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[MCU Fic] Nigredo Chapter 1: Gold (Part 1)
🕑 Added 2020-07-19 23:06:57 +0000 UTCYou asked for it, and here it is.
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Tony Stark/Steve Rodgers, James 'Rhodey' Rhodes/James Buchanon 'Bucky' Barnes, Virginia 'Pepper' Potts/Joseph 'Happy' Hogan, Tony Stark&James Rhodes, Tony Stark&Pepper Potts, Tony Stark& Happy Hogan, Tony Stark&Peter Parker, Tony Stark&Peggy Carter, Tony Stark&Edwin Jarvis, Tony Stark&J.A.R.V.I.S, Tony Stark&DUM-E
#Intense!Tony, #Intense!Rhodey, #Savage!Pepper, #Snarklord!Happy, #Badass Tony Stark, #Badass Rhodey, #Badass Pepper, #Kickass Happy, #The Tony Stark Protection Squad, #Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, #Badass Peggy Carter, #Badass Maria Stark, #Tony has two moms fight me on this, #Rhodey is the ultimate bro, #Pepper has no patience for your shit, #Orphan!Peter, #He gets adopted so fast, #Peter collects parental figures, # One of which is an A.I. #No one is safe #Protect the genius babies campaign 2020
Nigredo is a pretty Tony-centric (in case that wasn't obvious), with a secondary focus on Peter and (later) Steve. I drew from a lot of different aspects of Marvel when writing this (Cinema, comics, spin-offs, ect.) with a heavy dose of creative liberty (as always), and pretty much just used that as a base to rewrite the whole Avengers Universe from scratch the way I wanted it.
Sorry not sorry.
Fair reminder:
I do what I want and I Regret Nothing.
~SableScribe
Chapter One: Gold
“My Heart is Gold and my Hands are Cold...”
~Halsey
Tony doesn’t understand it, at first. He expects it to be bigger, bolder, louder. Expects to notice right away, expects it to register. But the things that change your life don't always announce themselves, aren't always loud enough to hear.
Sometimes the things that change your life most are the ones that speak the softest, that linger just out of sight, that touch gently, at first.
The first time it happens he’s fourteen and destitute, forsaken by circumstance and his own chains of poor choice, and he does not believe in saviors.
He believes in the iron reality of numbers and the warm burn of vodka in the back of his throat, believes in the cold press of the cheap countertop at his back and in his calculations of balance and inertia that keep the bottle on his forehead from tipping off axis. Code, alcohol, sensory information, his own intelligence. Not necessarily in that order.
It occurs to him vaguely that he has no idea where he is, only that the house he’s in is quiet and filled with unconscious college freshmen, but the fuzz of intoxication keeps him from worrying about that to any substantial degree. His mind trips its way through code defrag and differential equations until he hears the heavy door at the front of the house creak open.
He’s only distracted for a few seconds before he returns to his musings, figuring some poor sloshed idiot has finally sobered up enough to remember he has a physics test in the morning. He stalls again though when a figure enters the disastrous kitchen space where he’s been lounging across the breakfast island, stepping around the sophomore passed out against the doorway.
He can clearly walk a straight line– which instantly rules him out as an invited guest. He clips his hip on the far edge of the island and swears creatively under his breath, but otherwise his steps are steady as he picks his way over the assorted bodies. He’s obviously looking for someone in particular because he stops and scans his eyes over the faces around him every other step, until he inevitably makes out Tony reclining on the countertop.
He peers down incredulously, eyes narrowed in the hazy darkness. Tony flicks him a half-assed two-fingered wave, but doesn't upset the bottle on his forehead by tilting his face. “Yo.”
The stranger places a hand on the countertop to lean over him, eyebrows ticking up towards his hairline. Now that he’s closer Tony can make out actual features; sharp hazel eyes, short chocolate hair, skin the colour of creamy coffee, about five years Tony’s senior.
“What are you doing here kid? You’re like, twelve.” He asks lowly, without accusation.
Tony snorts and fires back. “What are you doing here? You're like, sober.”
The stranger blinks like he wasn’t even expecting Tony to respond in full sentences, but shakes it off surprisingly quickly, and more surprisingly, gives Tony an actual answer.
“Looking for my ex-roommate,” he mutters tiredly, plucking the beer bottle off Tony’s head and turning to lean back against the counter so he can scan the open foyer.
Tony scowls at his back and rubs the damp spot between his eyebrows. “Ex?”
The stranger checks his watch. “As of three hours and fourteen minutes ago. Deadlines are a bitch.”
By Tony’s internal clock that's somewhere around midnight, and he wonders what poor asshole this guy is hunting for. “What’s he look like?” He asks when the stranger drops the beer bottle into the overflowing trash can.
The stranger hums low enough in his chest its nearly a growl. “Blond hair, pasty skin, stupid mouth, dresses like the pretentious douche he is.”
Tony takes a second to mull that over, then lifts a hand over his head to gesture down the hall. “Stairs, second landing on the right.”
The stranger turns to blink down at him, caught mildly off balance, but then he just shrugs off the counter, nods in thanks, and walks off towards the hall. He disappears around the edge of his vision, and Tony’s brain returns to operating in Binary.
He returns not long after, twirling a set of keys lazily around one finger, and stops at the edge of the island to peer upside-down at Tony’s face. “You need a ride home, kid?”
Tony snorts. “For all you know I live here.”
The truth is Tony isn’t actually living anywhere at present, he’s just been crashing parties back to back for the last month and a half.
His skin is getting itchy again; he hasn’t moved in too long, hasn’t made in too long.
There’s an electron accelerator in the basement of the engineering building; he’d only seen it for a few seconds, but he already knows how he’d make it more efficient, less metal and clunk, more power and force and elegance. He wonders who he’d have to bribe to let him dismantle it.
The thought skitters backwards into his head when the stranger raises an eyebrow and gives Tony a head to toe sweep with his gaze, lingering on his bruised forearms and the nicks on his fingers, catching on his bare feet and then at the gucci label of his undershirt, poking out from the collar of his ratty Black Sabbath pullover.
It's not appreciative like the kind of dragging looks Tony is used to– it's a catalogued archivement of visual information, an almost tactical assessment, and Tony knows the difference without fail.
Both his mothers had always made sure of that.
“Looking for a change of scenery, then?” The stranger asks, stuffing one hand deep in the pocket of his sweats, and it’s Tony’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“You offering?” Tony queries lightly, all the while cataloguing every tick of the man’s body language and behavior, searching for pity or ill intent. Surprisingly enough he finds neither, only wary but genuine curiosity and idle assessment.
“You pay your rent?” Is the stranger’s counter, pragmatic and unassuming, blithely uncaring of Tony’s age and obvious unkempt state.
Tony narrows his eyes, irritated by his inability to gauge the stranger’s intentions. Either this guy really does wear earnisty on his sleeves, or Tony had way more vodka punch than he thought he did. “You realize I could say yes, steal your wallet, and be two more frat parties down before you even noticed it was missing?” he points out.
The stranger tips his head to the side in partial concession to the point. “I’m sure you could.”
Tony isn’t certain if he likes what that’s implying, but the stranger just shifts his weight, offers an easy hand. “James Rhodes.” He says, just as easy. “Call me Rhodey.”
Tony hesitates for a palpable moment, eyeing the hand like he might a radioactive isotope, but honestly, he’s done stupider things tonight.
He takes the hand, grip firm. “Tony.”
Rhodey smiles, crooked and wry, and hauls him to his feet.
