looked away from that dwindling time, the numbers all but taunting him.

He reached for his pocket, feeling the device down near his thigh, catching the vibrations that rumbled against his leg. With a swipe of his thumb, he opened the message with the phone still halfway inside his pants.

Tony tried to take in a breath, but even as he turned around to leave, the chill breeze from high above did nothing for his struggles.

The wind, however, sounded the noise of a faint hum coming from across the way.

Tony stopped halfway to the door; reaching for the knob but freezing in place the moment he picked up on a melody playing quietly from afar.

The guitar strumming stood out the most to him; faint and muffled, familiar yet muted.

                        ♫ Well I'm running down the road
                    tryin' loosen my load♫
                      I've got seven women on my mind♫

An eyebrow arched high into his hairline. He looked left and right, only deciding which way to go when it became clear where the noise was originating from; though with the breeze striking his ears, he noticeably had to listen with focus.

The length of the balcony was short, but in first making his hasty escape to the outside, Tony never noticed the turn that it held. The corner at the very end was small and narrow, barely wide enough to let two men stand side-by-side.

Seeing as the man who stood there was already the size of two men, Tony decided to keep a safe distance — rooting his feet a few steps back.

                                  ♫ Four that want to own me
                two that want to stone me ♫
                                  One says she's a friend of mine ♫

All the while, Drax never turned to look at him.

         ♫ Take it easy, take it easy
                                don't let the sound of your own wheels ♫
             drive you crazy♫

Tony watched, wordlessly, as the much larger, muscular man stood quietly by himself; staring somewhere far away from the city ahead of them both.

The music played in faint distance from the wired headphones that hung around his neck — they didn’t sit over his ears as they should, and looking at the size of Drax’s head, Tony wasn’t sure they could even stretch that far. At least not without the risk of breaking.

Tony knew right off the bat what sourced the music. The cord hung somewhere down into the pocket of Drax’s pants, where he had a good feeling he could find an outdated music player nestled inside.

“I like this song.”

Drax’s voice was quiet against the breeze. Even quieter against the music, despite it playing in shallow depth through the bright orange earphones.

Tony nodded. Slowly.

“I can tell,” he kept the answer as simple as the song that kept playing; loudly through the headphones, yet quiet enough from where he stood that Tony couldn’t hear all the instruments that were playing.

The lyrics, however — he could hear those in his head with crystal clear clarity. What little he could make out of the guitar struck a cord of nostalgia in his throat that kept him quiet.

                                    ♫ Lighten up while you still can
                    don't even try to understand ♫
          Just find a place to make your stand♫
                                   Take it easy♫  

“Quill does not play it often,” Drax mentioned, monotoned in voice, with his back turned to Tony and his eyes straight ahead. Both his arms rested on the balcony railing, no care to the dusty stains it caused his white button down. “I do not think it resonates with him the way it does for me.”

Suddenly, without preamble, Drax twisted at the hips — ripping off the headphones from around his neck and gesturing them to Tony.

It was then Tony noticed the man had his shirt unbuttoned, completely spread open to expose the bare nature of his chest. The fabric even fluttered with the breeze of wind that passed by.

“That’s okay.” Tony quickly put a hand to the air — disturbed, but not enough to poke questions where he didn’t want answers. “I’m familiar with it.”

As polite as Tony tried to be, Drax didn’t seem satisfied. He made a face, noticeable in someone who normally held little to no expression — looking to his headphones in a way Tony could only discern as confusion.

“This Quill fella of yours seems to have a very specifically dated taste in music,” Tony explained, succinctly. He worked his jaw to the side while looking away. “I grew up on a lot of the stuff he listens to.”

Drax nodded.

“Then that makes you old. You should not be fighting such battles as the ones your stories tell,” he answered, unblinking, and blunt as a chunk of wood.

If Tony rolled his eyes any harder, they’d have fallen straight off the balcony. It was an impressive feat he didn’t fall over himself, having turned around so quickly that he was at risk of breaking both his ankles.

“You are weak, right now.”

Tony hadn’t made it three steps to the door when he turned back around.

“Alright, excuse me, Wrestle Mania—”

“You must be,” Drax spoke simply, plainly — no bite to his tone, and no ill intent in his words. It was the only thing that caught Tony’s attention, and kept his feet rooted in place when he otherwise needed to get a move on. “A day where two souls join in union…strong men are not fit for this day. They’re too guarded, too defensive. Too dominant.”

Drax looked down at the headphones he held, slowly but surely wrapping them back around the nape of his neck where they could rest below his ears. Though he didn’t listen to the music the same way as others would, he still listened nonetheless, turning back to the view of the city with a deep sense of somberness coating his features.

“Your weakness…I have seen it before.” Drax paused, briefly. “I’ve seen it in myself.”

Taking a few steps forward, Tony bridged the space between them with growing curiosity; all the while sure to keep his distance — not by choice, seeing as there was little space for him on the corner of the balcony to begin with.

“The day I married my soul, Ovette…” Drax didn’t face anyone but the city as he spoke. “That was the first day I felt I could never be enough for her. I was arrogant. Full of myself. Savage, untamed. And this woman, she…”

For a passing moment, the song was the only noise that sounded between them. It mixed harmoniously with the life of Manhattan, fitting it like it belonged to the streets hundreds of feet down below.

