[ It's not that it's a big word, it's that it's a nerdy word, Stephen. You're a big fucking nerd.
Anyway... Look, Strange isn't a liar. Tony hasn't known him for very long, but he can glean that much already; there's only so long a man would be able to keep a straight face for the 'Master of the Mystic Arts' schtick if it were some elaborate attempt to take the piss. Besides, only a psychopathic fuck would lie about something like this.
So...it's true. Everyone is back. The Kid--Peter. And Pepper, if she--no, she hadn't suffered like that, Tony can't even entertain that thought, but if she had...
It all finally sinks in and for one second, one wildly blissful and incredibly short second, Tony allows himself to feel relieved. It's almost like that stubborn weight that constantly sits on these now-emaciated shoulders of his lifts up for just one moment, and Tony almost gasps from the shock of a sensation that distantly reminds him of stepping out of the Cave into the blazing desert son. But this is a good shock, right? Unlike then. It's a victory, isn't it? They won. So he can breathe a little, just some little breaths. Once. Twice.
Then the weight comes crushing back down.
Strange isn't a head doctor, so he may not be familiar with that cruel bitch called Anxiety and all her tricks, traps and idiosyncrasies. Lucky for us, Tony is something of an expert from experience, and here's a big one: Anxiety won't let you be happy. You can't let yourself be happy, not even for a second, because the moment you do she comes slithering up to your ear and whispers all the ways your happiness will definitely be ripped away from you and how it will definitely be your fault and that you shouldn't have wasted time on warm fuzzy feelings when you instead of preventing whatever terrible thing that's definitely about to happen. Sometimes she yells it, until all of your victories feel like failures and you can never do anything to fix it. Or yourself. Or anyone.
So, yeah. It's a really short second. ]
Fine, I'll ask her over coffee while crossing my fingers she won't fling a car at my face. [ Bitchy!Tony is out in full force, please don't take what he says too seriously. ] But I gotta say, I can't exactly leap for joy here, Doc, for more reasons than the...readily apparent ones. [ He just kinda gestures to himself and all the medical apparatuses around him in lieu of stating the obvious. ]
I'm gonna need more outta you. Because I can't-- Look, I know you've had your third eye opened and all that, but you're still a doctor. A science guy, like me. We're all about problems, formulas, equations, diagnoses...connecting the dots. And I'm thrilled that we won, I really am, but I'm gonna need to know how we got from Point A to Point B.
[ Because it can't be that easy, and it can't be just...over. Not without losing something. That's just how this shit works. ]
I LOST THIS TAG AND IT CRUSHED ME SORRY FOR THE WAIT (cw: anxiety described in detail)
Anyway... Look, Strange isn't a liar. Tony hasn't known him for very long, but he can glean that much already; there's only so long a man would be able to keep a straight face for the 'Master of the Mystic Arts' schtick if it were some elaborate attempt to take the piss. Besides, only a psychopathic fuck would lie about something like this.
So...it's true. Everyone is back. The Kid--Peter. And Pepper, if she--no, she hadn't suffered like that, Tony can't even entertain that thought, but if she had...
It all finally sinks in and for one second, one wildly blissful and incredibly short second, Tony allows himself to feel relieved. It's almost like that stubborn weight that constantly sits on these now-emaciated shoulders of his lifts up for just one moment, and Tony almost gasps from the shock of a sensation that distantly reminds him of stepping out of the Cave into the blazing desert son. But this is a good shock, right? Unlike then. It's a victory, isn't it? They won. So he can breathe a little, just some little breaths. Once. Twice.
Then the weight comes crushing back down.
Strange isn't a head doctor, so he may not be familiar with that cruel bitch called Anxiety and all her tricks, traps and idiosyncrasies. Lucky for us, Tony is something of an expert from experience, and here's a big one: Anxiety won't let you be happy. You can't let yourself be happy, not even for a second, because the moment you do she comes slithering up to your ear and whispers all the ways your happiness will definitely be ripped away from you and how it will definitely be your fault and that you shouldn't have wasted time on warm fuzzy feelings when you instead of preventing whatever terrible thing that's definitely about to happen. Sometimes she yells it, until all of your victories feel like failures and you can never do anything to fix it. Or yourself. Or anyone.
So, yeah. It's a really short second. ]
Fine, I'll ask her over coffee while crossing my fingers she won't fling a car at my face. [ Bitchy!Tony is out in full force, please don't take what he says too seriously. ] But I gotta say, I can't exactly leap for joy here, Doc, for more reasons than the...readily apparent ones. [ He just kinda gestures to himself and all the medical apparatuses around him in lieu of stating the obvious. ]
I'm gonna need more outta you. Because I can't-- Look, I know you've had your third eye opened and all that, but you're still a doctor. A science guy, like me. We're all about problems, formulas, equations, diagnoses...connecting the dots. And I'm thrilled that we won, I really am, but I'm gonna need to know how we got from Point A to Point B.
[ Because it can't be that easy, and it can't be just...over. Not without losing something. That's just how this shit works. ]