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apocalypsehowcomm2021-12-16 08:44 am
fightinginfinity) wrote in apocalypsehowcomm2021-12-16 08:44 am
LOG | OPEN ⌬ am I sitting in a tin can far above the world
Who: Tony Stark and, regrettably, you. Second prompt open to roommates Andrew Jaeger bloodalwaystells and Romelle romelle, a starter for Stephen Strange sorser in the comments, but otherwise OPEN.
When: Throughout Tony’s arrival process and acclimation to his new surroundings. So backdated slightly? I’m fine with acting like he came in this round instead of the last one, since this log took so long to put up. ): Super flexible that way.
Where: Medical, Apartment A2, Technology Development at ADI Headquarters
Summary: A man dies in the void of space then wakes up in a haunted-ass town in bumfuck Massachusetts, and reacts accordingly. I mean, how would you feel? (AKA Tony Stark is an Anxious Wreck: The Log)
Warnings: Covering my bases here! At his canon point Tony just got absolutely fucking murked by the Final Boss and was subsequently stranded in space for two weeks with nary enough food or oxygen to last him even that long. He's bruised up badly, with a partially healed stab wound straight through his side, dying of starvation and highly traumatized after coming face-to-face with the literal reason he has PTSD. So, warning for all that nasty medical stuff, plus me writing about his anxiety symptoms in detail which you can read more about here if you're so inclined.
((ooc; I am SO sorry that this took so dang long for me to post! I have a chronic illness and it flares up terribly in the winter, and I’m not kidding when I say I’ve been spending most of my entire freakin’ days passed out in bed for the past few weeks. Very unproductive! ): It doesn’t help that Tony’s inner monologues are whole ass novels either! I’m so so so sorry to castmates, roommates and anyone who has been looking forward to RPing with Tony.
But here’s his starter log at last! With prompts for roommates and Open. If you'd like to continue a thread we had going over at the TDM, start something new, or request a starter from me, have at it! I'll be posting a couple prompts but I'd be happy to do whatever Wildcard your little heart desires. Shoot a PM to this journal or catch me on plurk as![[plurk.com profile]](https://plurk.com/favicon.ico)
DontAskAlice if you’re so inclined. ))
➥ A FEW DAYS POST-ARRIVAL; IN THE VICINITY OF MEDICAL
[ Well, someone had better buy the Devil a nice pair of Uggs, because Hell just froze over; Tony's brain seems to be, for the moment, actually cooperating with him. At the very least it's choosing not to short-circuit and instead to compartmentalize the overwhelming amount of alarming revelations he has received in an unfairly short amount of time (namely, that he's on Earth instead of space in a Massachusetts-that's-not-actually-Massachusetts and that it's still the Apocalypse but it's a different Apocalypse and that he's supposed to fucking try and stop this one too) snugly in the back of his mind while he recovers, which is great, really, because Tony is 99.8% certain that if he has a full ass panic attack right now, he'll literally, physically snap in half. And what a cleanup that would be.
So after that first freak-out in the ER unit lands poor Dr. Strange with a chestful of Anthony ‘Tiny Ball of Pure Concentrated Organic Free-Range Anxiety’ Stark as that winning combo of exhaustion + sedatives kick in, Tony rides out the medically-induced slumber as long as it lasts. Not like he has much of a choice, seeing that the medics need to finish dealing with whatever bit of that wound in his side that Nebula couldn’t patch up in a pinch. So for those first 12 or so hours it’s rest, rest, rest until he reaches the level of sentience required to thank someone-or-other that Thanos had (intentionally? don’t know don’t care) missed his vital organs when skewering him like a lamb kabob. Easy enough.
But once Tony is awake, he is awake. He hasn't been a sound sleeper since New York (or ever, actually; one of the not-oft-talked-about drawbacks of having a genius brain is that it never shuts the fuck up), and he hates being stationary even at the best of times. So, you know, fuck this resting shit. Once he gets his bearings Tony pushes himself to his feet, wobbles a bit, nearly trips over his IV, and makes it out the door to his room unassisted...
until his knees buckle and fold like wet cardboard and, well, that's the end of that. Medics usher him back to his room--but ever the stubborn fucking child, their fussing and scolding just makes Tony want to get out of bed more.