Drax trailed off, noticeably. It was a harsh, long minute before he spoke again.

When he did, Tony was almost positive his words were captured by the sharp whistle of the wind passing by.

“She was an angel.”

Tony was a smart guy. He put himself down for a lot, but when it came to his intelligence — his ego piloted all the controls, and made sure to let him know it.

So it was easy to realize the past tense being used, spoken more quietly than the city life that kept on around him.

Tony pocketed his hands inside his suit pants, staying quiet.

“You worry that you are not enough…” Drax tensed his jaw with a slow nod, growing firmer with time. “But it is that worry that will make you plenty. It is that worry that will give you strength.”

Leaning back on the balls of his feet, Tony couldn’t help but find himself as captivated by the view as Drax was.

It took his attention for a moment, buffering the lull in their conversation.

New York City had always held a lot of memories for him. Flickering his eyes up to the sky, he couldn’t help but watch the clouds drift by in the pool of blue; reminding him of that day five years ago, almost flashing by in vivid detail — having watched in horror as white static consumed the image of Pepper’s final phone call while he flew a nuke into space, certain he’d never see her again.

There was a sense of sorrow Tony could feel coming from Drax’s words. The tone of loss — the kind he prayed Pepper would never have to go through, but worried would happen any day now, so long as he kept up the fight as Iron Man.

He couldn’t dare imagine putting her through that.

“I’ve been trying to break the cycles,” Tony mentioned, absentmindedly, dipping his chin until he was looking down at the cement of the balcony ground. “But I have to wonder if there’s only so much I can do.”

It was a beat too late that Tony realize he’d opened the door to a conversation he absolutely didn’t want, nor had the time, to indulge in.

With a harsh sound clearing his throat, he took a step away — eyeing his exit.

“You are here today.” Drax, of course, never picked up well on subtly. “Exposing the most vulnerable part of yourself to. Your heart.”

Tony turned slightly to look at him, desperate to leave but his eyes narrowing with interest.

Drax lifted his chin high, keeping his focus on the city, all while the song playing through his headphones came to a gentle, quiet end.

"That takes a strength not even strong men have." His voice, as deep and robust as it was, held a certain sense of gentleness that even Tony could tell was foreign for someone of his kind.

Wordlessly, he decided not to egg the conversation on any further — distantly wondering how his life had gotten strange enough that extraterrestrial visitors were attending his wedding, of all events.

He wasn’t sure which was weirder — the fact he was finally settling down in life, or the fact aliens were currently sitting on the groom’s side of the church where he was about to finally tie the knot.

For a life that had worked out pretty well, Tony still couldn’t wrap his head around most of it.

“Oh!”

A sharp gasp barreled right through his thoughts.

Tony was the only one to turn to the source, twisting harshly to face the door not too far away, watching as it was suddenly thrown open.

Drax, meanwhile, had occupied himself by messing with Quill’s music placer, trying to navigate the small device with an increasing sense of frustration.

“Oh my…it’s a balcony,” May stepped out with a sense of wonder, her head swiveling left and right as she slowly took in her surroundings. “This church is…wow.”

The step leading outside had a dip that caused May to stumble on her feet, and she briefly lost her balance on the way out. Even while faltering and grabbing the door for support, she didn’t look away from the stunning view up ahead; easily distracted by the afternoon sun bearing down on her, enriching the colors of her formal wear.

Tony arched an eyebrow, high.

“Ms. Parker."

Startled, May spun to face him — hand pressed against her chest, grasping the fabric of her dress in the fist of her hand.

A beat later, and after a much needed sigh of relief, her lip upturned into a small, sly smile.

“Stark.” May cocked her head to the side. “And what exactly are we doing out here?”

The implication was so obvious, Tony figured someone as literal as Drax could understand what the woman was getting at.

“Just getting some fresh air.” Tony put both his hands in the air with lackadaisical innocence. With a motion of his head, he pointed in the direction of Drax, still standing on the corner behind him. “And having an endearing conversation with Merriam-Webster’s bastard child over here.”

The repetitive, hard tabs of Drax’s finger against Quill’s Zune was the only response in return, the lack of music telling Tony the device had suddenly stopped working.

Tony wasn’t about to resolve that issue for him.

“Okay, Mister,” May teased, light in her tone and even lighter in her smirk. “Just don’t go Runaway Groom on us, okay?”

The irony was almost good enough to get Tony laughing.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he told her instead, with an all-too-charming wink to follow suit.

May didn’t even try to hide the roll of her eyes. In fact, Tony was almost positive she exaggerated it, just for him. He’d gone through enough with the woman to know her real annoyance never came with a smile.

It was with one foot already in the doorway that she came to a sudden stop, craning her head back around so she could face them both.

“Real quick — have either of you seen Peter?”

Tony removed a hand from his pocket to gesture at the entrance back inside the church.

“Roger’s said he’s in the groom’s suite,” he answered.

May snapped her fingers — the loud crack it produced mildly impressing Tony.

