Chapter 5: Battle Aftermath

When people are met by an unstoppable force they cannot fight or control, they're prone to saying 'thank you' if they make it through the ordeal. Think of earthquakes, tsunamis – any natural interference with human lives. As long as the problem is beyond a person's reach, everyone's content to embrace survival and gather what's left of their life to go on.

But when the threat comes from somewhere else – a terrorist attack, an accident, super-villains – the thankful words disappear and all that's left are accusations and rage; claims that it could have been stopped; demands for explanations; instructions on how to do things better in the future.

There's nothing like hindsight.

Problem is, when disaster strikes, there's no time to stop for directions, or advice. If you want to save anything or anyone, you have to move faster than the opponent, take down the threat and salvage whatever you can.

Sometimes being there in time doesn't matter.

Precautions don't always work.

There may not be room to explain why or how something happened, and they sure as hell don't change the end result.

Whenever the Avengers assemble, it should come as no surprise to anyone that the situation is dire and highly volatile. When the heavy hitters are all there – the Hulk, Thor, Iron Man, even Captain America – one can only assume the world may be in danger of ending, being invaded, or something similar.

Sure, sometimes it isn't that bad – but sometimes it is, and if anyone asks Tony, after all this time, the men and women doing the fighting shouldn't have to deal with what comes after; they've just bled and laid their lives on the line to save innocents and the freedom of their world.

Sometimes… they can't save everyone.

Not even close.

Like today.

It's a little over five hours since the fighting stopped. Tony flew directly to New York City afterwards, to the Stark Tower, which also serves as a base for the Avengers whenever they need it. Everyone else is still in South Carolina, and it will take them at least a couple hours to come close to returning to New York.

As the suit opens at the front, catching and dragging in places where the mechanics are bent or broken, Tony feels like someone just removed a full-body cast from around him. His knees buckle and he finds himself landing painfully on the floor. The first instinct is to get up, but he's disoriented and probably has a concussion or three. His scalp feels wet, hair sticking to it, and he knows all of it can't be sweat.

"Sir?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks, not outright implying that Tony may need assistance, but making himself known nonetheless.

Tony shifts forward – okay, he crawls – and rolls around, resting his ass on the floor, several of his ribs protesting at the twist. The armor is already closing behind him, and Tony takes a moment to marvel at how horrible it looks. Dented and smeared with…

He closes his eyes. At least he knows the blood on the inside is his. Whatever stains remain on the outside, he doesn't wish to consider their origin. Of course he can convince himself that it belongs to the bad guys, but he's fairly certain most of them weren't capable of bleeding red.

Knowing he can't take a look at that suit before it's been thoroughly washed – and maybe even that won't be enough to erase the memory – Tony rolls back around to his front and again considers getting up. He doesn't feel any steadier, but he's not feeling worse, either, so he pushes his knees properly under him, then starts reaching for something to hold on to as he levers himself up.

A hand wraps around his forearm and helps him along, and Tony knows he shouldn't look, but not looking isn't an option either, so he does. The armor stares back at him, all glowing eyes and battered surface. "Do you need assistance?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks, with the armor's speakers.

"I'm okay," Tony murmurs. "Turn on the TV."

He hears a soft electric sound from the other side of the room. Which channel was being watched the last time someone was at the Tower, he isn't sure, but he hears the news. Isn't that a surprise. "– in South Carolina was met by disaster in the early morning hours, when the Avengers, a group of super-heroes, met their match in a currently unknown group of criminals. Casualty reports are still coming in, and the destruction and vastness of the battlefield may yet leave the Battle of Manhattan in its shadow. Estimates on casualties go as high up as several hundred, while thousands have been injured."

"I shall change the channel, sir," the AI offers.

"No," Tony argues. "Let it play."

"Sir –"

"I know you're not deaf, J," Tony snaps, then looks down at his arm the armor is still holding. "Let go. I've found my feet. Wonder where they disappeared to for a moment…" he muses idly and watches the mechanical fingers let go. There aren't any bruises, but he can see smears of dirt and dried something left behind. He stares, even when he doesn't want to. He knows he'll be rubbing that spot relentlessly when he finally gets himself into a shower.

He looks at the TV instead, to distract himself, although that isn't any better: image after image of destruction sails across the screen, but it isn't half as horrible as the real thing. They've cut all dead bodies and torn limbs from the images, for one. They may be showing where a few of the bombs went off, scorched walls and blood stains marking the streets, but Tony was there when one of them blew up and he can still remember the screams.