His body has other plans at first, though, so for a while he has no choice but to let Dr. McScowly and company do their thing--which apparently involves pumping him full of electrolytes intravenously, making him take vitamins for what's probably the first time since he was in preschool, and running a fucking excess of tests that leaves Tony wondering if he'll have any piss or blood left after all of this is said and done. All in the name of preventing 'refeeding syndrome', he's told, which he's particularly susceptible to because he'd starved in such a rapid period of time, has a history of heart issues, and has been known to sport a tendency to replace at least one meal a day with non-negligible amounts of booze. Or something. Blah, blah, he's not the kind of scientist that deals in human-gooey-bits, whatever.
But he has to get out of here. Just out of this goddamn room. Just for a little while. Mostly because he hasn't been allowed coffee yet and he's dying. Death by lack of coffee, it's serious shit. So Tony uses that genius brain of his and memorizes every medic's routine and their habits and tics and how much goddamn coffee they drink before they need to go punish a nearby toilet--until he finds the perfect window of time to sneak out and go for a caffeine hunt.
If anyone's around the Medical area or anywhere in the Headquarters nearby for any reason, you'd better not snitch on the haggard-looking little guy dropping into the nearest wheelchair and making a beeline for the nearest vending machine, or break room, or wherever he can score some of the Happy Chemical in one form or another. It's also a great opportunity to look around and case the joint, you know, in the event that he needs to make a grand escape from the building altogether-- but no, nope, all that shit about this being Alternate Universe Massachusetts with Ghosts and Shit? Not thinking about it. Denied. That'll stay in a little box in the back of the Brain Closet, thank you very much.
A-HA. Vending machine. Vending machine that might have coffee or at least an energy drink or fuck it he'd even drink goddamn Mountain ‘Radioactive Piss’ Dew at this point, and Tony zips towards it until--oh, fuck. Fuck. Money. Yes. Things cost money, Tony. You know, that thing you have so much of back home that you never even think about it. Sigh.
But, focus. We’re not thinking about home; we’re thinking about caffeine. Swallowing his pride, Tony wheels over to whoever is currently perusing the vending machine's selection and nudges them in the shin with one of the chair's foot rests, and hisses at them through his teeth: ]
Hey. Hey. Look, you gotta help me out here. Get me a coffee, or a Red Bull, or something. Look at me, I'm decrepit as hell, I'm dying. You wouldn't say no to a dying man, would you?
➥ LATER; APARTMENT A2, OPEN TO ROOMMATES
[ It's been a rough few days, to put it lightly. Like, really really lightly. Tony has gone from dying in space to dying slightly less in a hospital room to not Dying dying, per se, but doing a great job cosplaying it. But after a whole lot of sturm and drang he is discharged from inpatient, given a set of instructions to follow, and then immediately directed to an impromptu seminar from the Welcoming Committee to learn more about all that Apocalypse nonsense.
Tony is still a bit drugged out during the talks but ultimately agrees to cooperate with ADI --because of course he does, it would be beyond stupid if he didn’t--which means orientation later that week (oh god it’s like he’s in college again) and a housing unit with roommates (oh god it’s really like he’s in college again). So he follows whoever it is leading him to his assigned apartment, listens to their spiel, moves on in and then…that’s it. The nonstop stream of noise and activity is brought to an abrupt halt, and for the first time since his arrival, Tony is finally left truly alone with his brain.
Well, sort of. Roommates, remember?
So apologies extended to Romelle and Andrew, because you’ve got a bit of a basket case on your hands at the moment. Tony is well (read:stubborn) enough at this point to wobble around without a wheelchair or strung up to an IV, but he’s still very much on the mend physically--though to be honest that shouldn’t be too much of a concern for either of you, as he’ll probably bitchily refuse any help even if it’s offered. So. No need to sweat that.
