Disguise Time
"Here we are." Tony announced, forcing his hands to relax on the wheel. He took a left into a mostly deserted, lineless parking lot, going slow to allow all eyes to drink in the monstrosity of a motel. It was scraping the bottom of the barrel, basically forgotten on modern maps and near beyond repair. It was one story, barely the length of a standard motel, and the once orange exterior was faded into a mottled yellow. The windows were so clouded by dirt that they almost blended with the walls and the door itself was a patchwork of green shades rather than the typical glass.
"It's...something." Scott said. Tony snorted out a laugh, driving to the furthest corner of the cracked parking lot. There was a thin line of soil between the motel and the neighboring waste management facility, allowing for a twisted, rotted oak tree to root itself. The branches were devoid of life, but some shade was better than none.
"It's the best for this situation." Sam replied. "Subtility. We needed a place that wouldn't think twice about four shady characters and wouldn't have many people. Tony did exactly that."
"Thank Friday. She's the one who found it."
"Then I thank both of you."
He paused, brain misfiring for a second. "Uh, your welcome?"
"And thank you for fixing the car. I forgot to say that earlier. I'm sorry."
"Uh...okay, no apologies needed." This was too weird. He shook his head and somehow found the dregs of his showmanship among the shock. "It's my job. A rat could have done it." Before Sam could say anything else that triggered his already overloaded feelings meter, he unbuckled himself and spun to face the rest of the ragtag team. He even glanced at Wanda. "Okay, what's the plan, Temporary Steve?"
Sam dropped his head back against the seat, a frustrated sound leaving him. "You guys can quit calling me that."
"Not anytime soon." Tony smirked. Scott sniggered beside him, hand over his mouth, and the genius suppressed a full grin. Gushy emotions forgotten? Check. Annoy his temporary captain in Tony Stark fashion? Double check.
Sam shook his head, an amused smile pulling at his lips before he straightened, going serious. "Alright, here's how we're going to do it: our plain clothes should work, but we want to do our best to look as awful as possible. Right now, we're civilians looking for a place to stay, not superheroes." His gaze shifted to Tony. "You're the most recognizable of us, but Wanda is a close second. You two will be behind Scott and me. What name is the reservation under?"
"Simon Edwards." He replied. He'd been surprised the place took reservations. "I doubt they'll ask for names, but if they do, we need to have code ones."
"Good idea." Scott nodded. "I'll be....uh...John."
"John?" Tony raised an eyebrow. "That's the best you can come up with?"
"It's a common name!"
"Well, John, do you have a last name? And don't you dare say Cena."
"I wasn't going to!"
"But you were thinking it."
"My hypothetical parents could have been fans with a coincidental last name."
"And you do realize that you're close in age to John Cena, right?"
"It's all coincidence!"
"Nothing is ever a coincidence."
"Says who?"
"Says the man of science!"
"Well, I think-"
"Boys!" Sam cut in. He was clearly trying to look annoyed - the smile was undermining it. "Back to the subject. Scott, you'll be John Davis. I'll be Simon Edwards. Wanda, what about you?"
Tony forced himself to look at the young woman who had yet to say a word. She tapped her fingers against her knee, eyes focused on some singular point off in the distance. After a few seconds, she replied quietly, "Natalya Davis. One less last name to remember. I can be John's cousin."
Sam gave a small nod. "Good thinking." He praised. "How about you, Tony?"
A name instantly popped into his head, but it was a name he didn't want to use. He scraped his mind for a different name, something generic and easy, yet he couldn't steer clear of it. The name was familiar to him and recognizable if one knew his family history well. It was an identity he used to think of assuming - a way to forget the Stark name while keeping his bloodline close. Finally, he resigned himself to speaking it into existence. "Is Anthony Carbonell too close?"
Sam mused on it for a moment. "I don't think so. No one knows you by Anthony."
'Aside from Justin Hammer,' he thought bitterly. The man had recently gotten off on probation - money talked, he supposed. Last he checked, the man was scrambling for the last remains of his weapons business.
"Why Carbonell?"
Tony's attention shifted to Wanda. Instantly, he wanted to raise his hackles in defense. He wanted to brush the attention away with a flippant comment or lie. The words refused to come. Wanda, in that moment, looked so openly curious that any fire in him sputtered out. He was reminded of the sunglasses conversation from yesterday - was it really only yesterday? It felt like a lifetime ago now - but this was different. More tender. The question dug beyond superficial banter and intricate truths. It dug into his nerves, pain echoing behind his heart and making his eyes burn.
