Revised: 9/20/13

Disclaimer: I don't own a thing.

Warning: Profanity via Tony Stark. It's unavoidable.

Enjoy the chapter!

Prologue

The joys of press conferences never failed to cease, Tony thought wryly as he walked up the uplifted platform with one of his faker smiles. At least this one had him doing most of the talking, with a speech that he was planning on keeping as short as possible. Get in, spout the lovely paragraph of words Pepper had already prepared for him, get out.

"Excuse me, Mr. Stark. Do you have a moment before we start?" A crisp female voice called out from amidst the crowd of growing reporters and flashing lights.

Tony glanced over, and caught sight of the voice's cute face behind her black rimmed glasses and more importantly, the rather large assets tucked into the woman's shirt. He pasted a flattering smile – what most saw as a revealing leer— onto his face, "Make it quick, sweetheart."

The woman's face tightened at the pet name, but had her microphone pushed forward with a speed that had him taking a step back nonetheless. Her voice grew sharper, more pointed, "What's your stance in the current debate on the Mutant Registration Act that's being discussed in congress?"

He held in a sigh and rolled his eyes at her material. The motion was hidden by the tinted sunglasses he had worn for that very purpose – for that, and to help hide the large hangover he was battling. "I think you're at the wrong press conference, honey."

There were a few laughs from some of the more wizened reporters that had crunched together in the small anteroom, probably attempting to build up some sort of camaraderie with him. As if he'd be more willing to answer their questions if they laughed at his jokes. . . Maybe, he admitted, not chagrined.

The frown on the reporter's face grew, most likely at his dismissal, but Tony could definitely see some of the anger from yet another pet name. "This is a rising issue in our nation. I think the people have a right to know what leading figures such as you think about it."

He brazenly waved an arm in casual denial, "I don't do politics, Miss—"

"MacTaggert," she said shortly, not in any way deterred. Reporters. "But isn't it true that your arms contract with the United States military includes research and development into anti-mutant weaponry?"

Blindsided by the question, Tony stopped inching away. He was pretty sure that that kind of information had been classified. Beyond classified. 'Top Secret' seemed a more accurate phrase.

He tilted his head down to actually look at the reporter –and not just her more appealing assets— over his sunglasses. She was older than he had first realized, probably closer to his own age than he'd like to admit and her clothes were of a surprisingly expensive quality, and more than what a reporter's salary could afford.

"That's quite the accusation," he said casually, taking the safe side for once.

He only knew the bare bones data on the anti-mutant technologies his company had been involved with. It was the classified kind of classified, and something he'd never bothered to dabble with personally. Obie had handled the biological kinds of warfare long before Tony had even stepped into his father's shoes. Not one too interested in microbiology and the nuances that came molecular biology and that kind of warfare, he had always been fine with keeping it that way. And so Obie had managed the personnel in the department, and any weaponry created had passed through on his say-so.

His lips pursed, knowing what he knew now about his one-time mentor, he'd need to take a look at the particulars of that research. Knowing Obadiah, he'd cooked up something particularly nasty and then sold it off to North Korea. He pulled himself from those thoughts and continued with his reply, "Perhaps you've missed the last month, Miss MacTaggert. Stark Industries doesn't do weapons anymore, of any kind."

She was not moved, her eyes studying him just as intently, "And does your dropping of the contract have anything to do with your stance on mutants? Don't you agree that the development of weapons against mutants underscores any attempts at peaceful negotiation with them? And that that, along with legislation such as the MRA, creates a national standard of fear against those that, since the discovery of their existence, have been treat with suspicion, and even hatred?"

Unsettled at her earnestness, but not one to let that affect him outwardly, he settled for an amused smile, "Are you asking me or telling me?"

"I just want to know whether or not an important businessman and self-proclaimed hero will take a stand against the anti-mutant bigotry that has been the face of our country for some time."

His smile slipped at the pointed jab, his migraine spiked.

Snarky, Tony thought, feeling the heavy weight of the woman's accusations settle over the entire conference. The other reporters had long since stopped their own attempts at questions, raising their mics to record his answer. He caught the stares of the few board members from his company that had chosen to attend, from Pepper at the edge of his vision biting her nails nervously.

How he always landed himself in these kinds of situations, he couldn't guess. Surely there were other billionaires the woman could bother. Norman Osborne, Sebastian Shaw, anyone? Hello? Just because he'd created perhaps the most incredible piece of machinery since the goddamn engine didn't mean they had to target him for all of their personal agendas.

Someone coughed not-so-politely from the back of the crowd. MacTaggert's eyes stared at him with an indefinable judgment.

Tony sighed. He really needed another drink.

"I'm not sure what you're aiming for here," he began tiredly, and knowing that he probably wanted to be careful around this one, rooted around in his brain in an attempt to form his thoughts around the growing migraine. "If you wanted to demonize me, go ahead. But I can tell you that Stark Industries no longer produces weapons, nor does it associate itself with the American military in any capacity. The reason why was released in the public statement I made around a month ago.