What probably is worthy of concern, though, is how Tony’s doing mentally--which is, as becomes very evident very quickly, Not Great Right Now. It first becomes apparent when Tony speaks nary a word to either of the people he’ll be living with for the foreseeable future, opting instead to immediately stand before the nearest surface that’s reasonably clutter-free, break off the giant glowing button that had been attached to his chest, set it in front of him and tap it twice.
On cue a suit of armor materializes across the table, startlingly impressive in its design if looking quite a bit worse for wear at the moment. It might not have been obvious that anything’s hugely wrong with it, though, if Tony wasn’t wearing the look of intense concern that he’s got on right now as he surveys it and tests out its functions. At some point he switches on something on the side of the helmet and speaks into it, the same way he'd recorded what was supposed to be his final message only days ago. ]
Nanites missing. Others lacking full functionality. Primary defense systems compromised. FRIDAY? FRIDAY, you there? [ A long pause. ] Can’t establish connection.
[ Look it might sound like he’s talking nonsense here, but the panic that’s building in his emaciated frame is universally recognizable. His slight shoulders start to shake as he continues to try and establish communication with this FRIDAY individual and other various parties, often pausing to fiddle with things on the suit that are clearly supposed to be working but aren't. The more his efforts fail the more the poor guy looks like he’s gonna lose his shit, keel over, or both.
Tl;dr: Even if he wasn’t currently on the verge of a panic attack in the immediate moment, your new roomie has very clearly Been Through Some Shit, and it’s difficult to ignore. If nothing else, there’s a huge robotic suit in the middle of your apartment now. Do with all of this as you will. ]
➥ A WEEK OR SO LATER; ADI HEADQUARTERS TECHNOLOGY DEVELOPMENT
[ Since arriving here in Apocalypsetown and failing to die yet Again, Tony has done the following:
1) immediately checked up on his tech, only to find that he can’t reach FRIDAY at all and his nanites have ceased functioning beyond constructing his suit and whatever weaponry he hadn’t unloaded on Thanos, which isn't fucking much. Had a panic attack
2) tried contacting anyone and everyone, both on Earth and off it, also to no avail. Panicked again
3) tried breaking into ADI’s computers and communications network and had a shocking lack of success due to code he’d never seen before in his life and a completely impassable firewall (a three-word phrase that would have been a complete oxymoron to him if he had ever thought of it before now). Panic times three
4) eventually got his bearings a little, remembered that he’s supposed to be taking care of his health, and did that for a little while. It kinda works!
Tony decides to take that small victory and run with it. Time to be proactive! He immediately joins up with the Information Technology department (because duh) and tries with all his might to keep his expectations on the floor when entering the lab area--since every piece of tech he’s seen in this place so far has been, in a word, sad, and it’s like the iceberg to the Titanic that is his ego that thus far he hasn’t been able to hack into tech the likes of which he hasn’t messed around with since, like, the 90s. Ugh. ]
Ugh. [ Oh, he said that out loud. Oops. ] How do you people function? Honestly. You ask me for help and this-- [ he hops on one of the machines, acclimating to it so easily it’s like it instantly becomes an extension of his body ] what's the OS? Is it Linux? Please don’t tell me it’s Linux.
[ And he just kinda keeps doing that, strutting about the room and fiddling with everything he finds. It’s a lot like that time (ages ago, or at least it feels that way) when he’d strolled onto the Helicarrier for the first time and ate the room up like he’d owned the place. Except this time his confidence and swagger are entirely contrived, and obviously so, since he’s about half the size he used to be in both the literal and figurative sense. ]
If you folks want my help, you’re gonna have to let me overhaul all of this. [ And by this, he means everything. He wants to overhaul everything. Upgrades on upgrades, and perhaps a few tweaks that’ll get him closer to hacking into this place and figuring out what all this is really about. ] Trust me, if you got limitations, I’ll push ‘em. We can start with your communications interface, it’s in the dark ages.
You-- [Yes you. ] whaddya working on? Tell me they’re paying you well enough to work in these conditions.
