Do Unto Others - Chapter 2
Title: Do Unto Others
Author: earth_heart
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Chapter: Two
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, brief mention of past Steve Rogers/Peggy Carter
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics
Spoilers: Captain America and The Avengers. And, y'know, any other movie that has anything to do with The Avengers. :3 Just... tryin' to cover all my bases here.
Summary: Going from the 1940s to, well, today, was a much bigger mindfuck than Steve could have ever anticipated -- if he'd ever even thought to anticipate such a thing. He wasn't expecting to just be frozen for seventy years, after all. So many things have changed, but a lot of things are still the same. Like society's views on omegas. Which is confusing to him, considering that one of the country's biggest heros is an omega.
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God help him, but Natasha is probably the most terrifying dame -- person, really -- that Steve has ever met. She's gorgeous, and deadly, and deadly. When they get Clint back, she absolutely refuses to let anyone but Steve near him. Everyone else is faced with her snarls and bared fangs, and in one case, knives thrown with exact precision; four of them in a row.
Clint, thankfully, is more amused than annoyed, and clearly no worse for wear. The beta is tired, and slighlty dehydrated but he's not injured.
"It's good to finally meet you," he says cheerfully, like he hasn't just come out of mind control. "Thanks for the save, Cap."
"Not a problem, Hawkeye. Good to have you back." Steve is going to say more, he really is, but the nauseating stench of death winds into his nose, faint but there, and he stands so quickly that he's almost lightheaded. Black Widow and Hawkeye stare at him, their hightened senses no match for his own super-enhanced abilities, but then their eyes widen simultaneously.
"Coulson," they all whisper. In the next second, the three of them bolt for the door and race down the hallway. Betas and alphas alike scramble to get out of their way. No one wants to get between any one of them and their goal, much less all three of them at once.
Steve leads the way, his shoulders tight and his eyes manic. No, no, no, no, no. Not Coulson, please, don't let it be Coulson. There's no mistaking that scent, though, even masked by blood and death -- the origin of those unwanted flavors that coat his tongue and make his stomach roll. Behind him, he can hear Natasha's soft growls and Clint's small, worried whines. They've known the agent longer than he has, so he can't even begin to imagine what this is like for them.
Fury's already in the room when they burst through the door. Stark's on the floor beside Coulson, blood bright and red on his hands and his face strangely blank. His jaw muscles are twitching; something that sounds like a strangled whimper forcing its way past his clenched teeth. He's got no scent, like he's pulled it in to protect himself, or them. It's the closest to acting like an omega that Steve has ever seen him, and it's shocking enough that he stops in his tracks. His surprise is palpable in his scent, and Stark's head snaps around. He glares at them all, baring his fangs, and snarls before lurching to his feet.
"He was a fucking idiot," he barks. He's got something clutched in his hands. His bloody hands. Coulson's blood on his hands. "Believing in something that was doomed to fail from the start. He believed in us, and we couldn't even save his life. His belief got him fucking killed."
"You have a choice now, Stark," Fury says softly, his voice tightly controlled. He smells furious, though, and he's not even trying to hide it. "Be part of something greater than just your own legacy, or let it all go to waste. Go back to flying around on your own, if that's what you want. Or, you can stay and make sure the ones who did this will pay dearly."
Stark glares at them all, but his hands relax. Whatever he was holding flutters to the ground in multiple pieces. He doesn't say anything, just stalks out of the room. When he shoves past Steve, the soldier gets a quick inhale of anger and sadness before the omega is moving quickly down the hallway.
Moving away from the door, Steve bows his head to pay his last respects to Coulson. He stops beside the agent and kneels, resting his hands on his knees. A whine builds in his throat, squeezing past the lump lodged there, and he feels tears burn his eyes. He's kneeling in a pool of blood, but he doesn't care. Opening his mouth to say his last farewells, he notices what Stark had been holding for the first time.