If you want my opinion about it personally, off the record, and not to be used as some campaign slogan? Sure," he shrugged, not one to hide his thoughts, "I'd say the Mutant Registration Act sounds like a dreadful manipulation of the system, and yeah, it'll institute a heavier level of social control, which is something that I have obviously never been comfortable with.

If you're looking for some kind of social liberation, or some sort of spokesperson," Tony gestured lazily with a hand, "Whatever, I'd say it's pretty obvious that you need to look elsewhere. I was gone for more than three months, Ms. MacTaggert. And I've been back, what, a month now? In all that time, I think it's apparent that my focus has been limited to a number of select things, mutant legislation not being one of them. Let's be honest, I'm not a mutant, and I'm not particularly invested to care what happens to mutants. I'm not looking to form a political agenda, and when it comes to social activism I'm probably the last person you want on your side anyways. I mean, have you seen me?" Laughter broke out unevenly amongst the reporters, and Tony gave the ingratiating smile that sold his case.

Mac Taggert lowered her mike slowly, a small frown on her face and disappointment in her eyes. Tony shrugged it off, looking at her as if to say 'what did you expect, really? I'm Tony Stark.'

He felt more than saw the pointed glare from one of the directors of the Board, and cleared his throat, shifting forward. "Now," he added, keeping a smile pasted on his face. This was a PR attempt, after all. It'd probably just be best to ignore the last twenty minutes, "back to the point. I don't need to remind you why we're all here today, ladies and gentlemen. Clean, reliable, alternative energy. Let's try to keep the questions to about how freaking awesome that is, 'kay?"

When his eyes flitted across the crowd again, he noted that MacTaggert was gone, but he pushed that to the back of his mind.

A giant of a man stormed through the darkened corridors of a cavernous complex. He was rugged in appearance, in worn darkened clothes except for the wolfskin draped across his shoulders. He had long ragged blond hair that fell past his shoulders and stubble on his face that was long past forming a beard. There was an inexplicable feral quality to his expression that unnerved most who ever bothered staring at him.

He paused when he reached a large, open chamber, catching site of a lithe younger man already there.

There was something off about this man too, aside from the strange green pigment of his skin. He was crouched down next to a pillar, goggles protecting his face as he spray painted the Victorian styled stone a dark grey. He stopped as the blonde man walked in, lifting his goggles and revealing muddy brown eyes, his horizontal pupils staring in an unnerving manner. He tilted his head minutely, "Weren't you supposed to bring someone back with you?"

The giant snarled, and Toad grinned viciously, showing an arrangement of slowly rotting teeth. Huffing in a catlike fashion and purposefully unclinching his fists, Sabretooth forced himself to walk past his snide colleague. He hesitated for only a moment before he entered through another doorway at the opposing end of the room.

The room he walked into was utilitarian in design; bare except for a few pieces of furniture. There was a metal desk, which held a metal pendulum of six steel balls striking each other in a steady rhythm with no apparent outside influence. A muted TV was running on the opposite wall, showing a press conference of some sort. A man with short styled brown hair wearing dark sunglasses and an expensive suit took up most of the screen.

The most prominent presence in the room was the man that was standing behind the desk. He was tall, with graying hair and quicksilver eyes. A disturbingly cold quality emanated from him that only got colder as he turned to study the blonde with an unreadable expression.

"What happened?" His question came out softly, in an educated British accent that bore a surprising sharpness.

Sabretooth huffed again, "They knew."

A small amount of frustration flitted across the elder man's face. The chair beside him was pulled from the desk by an invisible force, and he sat slowly, considering. "Charles," he drawled.

His old friend had been in his head again, no doubt taking advantage of the time offered during the conference at Congress. Whether he'd learned just that the girl was important, or more, it would undoubtedly complicate things. If she was in the protection of the so-called X-men, she would be a lot more . . . inconvenient to gain access to.

That meddlesome fool always did find some way to interfere.

A chain around Sabretooth's neck caught his eye and he willed it from the giant's neck and into his hand. A military chain, with a series of numbers followed by the name etched into metal "WOLVERINE."

He turned his head sharply in thought, considered how to best alter his plans. His eyes caught sight of the TV. Bullet points on the news feed drew his eyes, and read: "STARK INDUSTRIES EXPANDS UPON NEW SOURCE OF ALTERNATIVE ENERGY."

He stilled, considering. Stark Industries, a well known weapons manufacturer developing alternative energy. How very curious.

He used the remote on his desk to un-mute the device's volume.

"—It's just in the prototype stage," a recognizable Anthony Stark was speaking, sunglasses hiding his eyes. "First one that goes up will power a building, and a massive one at that, for a year. But once we're done with this baby, I plan to be working on a city-wide scale. Think this: No emissions, no massive land requirements, portable if necessary, and best of all, completely self-sustaining once up and running."

"What is this alternative source, Mr. Stark? Does it have anything to do with the large reactor that has been on Stark property since the seventies? The one that was destroyed in your fight just two weeks ago?"

The man smiled again, only this time the gesture was remarkably brittle, "Think smaller, a lot smaller."

