Chapter 1
Tony hides his fondness by smirking in an “I told you so ” fashion. Steve glowers at him, the sound of Clint groaning dramatically adding to the overall mood of the party.
“Shut up, Tony,” Steve grumbles, as he stomps beside him. The hilarious image of Captain America clutching a small grey toiletry bag was almost enough to make Tony double over in peals of laughter. It doesn’t help that it’s nearing 1:30 AM, and the mighty Avengers are stuck in a near-deserted baggage area with—ironically—no bags. Not to mention the over 14-hour flight to India—and more so—taking the flight on a public plane.
To clarify, Tony never thought this in a degrading way, but rather in an “ If-you-got-it,-use-it ” manner. He has a private jet, he could have easily taken the Avengers to India and had a fantastic time. Hell, they could have gone in first class, even!
But no~, Mr. and Sir “ Let’s accompany Stark on his next business trip and make him take a public plane ” decided they wanted to spice things up a bit.
Idiots. Tony had warned them.
Tony sniffs, mirth shining through his eyes, “No,” he grins, “No, I don’t think I will.”
Being on this side of things, it is truly hysterical. The team was drunk out of their minds when they placed the bet and Clint refused to allow them to back out of it the next day. Funnily enough, Steve agreed .
“How bad could it be, Tony?” Steven had—so naively—asked, encouraged by a hungover but—somehow still peppy—God of Thunder.
Oh, how he was eating his words.
Natasha—somehow still seeming pristine even in her oversized shirt that hung off her shoulder paired with baggy Costco sweatpants stolen from Bruce—drawls, “This is entirely you two’s fault, so Tony does get to mock.”
Tony presses a hand over his heart—still expecting there to be metal and humming of energy beneath, and feeling a jolt go through him nearly every time—and flutters his eyes dramatically, “Why Nat, you flatter me.”
“It pained me to say it,” She deadpans, but her lips twitch up just slightly.
Clint flops half his weight onto Nat’s back as they bicker, dramatically whining under his breath. Nat doesn’t move, and Clint slides off her and then catches himself for the dramatics of it all.
Tony shoots a look at Bruce, who shakes his head fondly. The image before them was interesting, to say the least. Thor—squishing into the stiff black airport chairs—beside Bruce watching the three carry-ons that were on the plane as Steve looks dismayed and annoyed at the situation.
“Look, once we get home we can go shopping, right Tony?” Bruce asks, taking on the role of an optimist.
Tony grins, “Absolutely.”
Who knew betting to fly 14-hours across the globe would result in an exhausted team of superheroes and losing your check-in bags that were left in Paris? All courtesy of a drunk Clint and Steve—who was wasted on Asgardian Mead.
(Tony did, Tony knew)
Toeing off his shoes, Tony inhales the stillness of the small—by western standards—apartment. Loosening his tie and shrugging off his jacket onto the dining chair near the door, he pads across the wooden floors. Tipping forward, he gracefully falls onto the couch—dusted thanks to the handsomely paid cleaning lady—. Tipping his head backward, he focuses on the sound of a busy street below and bugs that make their presence known by filling the air with their noise.
His brown eyes—deep, dark, nearly black that lights up with emotions, aiding in framing his iconic expressions—feel closed, as his dark curls brush the glass window.
Tony sighs, reaching up to press two fingers to his temple, attempting to use the pressure to erase away the headache that’s been steadily creeping up on over the course of the day.
Thankfully, it was only a one-day business endeavor. Honestly, Tony wanted to skip out on this meeting—as he usually does—but alas, the bet. Tony Stark was many things but a quitter was not one of them.
Being back in India—however—elects numerous emotions that well up in the billionaire. For one, he’s filled with longing for his mother—as childish as it seems. He remembers his mummy, who buried her heritage in the mansion—keeping it in the depths of her own personal room that’s connected to a sunroom she claimed as the prayer room. He recalls the smell of incense that he stuck his nose up at over the years but now brought fond memories to the forefront of his mind.
He remembers how—when she could whisk him away for the weekend—she would have him sit crossed legged in front of her, telling him about fables and mythology of her homeland while rubbing coconut oil into his normally gelled down curls.
That’s why—instead of going back to the lavish hotel he checked the Avengers into—he came to a small flat passed down in his family for years. Despite Indian families being larger than life, Tony—oddly—only had his mummy as his tie to Mother India.
He curses under his breath as he pulls out his phone—something his Mummy would have thrown a chappal for his crassness. What can he say? Gujarati and Hindi swear words didn’t get him detention in boarding school. Force of habit.