[ End rant. Now he’ll mosey on over to you, suddenly looking as though he’s gonna keel over from all that nervous energy he just let off, and sort of slumps into the seat near you. He rubs his temple, looking like the literal weight of the world is on those bony ass shoulders of his. ]
Sorry, little allergy attack there; obsolete technology makes me itchy. Tony.
➥ WILDCARD; ANYWHERE
(( ooc; Hit me! This will serve as Tony’s catch-all for the rest of the month, and he’ll definitely want to get out and about eventually. So if you wanna bump into this scrawny unshaven mess of a man moseying around town in an oversized hoodie trying to find the nearest sources of caffeine or any technology that isn’t dated Ancient in Tony Stark years, feel free to throw yourselves in his direction! Gently please. ))
bloodalwaystells and Romelle romelle, a starter for Stephen Strange sorser in the comments, but otherwise OPEN. When: Throughout Tony’s arrival process and acclimation to his new surroundings. So backdated slightly? I’m fine with acting like he came in this round instead of the last one, since this log took so long to put up. ): Super flexible that way.
Where: Medical, Apartment A2, Technology Development at ADI Headquarters
Summary: A man dies in the void of space then wakes up in a haunted-ass town in bumfuck Massachusetts, and reacts accordingly. I mean, how would you feel? (AKA Tony Stark is an Anxious Wreck: The Log)
Warnings: Covering my bases here! At his canon point Tony just got absolutely fucking murked by the Final Boss and was subsequently stranded in space for two weeks with nary enough food or oxygen to last him even that long. He's bruised up badly, with a partially healed stab wound straight through his side, dying of starvation and highly traumatized after coming face-to-face with the literal reason he has PTSD. So, warning for all that nasty medical stuff, plus me writing about his anxiety symptoms in detail which you can read more about here if you're so inclined.
((ooc; I am SO sorry that this took so dang long for me to post! I have a chronic illness and it flares up terribly in the winter, and I’m not kidding when I say I’ve been spending most of my entire freakin’ days passed out in bed for the past few weeks. Very unproductive! ): It doesn’t help that Tony’s inner monologues are whole ass novels either! I’m so so so sorry to castmates, roommates and anyone who has been looking forward to RPing with Tony.
But here’s his starter log at last! With prompts for roommates and Open. If you'd like to continue a thread we had going over at the TDM, start something new, or request a starter from me, have at it! I'll be posting a couple prompts but I'd be happy to do whatever Wildcard your little heart desires. Shoot a PM to this journal or catch me on plurk as
➥ A FEW DAYS POST-ARRIVAL; IN THE VICINITY OF MEDICAL
[ Well, someone had better buy the Devil a nice pair of Uggs, because Hell just froze over; Tony's brain seems to be, for the moment, actually cooperating with him. At the very least it's choosing not to short-circuit and instead to compartmentalize the overwhelming amount of alarming revelations he has received in an unfairly short amount of time (namely, that he's on Earth instead of space in a Massachusetts-that's-not-actually-Massachusetts and that it's still the Apocalypse but it's a different Apocalypse and that he's supposed to fucking try and stop this one too) snugly in the back of his mind while he recovers, which is great, really, because Tony is 99.8% certain that if he has a full ass panic attack right now, he'll literally, physically snap in half. And what a cleanup that would be.
So after that first freak-out in the ER unit lands poor Dr. Strange with a chestful of Anthony ‘Tiny Ball of Pure Concentrated Organic Free-Range Anxiety’ Stark as that winning combo of exhaustion + sedatives kick in, Tony rides out the medically-induced slumber as long as it lasts. Not like he has much of a choice, seeing that the medics need to finish dealing with whatever bit of that wound in his side that Nebula couldn’t patch up in a pinch. So for those first 12 or so hours it’s rest, rest, rest until he reaches the level of sentience required to thank someone-or-other that Thanos had (intentionally? don’t know don’t care) missed his vital organs when skewering him like a lamb kabob. Easy enough.