"Many people are cur—"

Stark leaned forward, tilting awkwardly as he slid his hands into his pant pockets, "That's all for now I think," he bit off abruptly, offering another tight smile. "The rest is for me to know, and for you to try your damndest to find out." He raised a hand in farewell at his closing statement, "First building test goes up in January, be checking New York."

Stark stepped away from the line of reporters, and another man stepped forward. "Mr. Stark will be taking no more questions at this time. If you have any more questions, please direct them to—"

Magneto allowed the words to fade from his focus, feeling a small smirk grow steadily on his face.

Anthony Stark. A curious genius. Human, admittedly. Known as the Merchant of Death, certainly. Egotistical. Shallow. But nevertheless, one of the smartest humans alive when it came to engineering and technology. And perhaps just what he needed. And wouldn't it be ironic that one of the human's most infamous of icons helped bring about the new world order.

He allowed himself a quiet chuckle as his plans hardened around this new key point. Charles couldn't stop something Magneto hadn't even considered until now.

"I've made the first move," he considered quietly, "That is all they know. And now, Charles will be adequately distracted." He turned back to his fellow mutant, "We have a slight change of plans, Sabretooth. We are going to Los Angeles," he allowed himself to smile briefly, even as he adjusted his plan to make the necessary changes in the actions they'd take over the next few days. "But first, time for our little test. Come."

A helicopter flew out over the ocean water. Inside was the well-know Senator, Robert Kelly, who was studying the view outside in confusion.

"Where the hell are we?"

The man sitting next to him, his steady assistant of four years, only blinked before suddenly his body was shifting, changing before Kelly's very eyes. Eyes went from quiet brown to glowing yellow, brown hair shifting to red, clothes fading away to reveal scaly blue skin, and the sudden woman underneath.

The senator yelled out in shock, making an adrenaline filled moved for the door, only to be stopped by the woman's feet. She balanced on her hands in the seat she had been sitting in casually moments ago and leered at him hatefully, "You know, people like you are the reason I was afraid to go to school as a child."

She lifted one of her feet off his shoulders, smacking his face back and forth with a shocking agility until he collapsed unconscious.

After the senator slid down unresistingly back into his seat she stood up slowly, stepping over him, and taking a seat up front next to a pilot with green skin.

The frog-like man leered over at her, showing his teeth, "Boss wants me to tell you. There's a change of plans. We're going to California."

Chapter One

It was the numbing cold sinking into his limbs from a particularly hard patch of concrete floor, accompanied by the piercing light that brought Tony Stark to awareness. And it was the throbbing pain in his head, the churning in his stomach that came with a hangover the size of Miami that had him numbly admitting that yes, maybe his drinking had once again become a little excessive.

"-hgawd," he moaned into the unsympathetic surface. Rolling onto his back, he opened his gritty eyes, wincing as the light pierced through his skull. It took him a few blaring blinks to recognized the ceiling of his lab.

"-ngh, Jarvis," he whispered, "Wha' time is it?"

"9:34 in the morning, Sir. You have been asleep for approximately four hours and twenty minutes."

Tony raised his head, attempting to sit up for a few seconds, before deciding it wasn't worth the trouble. He set his head back down on the concrete, raising an arm to cover his eyes.

He hadn't felt this shitty since the day after his fourteenth birthday. Mmm, make that his twenty-second.

"Get Obie on the phone, wouldya?" he groaned.

". . . Sir," Jarvis began, his programming making his voice come out in a softly sympathetic tone, and Tony felt his heart drop as his thoughts arranged themselves a little more.

"Ah fuck, right. Cancel that."

"I could connect with Ms. Potts?" Jarvis offered.

"No." Lowering his right arm from his eyes to his chest, Tony settled a hand against the cold metal of the arc reactor. He allowed himself a heavy sigh that held a definite groaning quality, "Don't worry 'bout it, Jarvis."

Sharp pain lanced through his skull again, and he flicked his other hand in a vague motion, "Shut 'ff the lights, though."

The lights failed to go off, meaning that something in Jarvis' protocol must be preventing him from doing so. Tony frowned, trying to think for the life of him what.

"Sir, I recommend against staying on the floor. Your core body temperature decrea—"

This conversation was not helping his headache at all.

"Please just let me die in peace, Jarvis. I didn't program you to mollycoddle."

"There is a loveseat approximately ten feet behind you, Sir," the passive-aggressive machine encouraged, used to his owner's rather incessant whining.

Tony sighed again, recognizing the lost battle for what it was. Breathing in deeply through his nose, he forcefully heaved himself off the ground. He listed sideways as his blood rushed to his skull in a pounding wave and his stomach churned dangerously.

He stumbled his way upright, raising a hand to his head as he moved.

"Christ, how much'd I drink last night?"

"Would you like me to produce a list for you, Sir?"

"Oh, ha ha," Tony muttered. The edge of the couch brushed against his leg; all the warning he needed before he crashed into it without an ounce of dignity. Toppling inwards, he let his face sink into the leather that smelled faintly of oil and . . . Oreos.

"Have Dummy bring me some aspirin," he said faintly, regaining some of his shaky internal equilibrium, "and whatever's left of the Macallan."

"You drank the last of the Macallan, Sir. And do you believe now is the best time to be drinking?"