He found himself answering, voice softening on its own accord. It always did when talking about her. "It was my mother's maiden name. Maria Carbonell." He was supposed stop there. His mouth, his stupid mouth, had a mind of its own. "She was Italian." He almost mentioned her piano and the soft music that would flood the house, calming the after effects of whatever argument Tony and his dad had. It would bring them all back to living room, fires temporarily snuffed to listen to her beautiful singing. He managed to stop himself, worried he would break down in front of the people he still barely knew. The memory was too fresh. Too raw. He may have forgiven Steve and tried to separate Bucky from the Winter Soldier - that didn't mean he forgot watching his beautiful, innocent mother die. It didn't mean he forgot how she begged him to say something to his father before they left. It didn't erase her voice as she sang the last notes, her final notes, before leaving forever.
Wanda's lips curled into the slightest smile. Irrational fear welled up in his chest, his thoughts twirling into terrifying scenarios. She would stalk his memories again, show him visions of his mother only to end in her death, and-
"My mother's name was Natalya." She spoke softly, her voice taking on a heavier Sokovian accent. "She was beautiful. She could sing."
His thoughts stopped. They evaporated when he recognized the wistful look in Wanda's eyes. She was young, though not the kid Steve once insisted she was, and had lost her mother and her father far earlier than Tony had lost his.
She and Pietro had become orphans due to his negligence. They fell for Hydra propaganda because of him. They became experiments because of him. Her whole life was uprooted because of him. She lost her brother because of him.
He just couldn't stop destroying, could he? Wanda's family, Yinsen's village, countless more people injured or killed by his weapons, and then breaking the Avengers? He really was the villain that he didn't want to be.
Tony Stark, the Merchant of Death.
He forced down the lump in his throat. Somehow, his voice came out normal. "I'm sure she was." He paused, then tentatively added what he swore not to say, "My mother could sing, too. She adored the piano. Her favorite song was 'Try To Remember.'" If anything, it was fitting to be the last song she ever played - her most adored, even if it followed Tony in his dreams and haunted his nightmares.
"She must have been an amazing singer." Wanda's smile grew slightly. She folded her hands on her lap, something he was taking increasing notice of, and continued, a sheen to her eyes. "My father would play the acoustic guitar. They would sing together. Did...did your mother sing with you?"
"She did." He answered. "She taught me to play."
"Is..." Her hands tightened their grasp. "Is there a way I could learn how to play guitar?"
"Of course." He nodded. "There are plenty of YouTube tutorials and instruction handbooks. Friday can give you hands on instruction as well - in a way. She can see everything." He was talking fast, almost rambling, and he knew it. He was swerving away from the emotional mother talk before it could break down his walls. "Would you rather virtual learning or physical?"
"Both? Maybe? I'm not sure-"
"Friday," he waited for his phone to beep, indicating she was listening, "order Wanda a few of the best guitar instruction handbooks. Wait, do I have a guitar? An acoustic one?" He had at least two electric guitars lying around somewhere. (No, his brain reminded him, he had one. The other was lying at the bottom of the ocean after his Malibu mansion got blown up.)
"You own five, Boss." Huh, his 'need it, buy it, store it' strategy from when he was younger finally paid off.
"Wanda, what's your favorite color?"
"Blue." She replied. Tony had expected red or pink, but he took it in stride. (Did it have something to do with Pietro? He filed that away for later. Or never. It wasn't his business.)
"Do I own a blue one?"
"You own two blue ones."
"Order another. Make it a different shade. No, actually, order five different shades."
Another beep. "Order finished, Boss."
"Great." He clapped his hands, channeling his nervous energy into movement. He didn't need to get the attention on him - it already was. Wanda was staring at him like a fish out of water. Sam and Scott, forgotten during their conversation, had surprise etched in their features. He ignored it all, focusing on what he could do - a small good deed that did nothing to fix his past, present, or future. "Get me a list of the best music teachers in New York and gather a playlist of teaching videos, arranged least to most difficulty. Oh, and order sheet music. She'll need videos on that, too. Then we're done."
"On it."
"Mr. Stark-" Wanda's voice was barely a squeak.
"Tony." He corrected automatically, mind too scattered to catch up with his mouth. She hadn't called him anything except 'Stark.' He wasn't sure how he felt about the change to Mr. Stark, but he did know that he would rather his worst enemy call him Tony than Mr. Stark. (Not that Wanda was his worst enemy. No, that honor went to Tony himself.) He distantly noticed how he had switched to calling her 'Wanda' over 'Maximoff.' When did that happen? "It's Tony. Or Anthony right now, I suppose. Disguise time." With one more clap of his hands, he was pushing his door open. "I need my jacket out the back. The more raggedy one."