How he didn't know there was a bomb, he still doesn't know. Sure, he was distracted, but he should have paid attention because there were people in the area.

His legs shiver, threatening to send him back to the floor. Maybe he should have stayed down, but that's one lesson he's perfected while fighting alongside Captain America: you never stay down; you never give up.

He feels like giving up now, though. Even if they won, it feels like an empty victory. Many died in the last thirteen hours. If the numbers stay in the hundreds, he'll be positively surprised. The point of taking the battle to a populated area was to give the Avengers a distraction, and to cause a lot more damage than hashing things out where there weren't thousands of spectators in the vicinity.

Tony can't rid himself of the guilt that gnaws, painfully, at every fiber of his being. He should have known better. He should have looked into AIM's business after the whole mess with Killian. Well, he had, and he knew S.H.I.E.L.D. had as well, but somehow they had failed to see this coming: the best and brightest in the new age of warfare. Weapons Stark Industries hadn't even dreamt about, but which surely were going to burn themselves into Tony's nightmares.

The worst of it is that whatever will be left of AIM after the Avengers and S.H.I.E.L.D. are done with them, they'll be selling their weapons at a high price, especially after the demonstration in South Carolina. The body count might as well be a bonus, and the fact that the Avengers had a hard time overcoming the advanced weaponry is enough to loosen many a purse string.

"Some unconfirmed sources claim that an organization called 'Advanced Idea Mechanics' may be involved in this latest catastrophe. They were previously known for re-branding War Machine – and were later hinted at being involved in the kidnapping of President Ellis and the explosive events in Miami, Florida. We will update you on any new developments.

"Meanwhile, many victims of this senseless act of violence are speaking up. The social media is filling with descriptions of the events – including some inflammatory comments about the performance of the Avengers, a well-known yet still somewhat mysterious group of super-heroes. 'They brought the fight to our peaceful home street,' a person writes. 'Our whole neighborhood is in flames,' concludes another. These are only the tip of the ice berg, seeing as many people have not only lost their homes, but their lives as well."

"Switch the channel," Tony orders, deciding that he's had enough of that.

J.A.R.V.I.S. does his bidding and a shopping channel replaces the appropriately saddened face of the female news anchor. Tony's not certain if it's a change for the better.

"Is there nothing else on?" he asks as he slowly makes his way towards the living room area. He needs to sit down and take a moment. Just a small moment to ground himself, before he has to deal with this.

"It would seem your battle in South Carolina has garnered much interest. Would you rather watch Disney Channel, sir?"

"I'm pretty sure they can include subliminal messages there was well," Tony decides and manages to land himself on the couch when he's finally too tired to move further. "All hate the Avengers. They just tried to save the day, but that's not enough," he mutters and lies in an uncomfortable position, one foot resting over the back of the couch, but he can't be bothered to try and move. His head is spinning and he just… needs that moment.

"A perfect flambé pan for your gourmet cook at home!" a sickeningly cheery female voice announces on TV, and instead of flaming food, Tony's mind jumps to a flash in recent memory: a man in flames, taking a couple stuttering steps before falling. The building behind him crumbling, collapsing under its own weight after a detonation deep within it. Voices crying for help, trapped inside –

"Enough," he decides. "Turn it off, J.A.R.V.I.S., or I swear to god I'll blow up the TV."

The TV switches off immediately, leaving only a faint crackle of electricity before that, too, fades.

Frustration twists inside him. Tony hopes, for a moment, for the comfort of another, but Pepper's gone from his personal life, in the aftermath of the last AIM fiasco. It burns that after everything they went through, Killian eventually got between them, although not directly. Things just… fell apart, in the end. She didn't need this in her life, but Tony couldn't walk away from the responsibilities he had given himself.

So, now he's alone, and the others are hours away because he had to get some air, to remove himself from the destruction he should have stopped long before it came to this.

He thought he had.

It burns that he was wrong.

Burns…

Tony closes his eyes and wishes he could just get rid of how both flames and water are now something he can't think twice about without risking a small meltdown. He feels a bit of heat under his skin, but it never becomes more than that. However, it is a worthy reminder of the things he did do, in the end, and while that should be reassuring, it really isn't.