“Shoot,” she cursed, the levity of her expression sudden traded for a sense of frustration — the kind Tony knew wasn’t exaggeration. “I can’t find the groom’s suite, I keep getting lost in this place, it’s huge—”

“I find it quite claustrophobic,” Tony dryly interrupted.

May threw him a look. The humor was long gone now. “Pepper just hunted me down in the chapel, she said Peter never gave the photographer the wedding rings for the pre-ceremony pictures.”

“Why not?” Tony furrowed his brows. “I had Rogers give him the rings.”

May quirked her head to the side. “Why would Steve have the rings, I gave the rings to Peter.”

Tony shook his head. “Peter lost the rings.”

“Peter lost the—!?”

“Pepper found them,” Tony quickly worked on damage control. With May Parker, he knew he couldn’t be fast enough. “She gave them to me, I gave them to Rogers, he was supposed to give them to Peter.”

It didn’t take long for Tony to figure out why the kid would get so worked up when his aunt was stressed out. No different than Pepper, Tony found that May was just as hard to calm down as his fiery Medusa. The last thing he needed today was the both of them freaking out.

One day.

All he asked for was one day.

“Great,” May’s sigh was almost as heavy as the wind that came from across the balcony. “And I can’t find Peter, which means we don’t have the rings, which means the photographer can’t get the photos with Pepper before the ceremony starts.”

Tony made a noticeable face. “If you can’t find the kid, just call him.”

“I’ve tried,” May stressed. The wind blew against her hair and she had to brush it away from her face as she explained, “It goes straight to his voice mail. I think his phone is dead — I keep telling him time and time again to get better at charging that thing—”

“There’s nothing in this world that surprises me less,” Tony dryly spoke as he tapped against the side of his glasses, bringing up a map of the same destination he’d been heading for minutes prior. Had it not been for his deviation to calm his nerves, he would’ve been there by now. “Go down the hall, take a left four stories down, take three rights, the second left, and it’s the fifth door on your right hand side. No reason he shouldn’t still be there.”

With her hand still gripping the door, May stared at Tony — blinking more than once as the wind brushed against her face.

“Good God this building is huge,” she muttered, with a harsh shake of her head. “Did you really need a church this big?”

No different than any Stark Expo in his lifetime, Tony gestured his arms out with a resounding sense of smugness only he could achieve.

May threw him one last look, with one last eye-roll included, before she made a quick departure.

Without even needing to look at the clock that sat in the corner of his glasses, Tony knew he’d need to do the same as well. If he got his timing down just right, he’d be able to get Rhodey to meet him at the chapel doors with his jacket and tie.

It was cutting it close, but he could get it done. He just needed to stop letting his nerves get the best of him.

Halfway to the door and Tony craned back around, casually pointing his thumb over his shoulder.

“You coming back in?”

Drax had already turned his attention back ahead, finding himself once again captivated by the city of New York, staring off as if it held the wonders to the universe.

“No,” Drax answered, simply. “The clothes of modesty I’ve been forced to wear are far too confining. I will not endure the torture of what you call a tie any longer.”

Even if he had all the time in the world, Tony wasn’t sure he’d ever indulge in that conversation.

“See you at the reception, then,” he left on a concise, suffice note, departing through the doors that led him back inside the cathedral, leaving Drax to remain by himself on the balcony.

Natasha knew a lot about Tony Stark. He was, after all, once an assignment she’d been tasked with — and she never failed her missions, not even in Budapest.

In fact, if Natasha had really thought about it, she was almost positive that she knew more about the man than he knew about himself. That was always a thought that brought on on a headache-inducing eye-roll, the kind that made her delicately styled hair feel too tight in the bun she wore.

With all that knowledge taken into consideration, along with an aspirin to ease her headache, Natasha knew damn well to use the restroom before any of Stark’s events began.

She adjusted her strapless dress in front of the bathroom mirror, pushing back some loose strands of red hair away from her eyes, tucking them behind her ears when they wouldn’t stay in the bun behind her head. As she left, her heels echoed against the marble floor, clicking with each footstep she made when re-entering the corridors of the cathedral.

The building was large — scratch that, ridiculously enormous. Every bit Stark as she expected it to be. Though she'd only gone to the restroom, Natasha found herself picking up the pace to get back to the chapel. There was less than fifteen minutes before the ceremony started when she’d last checked her phone, now nestled safely inside her hand clutch.

The sound of her haste was clear in the heels that struck the floor with speed.

It wasn’t until she turned a corner that Natasha lessened her steps, stopping entirely once halfway down the hallway.

It wasn’t even the individual in question that caught her attention. It was more-so the attire they wore; the black leather standing out in a painfully conspicuous way against the catholic architecture surrounding them.

“You, uh…” Natasha started, quietly — yet the ceilings brought an echo to her voice regardless. “You gunna take a seat out there?”

With both her arms crossed across her chest, Gamora eyed Natasha up and down — silently.

Natasha returned the gesture, just the same.

It was a beat before Gamora responded.

“You really think someone like me belongs out there?”

The response was quiet, even when the cathedral ceilings tried to create an echo that wasn’t strong enough to produce. Gamora paid no mind to Natasha’s intrusion, with her back pressed firmly against the wall, and both her legs outstretched in front of her.