"I'll get it." Scott threw his own door open. "The receptionist might see you."
"With those windows? I doubt it." Still, he stayed in the car, legs swung out into the cool air. At least it was autumn. If it were summer, a jacket would be an
inadvisable disguise. He'd also let his goatee grow out, just a little bit, to hopefully add to the offset of his identity. He was wearing his lab shoes, the worn out white pair, and there was a beanie in the jacket. When he was in Tennessee, the hood and hat worked well together. With his unruly curls poking out from under it, he would hopefully have the perfect disguise. He pulled his phone from his pocket. "Friday, show me the lay out of the motel again."
Rather than his typical holograms, the screen lit up with a blueprint plan that was dated forty-eight years ago. The thing was older than he was, if not by much. (Come to think of it, Scott was older than Tony by at least a year. The genius had the upper hand in age jokes. Take that, Ant-man.) Tony studied it, flipping it around with his finger. He'd hoped that they would have more than one exit and entrance for what they had to do, but the place only had one. From arial and Google Maps images, every other exit aside from the fire escape was boarded up. He could disable the alarm, if the thing even worked. They could try the windows, but with the age of the place, he doubted they would get them open without causing extra damage.
A cloth ball hit his face and his jacket dropped onto his forearms. "There." Scott said.
"You're a jerk." Tony muttered, slipping his phone back into his pocket and pulling on the jacket. He grabbed a beanie from one of the inner jacket pockets, sliding it over his head, then the hood.
"Fury said hats were a stupid disguise." Sam said.
"Fury is an idiot." He quipped. "But if he meant when you all wore ball caps as your only disguise, which he probably is, then yeah, I'll have to agree with the old pirate." He ignored Sam's squawk of disapproval and grabbed his sunglasses where they somehow still hung on his shirt collar, forgotten until now. He lowered the sun visor and gave himself a look over in the mirror. The darkness under his eyes had receded to a shadow of itself and his goatee, as predicted, was a little less defined. The public had yet to see him in much other than suits, so his somewhat oil stained AC/DC t-shirt and jeans would hopefully be enough to throw anyone off. "Do I look like Tony Stark?" He asked, giving Scott a half grin. It was automatic, an echo of his paparazzi smile.
"If you don't smile like that, nope."
He flattened his mouth and pointed his eyes at the pavement, lips twitching up faintly. "How about now?"
"Way better. You're still Tony, but more...Anthony." Tony didn't have to look to see the teasing smile on his face. "Should I start calling you Anthony regularly?"
"Oh please no. Have mercy on me." He groaned. "There is only one person on this planet who regularly calls me Anthony and you do not want to be compared to him."
Scott laughed. "How about me? Do I look like Scott or John?"
"Scohn." Tony smirked, meeting his eyes.
"What does that mean?"
"Think about it, Lang."
One beat passed. Then two. "Oh." He chuckled. "I get it."
"But better safe than sorry." They were once fugitives. Some faces might remain in people's minds, if subconsciously. "Mess your hair up and..." He held out his sunglasses. This pair made him too recognizable, but they might be the perfect thing for Scott. "Here."
"Woah." He took them gingerly, inspecting them. They were one of his more boring pairs - sleek black and deeply tinted. Still designer, just not obviously designer. "Aren't these expensive?"
"I got a million of them." He shrugged. "You can keep those."
"Are you serious?" Tony tried not to laugh at how his eyes tried to pop out of his head, nodding. "Thank you, this is so cool, but what about tonight?"
"I have more in my bag. I never go anywhere without an extra nearby." He made a shooing gesture with his hand. "Put them on. Try to imitate me." He joked.
"Is that a challenge?"
"Would you take it as one?"
"Completely."
"Then yes."
"You're on." He pulled on the sunglasses and ran his hands through his hair, spiking it up and parting it down the side. It was a shadow of his own style with Scott's hair type and length. He flared the top collar of his rumpled black jacket up and unzipped it, revealing a blue shirt underneath. He was wearing a pair of black jeans that were faded grey at the knees and a pair of sneakers that were similar to Tony's - white and in desperate need of repair.
"You can look the part all you want." Tony mused, leaning against the seat. He found that the tension in his shoulders had lessened and his hands were lax on his knees. "I have a million imitators in that department. The challenge is acting like me."
"Have you ever entered a lookalike contest?"
"Why would I?"
"You should." He said. "Celebrities tend to lose their own lookalike contest."
That piqued his interest. "Seriously?"
Scott nodded. "You should see if it's true."