Ignoring the numerous emails that pile up in his inbox, he read the one brought to his attention. Unconsciously, his lip curls up from what he takes in. Apparently, the activities Tony had planned for the team was canceled on short notice for undisclosed reasons.
Tony groans at the thought of rescheduling. On top of everything else, Pepper’s PA is on leave this weekend. Not only are they unable to help, but that means bothering Pepper is a big no-no.
So that’s a bust.
Unless?
Tony shoots up with a grin on his face, and ideas filling his mind.
“ Oi, Rambo! ” Tony calls to Steve, his hands cupped around his mouth. “Get over here!”
Steve—in all his tourist-like glory—stands just at the mouth of the alley they took a shortcut through. Upon crossing the street and doing a headcount, Tony spun around to see Steve still on the other side of the street distracted by a white cow exiting the temple grounds next door.
“There’s cows, Tony!” Steve coos, “Look at them!”
“ Arrey yar ,” Tony sighs, rolling his eyes skyward in exasperation. (roughly translates to “oh”, or in this context, “ughhh”)
“Brucie, can you make sure Thor doesn’t buy the entirety of that poor guy’s corner store?”
“I think Bruce is only seconds away from following suit,” Natasha replies in his steed. With scrunched eyebrows, Tony turns back to the team where Bruce, Thor, and Clint have piled into the nearest shop and excitingly ask Bruce to pronounce the names of the snacks.
“How—?” Tony points, then shake his head, “—Nat, could you? Oh, she’s already moving, ok then.”
He sighs, looking up at the storm clouds that pile up in the sky—being that it’s nearing monsoon season. “Maybe backpacking with a team of tourists wasn't the best idea.”
Standing in the open market in the morning drizzle after a night of public transportation—then renting a car—doesn’t seem like fun, in theory, but in practice?
Yeah, it’s not much fun either, mainly because Clint won’t stop complaining.
Nat wacks him over the head with a bag, “Stop whining you big baby, we’re all wet and tired, ok?”
“Exactly, but today’s the only day this shop’s open, and Bruce really wants this tea ok? So we’re gonna do exactly and then y’all can blow off 5,000 worth of rupees on nicknacks,” Tony waves off, looking at his GPS. “Green Bean, are you sure it was here? And not some other city?”
They branch off, bickering at the front of the group. Raindrops slide down Bruce and Tony’s glasses, as they trek along—Tony still wearing blue sunglasses despite the soft grey light filtered through clouds—.
Once they acquire the tea—four boxes of it—Tony drags Nat to a clothing shop, wanting to see if she’d like any of the lehenga or blouses. His mummy loved her ethic wear, though she didn’t wear it often. Before she went missing, Tony remembers when Auntie Janet—Mrs. Van Dyne, when he was with his dad—would talk fashion, his mom sharing her clothes with Janet and helping her incorporate it into her sketches from time to time.
Leaving the shop with two bags, they find Thor and Clint who are trying—and failing— to communicate to the vendor that they are looking for a ‘ side-blown ’ wooden flute. Remembering the tales of Krishna he told Thor, Tony sighs. He had wanted a side blown flute for most of his childhood. Of course Thor went looking for that. Shaking his head, Tony hooks an arm around Thor’s and inserts himself in with a dazzling smile. They walk away, Tony promising Thor that, “It’s ok, Point Break. We can find one somewhere else.”
Tony points to Nat while he checks the time, “Nat, go with Clint and Thor, I’ll go find Bruce, and meet you at the front in half an hour.”
When he finds him, they take a detour to the temple nearby. They toe-off their shoes and help Bruce into a loincloth to cover his legs. Placing an offering of sweets he bought from a stand earlier, Tony reaches up to ring the bronze bell over the area by the figurine, then folds his hands in front of the statue. He can hear—not see, since his eyes are closed—Bruce follows suit, coming to stand next to him in the same position.
Bruce nudges him with his elbow, “Tony, thank you for taking us along and making a trip out of this. I didn’t get to do many touristy activities when I lived in India.”
Opening only his left eye with his hands still folded in a prayer position, Tony murmurs, “‘course big guy.”
After praying to the Goddess, Tony and Bruce leave the small temple to meet the rest of the party. Piling the bags into the back, they join Steve in the rental car—read ‘van’ because how else are they going to fit all of them—, moving to the next location.
Clint was conked out in the back, next to Bruce and the bags. Thor sat with Nat in the middle seat, she was twisted in her grey carpeted car seat, braiding Thor’s blonde hair. Thor and Steve—who was in the passenger’s seat now—were passing snacks and water back and forth. Tony—their driver for the evening—was talking to Bruce, alternating from Bollywood to mythology.