The black leather boots that ran up the length of her knees spoke to her attire almost as much as the leather skirt that landed right at her hips.

Natasha lifted an eyebrow, mildly puzzled. She had remembered most the foreigner group explaining that they didn’t have anything formal to wear to an otherwise very formal event. But she also wasn’t expecting one of them to dress in what was clearly the only formal attire they owned, thrown together in a careless rush, only to ultimately stay hidden away from the others.

Compared to Natasha’s simple, strapless, navy blue dress that fell down to her ankles, Gamora’s shiny leather seemed as space-like as the skies that she called home.

“Despite what SHIELD tries to make you believe,” Natasha took a single step forward. She stayed in place once there. “These people have seen aliens before. You’re no different to them than Thor.”

Gamora’s look of disbelief couldn’t have said anything more if she tried.

The only thing that supported her stance even more was the Priest who turned the corner, a book held tightly to his chest as he barely resisted the sharp gasp that flew from his mouth.

“Well, then…” The Priest kept a tight face as he hastily passed both women, nearly tripping over his feet along the way. “I think understand now why we were forced to sign those NDA’s…”

Natasha turned to look at the man as he swiftly walked away.

Gamora didn’t.

“It seems like your ‘Earth’ may not be ready for someone as alien as me,” her rebuttal, as dry and disengaged as it was, couldn’t be argued with — no matter how much Natasha wanted to try. The harsh judgment of others was too strong to dispute, and it was clear in the reclusive look that wore heavy on Gamora’s face.

With the lights of the cathedral enriching her green skin, only brought to further attention by the sheen of her leather dress, Natasha came to the easy conclusion that sitting out in the chapel with her friends wasn’t an option she could take.

It made sense, when she really considered it. Most of the group had agreed to borrow outfits that Stark argued would be, in his words, ‘money pissed down the drain once the wildlife gets their hands on it.’ Though she hadn’t caught sight of the raccoon in the chapel yet, Natasha did find herself sitting closely to some of the others. All of them wore their disguises well, with only the small, crying tree becoming the most disturbance to their facade.

Though she may not have been the most abnormal of them, it was clear Gamora didn't want to participate in the exposure of her extraterrestrial life.

Natasha almost couldn't blame her.

Of all the alien-eqs creatures she’d met in her short life, she had to admit that the Guardians, as they called themselves, proved to be an … interesting bunch. A strange misfit group of individuals who would’ve never gravitated towards each other unless the circumstances in their lives had forced them to.

It was clear that they fit so well together. But also odd how they made it work, day in and day out.

The bickering Natasha had witnessed, the fighting, the shrill banter, the downright physical violence — she’d lost count of how many times she watched someone get hurt. In the past week alone, the last piece of toast during their breakfast had turned the whole day into Armageddon.

And yet they stayed together, hell bent on continuing their work. Not just for the money — though they’d make it very clear it was all about the money. But it was also obvious how munch they wanted to help others. Better others. Even protect them.

It was a strange notion that Natasha could almost resonate with.

“The longer you stare at me,” Gamora spoke up suddenly, abruptly. “The less likely it is I’ll answer your question.”

Natasha hadn’t even realized her gaze had fallen loose, unintentionally staring at the green-skinned woman while her thoughts ran wild. She blinked, hard.

“You’re good at reading people,” she said, with a roguish smile.

Gamora threw her a side-glance, and nothing more.

Natasha knew enough about tactic-communication to understand what that meant. She turned to walk away, taking a single step towards the chapel before she twisted back at her hips instead.

“This..team you’re with—” she tried to ask.

“They’re idiots.” Gamora easily answered.

If Natasha rolled her eyes any harder, she’d need to take another aspirin.

“Weren’t the words I would’ve used…” she trailed off, turning all the way at the hips to face Gamora head-on. “But I also don’t disagree.”

It was hard to tell if Gamora made a sound in response, the cathedral ceilings having picked up on every small noise that filled the lull of their silence, concealing any reaction she might’ve had to their conversation. Her stoic stance barely changed, if it did at all.

It was the kind of rigid control that Natasha could feel in the thick of her muscles; the kind that came from years, decades — an entire life of consistent, brutal training.

She knew an assassin when she saw one. She never needed to be told.

“You’re a woman of space,” Natasha started, curiously but tentatively. “You could go anywhere. With anyone.” A beat fell between them, no different than her head fell to the side. “Why them?”

Gamora turned to look at her, her face conveying little to nothing, and yet the slightest turn of her head saying it all.

Natasha read that language well.

“You don’t get to ask the questions that you ask yourself,” her answer was simple and short, low in tone and yet managed to take an echo from the high ceilings above them.

Natasha listened to the words come around a second time. While Gamora continue to show no response to the moment, Natasha allowed herself a smooth smirk to follow suit.

“Touche.”

Her heels struck the floor one after the other as Natasha turned to walk away, getting only a few feet down the long hallway before she gracefully turned back around.

“I’ll keep a seat open. Just in case,” she called out, her steps slowing so her voice could reach over the echo of her heels. “After all, if there’s one thing Stark’s good at doing, it’s putting on a hell of a show.”

It was a second too late that Natasha realized the noise of heels clicking fiercely against the marble floors weren’t coming from her.