But once Tony is awake, he is awake. He hasn't been a sound sleeper since New York (or ever, actually; one of the not-oft-talked-about drawbacks of having a genius brain is that it never shuts the fuck up), and he hates being stationary even at the best of times. So, you know, fuck this resting shit. Once he gets his bearings Tony pushes himself to his feet, wobbles a bit, nearly trips over his IV, and makes it out the door to his room unassisted...
until his knees buckle and fold like wet cardboard and, well, that's the end of that. Medics usher him back to his room--but ever the stubborn fucking child, their fussing and scolding just makes Tony want to get out of bed more.
His body has other plans at first, though, so for a while he has no choice but to let Dr. McScowly and company do their thing--which apparently involves pumping him full of electrolytes intravenously, making him take vitamins for what's probably the first time since he was in preschool, and running a fucking excess of tests that leaves Tony wondering if he'll have any piss or blood left after all of this is said and done. All in the name of preventing 'refeeding syndrome', he's told, which he's particularly susceptible to because he'd starved in such a rapid period of time, has a history of heart issues, and has been known to sport a tendency to replace at least one meal a day with non-negligible amounts of booze. Or something. Blah, blah, he's not the kind of scientist that deals in human-gooey-bits, whatever.
But he has to get out of here. Just out of this goddamn room. Just for a little while. Mostly because he hasn't been allowed coffee yet and he's dying. Death by lack of coffee, it's serious shit. So Tony uses that genius brain of his and memorizes every medic's routine and their habits and tics and how much goddamn coffee they drink before they need to go punish a nearby toilet--until he finds the perfect window of time to sneak out and go for a caffeine hunt.
If anyone's around the Medical area or anywhere in the Headquarters nearby for any reason, you'd better not snitch on the haggard-looking little guy dropping into the nearest wheelchair and making a beeline for the nearest vending machine, or break room, or wherever he can score some of the Happy Chemical in one form or another. It's also a great opportunity to look around and case the joint, you know, in the event that he needs to make a grand escape from the building altogether-- but no, nope, all that shit about this being Alternate Universe Massachusetts with Ghosts and Shit? Not thinking about it. Denied. That'll stay in a little box in the back of the Brain Closet, thank you very much.
A-HA. Vending machine. Vending machine that might have coffee or at least an energy drink or fuck it he'd even drink goddamn Mountain ‘Radioactive Piss’ Dew at this point, and Tony zips towards it until--oh, fuck. Fuck. Money. Yes. Things cost money, Tony. You know, that thing you have so much of back home that you never even think about it. Sigh.
But, focus. We’re not thinking about home; we’re thinking about caffeine. Swallowing his pride, Tony wheels over to whoever is currently perusing the vending machine's selection and nudges them in the shin with one of the chair's foot rests, and hisses at them through his teeth: ]
Hey. Hey. Look, you gotta help me out here. Get me a coffee, or a Red Bull, or something. Look at me, I'm decrepit as hell, I'm dying. You wouldn't say no to a dying man, would you?
➥ LATER; APARTMENT A2, OPEN TO ROOMMATES
[ It's been a rough few days, to put it lightly. Like, really really lightly. Tony has gone from dying in space to dying slightly less in a hospital room to not Dying dying, per se, but doing a great job cosplaying it. But after a whole lot of sturm and drang he is discharged from inpatient, given a set of instructions to follow, and then immediately directed to an impromptu seminar from the Welcoming Committee to learn more about all that Apocalypse nonsense.
Tony is still a bit drugged out during the talks but ultimately agrees to cooperate with ADI --because of course he does, it would be beyond stupid if he didn’t--which means orientation later that week (oh god it’s like he’s in college again) and a housing unit with roommates (oh god it’s really like he’s in college again). So he follows whoever it is leading him to his assigned apartment, listens to their spiel, moves on in and then…that’s it. The nonstop stream of noise and activity is brought to an abrupt halt, and for the first time since his arrival, Tony is finally left truly alone with his brain.
Well, sort of. Roommates, remember?
So apologies extended to Romelle and Andrew, because you’ve got a bit of a basket case on your hands at the moment. Tony is well (read:stubborn) enough at this point to wobble around without a wheelchair or strung up to an IV, but he’s still very much on the mend physically--though to be honest that shouldn’t be too much of a concern for either of you, as he’ll probably bitchily refuse any help even if it’s offered. So. No need to sweat that.
