Chapter Text
Tony hasn't stopped rapidly scanning the information JARVIS has been feeding him on his HUD since he first stepped into the suit.
Granted, he already had most of this information buried deep in his mind, traveling back to a time when he could sit in the staff kitchens with Ana. Swinging his short chubby legs and giggling over mythology and fantasy books together, while watching Jarvis stress bake.
Such happy memories, stained by sadness and melancholy, neglect, tragedy, and death - it's no wonder his early years were filled with drugs, alcohol, and partying to drown it out.
Nowadays, he can admit to himself that he doesn't always have healthy coping mechanisms for someone toted as a 'genius'. But Tony likes to think he has gotten much better in recent years - compared to a teen/early 20 something.
So it doesn't surprise him at all that he finds it difficult to dig up the needed information without the painful memories attached, but he's had practice in that by now. Are you kidding him? In his life, he's had to.
Though having JARVIS support him, as always, and give him a refresher course never hurts.
In the flight over Tony could barely contain himself, and during the fight, he had to resort to sarcasm to cover his broiling curiosity - and a small amount of fanboying, he isn't afraid to admit to JARVIS even though he could never to himself. But even Tony understands 'time and place', and he can actually 'read the room', thank you Rhodey-bear, and reigns in his curiosity.
But they are in the totally-top-secret-agency-aircraft carrier that Tony had no idea existed, he swears by Fury's totally-required eyepatch. And if questioning the 'God' in the room lets him bypass the living, breathing, unfrozen childhood trauma over there, all the better in Tony's book.
Walking over to Thor, who looms in the corner, being the giant wall of muscle and leather that he is, Tony blames his excited jitters at the idea of speaking to the supposed source of many ancient myths or the tiny sparks that seem to come off of Thor's broody eyebrows and golden locks, when the first word out of Tony's mouth is, "Þunor."
Watching Thor's scrunched brows lift and manly broody pouting lips shift into pleased surprise eases some of Tony deeply-buried anxiety. Seeing his stormy eyes shift and lighten to sky-blue is also fascinating.
"Well met, Man-of-Iron. I admit to being surprised that for such a small, short-lived species, that you Midgardians even remember my Name." Thor's not at all inside voice seems to boom around the metal walls.
Ignoring that their interaction has grabbed the attention of everyone else in the room, Tony loosens his tightly controlled grip on his curiosity, "Tiny lives we might lead, but luckily some of us knew how to write things down. Do you truly answer to Þunor, or do you prefer Þórr? The texts are kinda vague."
"Ah, not only a blacksmith but also a scholar. My brother would enjoy you." Thor grinned, so unrestrained and wide that he appeared almost boyish, sky-blue eyes glittering and hair slightly sparking. "I had noticed that those that addressed me did so with the strangest of accents. Now that I think about it, much time has passed since I last wandered Midgards earth. Language is sure to change in that time," Thor rakes his eyes over Tony, taking in his attire, accessories, cut and style of his hair, then roaming around the air carrier interior, "And has seemed much else."
Impossibly giddy over what Thor's words implied, Tony was almost bursting to ask him all his long-held questions when a slightly quavering, halting voice approaching from behind halts his thoughts. "'Þunor.' Old English, translates loosely in modern English to 'thunder.' Speculating that you are truly the Norse god Thor, God of thunder, it makes logical sense. But ... why answer to the name of a natural phenomenon as a name?"
Shifting his smiling visage to the slightly hunched form of Bruce Banner, watching as he nervously cleaning his glasses on his baggy untucked button-up shirt, Thor slightly raises one golden eyebrow. "Why would I not? I am the mighty God Thor, son of Odin, God of Thunder. I am the element and the element is I. I wield the lightning and thunder as I do my breath and voice. Referring to us as separate is ridiculous."
"That is ridiculous." snapped Captain Patriotism, standing with his arms crossed over his barrel chest and scowling across the room. "A man cannot be a force of nature. Neither can he be a 'god'. There is only one God, and he created everything."