“Wait, so I thought Krishna was Vishnu? Like reincarnated?” Bruce gestured with his hands, holding them palms facing the sky and leaving them out like a balance scale.
Tony—after scowling at a honk from the car behind them in the traffic jam—tilted his head and met Bruce’s eyes in the mirror, “Well, it depends. I was taught that Vishnu is an energy.”
“So Vishnu is not a God?” Steve asks, popping a spoon of aloo bhujia in his mouth.
“Well, it depends.” Tony points at his styrofoam bowl of the snack, cutting in a quick, “If you drop that you have to clean it.” Steve nods, then Tony continues, blowing out a breath.
“There are 3 energies, Brahma is birth or creation. Shiva is Death or Destruction, and Vishnu is Life or Sustancance between those two events. Do I personally believe Vishnu takes a form of a deity? Yes, and many others who follow Hinduism do too, after all, he’s depicted as a humanoid figure. But people also believe that Vishnu as an energy isn’t a corporeal form. Or isn’t often a corporeal form. I’m not quite sure which is ‘right’ because I was taught both, but that doesn’t really matter in Hinduism anyways.”
Steve's eyebrows are still furrowed but he nods, looking contemplating. Tony doesn't have the slightest clue what he’s thinking, but Steve isn’t saying anything yet.
There’s a small fear Tony feels. It’s in the tips of his fingers, in the farthest darkest corners of the pit in his gut, and the tense lines of apprehension in his toes hidden by his close-toed shoes.
It’s the fear that his views, his beliefs, his ideas will be mocked, be shunned by those he holds close. It’s lingering fear—from being closed off from that side of him—he has about his place. Whether it be on the team, in society—may seem cliche, but the rumors surrounding Howard having a brown son followed him from day one—, even in India—he’s only half Indian, only one foot in, deep-rooted and even then he’s struggling to stay halfway through the crack in the door—.
He’s fearful that he’s spreading misinformation. That his brief grasp of this culture is completely wrong. That he will be scorned, mocked, and spat upon for opening his mouth.
It’s a deep rooted fear that’s been burrowed and stuck with him all these years. It grows, fertilized by the stumbled mix of Gujrati and Hindi that spills from his mouth reflexively. It grows when he steps out in shorts and then has to look up how to use a loincloth with flaming cheeks.
Born a mixed kid, growing up in the 20th century America has him doubting his right to talk about his culture. How dare he say anything when he could be so easily misinformed? When he's told different things by so many sources?
Rationalizing it by logic does nothing for his emotions. Yes, he knows it’s understandable—given his situation. He knows Hinduism and India is so rich in its diversity and history. That doesn't stop his emotional turmoil, though.
“So, what does that have to do with Krishna ?” Nat asks, stumbling over the pronunciation a bit.
Tony shakes himself out of his thoughts, clicking his tongue, “So, the idea of reincarnation is a prominent part of Hinduism, right?” At the hums of the fellow people in the car, he continues,
“Well, that also has to do with mediation and reaching Moksha . If you’re familiar with Buddhism that’s close to Nirvana —basically enlightenment—which then puts you at a place that’s similar to the deities. Many Brahmins and Sadhus—if I'm using the right terminology—get through that via different ‘paths’. So basically, where I’m leading with this is that Vishnu —being life—is in everyone. And when you reach enlightenment, then you can tap that, I think. So Krishna is a person who either reincarnated as Vinishu —the deity—or reached enlightenment and tapped into his energy called Vishnu . It really depends on what you learn/follow, and, either way, it’s valid because both are accepted. Since it is such an old religion after all.”
Tony was confused about which it was for a while. When he could squirrel away books about the Ramayana and Mahābhārata, he would learn bits and pieces about the deities he was told about through oral storytelling. Tales of a little blue toddler fighting demon bulls and holding up a mountain on his pinkie were picked from the epic battles of India’s rich mythology.
Up until he was a teen, he believed Krishna was a reincarnation of Vishnu . Not that he thought too heavily about it as a kid. In the same way, the sun is yellow and the sky is blue, Krishna was Vishnu.
When he was older—when he was being heavily influenced by the world around him; when Howard pushed and milked the left side of his brain filled with semantics and blueprints; when he was snooty and tethering on the edge of making a world-changing action or a stupid one—Mummy told him of the in-depth mythology that had fascinated him as a kid. Still does to this day.
He learned about mediation and the paths to enlightenment. About the energies and the millions upon millions of deities. He tried to dive into the world he only dipped his toes into as a child. The child who blabbed in Hindi and broken Gujrati, and would run barefoot behind his mother until Howard sneered for their toes to be covered up.