"I might do that. Friday, make a note on when the next Tony Stark lookalike contest in New York is."
"There's an Ironman one, too."
"Fri-"
"Done, Boss. Both are in the next month."
"Set a reminder. I want to do it. Scott, you're going with me." He pointed at him, unsure where the words came from. He got to know the guy three days ago and now he was inviting him to not one but two lookalike contests? Where was his head?
Any doubt in his mind vanished at Scott's grin. "Awesome!" The word was a sort of whisper-yell, similar to when they had been at the gas station and Tony told him he might be able to pilot the suit - again, where was his head? - and he didn't get it. He understood Peter fanboying over him. He was a kid, an innocent kid, and the phase would eventually wear off when he fully understood who Tony was. He was Ironman, yes. He was a genius, yes. He had saved the world with that nuke, yes.
But for everything he was, there was something bad he'd done. He was Ironman because he was trying to destroy his weapons that got sold under his nose. It didn't matter that it had been Obadiah who betrayed him. Tony should have been more observant. He should have known. He was a genius, but his genius had gotten him into heaps of trouble in school and fanned his ego to be bigger than the Earth. He had saved the world by diverting the nuke into the portal, away from New York. Who wouldn't? Steve would have. Thor would have. He wasn't special. He understood that his life was not worth millions. It was simple math. He didn't know there was an actual mothership that controlled the Chitauri. He had a hunch, sure, but he didn't plan that.
Being Ironman, his genius, and saving the world had led to him almost destroying it with Ultron.
With Ultron, he spurred the Sokovia Accords - "it would have come eventually," Pepper tried to tell him, ever the business mind, "it wasn't all you." He couldn't believe it, no matter what she or stupid Ross said - and his ego, his guilt, his insecurities and his entire personality contrasting with Steve's was what broke the Avengers apart.
It was all him.
Scott knew exactly who he was, exactly what he'd done in life, and he still managed to fanboy like Peter.
He didn't get it.
"How about this?" Scott's question broke him from his self-deprecating spiral, knocking him back into the present. He'd shifted, standing with his feet shoulder-width apart. One hand was folded behind him while the other touched the edge of Tony's - now his - sunglasses, bringing them halfway down his nose. He had a wide grin, clearly attempting the Tony Stark Charm. It wasn't half bad - a little eerie that he was looking at an interpretation of his mask, but not bad.
"It's good." He complimented, clapping. Scott positively beamed. "You should join one of those contests. You might not get last."
"Might not?"
"You're missing the iconic part." He touched his scraggly goatee.
Scott shrugged. "I'll just take a marker to my face and there won't be much of a difference."
"Hey!" He scoffed. "This goatee is much more than marker. It's a work of art."
"You sure about that?"
They traded barbs for a few more minutes. Scott was doing nothing to contain his smile, leaning on the door, and Tony was fighting to keep himself from grinning. He didn't get the chance to think about himself. He couldn't think about the blurry memories from that morning or what he'd been obsessing over for the last hour of the drive. He only thought of the next playful insult, dancing around anything that would actually hurt and all his genius pouring itself into the next comeback. "You know, that fifty years old comment earlier was pretty good. It would be better if you weren't older than me."
"I'm forty-eight!"
"And I'm forty-seven."
Scott paused, clearly stumped. "What?"
"Yep. Born in May of 1970. Pretty sure that, by the math, I'm forty-seven."
It took an extra three seconds for Scott's brain to reboot. "At least I aged better."
Tony sputtered. "Who says?"
"Everyone who thinks I'm in my thirties."
"I got named most eligible bachelor of the year more than ten times-"
"That was ten years ago-"
"Nine. Nine years ago. I got with Pepper early 2009. Not a bachelor after that, thank God."
"-and I thought you were at least fifty-"
"That's your own poor eyesight. Sure you don't need glasses, grandpa?"
"-so that means I aged far better."
"Did not!"
"Did too!"
"Did not-"
"Guys!" Sam interjected, stopping them both. His arms were crossed and he was clad in a grey trenchcoat and black trousers. Tony wasn't sure where he pulled the trenchcoat from - maybe that was what made his personal bag so thick. He was wearing a beanie, which, in Tony's opinion, was a much more covert choice than just wearing a baseball cap on his regular clothes Seriously, what was Cap thinking with that plan? For all the thoughts he'd ever had on Cap, that was in the top five of the 'what the heck Steve' category.
"Yes?" Tony and Scott asked.
Their temporary captain tapped his wrist. "We've only got a few hours left before the conference."
Friday chimed in. "There are three hours and forty-two minutes until the conference."