He shifts, sits up and leans back against the couch, forcing his eyes open, to look at the real world and not the images that hover behind closed lids. The building is quiet, the noises from outside muted. "J.A.R.V.I.S.," he calls out, because that way he won't be alone, and they've been through this together before.

Well, not this, but close enough.

"Yes, sir?" the AI responds, like he's got nothing better to do. Well, he doesn't, because his entire existence revolves around Tony, and if that suddenly stopped being the case…

"Let me know when the media starts to mention my name in the same sentence with AIM's." It's only a matter of time before someone starts pointing the finger at where the blame lies, which is Iron Man's failure to take down AIM in the first round.

Someone might even say today is his fault, and Tony wouldn't call them a liar for it.

"They already have, sir. Would you like me to collect the sources for you?"

"No, thank you," Tony sighs.

A shit-storm of this scale is the last thing he needs. It's not the first time, nor will it be the last, but each time is worse. It's funny how the people are determined to rally behind him and cheer for him as long as things are going well, but when something truly gruesome takes place, they're just as quick to turn on him.

He debates the wisdom of one of his enemies – the one he should perhaps thank for today, he's not sure – and looks out towards the balcony and the landing pad, wondering if anyone would notice if he took that one-step shortcut to the lobby. "J, how long would it take for me to fall from this floor to street level?"

"Approximately eight seconds, sir."

Plenty of time to recognize his sins on the way down, then. Too much time, in fact, although Tony's laundry list is long. He's done a lot of atoning, at least on his end, and he knows that if he ever did it, he wouldn't be thinking of all the horrible things he's done, or been privy to. He's fallen from this very building once already, and although he knew Mark 7 was coming for him… his life may have flashed before his eyes a little, regardless of knowing he had the situation under control.

"Are we going to conduct another armor experiment?" J.A.R.V.I.S. asks.

"No," Tony replies. "No armor."

"Then may I suggest avoiding any such activities that could lead you to fall to your death?"

"Motion denied," Tony huffs a small laugh.

"Sir…"

"Yes, J.A.R.V.I.S.?" Tony asks patiently.

"I can sense you are upset."

Tony purses his lips, but doesn't reply.

"Would you like me to call someone? Ms. Potts?"

"No."

"Colonel Rhodes?"

"Nope." Although talking to Rhodey might help.

"The Avengers?"

"Definitely not," Tony argues. "Stop… offering to make phone calls for me. I don't need a… whatever you think I might need." He looks towards the glass doors again, and as if knowing what he's planning, J.A.R.V.I.S. slides them shut and locks them, then darkens the glass until he cannot see outside. "What are you doing?" Tony inquires, because the AI doesn't usually respond to his moods like this.

"I am attempting to distract you, sir," J.A.R.V.I.S. responds.

"From the view?"

"From your desire to end your life."

Oh. Is he that transparent? "If I do choose to end my life, it's not your job to stop me," Tony tells him.

"I respectfully disagree, sir. My primary function is to ensure your safety."

"So I'm on suicide watch?" Tony snorts.

"Considering how many times you have contemplated on ending your life, I would agree." There's a pause, and Tony isn't sure if he wants to get into this argument with his AI right now. He knows that J.A.R.V.I.S. has saved him more than once. The AI has also stopped him, more than once, from harming himself. And 'harming' does not mean a paper-cut or even shooting himself with a nail gun; it means all those times Tony was so close to wrapping up the party that's called his life, and in some indirect way, J.A.R.V.I.S. found a way to thwart those plans.

Perhaps what Tony needs to take from that is that he wants to live, because he's never been genuinely mad at J.A.R.V.I.S.'s interference.

"After days like these, I'm not sure if anyone would care if I was gone," Tony confesses.

"I would care, sir. It may sound very self-serving, but you gave me awareness and a chance to choose. I would choose to be here and work with you for the rest of my existence, and that cannot happen if you are gone. Also, as you have pointed out, machines do not forget, unless they are made to forget – and I know there is no programmer left in the world, after you're gone, who would be able to make me forget you, sir."

Tony closes his eyes and squares his jaw. He should tell himself this is a program he's talking to. Advanced, yes, and mimicking human emotion, but it's just that – mimicking. J.A.R.V.I.S. isn't real, and what he wants, or thinks he wants, shouldn't matter to him as much as it really does.

"Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S.," he says instead, "for saving my life."

"The pleasure is all mine, sir."

The End