And then his mummy—his one tie to his country, his beautiful mother with her long wavy black hair that she straightened for society and her mehndi painted feet that would be covered by high heels—died.
Tony didn’t learn more about his culture for a long time after that.
“Wait, Krishna achieved enlightenment to become a god? Doesn't that take like long years of meditation?” Steve asked confused, with furrowed eyebrows and slightly pointed down lips.
The car inched forward, the traffic relentless. Tony clicked his tongue, “Well, remember reincarnation? Material things don’t get carried over in rebirth, your spiritual achievements—however—do, theoretically. Once you begin the path to enlightenment you will inch forward every time you reincarnate. For an anecdote, think about the schooling system. If you’re in 8th grade when you’re reborn, you will still be in eighth grade when you begin the process again. Well actually—” Tony pauses, thinking.
“—it’ll be like you first start in kindergarten then jump to 8th grade because you have re-nurture your base or introduction. That’s why Krishna—despite being a kid—reached that level. More or less.”
Tony scratches his neck, “Yeah there’s a lot of layers to it, I don’t know everything about it either. There are different paths to enlightenment too. It’s not just meditation. And they all have different names too—not that I can remember them at the moment.”
“It’s really interesting,” Bruce adds, “I learned about things here and there when I was in India but as I said, I didn’t know all that, Tony.”
“Yeah, you actually surprised me when you were doing yoga and meditation, Bruce. Because it was like it was actually ways that others in India do too, not just those western centers.” Tony then thinks for a moment, “I mean good for them that they’re stretching or whatever, maybe don’t toss around terms? Just a suggestion, I don’t dictate what people do.”
Bruce laughs, and Steve pinks a bit, “Are those not good?” He asks earnestly.
“Well no,” Tony waves it off, “They can do whatever they want, but I just find it funny that you walk in and hear things like “ now we’re going to stretch. Reach for your ‘nir-va-nah .’” Tony imitates the recordings played, then laughs as he finishes.
“I’m sure others don’t care, but I always felt uneasy by those things. Dunno why,” Tony shrugged.
That was a lie, he knew why. He didn’t know enough about that aspect of his culture, and watching as someone else took an idea or half and ran with made him feel things. Things that twisted in his gut, and made him queasy.
And maybe some people do research up and down, maybe they are genuine. But the ratio of those isn't high.
It’s the little mixed kid in him—who grew up so westernized to the point where speaking the language is a struggle—that wants to be like his fellow peers but isn’t. Who can’t be fully American—despite Howard’s instance of being as westernized as possible—because of his melanin toned skin.
Tony pushes these feelings down—and out—with a long breath, tuning back into the conversation Nat is having with Bruce over yoga poses.
Steve nudges him, giving him a smile when Tony meets his eyes. Tony reciprocates before slightly turning in his seat to look at Thor—who hasn’t said much in the conversation.
“Hey Rapunzel, aren’t you technically a deity, how does your holiness work?”
Bruce scoffs playfully, “Oh my gosh Tony, you can’t just ask people if they’re deities.”
Steve cocks his head, “Is that a reference to that one pink woman movie?”
Tony cackles, “Mean girls?” He asks between breaths.
“ Pink woman movie ,” Nat smirks, a shit-eating grin hidden behind it.
Steve blushes, “Shut up.” Elbowing Tony at his “ Never change Cap ” with an eye roll.
Thor—after recovering from the infectious laughter—answers Tony, “Something like that, yes. The deities of worship all exist in varying places across the universe. As children, we heard more about them because they were the only ilk our age. We’re still in contact sometimes, though not often.”
“Wait so like all deities?” Steve wonders, “Where? Because Asgard is the Gods’ domain in Norse Mythology, right? And obviously, that exists, what about other places? Like Tir-na-nog for example? Or Olympus?”
Thor goes to nod, but stills when Nat hisses at him for messing with her hairstyle, “Yes they do! Though locations might not match up with what humans recorded.”
Bruce cuts in, “Wait, does that mean that aliens visited Earth before, then? Like that whole theory with the Pyramids of Giza?”
Tony turns in his seat—the cars are still stuck in the jam—. “Bruce, how do you know that?” He teasingly narrows his eyes at the man in the back, “Aren’t you a man of the science ?” Tony exaggerates the last word with an accent.
“He watched ancient Aliens.” Nat snitched.
“Bruce!”
“I do what I want!”
(The discussion carries on and on as they inch through the traffic. At one point 5 cars honk at once, making Clint jump awake. He’s greeted with Tony yelling obscenities in broken Hindi and English through an open window as Steve tries to calm him down.)
((Tony loves road trips))