Work Text:
Tony was dying.
Okay no, that was dangerous phrasing, he was not dying – not anymore at least – and those kind of thoughts should be shoved into the scarce parts of his brain that didn’t work. But he was absolutely, pissing tired.
Pulling all-nighters of at least 72 hours of no sleep and bare minimum of food was starting to be a bad idea (somewhere in the back of his mind he heard a voice – ‘Starting to?’ – which sounded suspiciously like Pepper) and Tony was hit with the friendly reminder that he was very much human and on the wrong side of forty.
“A few steps to the left, boss. That’s a wall, not the kitchen. To the right. That’s a painting.”
Thanks, Fri. He would’ve said it aloud, but blurry edges on his sight combined with a notoriously LSD-like color burst, dizziness and muffled hearing, kind of hindered his ability to speak at the moment. Coffee. God I need coffee, bowls of it – no, bathtubs of it.
With Friday’s aid, Tony stumbled into the common area and headed for the kitchen. He vaguely registered some murmur, indicating some of his team – yeah right, team – was present. Probably catching up with dear ol’ God of Thunder, who had finally decided to show up for the fiasco that was Civil War and its aftermath, and Banner. Who Tony still had yet to talk to, but felt as if he would only turn another team – ha, team – member against him.
You know, for trying to do things right and failing. Again.
“Mr. Stark! That’s the rice cooker. The coffee maker is to the left!”
Peter’s voice sounded a little less farther away than the others, but still muffled. Tony guessed he was on his favorite bar stool wearing the Spider-Man mask. Not unusual, his identity was a secret to everyone but him of all the Avengers. Wonder how Captain Freezerburn would react if he knew he fought a 15 year old kid, Tony thought, even though he himself was still wary of Peter’s contribution to the superhero troop.
“Bless you, kid,” he mumbled in response, because despite everything, this spider kid was the one good thing in his life. He still didn’t know how the fuck that worked out, but.
He moved, barely catching Peter’s, “Oh careful, that’s—!” as he took in the splotchy eye-to-brain input of something square and metallic, picked it up and placed it out of the way – were he less zombie-like he’d have heard the heavy tinny sound it made – and made it to the coffee machine. He couldn’t help the noise of triumph when he managed to punch the right button and the mug filled halfway, dripping coffee everywhere in his haste to bring it to his mouth.
Sweet, sweet coffee. He could actually feel the world shift around him now that he had the power of caffeine.
“Ah, that’s the stuff, thanks kiddo. By the way, what the hell are you doing here? Don’t you have school? Are you skipping school again? I vividly recall us having this talk, Web-head,” he rambled, blinking the world back into clear sight. “Or do I have to call Aunt—what? Do I have something on my face?”
Peter’s eyes – well, the animated specs on his mask – were wide in a gobsmacked expression, mouth clearly open behind the mask. Was he impressed by the coffee? Kid was pretty excitable and Tony just downed the whole mug in one go.
But the others in the room were openly staring at him too, most of them with a similar expression of astonishment, and they’d seen him do that twice in a row, so that made no sense. He felt exposed for some reason, uneasy at the now acknowledged presence of Team Cap, Natasha and Thor in the room.
Uh...
“What? What did I do now?”
Barton’s plate of pancakes went tumbling to the floor, shattering into pieces right next to Barnes, but the ex-assassin didn’t even flinch, eyes glued to Tony like he had just discovered the secret behind the creation of their universe on his face.
“Tony…?” Rogers breathed, but Tony obviously wasn’t going to look, not at him, so he just turned to Peter with his best what-the-fuck face.
At clear loss for words, he pointed at his left hand. What? Tony hadn’t even realized he was holding something there. Frowning, he glanced down.
Oh.
Oh.
OH.
The Mjölnir. Tony had picked up Thor’s hammer. To move it aside. For coffee. Like it was nothing.
“WHAT?!”
Well.