"Thank you, Friday." Sam acknowledged. "And if we want to get there thirty minutes early, like we planned, then we basically have three hours. I would rather not spend the next hour listening to you two compare your handsomeness, so if we could please get going?" He gestured toward the motel.
Tony glanced at Scott. "Truce?" He held out a hand.
"To be continued," the man replied, shaking his hand.
At the completely wrong moment, Tony's stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in over twelve hours. "Friday," he called, standing.
"Yes, Boss?"
"Place an order for pizza. One pepperoni for me." Pepperoni pizza had always been his favorite, but after the public dubbed him and Pepper as the Pepperony Power Couple, it became his all-time favorite food. "What about you guys?"
"Meat lovers." Scott said.
"I like supreme." Sam added.
All eyes fell to Wanda. The woman was standing partly behind Sam, a few feet away from where they were grouped. She had her hair tied up into a messy bun, the occasional piece sticking out and making it look like she had just rolled out of bed. A baggy, brown sweater paired with her jeans made her look smaller - weaker. For a moment, he saw the kid Steve saw her as. Her hands were still pressed together in front of her, once again raising the question of 'why?' inside Tony's mind. She'd never had a problem letting her magic flicker and spark when she was upset or angry or stressed. Why the reserve? Wanda was powerful. Beyond powerful. He had heard her say once that she wasn't sure how powerful she was and that she wasn't completely in control once her power reached a certain point. With proper training, she would be the strongest member of the team.
(What need would they have for a man in a can?)
Wanda shifted nervously on her feet, eyes flicking between them and the rotted oak. Her bag straps were over her shoulders, leaving her hands free to clasp so tightly together that Tony became concerned for her blood circulation. "I...I don't know."
"Have you not had pizza before?" Sam asked gently.
"I- no."
"Wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight." Scott waved his hands around exaggeratedly before pressing them to the sides of his head. "You've never had pizza before? What about all the team dinners? We've had pizza a few times."
Ah yes, the team dinners. Friday told him about them every time, as per Steve's open request. (She was mad at the Captain still and sometimes would make technology go on the fritz around him, if only for a second. Tony told her not to, but she was like him emotionally, just without the control. He could limit her, yes. Shut her down at her core, even if it would hurt him deeply to lose another AI child by his own hand. Her anger was his fault - she heard all his frustrated rants and angry mutterings over machinery. She saw all the tears he tried to hide and was there when he woke up screaming as Steve's shield slammed into his chest. But still, she always passed on his invitation to team dinners.) He would debate with himself sometimes, walk to the door of his lab or get halfway up the stairs before chickening out.
He didn't know how to act with them all there.
It would be easier, if mentally exhausting, to throw on the mask of Tony Stark. The Tony Stark. The man who grinned for the paparazzi and walked with all the confidence of someone who owned the world. It would work on a few of the team, at least. He could dial up the charm, throw a few jokes, keep himself moving from person to person and slip away within half an hour as others felt he'd been there for two hours. He would make some laugh, get some annoyed, and he would have been there, among them, if only for a little while. He would play pretend, as he had when he was small.
But Clint, Natasha, and Steve wouldn't fall for it. They had seen too much of the real Tony to let themselves be fooled. They had seen him when he was exhausted beyond his limits and dragged him to bed. They had seen him sick and babbling out of his mind with a 104 fever. They had seen him genuinely laugh and tasted the recipe for his mother's homemade spaghetti, one of the few things he could cook without nearly burning the kitchen down. He wouldn't be able to meet their eyes as the Tony Stark. He wouldn't be able to be in the same room without splitting at the seams, desperate to be two people at once.
It didn't matter. Rationally, he knew that if he walked into the room, conversations would clam up and he would make everyone feel awkward. No matter how high he dialed up the charm, he wouldn't be able to put anyone at ease because he was the odd one out in his own building. Sure, he and Steve were on better terms. They had even returned to a few old jokes and bantering, though not to the same caliber as before the Civil War. They had talked out their issues as best they could until Tony couldn't take it and made some excuse he couldn't remember now to slip away and hide in his lab. Talking became a little easier after that as long as Steve didn't try to bring up Tony's feelings. Tony and Clint had played a few rounds of video games, sharing barbs and nearly knocking each other off the couch in an effort to win, like old times. Natasha was being Natasha and caring in her own way of caring with dropping off take-out at the door to his lab or sitting silently with him at night in the kitchen, both nursing a cup of coffee and staring out the window. It was so familiar, yet so different.