"Mmghm," he affirmed into the couch, letting an arm flop around in a short, torturous gesture as he explained to the AI, "Best way to get rid of a hangover."

"I would not recommend it, Sir. Your alcohol intake has been alarmingly high since—"

"Whatever," Tony'd attempt more sass when he didn't feel like his head was going to crack in half, "Water, then."

"Of course, Sir. And Sir, to remind you, there is a meeting concerning the reopening of the Stark Expo occurring this afternoon at 12:30. As this was your idea, of which both Ms. Potts and the board have attested against on multiple occasions, I recommend you attend to ensure that it is not dismissed entirely."

"Mmurhg. . . "

"I've arranged for Mr. Hogan to pick you up at eleven."

". . . I created a monster."

"You flatter me, Sir."

He slipped back into a miserable doze, and it was to something bumping against his arm that trailed that floor that had him snorting back awake.

"-hat?" he mumbled.

"Sir, Dummy has your water and aspirin."

"Tha's great," he groaned, "Put it on the table, 'll get it."

A disappointed whirring sound was Dummy's response. Tony ignored it adamantly, closing his eyes once more.

"-ir?"

"Sir?"

"Yeah, Jarvis?"

"Mr. Hogan is waiting at the door."

He flopped to his side, "Huh?" he mumbled, blinking blearily. "I thought he was coming at twelve?"

"That would be eleven, Sir. And it is currently 11:07."

Shit. He dragged his hand down his face.

"Mr. Stark?" he heard Happy's voice call from the hallway.

"Mr. Hogan is waiting for you in the hall, Sir." Jarvis affirmed helpfully.

"Yeah, thanks. Got that."

Tony forced himself up, ignoring his foul stomach and reaching for the bottle of water and aspirin sitting on the coffee table to his right.

He popped a few pills into his mouth straight from the bottle, taking a swig of the plastic-tinged water. He made a face, "Jarvis. Reminder: Restock water in the mini-cooler."

"Of course, sir."

"Mr. Stark?" Happy's voice was getting closer as he descended the stairs.

Tony hid his wince, "In here, Happy," he called quietly, dragging his hand through his hair again.

The lights had been dimmed, but he could make out Happy's form as he walked through the lab's open door.

His driver looked around the mess the lab had become in the last 36 hours, and glanced at Tony's undoubtedly crumpled figure momentarily. Iron man equipment lay strewn about in a haphazard fashion. Tony spotted one of his shoes near Dummy's resting station. Old coffee mugs, and a pizza box covered one of his work stations. Happy's eyes followed the empty bottles of liquor at his desk; one tilted on its side, hovering dangerously near the edge. Was that a tick in the man's jaw?

Tony was impressed. It took a lot for Happy to be less than, well, happy. Happy turned to face his boss, and Tony pointedly ignored the raised eyebrows of his employee.

He shook his head lightly instead, yawning nonchalantly, "Help me find my other shoe, would'ya?"

Happy turned his stare pointedly to his feet, "You mean that one?"

Tony glanced down at his shoe-covered left foot. He smiled, standing up heavily as he stretched his arms over his head, "That's the one. Don't know what I'd do without you."

Happy checked his watch, "Be late to your board meetings?"

"Alright, alright," Tony said in exasperation, looking around for a moment, and then glanced down at himself with a frown.

"Do I have time to change?"

Happy stared at him expectantly.

Tony huffed, "Let me grab my jacket." He sniffed an armpit, "And some deodorant."

A few minutes later found Tony sitting in the back of the car with a somewhat unhappy Happy driving upfront. He reached underneath his chair, pulling out the familiar and well used glass. Opening up the mini-fridge beside him he dropped in a handful of ice before pulling a bottle at random from his collection. A few shots of something stronger than water and his hangover would be nicely dialed back to the usual faint throbbing, instead of the current tempest pressed against his temple.

He did his best to ignore it for now, but shifted the glass in his right hand against his forehead with a small wince.

They were entering L.A. when Happy suddenly slowed. Tony peered out the window with distaste, noting the man flagging them down. Said man opened the side door to his right.

"Agent Coulson," Tony said dryly, sipping on his bourbon as the man slid into the passenger seat next to him, "I'd say it's a pleasure to see you again, but—"

Despite the unwelcome third party, Happy pulled away from the curb and accelerated.

"A shared sentiment," Coulson said dryly, pulling out his briefcase and Tony from his thoughts. "I have some paperwork for you to look over and sign, Mr. Stark."

"Paperwork?" Tony repeated flatly, "Give it to Pepper."

Finishing off the last of his glass, he shifted himself, opening up the mini-fridge at his feet and pulling a bottle out at random.

"This is classified. We'd prefer if you read it personally," Coulson continued.

"Isn't it always?" Adding a few more cubes of ice to his glass and topping it off, Tony sighed again, "I thought I already told you people. Consider Pepper an extension of me. My other half. My better, responsible, caring, paper-work doing half. Besides, you know I'll tell her anything you tell me anyways," he added mutinously.

"Out of spite, no doubt," Coulson said emotionlessly.

"Now you get me," Tony agreed, taking a generous sip and leaning back to close his eyes.