The realization came around the same time Gamora looked ahead with sharp confusion, staring just slightly beyond where Natasha stood — catching her attention, and bringing her to turn around, quickly.

“May?” Natasha furrowed her brows, watching with growing confusion as the woman came hastily racing down the corridor. “What’s going on?”

Unlike them both, May had no hesitation to wear her emotions on her face.

Natasha suddenly frowned.

Standing behind the double wide doors leading into the chapel, Tony adjusted his tie for what he swore had to be the umpteenth time since putting it on; fighting the urge to loosen it for extra air that was otherwise not making it into his lungs.

“Officiant’s about to start the processional,” Rhodey’s overly-calm voice came with a clamp to his shoulder, squeezing firmly on the jacket that he blamed entirely for causing the wet beads dripping down his forehead. “You ready for this?”

For what it was worth, Tony did try to answer Rhodey, even if his answer was bound to be nothing but sarcasm and bite.

Unfortunately, it was all his throat could do to manage a swallow that bounced his larynx with surprising force.

Screw it — he was loosening the tie.

“Man, I haven’t seen you this nervous since you were fifteen and starting your first day at MIT.” Rhodey didn’t laugh as Tony frustratingly pulled at the knot that kept his tie dressed. But Tony knew his friend well enough to still throw him a look sharper than daggers, catching the shit-eating grin that said it all.

“Yeah, well, I was fifteen and starting MIT,” Tony easily shot back, forging the fidgeting of his tie to drop his hands deep into his pant pockets. His chin lifted high as his shoulders dropped low. “That was a little warranted, if I do say so myself.”

It was almost flawless the way Tony forced himself back into composure, with an amount of willpower that never once crossed his face. If Rhodey noticed his anxiety, it was only in the small things — things he noticed only because of the length of their friendship, giving Rhodey sight where others couldn’t see.

The way Tony’s jaw clenched, the bounce of his left heel, the fidgeting in his right pocket, where he always stashed his high-tech frames — a habitual habit that Rhodey knew most weren’t aware of.

Eyes exposed without those glasses, Tony looked straight ahead, staring at the two double wide doors ahead of them both.

“I’ve done red carpet shows more nail biting then this, Rhodey.” His voice was almost too low to hear over the soft piano organ playing from inside the chapel. Rhodey had a feeling that was on purpose. “Why can’t I keep it together?”

With a smile as soft as the song playing behind closed doors, Rhodey let go of Tony’s shoulder, going instead to lay a firm hand across his back with reassurance.

“You are keeping it together, Tones,” he reminded him, forcing himself into Tony’s line of vision when his friend still refused to look his way. Rhodey made sure to keep a lock on Tony even when it wasn’t reciprocated. “Hell, I knew it before — but seeing you like this over Pepper…you two have worked hard to be here, man. You both deserve this. Keep it cool, you got this.”

A few pats to the back, with one more clasp on his shoulder, and Rhodey gave Tony his space as the man straightened his jacket, still feeling like it was making him too warm.

While the adjustments didn’t make a difference, his next breath suddenly felt a little deeper than the one that came before it; noticeable in the way his brows slowly started to relax.

Rhodey was right. He could do this.

He could have faith in himself — if not for himself, most certainly for Pepper.

After all, she deserved it.

Tony looked to the side, giving Rhodey a smile as signature as his name. “Betcha never thought we’d be—”

“Tony!”

The shout was recognizable long before Tony’s brain had even registered he was turning around to face the source.

Once there—

“Whoa—!” Tony spun back around with enough speed that he became disoriented. It didn’t help matters to see Pepper come barreling towards him with the train of her laced dress draped over her arm. “Okay, now it’s bad luck—”

“Peter’s missing.” Pepper was huffing for air long before her heels rooted in place, barely inches from where Tony stood, reaching for his bicep with strikingly strong force.

She grabbed his arm and all but forced him to turn back around, much to his ever growing disorientation.

“Missing the rings?” Tony made a face, confused — double the feeling when he saw the slightly blurry figure running up from behind Pepper.

“No, Peter’s missing,” Pepper repeated, letting go of Tony’s arm so she could push away the laced veil that got into her face, the urgency of her pace showing in the pink that tinted her cheeks beneath her makeup.

Calming Pepper down was Tony’s first instinct, but once he realized the woman running up behind her was none other than May Parker, that instinct quickly shuttered to a halt no different than his brain had done.

“No one can find him,” May started in a panic, as out of breath as Pepper but still determined all the same. “I mean no one, Tony, we’ve searched everywhere. And of course his phone’s dead, so I can’t call him, which means I can’t find him—”

“May, May, it’s okay,” Pepper didn’t hesitate to turn around, using the hand that wasn’t holding the train of her dress to firmly squeeze May’s shoulder. “He’s gotta be around here somewhere, I’m sure he didn’t go far—”

“Go far?” Tony looked between both women, baffled and bewildered. All he asked for was one day. “What do you mean he’s missing—”

“Jeffery, the photographer, can’t find him,” Pepper’s growing stress stained her voice tight. “Natasha’s looking everywhere right now, but May can’t get through to his phone, and I haven’t been able to find him, she hasn’t been able to find him—”

Tony shot his head towards May. “What about the gro—?”