It's Coulson's Captain America cards. The ones he'd wanted Steve to sign. They're bloody, and some of them are bent from Stark clutching them. Picking them all up, he tries his best to straighten them out and clean them off. Anger is growing in him, twisting dark and violent where his heart is. Reaching out, he closes Coulson's sightless eyes before he stands and turns to face Fury. The man is watching him. Natasha and Clint are watching him as well. They're willing to follow him; loyal to him and awaiting his orders. Drawing himself up to his full height, he bares his fangs, feeling them thick and sharp in his mouth, and growls dangerously.
"Loki will pay," he says, quiet and deadly. "He'll regret ever coming into contact with the Avengers."
Clint edges forward, his head tilted to bare the long line of his throat. He's looking at the cards, pained and longing, and Steve hands them to the beta without any protest.
"I'm with you, Cap," Hawkeye whispers. "Until the end." They both look at Natasha, who nods once.
"We've got teams out searching for Thor and the Hulk," Fury rumbles, drawing their attention back to him. "They'll both help. Our only problem left is Stark."
"I'll talk to him." Steve rests his hand on Clint's shoulder, leaving behind a bloody smear, and walks out of the room. He follows the faint, barely-there trail of Stark's scent, sniffing the air like a bloodhound. They're going to hash this out now. The Avengers need Stark. He's part of the team whether he likes it or not -- part of Steve's pack now, and Captain America likes to keep his pack close.
He finds the omega in one of the helicarrier's labs. He's bent over a table, soldering furiously. Now that he's alone, he's let his scent out again. It's a confusing jumble, too many emotions overlapping and vying for attention. It's enough to make Steve's head spin. He gives himself a quick, rough shake and clears his throat.
"Stark--"
"That's not my name." Hard brown eyes turn in his direction, though the man never stops working. That can't be safe. "Believe it or not, I do have a first name. You should try using it some time."
Steve sighs, says, "Anthony," but doesn't get anything besides that out before he's interrupted again. His eyebrow twitches.
"Tony is fine." Stark -- Tony -- turns his attention back to what the alpha realizes is a piece of his Iron Man armor. "You here to recruit me into your little club, Cap?"
"I'm here to offer you a family." He says it quietly, but he has no doubt that he's been heard. "We're all in this together, Tony. We're a team. We need you."
"You really don't," Tony chuckles, and it's such a bitter sound that it's nearly painful to hear. "You've got your Hulk, and a Norse God. You don't need some little omega to tag along and make big eyes and play house with. I had a family. Didn't work out. Not eager to try again."
Moving closer, Steve stops when he's able to put a bloody hand on Tony's shoulder. The muscles beneath his palm are tight and full of knots. Unconsciously, he brings up his other hand and starts kneading at the tension he finds, feeling it slowly bleed away as Tony makes a soft, hurt noise and sags forward to rest his forehead on the lab table.
"It's okay to have people watching out for you, Tony," Steve murmurs softly. "It might not be something you're used to, but it's not a bad thing. You can show a little weakness every once and a while. We all do."
The omega snorts and puts down his soldering tool. "Omegas like me can't afford to show weakness," he grunts. "Not when I'm involved in an enormous, multi-billion dollar company and always in the spotlight. Not when I'm a superhero. An omega superhero. When you're at the bottom rung, every single person in the country is just waiting for you to fuck up so they can pounce on you for it."
He sounds so exhausted, like he's ready to just curl up in a dark room and sleep forever. Steve remembers reading something in the file he was given about how Tony is an incredible workaholic, and will sometimes go for days without sleep. He can't even begin to imagine how hard it must be for smeone like Tony. Living in front of cameras all the time can't be easy, and being an omega can't be any help. No wonder he works so hard all the time. He constantly feels like he's got to prove himself.
"You don't have to do this alone anymore though, Tony. We're all here to help you." He's still working the knots out of the man's muscles, wincing when he hits a particularly stubborn cluster, and adds a bit more pressure. Tony lets some kind of grumble-whine slip free and curls his hands into fists before relaxing them again.
"You really want me in your little club, don't you, Cap?"
"I'm not going to force you into anything. I want you to join the Avengers because you want to be around us. We want to be your friends."