"Happy, drop Coulson off at the next Donut-O. He looks like he could use a few," he added as an afterthought, not really wanting the SHEILD agent bugging him right now. The migraine, or rather, continuous hangover, that had been with him for the past week was company enough.

Mr. Stark," Coulson sighed wearily, and Tony nearly felt a small twinge of something for the guy. He could only imagine the kind of misery it was to be stuck with Coulson's kind of job, dealing with Tony's kind of people. "All of this would be so much easier for the both of us if you just followed a few basic protocols. As it is, I feel the need to tell you that your current attitude leaves much to be desired."

"Get in line, buddy," he bit out, possibly a little too sharply. The ice clinked in his glass as he took another sip that happened to be more of a gulp. A nice numbness was settling around the edges of his thoughts. Finally, he was getting somewhere. He sighed, and sank further into his seat.

The car pulled to a stop, and when nothing happened he pried an eye open.

"This is your cue," Tony ruthlessly reminded him, and gestured to the door before pointedly closing his eyes again.

Nothing happened. Tony pried open an eye for the second time.

Coulson wasn't looking at him anymore, he was looking forward, making eye contact with Happy through the rear view mirror. Happy had a look on his face that looked suspiciously like 'I told you so', his eyebrows rising as he gestured to Tony's prone form. His eyes widened slightly when he caught one of Tony's eyes looking back. Irritated, Tony opened both eyes wider, "Hey, nope. This is not happening," pointing a finger at Coulson. A finger attached to the hand holding his bourbon. The liquid and ice sloshed out of the glass, dripping on the SHIELD agent's shoes.

He tried to ignore what had just happened, choosing to continue his rant anticlimactically instead.

"You can't go communicating through eye contact with Happy. He's my driver," he gestured to himself, although more carefully with his glass this time, "I pay him to make communicative eye contact with me, not you."

He caught Happy rolling his eyes, and gave him an even communicative stare to prove the point.

"Now," he continued, switching the glass in his hands while flicking the excess liquid off his fingers and turning himself back to Coulson, "You're going to go eat some donuts, watch some Supernanny, or do whatever it is you SHIELD agents do in your spare time, and I'm going to continue my day in my normal apathetic manner without paperwork."

Coulson was looking at him with that damned indefinable expression, phone in one hand, files in the other.

"Go on, stop with the puppy dog expression and shoo," Tony tried again, squelching down on the bit of guilt he was beginning to feel.

Coulson sighed. Tony made sure to smirk.

"Until next time, Mr. Stark," he said calmly as he opened the door and a light breeze filled the car.

"Can't wait," Tony snipped, and the door shut with a little extra force.

As the car pulled away, he glanced over at the empty passenger seat and the file that Coulson had purposefully left behind. That sneaky bastard. A few minutes later, he glanced at it again in thought.

Huffing in mock annoyance, Tony reached over and grabbed it. He opened it, scanning the information quickly.

And then with a muttered expletive Happy slammed into something with enough force to send him careening forward, the glass of what was now scotch in his hand shattering as it hit the protective backing between him and Happy, the file flying past that.

He managed his own gritted, "Fuck," before they were suddenly spinning sideways, and Tony hit the other door with enough force to remember why seat belts were such a good idea. And then there was a stomach churning twist of movement that slammed him forward once more, the car coming to a forceful halt that left Tony collapsed in a pile at the foot of the backseat.

Head ringing, it took him a moment to collect his thoughts and inhale enough air to release a painful groan. Tony shook his head and raised a hand to assess the damage, feeling a familiar warm liquid beginning to ooze through his scalp.

"Shit," Tony grumbled to himself, "Happy, you okay?"

He raised his head, ignoring the shooting pain that shot down his spine and saw that the driver was unconscious, pressed up against a deflating airbag.

And suddenly the car was moving again, screeching its way forward. Not with the force of being hit by another fast moving object, but as if it was being pulled.

"Fuck," he grinded out again as he forced himself to sit up against a disorienting wave of dizziness.

His suit was at home, in the lab. The mobile design of the Mark III – the suitcase model, as Pepper had taken to calling it— still in the works, and he'd never regretted not blowing off a meeting to finish it more. Still, that didn't mean he had left home completely defenseless. He was Tony Stark, the weapons manufacturer for Christ's sake. He leaned over and pried at the safe positioned by the mini-fridge with fumbling fingers. Opening it, he pulled out a modified Stark Glock 19, gripping it tightly.

The passenger door opposite to him ripped off its hinges, and by a mammoth. He did a double take, blinking. This guy was like Matt Hughes times two. Chuck Liddell on steroids. And why was he thinking in UFC metaphors when he hated the UFC with somewhat of an apathetic passion?

The man had long, ragged blonde hair. Arms like sides of beef. Clothes like an Alaskan hobo. And he realized as his eyes slid to the hands gripping the crumpled door, this guy had claws. Claws, Tony emphasized numbly in his head.

He swallowed drily at the thought, and after a moment of hesitation (damnitdosomething) he fired off two shots, his Glock making a distinct whirring noise as the modified bullets expelled from the barrel at a highly advanced rate, directly into the guy's chest. Smoke rose from the area, and Tony caught the distinct flash of burnt flesh in his nose.