“He’s not there,” May hastily, firmly, interrupted.

Tony’s forehead hurt with the look of confusion that hit his face. “What do you mean he’s not—?”

“You sure, Cooper!?”

While the next shout took them all by surprise, it was Clint storming down the hallway, dragging his teenage son with him by the collar of his shirt that stirred a response.

“Whoa, Barton!” Rhodey was the first to intervene, jumping forward with an open palm signaling for some sort of restraint from his former assassin of a teammate against a literal child. “Man, take it easy—”

The gesture did nothing. Clint dragged Cooper right past Rhodey, the grip he had on the boy’s collar stripping away the color from the skin around his knuckles.

“You better not be fucking with me! I mean it!” Clint all but growled, forcing Cooper to walk at the same hasty speed as himself, dragging the kid when he’d trip over his own feet.

“Clint, seriously,” Laura’s voice sounded from not too far behind, her steps considerably slower with the toddler that she carried against her chest. “Stop it and calm down.”

Clint paid them no mind, his focus staying steadfast on where Tony stood at the doors to the chapel. They didn’t stop until they both stood in front of him, so close that when Clint let go of Cooper’s blazer, the kid nearly toppled face first into Tony’s chest.

“Tell them.” Clint stepped back as Cooper stumbled on his feet, regaining his balance only to throw his head back with an exasperation fit for the youth.

“Dad, I was joking—”

“Tell them!” Clint wasn’t having it. The look he proceeded to give Cooper, the type that very easily killed in his younger assassin years, hit at just the right moment.

Though it was obvious his oldest son wanted to give off the appearance of all bark and bite, there was nothing that kept away the fear of his father’s SHIELD-days-originated ‘don’t mess with me’ look.

Timid and shy, Cooper slowly turned to face Tony head-on.

“Mr. Stark….sir.” He gulped, noticeably, all while failing at keeping eye contact. “My dad wants me to tell you that, uhm…that while I-I was outside just-just, like…getting some fresh air and stuff—”

Clint loudly scoffed. “Huffing nicotine isn’t fresh air, dummy.”

“Dad—! What the —!” Cooper spun hard enough to twist his ankle, his arm gesturing out with wild motions. “That’s not fair, you said mom didn’t have to find out about that!”

It was hard to tell if Clint had forgotten his wife followed closely behind him, or if had purposefully chosen to out what knowledge he knew — whether intentional or not, Clint turned around to face the woman in question, far-too-easily telling her,

“Don’t worry, he’s grounded.”

Laura rolled her eyes as she bounced Nathanial against her chest. “Because that worked wonders when he snuck out of the house.”

“This is seriously some bullsh—”

“Cooper!

Clint stared Cooper down, with enough pure-blooded intensity that even Rhodey found himself taking a step away from the family. The look of concern on his face, along with the flood of worry on Pepper’s, and the sheer amount of anger that radiated from Clint — it filled the hallway of the cathedral with an overwhelming atmosphere of tension.

Tony watched as Barton’s oldest kid tossed his hands into the air with irritated resignation.

“I made a joke, that’s all!” Cooper turned back towards Tony, his hands falling down to his sides with a resounding smack. “My dad asked me why I was standing out in the parking garage by myself and I was like — I’m not, cause this other guy was there for a bit, and he kinda looked like that dude on the Forbes magazine — the one I kept seeing on the newspaper stands when dad took us on a tour of New York City last night.”

Pepper walked closer to Tony’s side, bunching the train of her dress closer to her body so it wouldn’t get in the way. Whether or not Tony noticed her nearing presence stood to be reasoned with.

“So I was like no dad, I’m not out here by myself, that Elon Musk wannabe gazilionaire who has that big ass tower you wouldn’t let us look at is here too. And then he went nuts on me, outta nowhere!” Cooper shrugged, dramatically, as he looked between his father and Tony. His voice pitched at the edge of his words, the confusion he felt starting to show in his face. “I just kinda figured you guys are rich people so you invited him to your wedding and it wasn’t any big deal! I didn’t realize I couldn’t joke about it!”

“Norman Osborn?” Rhodey was the one to say it out loud, quicker than anyone had time to even think it. “Are you referring to Norman Osborn?”

Cooper simply nodded.

Tony’s brows skyrocketed to the ceiling. Possibly higher than that.

“Are you asking if I invited Norman Osborn to my wedding?” It was a feat he managed to speak the question at all, the dryness in his throat stripping any moisture to his words, coating the layers of his voice with a gruff hoarseness that sent goosebumps across his own skin.

Cooper, again, nodded.

“Did you?”

Tony couldn’t have answered with a firmer response; a rigid, hard shake of his head following his equally hard,

“No.”

Cooper looked to his dad, over to his mom — who somehow managed to hold more wrath than her significant other, something that had the teenager groaning with dread for any impending punishment — and finally he landed sights on Tony.

“Well,” Cooper put both his hands out in a casual gesture. “Then I’m pretty sure I saw Norman Osborn at your wedding.”

All within a millisecond, Tony’s face went whiter than Pepper’s wedding dress; the blood in his head rushing through his ears in a way that prevented him from hearing the chapel doors crack open behind him.