They weren't in the tower. They weren't six Avengers. They weren't that close knit group that destroyed Hydra bases and had team movie nights on Thursdays. There were other people, people he didn't know well enough to sit with and not feel the need to keep his walls up. Bruce and Thor were gone - Bruce completely gone from the radar and Thor off at home, dealing with whatever things an alien price dealt with. Pieces of his family were missing and others were trying to mold into their places.
Sometimes, when it was two in the morning and he was exhausted and empty, he would want to enjoy the current team. He wanted to be a real part of it, not just the tech man who stayed in his lab. He wanted to laugh and joke without being Tony Stark. He wanted to be Tony, like he used to.
Except it was impossible, wasn't it? He was having fun with Scott, sure, and Sam hadn't been so bad, and even Wanda had gone over twelve hours without being mad at him, yet it all managed to leave him clawing at questions. It wouldn't last, would it? As soon as they returned to the tower, Sam would be Steve's apprentice, Scott would be everyone's goofball and wouldn't have time for crazy geniuses, and Wanda would go back to alternating between angry at him and giving him the silent treatment.
This was only temporary. He couldn't allow himself to think otherwise.
He blinked and realized the conversation had gone on without him. Thankfully, his brain moved fast enough to give him a recap. Wanda hadn't eaten the pizza during the team dinners because she wasn't sure what to think of the toppings. "Many foods here are far different from Sokovia." She said. "I didn't know what I would like and didn't want to waste the food."
"We have to fix this." Tony found himself saying. The words were distant, like someone else was saying them. His brain was still caught up in his twisting thoughts, desperate to escape but aware enough to connect to his mouth. The more he talked, the more he guided himself back to reality. "It's a travesty that you've been an Avenger for almost three years and haven't had pizza."
"Exactly!" Scott exclaimed.
"Friday, add a cheese pizza and a veggie pizza to that order. If all toppings fail, she'll like the cheese. You like cheese, right?" At her nod, he continued. "Right. Place the order."
"Got it, Boss." A few contemplating seconds passed. "The food will be delivered in thirty-two minutes to a Simon Edwards. Cash payment expected."
"Thank you." He shut his car door and headed to the open trunk, grabbing his personal bag. He also grabbed the suitcase (the actual one, not the suit) and extended the handle, allowing for it to roll behind him. Contrary to Wanda's earlier billionaire comment, this wasn't all for him. He just needed to run the plan by Sam first. He shut the trunk. "Lead the way, Simon and John."
"You better keep up, Anthony." Scott replied. "Be careful with your back."
"You be careful with your-"
"Boys." Sam cut in. Both fell silent, though they shared a brief look behind their leader's back. Finally, they started toward the entrance, Tony following directly behind Scott. He was silently bitter about the extra inch of height the man had on him, but it was helpful here. The more he was concealed, the better.
Wanda fell in step beside him and he tried not to panic, forcing his breath even and steps light. He didn't look at her, keeping his gaze to the back of Scott's head, and counted over and over again from one to ten. He wasn't entirely sure why he was freaking out so much today, especially when it came to her. (No, he knew exactly why. He knew all the reasons why.) In the car, he'd been able to talk to her, but she hadn't been directly beside him. She hadn't been able to reach out with her magic without anyone noticing.
He hardly noticed when they made it to the door, snapping back to reality long enough to stop the others with a light tap to Sam's shoulder. At his questioning look, Tony pulled out his wallet and handed over two hundred dollar bills for Simon Edwards to pay with. This place only accepted cash and barely wanted a name. No ID necessary.
The inside of the place was only marginally better than outside. The floors were checkered white and black, like a giant chess board, and the walls were the ugly neon that defined the 70s. A few mismatched couches that had seen far better days lined the walls and two overhead lights flickered dimly. The nicest thing there was the receptionist desk - a sturdy wooden thing with a glass top. The only electronic in sight was there: one old cord phone. There were a few shelves along the wall behind the counter, all full of various trinkets and books.
An old woman sat at the counter, reading a magazine. When they got to the desk, she barely flicked her eyes upward. "Which of you boys are Simon Edwards?" She asked, her voice hoarse with either a common cold or because she had to be over seventy.
"I am." Sam said, stepping up. He pushed the bills along the counter. "Is this enough?"
She snorted, picking up the cash. "Honey, you could stay here for less than half of this, but you were the one who insisted on the two rooms closest to the ice machine. Got yourself an upcharge for that."
"We like our ice." The leader replied, somehow managing to sound both confident and completely lost. Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh or facepalm. Or both.
The woman hummed. "Sure, hon." She put the cash in the manual register and grabbed two rusted keys from a drawer. "Here you go. Don't lose them or it's a fifty dollar fee for each. We don't have replacements."