The behemoth stumbled back, dropping the door. He blinked and raised one hand to his chest, as if shocked at the impact, and then looked back up at Tony and snarled, showing off a nice set of razor-sharp fangs.

It's like Red Riding Hood meets Rocky II, Tony thought faintly. Meets the end of Terminator, he threw in as an afterthought, deciding that the depiction adequately set the mood for the moment. The tumultuous turn of his thoughts gave credence to the theory that he might have a concussion, Tony added as a side note with the strange urge to giggle. That, or he'd been drinking a little too much again. Another reason to cut down on the excess after this shit storm was over.

He had to remind himself to keep moving, and really? Where was his head? Mammoth-man seemed to have made it his goal to rip Tony Stark to shreds, and he was getting caught up thinking about excessive drinking and movie metaphors. He fumbled behind him with one hand, clasping for the door handle and praying that it would open.

Mammoth-man was moving forward, as if he hadn't just been shot two times –point blank— in the chest, and with Stark technology no less. He reached in with one clawed hand that was undoubtedly planning to rip a few limbs off of the local billionaire. Tony uttered a final expletive and heaved his body forcibly back, throwing his weight into the door behind him. Thankfully, the door slammed open against his body's weight and he found himself scurrying out onto the asphalt in a fit of limbs.

After an awkward half-roll, Tony stumbled to his feet in a wave of dizziness that had his vision fog dangerously with the churning motions. He clutched one hand to his temple to stop the see-sawing inward motion, and kept the other tightened in a grip around the gun as he pitched forward out onto the road.

Christ.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in a breath through his nose and trying not to puke all over his shoes, before snapping them open again to calculate his surroundings. His eyes darted across the road, taking in more of the street. Crashed, dented cars littered the area, a steady stream of smoke blocking most of his view passed a good ten or fifteen meters.

Mammoth-man stood on the other side of the smashed Happy-bearing car, and he took a moment out of pushing the three ton car to the side to snarl viciously in Tony's direction. There were several overturned cars around them, and distantly he could hear the shouts, screams, sirens, and screeching noises of cars that were expected in such chaos. He crossed his fingers that Coulson was out there somewhere. They'd dropped him off near here and surely he was hearing the commotion.

If he was there, hopefully he was forgiving enough to assemble a SHIELD powwow, or call the police. . . or the neighborhood watch. At this point he wasn't picky.

A tremor went through his arm as his thoughts took a jarring turn towards the hopelessness of his situation if nobody made it in time.

A figure jumped suddenly onto one of the tilted cars nearest to him, drawing Tony's attention. He blinked, and digested the fact that the man was green. Taking a breath again, he supposed that as long as the pigment didn't affect a bullet's impact like with Rambo over there, he wouldn't question it. He pulled his arm up with only a second's hesitation to aim.

True to the way the day's dismal karmic cycle seemed to be running, the man's mouth opened and without warning, a warm, slimy tongue had wrapped itself around the pistol, causing it to shoot off into the empty air as it was yanked out of Tony's hands and back to the tongue's green owner.

He blinked again, looking from his now slime riddled hand and back to the smug looking frog man standing before him, "That's- that's just not right," he said slowly, mentally trying to grasp what had just happened. "Your, your tongue just—"

An impossibly large hand grabbed him by the shoulder, reminding him of the wisdom of keeping an eye on his surroundings. Mammoth-man huffed before Tony suddenly felt himself being thrown forward, hitting the car before him with a disconcerting thud.

The impact didn't seem quite as bad as the sliding to the ground after, Tony thought through the haze of pain. He coughed, wheezing, "This shit is not cool," as he tried to push himself up with a hand, the other braced against the arc-reactor in his chest. Behind the cold metal he could feel his heart racing frantically against his chest, Yinsen's pace maker whirring underneath his machine in an attempt to control the organ's understandable freak out. That couldn't be healthy.

Frog man dropped down next to him, his old sneakers entering Tony's field of vision. He eyed them with distaste, "What are those, from the 80's?" He gasped partially in stupidity, he'd admit, because he really didn't know when to stop, but mostly because let's be honest, those shoes were crap.

Frog man snarled, reaching forward to grab his neck. Using the distraction, Tony shot forward with one hand, snatching the gun back from the loosened grip of frog man's other hand. He tried not to remember where it had just been, and pushed himself back up quickly to shoo—

He cried out in pain as a clawed hand clamped down on the arm, tightening ruthlessly.

The gun clattered from his loosened fingers, and Mammoth-man's grip continued to tighten and twist. Tony heard a huff of gruff laughter as he clamped his own mouth shut to keep from crying out at the pain. His body was breaking into a cold sweat as his bones creaked, his tendons ripped. The monster was going to rip Tony's arm right off his body. It hurt, it hurt— A bone snapped with the pressure –the ulna, his brain supplied—, followed by another -the radius- and he broke off in a strangled cry as a shock of white hot unbearable pain shot through him. The bones were grinding, grinding together, splintering—

"Sabretooth," a disapproving voice intoned, breaking through the terror filled moment.