"Dude," Clint drawled, perched on a countertop, leaning almost obnoxiously into Captain America's personal space while The Black Widow silently watched everyone in the room, "I didn't know I was signing up for a Sunday School."
"Nevermind that" Tony turned, blocking out the peanut gallery and peering up at Thor, the differences in height and the crick in his neck making Tony wish he had worn his pumps, he continued his questioning, "Arnt you also supposed to be the god of trees? Like, sacred groves and shit? Also strength, the protection of mankind and also hallowing and fertility? Are you those things too? And 'Hallowing'? What's up with that? How the hell do you 'hallow' something?"
Instead of being annoyed by Tony's stream of almost babbling, like 90% of all those subjected to it in Tony's experience, Thor threw his head back and laughed. Was almost too joyous a sound, full of mirth, almost a loud chuckling, or full-bellied guffaw. The kind of laugh that was the furthest thing from mean-spirited and almost made you want to join along. Tony had to try to control his quivering lips but did not restrain his confusion. Captain America scowled even more disapprovingly while Clint clapped his hands over his ears muttering about 'stupid implants' and 'loud bastards'. Bruce let loose a small baffled smile, almost helplessly, while Natasha merely blinked.
Taking a deep breath and looking down upon his audience, Thor reached out and planted his frankly enormous paws on both Tony and Bruce's shoulders, ignoring the flinches, and in Bruce's case, skittish jump, and beamed at them, "Long has it been since I last felt such joy. I thank you, my friends, Man-of-Iron, Tiny scholar. It has felt like a century since I last laughed."
"Tiny-?" Bruce spluttered while Tony snickered, "My name is Bruce Banner. I apologize for not introducing myself upfront, I suppose that was rude. Shut up Stark." Bruce scowled at Tony, whose snickers turned into giggles at Bruce's frankly cute glare. Thor, if possible, grinned even more, to the point that he seemed to blaze like a golden sun, to the point that Tony and Bruce could swear they could feel the heat from it, an infusing warmth of the Thunder God's regard wrapping around them.
"I could swear the myths said Thor was a redhead?" Tony wondered out loud while squinting, turning his head slightly to avoid being blinded by the bright glare he swears is there, and not that Thor's straight on stare was making him uncomfortable. "Mind turning down the wattage there, Sparky?"
Thor's rumbling chuckle tuned out most of Captain America's scathing rebuke, but it didn't distract them from his angry stalking forward and plying Thor's warm hands away, taking away the feeling of safety Tony just realized was there, and spinning him to be faced with the All-American hero reprimanding him about 'manners'. Focusing completely on Tony, it allowed Bruce to sidle out of the situation, and honestly, Tony doesn't blame him. He'd give anything not to be face to face with this.
Steve Rogers, his own walking talking childhood complex, who seemed to not even need to draw breath to list out what seemed to be a whole laundry list of Tony's failures, real or imagined, and character faults. It was honestly like watching a living embodiment of the Anti-Stark-Industries (ASI) and anti-Tony Stark social media feed.
Any other time his smirking face, when faced with critique, was 100% real, as Tony found owning up to his faults and accepting his mistakes in private and in public left others accusations as annoying and poignant as buzzing flies. But this was Steve Rogers. Captain America. The man Howard (Never Father. Never Dad) spent most of Tony's childhood searching for. The man Howard always measured his son up against and found wanting. When faced with the literal embodiment of what Howard wanted in a Son, seething in his face and laying out all his flaws - that trademark Stark Smirk definitely felt stapled on.
Honestly here, Tony felt he would be more of an internal mess if he didn't have a towering wall of alien, possibly godly, muscles radiating comforting warmth at his back.
The American Patriots Wetdream seemed to just warming up when the mechanical swoosh of an opening automatic door and the grumpy gloom of Shields Director Nick Fury entering the room seemed to shatter moment, almost like it had been intended.