"Understood, ma'am."
They went to move, but the woman stopped them. "I'm going to need all your names for the record." She pulled out a yellowed notepad and grabbed a pen, clicking the top expectantly. "I know who you are," she said, then yawned. The cut off sentence had Tony on edge, barely breathing as he tried to keep his posture lax. He turned his eyes to the ground briefly, schooling his features. Finally, she scribbled on the pad. "I know you, Simon Edwards. Now for the rest of you."
They recited their fake names. Wanda did her best to pull off an American accent when it was her turn and she did fairly well - it sounded like she had a bit of a cold, but it was far better than the lady not being able to place the accent and raising an alarm with her boss. Or maybe she was the boss. Tony really didn't know.
After Wanda finished spelling her mother's name, it was Tony's turn. "Anthony Carbonell." He spoke the name in a softer tone, allowing the words to roll off his tongue. He sounded different to his own ears, using the voice he reserved for gentler moments, such as speaking about his mother. No one outside of his immediate circle (which, at one point, included the original six Avengers) would recognize it as him. Never did he speak like that to a camera.
The lady wrote it down, not asking for a spelling. Tony wished he could see it, ensure that she hadn't butchered his mother's name, but it would only draw more attention to himself.
"You can go now." The woman said, shooing them off with a hand and going back to her magazine. Tony breathed a silent sigh of relief - until she said something else. "You know Simon," she called, not looking up, "you sounded different on the phone."
Sam cleared his throat. "Must have been my cold."
The woman laughed lightly. "That or my hearing, dear."
They all let out awkward chuckles. When she said nothing more, engrossed in her magazine, they speed-walked down the hall.
"That was too close." Scott muttered once they were far enough away.
"You're telling me." Tony mumbled.
Soon, they made it to their rooms. One might have passed, but he got two for the sake of separation and because, well, two bathrooms. (He was not looking forward to seeing what the bathroom looked like in this place.) Tony, as Simon Edwards on the phone, had ensured they were right beside each other.
"I didn't think about the voice thing." Tony said quietly while they were all still grouped in the hall. In a way, he had. He'd instructed Friday to distort his voice until it was low enough to not be recognized as his. He hadn't thought about the receptionist, especially one who kept having him repeat what he said, would remember exactly what he sounded like.
"It's all good, Tony. I told you to book the rooms and didn't think about it. That's on me."
"You probably assumed online booking, which this place doesn't have." There wasn't one piece of 2000s tech here.
"It doesn't matter."
"It does-"
"Guys," this time it was Scott who cut in, putting a hand on Tony's right shoulder and his other on Sam's left. Tony tried not tense up under the touch, "can we agree it is Hydra's fault for causing this mission? No one here is at fault."
"I think that's a good idea." Sam said. Tony nodded, forcing a smile, and their leader continued. "Okay, rooms. While we eat, we can share one space, but what about getting ready?" They all really needed showers. Baby wipes and gas station sinks hadn't been enough.
It was quickly decided that the boys would be in one room while Wanda got the other. Even with changing in the bathroom, no one wanted to make her uncomfortable by being in the same hotel room for an extended period of time, even if one was in a separated room. With almost two hours dedicated to getting ready, Tony was sure that the three men could all get ready in that time frame while using the same shower - as long as Scott didn't start singing Miley Cirus. When the man protested the accusation, Tony responded, "Don't feel bad. Clint sings Taylor Swift way off key." It got Scott sputtering with a red face, Sam laughing, and even Wanda giggling.
Sam handed one of the keys to Wanda and the woman went to put her stuff away. He then unlocked their door, allowing them to file in. Tony dropped his bags off by the entrance, then surveyed the area. There hadn't been any online pictures of the place and he'd expected a complete dump - he was somewhat surprised. It wasn't as bad a dump that he thought it was going to be: dark brown carpet with only a few questionable stains, two twin beds with apparently clean red covers, and a light grey, wool couch in the corner. The overhead light didn't work and maybe it was for the best. He didn't want to know what messes could be hiding in the shadows.
"I'm going to the bathroom." He stated, slipping away before either of his temporary roommates could say a word. He closed and locked the door behind him, then let his back rest against it, hands covering his eyes. Slowly, he slid down to the mismatched tile floor, eventually bringing his legs up to his chest. His first breath of solitude allowed for all his anxieties to flood back, crashing into his mind and raising his heart rate.
"Boss?" Friday quietly asked. "Your vitals are becoming...erratic."