Tony heard Mammoth-man snort through his wave of pain, and felt the iron grip release his mangled arm. He bit back his moan of relief and brought it back to his chest, cradling it gently with is other hand. Blood was rushing back through it, pins and needles flaring sharply. But even with that, he'd have to thank the shock for allowing him to skip on most of the pain that was surely to come.

Fuck, this shit is so not cool, he found himself thinking again in a daze.

"I apologize for that, Mr. Stark. My associate is not known for controlling his temper," The voice, British and cultured, intoned in a false sympathy, bringing his thoughts back to his attackers.

Tony breathed in through his nose, forcing himself to raise his head and look at the new speaker; no doubt the man behind his horrible morning. The man was tall, and older than Tony'd expect from a kidnapper out in the field, with heavily graying hair and a face lined with deep wrinkles. But all in all he was surprisingly normal in physical appearance, unlike his two friends.

Then there was the fact that he was wearing a cape, and a helmet. Something Tony wasn't sure he should take verbal advantage of quite yet. He eyed the cape warily, gritting out a response, "Yeah," he panted heavily, "Well, perhaps you should work on that before you send him out to collect people."

Because this was looking less and less like a simple killing of the billionaire, falling more into kidnapping territory once again. Tony was getting sick of the pattern.

The man smiled, "Indeed," and looked at his minions, "Sabretooth, we're about to have guests. You know what to do." Coulson, Tony identified hopefully as Mammoth-man growled in the affirmative, lumbering off.

If SHIELD was arriving, then it could only be a matter of time before Tony got out of this. He just had to focus on not dying in the meantime. And if they weren't killing him immediately, well, that gave Tony a little hope that he could succeed.

Frog man bent down and grabbed him by the shoulder, his good shoulder thankfully, pulling him from those racing thoughts as he was heaved to his feet at a speed that had Tony's head spinning. And if just being pulled to his feet was getting that kind of reaction, Tony wasn't feeling too optimistic about his condition.

"Easy," he managed to gasp, "I would hate to puke on you. It'd cramp you style, and clash with your face."

That earned him a sharp push forward, frog-man's hand hitting his shoulder and sending waves of pain through his mangled limb. A groan of pain slipped out before his could grit his teeth tight enough.

Their leader, Capeman – or should he be called Helmet Head? Tony mused - stood directly before him now, observing him with a tilted head and inscrutable expression on his face.

"Curious," he muttered, "I sense. . ."

He leaned forward and reached out with one hand, brushing his fingers across the hidden arc reactor in Tony's chest reverently. For a surreal moment, Tony felt the chest-piece hum slightly in response, before his own reaction caught up with him and he jerked back.

"Remarkable," the man murmured, gazing intensely at Tony's chest, "Quite remarkable."

Not sure how this man knew about the reactor, but equally aware that he did, Tony attempted the obvious bluff. "It's nothing," he said quickly, his heart pounding erratically, "A battery, that's all. It won't last the week. If that's what you came for, sucks for you."

The panicked words only made the man chuckle in a deep, disturbing amusement, "Don't underestimate your creation, Mr. Stark. I can feel its power from here. Which makes this a most fortunate turn of events," He added, obviously enjoying the moment.

Tony swallowed again, beginning to feel a little lout of his depth but keeping his head raised in a stupid, arrogant kind of defiance. He needed to buy time. Coulson needed to get here. "What do you want?"

"An energy source of great magnitude, Mr. Stark," the man said without preamble. "I had, of course, had plans of convincing you to give up our new energy source to us. But I had never suspected that you'd have the audacity to plant such a material into your own chest." He sounded in awe of his good fortune, "How marvelous."

Coulson needed to hurry the fuck up, Tony decided.

A roar in the distance brought them both back to the present, and Cape-man jerked his eyes away from Tony to peer in the direction of rising havoc. When he turned back, he was all business once again, his eyes hardening perceptibly, "We'll continue this conversation at a later time Mr. Stark. Toad, bring the human to her. I'll inform Quicksilver that we're ready."

Mind numb, body sore, and all out of cards for now he let himself be pushed forward by Toad – Toad? Really? Sabretooth, Tony could understand. By why would someone allow themselves to be named Toad?-, who lead him further away from the street.

He considered calculating out the force necessary to incapacitate the toad, but decided against it, and avoiding the wrath of said frog man's tongue. He did not want to get on the wrong side of that.

There was a horrifying screech of metal and an animalistic roar mixed in with the screams of a few locals that shortly followed them, causing Tony to jerk his head around. He had been pretty blinded to his surroundings during his own more personal struggle, but it only took a split second for him to remember they were in the middle of L.A.

Even now he could see a few horrified people either crouched down in a paralysis of fear (or stupid) or running in every possible direction that wasn't his. His gut clenched.

Happy was smack dab in the middle of that shit-storm.

In response to his halting movement, Toadknocked him aside the back of his head and sparks of light quickly erupted through Tony's vision before he was shoved past the sidewalk and through the doorway of the local diner. A bell jingled charmingly at their entrance.