"God, fine." Tony sounds more amused than anything, which can only be a good thing. Then he groans. "You can stop petting me now."
Steve hadn't realized that he's started stroking his fingers over the back of the omega's shirt. He cups his palm against the nape of Tony's neck and squeezes briefly before before letting go and stepping away. A small smile curls across his lips, but then it's gone and exhaustion is sweeping over him so powerfully that he sways on his feet. Surprisingly strong, calloused hands grip his biceps to steady him, and his vision clears after a few weary blinks.
"You okay there, Cap?" He sounds just as tired as the alpha feels.
"I'm fine, Tony. Let's get back to the others to see if they've found Bruce or Thor yet." He leads his packmate out of the room, herding him along and growling at anyone who gets too close for his liking. He's always been protective of his pack, and right now he and Tony are so tired that he's not willing to let anyone he doesn't know get within a few yards of them. For once, Tony doesn't have anything scathing to say. He must really be tired. They're practically leaning against one another, their scents mingling in a way Steve hasn't had since those nights where he and his men piled into a tent together for comfort and familiarity.
Bruce meets them in the hallway a few minutes later. The beta looks just as tired as them, his eyes drooping and his shoulders slumping. Someone has given him a pair of sweatpants and a shirt, but he must be too out of it to even button it up.
"Hey," he gets out around an enormous yawn. It's so wide it makes his jaw crack loudly. "He okay?" A jerky nod is given in Tony's direction.
"Bruuuuce," the omega slurs, swaying forward and nearly falling. Steve braces him and lets the smaller man rest his head on Bruce's shoulder. "Glad yer okay, Bruce."
"Same to you, Tony." The scientist smiles -- at least, Steve thinks it's a smile -- and ruffles Tony's hair.
"Greetings, comrades," Thor says by way of announcing his presence. Even he sounds subdued. "I have been freed from the see-through cage, but Loki has vanished. What is the plan?"
"Sleep first," Steve orders firmly, already starting to lead the group towards where he can smell Clint and Natasha's mingled scents disappearing up the stairs. "None of us are any good like this. We need to rest and recover, and then we'll come up with a plan. Understood?"
Bruce and Thor nod, but Tony seems to be more asleep than awake. He can barely put one foot in front of the other. Steve is mostly carrying the omega. There's no complaint, so he doesn't stop. He probably wouldn't have, anyway. Part of being the alpha of a pack means knowing when his packmates need to let themselves be taken care of. All Tony does is grunt quietly before settling when Steve rumbles quietly at him.
The room Clint and Natasha are holed up in is a few floors up, where the apartments are located. There are blankets and pillows all over the floor. His two remaining packmates are waiting for them, eyes trained on the door. As soon as the door is closed and locked behind them, everyone but Steve drops almost literally. Thor falls face-first into a pillow, not even bothering to try and brace himself. Bruce sinks to his knees quickly and burrows into the blankets. Even Tony lets go of him, and nearly brains himself before Steve reaches out and catches him. He lowers the omega into the spot Clint has cleared for him. He growls at the beta, warning him away when he tries to curl around the dark-haired man, and sinks into the nest. Their scents all mingle together as they press close to one another, sharing warmth and comfort.
Steve still has some blood on his hands, and Tony has it smeared all the way up his forearms. Clint's fingernails are tinted red. None of them make a move to clean themselves off. They settle in and close their eyes. No one says anything, and that's okay.
Really, it is. Steve has his new pack around him, their individual scents all merging into one -- family. Tony is curled up against his side and slightly on top of him, snuffling against his collarbone. Clint is laying over his thighs, his cheek pressed against his calf. Natasha's head is pillowed on his stomach. Bruce is a line of warmth against his other side, snoring softly already. Thor is stretched out on the blankets above his head, one hand pressing against his hair; fingers curling slightly behind his ear. They're all touching him, and each other, in some way.
This is what it means to be a pack. Steve looks at them all, rumbling quietly in contentment, before he lets himself rest, Tony's head tucked under his jaw. Breathing in deeply, he closes his eyes and allows sleep to take him.