As Steve slipped out through the small opening he’d created, the soft piano playing from inside leaked out with him.

“Tony, you just missed your cue—”

Steve stopped before the doors had even shut behind him.

The amount of people gathered in one space, the confused and panicked look on May Parker’s face — followed by the worried and fearful colors that painted Pepper’s, the bride, standing next to Tony in every way too unconventional to be on purpose…

The doors finally closed shut, sounding like a bomb in the otherwise piercingly silent hallway.

Steve tensed. “What is it?”

Tony looked towards him, suddenly — jarringly.

“Osborn was here.”

Without hesitation, Steve snapped his head towards May. “Where’s Peter?”

“We can't find him,” she said, without skipping a beat — her response faster than even Steve could register.

Even when it did register, Steve wasn’t sure it clicked. Not in the way that it should, not in any way that spurred action. He froze with chilling realization, a familiar feeling of ice paralyzing his every muscle.

Steve looked to Tony, his chest stilled without breath, his eyes momentarily unblinking.

The look was reciprocated.

It was that single look they needed. Never words, never any sounds.

They both knew without ever needing to say it.

“Am I hearing that the boy of spiders has been captured?”

Their silence made Thor’s approaching footsteps all the louder, coming from down the hallway at an impressively somber speed.

“Fear not, my friends!” His voice called out from around the corner, deep and heavy, and full of rousing gallantry.

Not even Natasha’s heels, clicking with hasty speed to catch up from behind him, could be heard over his fast pace.

“Foolish of the those who know not who they mess with!” Only once his steps brought him closer towards the group did he lift his arm high into the air, raising an object above his head as he stood center to them all.

The long, tall stick in his hand pointed towards the ceiling with a powerful enthusiasm that not only lit up Thor’s body, but crackled an energy all throughout his skin — bolts of lighting sparking from his muscles, rising from his toes until it reached the tips of his fingers and lit the object into a bright flash of lightning.

In the blink of an eye, gone was the suit and tie that dressed him in their cultural human standards — lightning struck down and brought to life the red, swaying cape that cuffed at his shoulders along with the metal armor that decked his frame.

Risen high into the air was the infamous hammer that continued to spark bolts of lightning in its wake.

“With the power of my renewed Mjølnir,” Thor pridefully held the hammer above him with a fierce look of determination. “We will leave no stone unturned in the search for the tiny one you call Peter of Parker’s!”

The prideful shout, coated with sparks of electricity that came from within the Asgardian himself, spurred a beat of silence too tense to easily break.

“That explains why you brought an umbrella to a wedding.” Rhodey cocked his head to the side, almost sounding resigned to the chaos that he knew, by now, he should be accustomed to.

“What the hell—!” Clint didn’t respond as apathetically. His hand motioned ahead frantically. “Wait, wait — wait. So what was all that about your sister, and your dad, and-and….that thing being turned into a game of fifty-two pickup? What the hell was that story for?”

“Did I not tell you of Eitri?” Thor looked between the group, catching the bewildered stares of Natasha, Steve, Clint and even a very startled May Parker. Suddenly, he threw his head back with laughter, his cape catching a breeze of wind that somehow emerged from nowhere. “Oh, there’s not enough time on both Asgard and Midgard to tell you about Eitri! A blacksmith more skilled than all of Asgard was put together.” His laughter faded into a soft sigh. “A good friend of mine, that stubborn dwarf…”

“This day cannot get any weirder,” Cooper didn’t hesitate to intervene with a frustrated scowl of adolescent annoyance.

Clint threw his head around, his eyes narrowing tight. “I don’t want another sound, or puff puff, coming out of your mouth. Got it?”

The noise between them only seemed to heightened in not just stress, but with enough volume that the toddler held firmly in Laura’s arms had finally broken his silence.

A loud cry belted from the two-year-old, piercingly high-pitched as he made his distress known.

“Shhh, shhh, honey it’s okay, it’s okay,” Laura took a step away from the group, bouncing the boy against her hip with frantic, anxious movements. “Here — listen, Natty, just listen to me, listen to mommy.”

The contrast of Laura’s troubled look compared to the soft, peaceful lullaby that sounded from her throat couldn’t go overlooked. She held her eyes firmly on Clint, intensely, all while she softly sung,

“Twinkle, twinke, little star…”

While Clint didn’t look anywhere but at his wife, sharing the same tense worry that rattled them both to their core, Tony shot his head over to Pepper — his brown eyes blown wide, and the lines on his face deepening with growing fear.

“How I wonder what you are…”

For once, Pepper exchanged that same look.

“Can somebody please tell me why Norman Osborn being here is a problem?” May’s frantic voice sounded between them, along with the hasty clicks of her high-heels. She didn’t hesitate to breach the gap that kept her away from the group. “What is going on, what has Peter not told me—?”

“May, May,” Rhodey’s voice was heard from the side. Tony never looked away from Pepper to notice his friend reaching for the woman’s arm, the first of them to take control of the situation. “It wasn’t Peter keeping this from you, it was us, this is all us. Listen to me—”

“What is going on—!? Peter used to be friends with Norman’s little boy, since when—”

Rhodey passed by his peripheral vision, walking away without so much giving Tony a second look. He held onto May’s arm the entire time, her footsteps easily mixing in with his.