"I'm fine." He muttered, hauling in a lung full of air. "I'm fine." But he wasn't fine. The longer he was awake, the more he thought. The more he thought, the more cohesive his nightmare from last night became. The images tried to bubble up. They tried to suffocate him, but were chased away by the blurry memories of worried voices and gentle touch. He was used to Pepper soothing him, or Rhodey or Happy depending on the circumstances of where he was. Heck, he could remember plenty of times where one or more of the old Avengers were there, pulling his coffee from his shaking hands and getting him to breathe after a particularly bad night had brought him to the common areas of his tower.
When he first woke up to Scott's poke, he'd thought it had all been a dream. He'd thought his mind had mercy on him for once and allowed comfort before he slipped into a dreamless sleep. After getting over the fact that he hadn't woken to his name being called the first time, he'd registered the way Scott was looking at him. Behind the jokes was a thinly concealed worry. Tony had tried to convince himself it was because he slept so long (seriously, over twelve hours?), only to notice Sam's jacket was on him. He hadn't known what to say, so he brushed it away and tried to think of it as Sam being an overly nice team leader.
Then he saw how Sam and Wanda looked at him: Sam with that same concealed worry as Scott and Wanda barely meeting his eyes.
It hadn't been a dream. They had seen him wake up after a nightmare. When that registered, the muffled memory became more defined. It didn't matter that Sam - the voice from his dream matched, it could only have been him - had helped him. It didn't matter that Scott had been so worried or that Wanda had expressed concern about going into his head without permission. None of it mattered. They had seen him in a state that no one was supposed to see him in aside from his closest family.
They had seen him at his weakest.
He didn't know what to do with that.
Tony had obsessed about it for most of the hour drive, running different scenarios in his head. He was ready for the moment they confronted him. He was ready for the questions. He knew Sam and Scott had been whispering about him while he cleaned his hands. He knew that, for some reason, Wanda was hiding her power because of him. He wasn't an idiot. He was ready to face confrontation with flippant comments and cold sarcasm.
But it didn't happen.
Scott kept up a steady line of jokes while Sam started throwing out plan details. Wanda didn't try to argue with Tony or poke around in his head. Tony did his best to keep up with Scott, slipping into easy banter even while his mind was wrapped in turmoil. The more he joked, the further the memory got - except it was still there, hiding in the shadows and ready to pounce. A small part of him wanted to fall into it. He wanted to grab onto the comfort and warmth he desired and keep it with him. With Pepper halfway around the world with Happy and Rhodey dealing with his physical therapy (another thing that was Tony's fault) and visiting his mother, he'd been living in fear of his mind for more than a week. He'd refused himself sleep, too scared of what he would find. Whenever he accidentally fell asleep at his workbench, he would wake up choking on the emptiness of space or shivering from the Siberian cold. He'd tried to keep up some appearances in the Compound, foundation covering the bruises under his eyes, until he could no longer take it and boarded himself up in the lab, only coming up to say bye when half the team left on a mission. (Natasha had looked at him in that way that said she was concerned. He'd ignored her.) He argued and fiddled with the GPS to keep himself awake. He halfway welcomed fighting with Wanda to keep him engaged. His mask of composure started to fall when he stupidly fell in front of Scott and it was all downhill from there.
He wanted to feel safe again. He wanted to listen to that little part of him that wanted to accept comfort. He so badly wanted to sleep without fear.
But the rest of him screamed how bad of an idea it was. He hardly knew these people, even if he could consider Scott and Sam his sorta-friends now. It was an improvement from strangers, sure, but Tony didn't deserve it. He wasn't supposed to get attached to any more people. If he did, he would get hurt again when they inevitably left because he was an absolute mess. This was all a one-off. Interaction was caused by being locked in a vehicle and not wanting to be bored. Scott was naturally funny and Sam was being molded into a leader. Wanda was... well, she wasn't trying to mess around with his mind, so he would call that a win, and she would eventually go back to outward hatred of him. Hatred he deserved.
He took off the beanie, stuffing it in his pocket, and ran his hands through his hair once. Then he pushed himself to stand on unsteady legs. Shakily, he grabbed onto the chipped, porcelain sink and glared at himself in the mirror. "Get it together." He whispered, trying for a smile. It was too fragile around the edges. "Get it together." He turned on the faucet and cupped his hands under the freezing water, allowing it to bring him back to reality.
He would be fine. He could play pretend and ignore how real joking with Scott felt. He could ignore how his respect for Sam was growing and how protected he felt by him being leader. He could ignore Wanda's sudden endearing emotions and not take too much stock in talking about their mothers.
He had spent his whole life pretending. He'd had to fool a million crowds and look good doing it. Three people shouldn't be hard.
(But could Tony fool himself?)