Connections

The ride on the jet was silent. After Natasha’s attitude earlier, no one wanted to talk to each other and risk starting up another argument. The X-Men, bar Xavier (who’d stayed behind to talk to Fury, and was making his own way back), stayed to themselves, talking in quiet murmurs to one another, and doing nothing more.

Tony chose to text Rhodey to update him on the situation. It was simple enough, but it kept him distracted and stopped him trying to talk to either teams. He couldn’t deal with another fight with Natasha, not so soon, and not when the Avengers were already suspicious of him.

After another hour of awkward silence, Tony began to feel something approaching from behind. From the size of it, it was another jet, and despite not knowing who was inside - he winced, as it came mere metres from touching the wings of the Blackbird - he could tell it obviously wasn’t friendly. The team stood up suddenly, hearing it’s engines nearby.

The plane tilted to the left to avoid it, and he struggled to keep his balance as he moved to the controls, switching off the autopilot as he sat in front of them and tried to steady the plane. God, if this was Magneto now…

Why on earth did anyone decide they should travel in a metal aircraft? Where was the logic?

If even one wing of the plane was damaged, they could spin out of control, and if it was Magneto, that would be no difficult task.

“Everyone grab hold of someth-” Ororo’s shout was cut off as the plane shook violently.

Definitely Magneto. Tony grimaced slightly as he heard a slight creaking of metal, and switched the autopilot on again. The suit assembled around him seconds later, and he opened one of the doors at the side of the plane, flying out and closing it behind him before it could cause any damage to the inside.

Fuck this. Fuck Magneto.

He managed to grab the bent wing, using the heat from the repulsors to begin to force it back into shape. The jet began to level out, but moments later, the wing started to pull apart, pieces of metal flying through the air behind him. Tony pushed himself to the other wing of the jet, trying to keep it at least slightly steady in the air, but Magneto seemed to still have a hold on it.

“JARVIS, I need to talk to Scott, Jean, Ororo, just any of the X-Men who know how to fly this thing.” He watched as a few lines of code ran in front of his eyes, and called out as they stopped. “Can one of you hear me?”

“Yeah,” Scott near-yelled back at him, “What the hell is happening out there?”

Tony took a breath before answering, making sure his hold on the wing was secure. “We’ve lost one of the wings, I need you to try and steady it from inside. I can’t hold this thing up much longer, and we’ll lose control soon.”

It took a minute, but the weight on his arms finally lessened, and it was easier to steady the jet. “J, switch me out with the other suit, I’m gonna try something else.”

His second suit flew out after a moment, and he made sure it had a hold on the jet before letting go and bringing himself back inside and disassembling the suit, then sat back in the pilot's seat. He'd have to try and do this himself. He tried to steer the jet back so it was levelled out, but there was another sound of creaking metal, and it tipped to the side again. He fell, crushed against the wall, and suddenly heard a crack as his leg began to burn. He bit down a yell, tasting blood in his mouth as he tried to move.

Scott moved to help him up once the jet levelled out again, blood beginning to cover the floor under where he was, and he had to fight off a wave of nausea as he sat back in the pilot's seat. "Shit, Tony, that doesn't look good."

"I'll be fine." He answered shortly, not able to speak more than a few words before wanting to throw up.

Grabbing in front of him blindly, he felt the controls in front of him, and attempted to think through the pain, trying to just focus on what needed to be done, blocking out the noise of the engines, the people shouting wildly behind him, the pain consuming him.

And suddenly, time seemed to slow down, and he could see the jet around him, its shape, its design, and it was all so clear . He could feel the metal supporting the ship, and he let his powers latch onto it.

And God, it was so familiar. The feeling of control, being able to manipulate the surroundings with such ease, and all he could think of was those times back at Xavier's when he was younger, developing his powers, when he could use his powers without all the fear he felt now, when he could let go of them without being afraid .

He put all of it into evening the plane out.

The force of it made it feel like the world was pressing in on him, and it was all Tony could do to keep holding on. And as his head pounded, he lifted the plane further, forty more feet, fifty, sixty, and he could feel eyes on him from behind, watching as he attempted to keep the jet in control, Scott's hand steering with his to make it that little bit easier to hold on, so they could make it to the mansion which could not have been more than a few miles away, and they had to make it .

Tony moved his focus to the middle of the jet, just to make sure he could hold the connection long enough to get back home.

"Tony, are you-?"

"Yep."

"How far?"

"Less than ten miles, I don't think-" The jet dipped suddenly. "Jean, can you try-?"

She seemed to understand him, thank God, and took control of part of the jet. The headache lessened, and so he put more effort into keeping it steady from the controls- he couldn't let the Avengers find out now, not like this, and he was so glad he wasn't in their line of sight.

"Tony, I can't stay in control of the ship with your suit there." Jean started.

He frowned slightly. "If I move now, this entire ship will go out of control."

"Tony-"

"Let go for a second, bring it back inside."

"You sure?"

"It'll only take a few seconds for you to bring it back." She looked at him worriedly. "Come on, this'll be fun. I can use it to stop my leg moving and getting worse." Jean nodded, and the jet dipped again slightly as she shifted her focus. "Goddamnit."

The suit re-entered the jet, part of it assembling itself around his leg. "How much further have we got?" He asked, not really caring who answered.

"About five miles, give or take."

"I can work with that." He grimaced, and turned to look at Bobby behind him. "You're the ice kid right?" He nodded. "I need you to do something for me, 'kay?" Bobby ran up to hear better, mouth agape slightly as he understood what Tony was doing. He stayed silent as Scott's small shake of the head. "As soon as I tell you, I need you to move out the jet, start creating a ramp for us to land on. You should be able to see the mansion from here, you need to lead us there." Bobby nodded again, moving to the door, waiting for his signal. "And can someone please check to see if Magneto's gone?"

Clint moved to a window. "No movement outside. Guess the guy left once he'd tried to kill us."

"I guess that makes this easier. Bobby?" The kid took a breath, before stepping out of the jet onto a sheet of ice, his shaking hands noticeable even from where Tony was standing. They lost sight of him for a second, then the slope formed in front of them, Bobby gliding along as he created more. Tony let the wheels of the jet down, then brought it onto the ramp, able to feel the change in material. His mind responded faster than the rest of his body, and he grabbed the nose of the jet to stabilise it. "Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"Let me know if the planes not straight on the ramp. If I get off track, there's nothing we can do."

Scott nodded. "Veer more to the left, the right wing's weighing us down on one side." Tony obeyed, and black spots appeared in his vision as he tried to keep the plane from slipping on the ice. "Tony." He turned back to Scott, who looked at him with concern. "You blacked out for a moment. Can you keep going?"

"I'm good." He blinked a few times. He couldn't lose focus, not now.

"Less than a mile, Tony, we're almost there." The edge of the ramp was in his sight, ice mixing with the green of the school's grounds, and he tried, but keeping the jet stable was too much, and black clouded his vision, and suddenly it became too much; as the plane moved violently onto the grass, it was lurched forward, and he was thrown forward into the controls in front of him.

Then there was darkness.