Lambs for Slaughter Part 2

Chapter 19

Dean had been seriously impressed with Dr. Banner's lab the few times he'd seen it, but it had absolutely nothing on Tony Stark's lab.

Holy shit, it was like Dean had had time traveled (again) and woken up fifty years in the future. The stainless steel work tables were familiar, but the grand machines, holographic screens lining the walls, robots whirling around the epoxied floor, and the Iron Man suit hanging in its casing were all things straight out of a sci-fi movie.

He whistled, putting his hands on his hips and spinning around in a slow circle, taking everything in. He had to say he was surprised. When meeting the mad genius that was Tony Stark, Dean had expected his personal space to be as chaotic and filled to the brim as his brain was. But no, everything in the lab was perfectly organized, down to the smallest screwdriver and wrench.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Steve leaned over and whispered, his blue eyes glowing with fascination. Dean guessed that after growing up in the forties, a place like this would never get old.

"Sure is," he agreed easily. Back to the Future had been one of his favorite series growing up, back when he could successfully convince Sammy to watch something other than the scary shit that he liked, like the Exorcist.

Dean's skin still burned with an ache to be closer to the First Blade, but Stark had clearly been smart enough to hide it elsewhere. It wasn't nearby, so Dean was able to actually think straight for the time being.

Stark rambled away about the different areas of his lab, talking specifically to Reid, who was just as bright-eyed and bushy-tailed as the time they explained that the supernatural really did exist. Sam was listening intently too, though his eyes kept straying back to the Iron Man suit every few seconds. Which, Dean had to admit, was pretty freaking cool. They weren't in the business of playing nice with superheroes everyday, so when he actually took the time to see something like that, Dean was sure as hell going to be impressed.

And Bucky knew it too, judging by the smirk ghosting his lips. Dean rolled his eyes and shoved the super soldier away, his own strength ensuring his new friend staggered a few feet away with a sharp laugh.

"If we're all done with playtime," Stark mused with a popped brow. "You can all check over the weapons I had brought in. Everything's laid out, and the crates in the corner have the ammunition we discussed.'

Sam, Dean, Hotch, Reid, the STRIKE team, and the Avengers all spread out around the lab where Stark directed them to, explaining the guns, knives, silver and iron bullets, arrows, and cleavers he designed for their upcoming battle.

"I thought you didn't make weapons anymore," Sam commented lightly, looking through the scope on one of the automatic rifles.

Stark shrugged, busying himself with a hologram he had pulled up. "Stark Industries doesn't make weapons anymore, you're right. I don't trust other people with my designs, period. But considering the fact that we have an army of monsters that will pop up somewhere soon, I'd rather not take any chances." He frowned and turned around, as if a thought just occurred to him. "Winchester! I have a bone to pick with you."

Dean and Sam shared a look, a few of the other Avengers listening in as well. "Which one?" Dean asked.

The billionaire waved an irritated hand. "Either. Both. Listen, I was looking through your stash, you know, the one you keep holed up in the Impala?"

They both nodded warily, mentally cataloguing all of their weapons in an attempt to figure out where he was going with this.

Stark threw both hands in the air and huffed in frustration. "Well why were you working with such outdated guns? I'm surprised you managed to hit anything you shot at with such shoddy workmanship!"