Tony swept his eyes through the small dining room, freezing when they caught sight of the her mentioned my Cape-man earlier. The diner was empty except for her; a blaringly naked blue woman sitting casually on the countertop.

It would have been alarming if he wasn't beginning to lose the shock factor that came from meeting these guys.

"Mystique," Toad croaked, ha ha, croaked, Tony grinned faintly at the thought, and then frowned when he realized how screwed up he must be if that was funny, "You're up."

'Mystique' stood up as sensuously as possible, something that Tony would never complain about. As she turned towards them, he swallowed heavily at the eye full he got when she walked forward. "I'm not going to lie, this might've been a dream I had once," he said dryly.

Toad let out a laugh that had Tony reassessing the lackey.

"A sense of humor's good," Tony informed him, "That'll be a good coping mechanism once the hard time kicks in. Something to keep you company in the showers. Well," Tony paused artfully, "probably one of the many things keeping you company in the showers."

Toad stopped laughing, and sighed, then winced. Trying to put his throbbing arm, overwhelming nausea, and general sense of holy shit, I'm so screwed out of his mind wasn't working very well. And it was ruining his generally awesome one-liners. He sulked at the thought.

The woman walked to stand directly before him, studying him critically. Her hand reached up to touch his face, her fingers sliding down his chin and neck, before resting on his shirt. Lifting up her other hand, she began to undo the buttons with a familiar ease.

If he wasn't beaten to hell, he'd probably be enjoying the moment a lot more than he actually was. "Uhm, I know I'm pretty amazing eye candy," Tony said warily, "and I'm don't mean to complain here, but is now really the time?"

Instead of responding, she continued with her motions, and his eyes widened fractionally when she reached the glow of the arc reactor. Shit, where was his head? Obviously, the reactor was her focus, especially considering Cape-man's reaction.

A familiar torrent of fear began to stir, and his body stiffened as he fought to keep it at bay. His breathing tense.

Obie kneeled over him. A blue light shining in his eyes from the glowing life-force he was yanking out of Tony's chest. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, his heart was stuttering. He was going to die here, on this stupid uncomfortable incredibly expensive couch, while his mentor destroyed the few things that he had ever managed to care for. He was going to die as the metal from his own weapons tore through him, as his heart choked on its own blood, with a gaping hole in his chest, and a heavy numbing coldness that was beginning to steep in his body.

No. Not that, he felt himself panic. As Mystique reached to touch the arc reactor he jerked backwards, yanking his uninjured arm out of frog man's lax grip.

Tony had to get out of this. He could feel his panic rising, and he panted through clenched teeth.

He'd figure something out, something –

He stumbled back, thinking quickly, and ended up grabbing a metal paper towel rack on the counter beside him. Not much, but still better than—

A quick-flash movement flickered from the corner of his eye, and suddenly the towel rack was wrapped in tongue. "Jesus!" he yelped in shock as it was yanked out of his grasp.

Tony tried not to think about it tongue too much, grabbing an orange food tray in defense just as a blue foot flew up to hick his side. The tray broke pathetically into pieces as Tony stumbled with the force of the blow, and the foot shot out again in a full body spin, giving Tony the time to think about the fact that apparently this blue chick was a ninja, before he hit the wall beside him with a solid, resounding crack (his head? Maybe? He thought sluggishly) He felt his body sliding bonelessly down to the floor.

That solved the question of what to do now, he mused. He couldn't even move. And his heart was beating frantically again. Excess adrenaline flitted through his system as his thoughts raced past hes feeble control and his memories slid into the present.

Pain was flooding his senses, and his head fell back into the sand. The desert sun burned into his retinas, and he could feel his heart beating sluggishly as it tried to keep up with his failing body. A warm wetness was spreading across his useless Kevlar. Gunshots, explosions, dust, and the blaring sun all flitted in and out of his senses.

His consciousness was bleeding out of his skull like blood, and he could only blink faintly as he looked up at his attacker. He watched in confusion as her blue skin morphed into a black suit, her hair darkened and a beard formed on her face, until she became a he, and he was suddenly smiling down arrogantly at Tony with an impossibly familiar face. His own.

There was a last internalized plea for Coulson, or Rhodey, anyone to come rescue his ass, followed by a sinking despair that none of that was going to happen before the darkness took over.

To be continued.

AN: For those of you who know me, and are undoubtedly gnashing your teeth at the fact that I've started another something and am not currently finishing my other fics, I apologize. I can't control myself. It's a problem. And seriously this just gushed out. It's disgusting.

I got to thinking on how it would be possible for the different worlds of Marvel to meld together, and this came up. Takes place immediately after the first Ironman, and during the first X-men. Definitely consider it to be AU just to be safe, I don't want squabbles over timelines, or whatnot. And some elements and characters from the comics will be used. Consider it a weird melting pot thing. Especially since some elements from the two clash sometimes . . . So yeah. Free cyber cookies to those that catch them.

This is my first stab at anything relatively superhero-esque, or linked specifically to Marvel, so break it to me gently if there are any blaring flaws, or even minutely noticeable ones. I'm fragile.

'Till next time,

StrictlySomething