“Trust me for right now, we’re getting you out of here — May, you need to follow me, now.”

There was commotion — an argument, something Natasha chimed in on from a handful of feet away. Of them all, it was surprising how Thor’s voice was the least boisterous.

Tony couldn't hear any of it.

Not because of distance — they were all in the hallway, they were all congregated to one spot. No, Tony could feel the sudden silence as his hearing went out, almost all at once — like a switch had been violently flipped in his head.

A sharp ringing overtook his senses, vibrating his skull and every hair that laid ontop his skin, carving into his nerves like a thousand razors that cut his composure into shreds.

It wasn’t until a soft hand laid across his cheek that it all came crashing back to him.

“Go.” Pepper’s face was the first thing he saw, her lips moving without sound — only for her voice to hit his ears like shattering glass. “Oh my god, Tony, go!”

Tony could feel the snap in his neck when looking up at Pepper, his eyes connecting with hers like the strength of magnets were between them both. The remorse that drowned his face felt heavy in his chest.

“Honey, I’m so sor—”

Pepper shook her head, frenetically. “It’s fine, we’ll post-pone—”

“Again?” Tony’s lips were loose in his stress. The words came without thought, and it was Pepper’s look of wild disbelief that grounded him back to reality.

She always managed to do that for him.

Her hand gripped his cheek as she leaned forward, settling her lips firmly against his — kissing hard, and holding for a moment long enough to leave them both breathless.

Tony didn’t open his eyes again until she pulled away, leaving him without her touch.

“Go find him.” Pepper gave a firm squeeze of his bicep, and a final look as hard as nails, before she hitched up the train of her wedding dress and took off.

The two double doors burst wide open with a single push of her hand, and Pepper raced inside the chapel, creating a slew of gasps to sound from within.

“Everyone! I need everyone’s attention, please!”

Pepper’s shouts faded away as the chapel doors shut behind her, where Steve stood closest and off to the side, all the while his eyes stayed unwavering in Tony’s direction.

“Up above the world so high…”

Laura’s continued attempt at comforting her child kept on in the background, more prominent now that Rhodey and May had been ushered away by Natasha, leaving less chaos to reign in one place.

If Tony had noticed their absence in the mayhem, he didn’t pay it any attention.

“Like a diamond in the sky…”

He didn’t look anywhere but at Cap.

“We need everyone back at the compound,” Tony abruptly said, his voice rumbling like stones against gravel. “Now.”

Steve tightened his jaw. “It’s a trip back upstate. An hour, at the least.”

Clint shot his head around to them both. “It’ll be triple the time with this kind of traffic. Not a good idea.”

Tony didn’t even need a second to think. The thought erupted in his head that fast.

“Get Strange,” he told Steve, his words clipped and hard. “Go, now.”

Steve gave a singular nod of his head before pushing through both chapel doors, allowing the ruckus from inside to briefly mix in with their own havoc.

Tony turned to Clint before the doors had even closed.

“Barton, lasso everyone tog—”

“On it.” Clint slipped through the closing doors before they sealed shut, moving faster than Tony had time to speak the order.

The corridor cleared out, quickly, with rash urgency splitting them apart. Tony didn't waste another breath before he darted down the hallway, with Thor staying close to his side; their pace fanning out his cape with each bound of his legs.

As they hurried away, Tony whipped out his glasses from within his suit pocket, allowing FRIDAY to work wordlessly through his lenses. There was plenty of space across the sleek frames for her to load everything he needed and then-some; the numbers in the corner of his vision had finally come to a stop, counting down to a standstill of zero.

He was out of the church three minutes after his wedding started.

Only Laura and her children were left behind, standing near the doors of the chapel as she bounced Nathanial in a desperate attempt to calm down not only her son, but also herself.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star…”

            “Twinkle, twinkle…”

The humming didn’t stop.

Not from the back of his neck.

Not from the canals of his ears.

Just like the vibrations, tearing hysterically into his neck, digging into his spinal cord, screaming the tune of danger in sharp contrast to the airy tune of a children’s lullaby —

The humming didn’t stop, and neither did his spider-sense.

                      “…little…star…”

The buzzing tore into the stem of his brain, each breath burned his nose sweet, pungent — it made his head spin, tingle.

He felt like he was floating, no different than the deep-throated singing floating around him; low in pitch, dry and dusty.

It sounded from afar.

Weakly, he heard it.

His eyelids felt like cement. It took everything he had to gather the will and crack them open — slits, barely giving light to his blown pupils, barely giving him sight to the man standing over his paralyzed body.

The light nearly blinded him. But he saw it.

Halos of white danced with unhinged intensity all around him, blurring the figure that leaned closer to him — closer — hovering until the spots cleared away, and only a bleary, murky face could made out.

           “…how I…wonder…”

The pungent air pushed harder into his nose, a rotten gas striking against his mouth with a chill, cold sensation.

Peter’s eyes rolled back into his head, with vibrations against his neck still screaming danger— and the hum of a lullaby never once coming to a stop.

“…what…you…are." Norman smiled at him.