Imagine If You Assembled The Avengers: Volume 3

You're Next (Stark x reader)

First, it was Barton.

Not even a day later, it took down Sam.

Later that very day, Natasha fell.

You knew that your time was coming; there was no way to avoid it, no matter how careful you were, and how much you distanced yourself. The stomach flu had found a home at the Avengers compound, and unless you were an android, a Hulk, or enhanced by super soldier serum, you were fair game.

"Tony, stay back," you groaned with a breaking voice, pushing yourself up to sit on the edge of your shared bed. You had no idea what time it was, with darkness shrouding the grounds as you tried to focus on what was just outside of your window. It felt like you had just fallen asleep, but also like you had been asleep for years, with neither giving you the consolation of a satisfied rest. You must have tossed the blankets aside a million times, only to cover yourself up again moments later, and it had to have driven Tony away out of pure frustration, because he didn't answer your direction. With too fast of a turn, you meant to look behind you to see if he was still there, only to make yourself dizzy and sending your stomach into a new routine of flips that would make Olympic gymnasts proud. "Oh, god, here we go," you choked out, covering your mouth as you tried to flee for the bathroom with stumbling steps.

Tony must have heard the commotion, having been just on the other side of your bedroom door with his hands full of water, ginger ale, and saltine crackers for you, and a large tumbler full of coffee for himself; he knew that he was in for a long night as caregiver as soon as the first toss of the blanket happened. "Sweetheart?" he called out a little urgently, pushing the door open just as you slammed the bathroom door shut. "Ah, gotcha. It's here."

As disgusting as it was, you had to use the toilet to hold yourself up because if you moved too far away from it, you would miss when your stomach finally erupted and freed the beast living within it. The nausea came in waves, alternated with flashes of heat that left you pouring sweat followed by chills that left you shaking. The cool tiles of the floor helped when you warmed, but you had nowhere to run from them when you were cold. You were an unwilling servant to the porcelain throne.

"Honey, are you okay?"

"Just let me die, Tony."

"No can do, (Y/N), you know that." He knew that he was pushing his luck to do it, but he slowly opened the bathroom door and peeked his head through the smallest opening just to see you with his own eyes. When he got a full glimpse of you, he threw caution to the wind and hurried in to kneel at your side. "Oh, honey, you look like hell. What do you need? What can I do?"

"You can back up. Don't get so close to me, you'll catch it too."

"I think that's inevitable."

You wanted to try to convince him of how wrong he was, and that he still had a chance at survival, but your body had other ideas, leaving you unable to do anything but watch your life flash before your eyes as it erupted out of you.

Tony stood quickly to grab a cold washcloth, pressing it to your forehead as he looked away, his concern in every line of his expression. Sure, he felt bad for his teammates who had succumbed to the flu already, and he helped them when he could, but seeing you suffering through it was physically hurting him when he didn't know what to do to make it go away.

"Tony..."

"Yeah, sweetheart, what do you need?"

"I need to get back to bed...but I don't think I can stand up."

"I'm on it-" he began towards you, but you thrust your hand out with the little strength that you had, pushing him back. "What? I can carry you."