What probably is worthy of concern, though, is how Tony’s doing mentally--which is, as becomes very evident very quickly, Not Great Right Now. It first becomes apparent when Tony speaks nary a word to either of the people he’ll be living with for the foreseeable future, opting instead to immediately stand before the nearest surface that’s reasonably clutter-free, break off the giant glowing button that had been attached to his chest, set it in front of him and tap it twice.
On cue a suit of armor materializes across the table, startlingly impressive in its design if looking quite a bit worse for wear at the moment. It might not have been obvious that anything’s hugely wrong with it, though, if Tony wasn’t wearing the look of intense concern that he’s got on right now as he surveys it and tests out its functions. At some point he switches on something on the side of the helmet and speaks into it, the same way he'd recorded what was supposed to be his final message only days ago. ]
Nanites missing. Others lacking full functionality. Primary defense systems compromised. FRIDAY? FRIDAY, you there? [ A long pause. ] Can’t establish connection.
[ Look it might sound like he’s talking nonsense here, but the panic that’s building in his emaciated frame is universally recognizable. His slight shoulders start to shake as he continues to try and establish communication with this FRIDAY individual and other various parties, often pausing to fiddle with things on the suit that are clearly supposed to be working but aren't. The more his efforts fail the more the poor guy looks like he’s gonna lose his shit, keel over, or both.
Tl;dr: Even if he wasn’t currently on the verge of a panic attack in the immediate moment, your new roomie has very clearly Been Through Some Shit, and it’s difficult to ignore. If nothing else, there’s a huge robotic suit in the middle of your apartment now. Do with all of this as you will. ]
➥ A WEEK OR SO LATER; ADI HEADQUARTERS TECHNOLOGY DEVELOPMENT
[ Since arriving here in Apocalypsetown and failing to die yet Again, Tony has done the following:
1) immediately checked up on his tech, only to find that he can’t reach FRIDAY at all and his nanites have ceased functioning beyond constructing his suit and whatever weaponry he hadn’t unloaded on Thanos, which isn't fucking much. Had a panic attack
2) tried contacting anyone and everyone, both on Earth and off it, also to no avail. Panicked again
3) tried breaking into ADI’s computers and communications network and had a shocking lack of success due to code he’d never seen before in his life and a completely impassable firewall (a three-word phrase that would have been a complete oxymoron to him if he had ever thought of it before now). Panic times three
4) eventually got his bearings a little, remembered that he’s supposed to be taking care of his health, and did that for a little while. It kinda works!
Tony decides to take that small victory and run with it. Time to be proactive! He immediately joins up with the Information Technology department (because duh) and tries with all his might to keep his expectations on the floor when entering the lab area--since every piece of tech he’s seen in this place so far has been, in a word, sad, and it’s like the iceberg to the Titanic that is his ego that thus far he hasn’t been able to hack into tech the likes of which he hasn’t messed around with since, like, the 90s. Ugh. ]
Ugh. [ Oh, he said that out loud. Oops. ] How do you people function? Honestly. You ask me for help and this-- [ he hops on one of the machines, acclimating to it so easily it’s like it instantly becomes an extension of his body ] what's the OS? Is it Linux? Please don’t tell me it’s Linux.
[ And he just kinda keeps doing that, strutting about the room and fiddling with everything he finds. It’s a lot like that time (ages ago, or at least it feels that way) when he’d strolled onto the Helicarrier for the first time and ate the room up like he’d owned the place. Except this time his confidence and swagger are entirely contrived, and obviously so, since he’s about half the size he used to be in both the literal and figurative sense. ]
If you folks want my help, you’re gonna have to let me overhaul all of this. [ And by this, he means everything. He wants to overhaul everything. Upgrades on upgrades, and perhaps a few tweaks that’ll get him closer to hacking into this place and figuring out what all this is really about. ] Trust me, if you got limitations, I’ll push ‘em. We can start with your communications interface, it’s in the dark ages.
You-- [Yes you. ] whaddya working on? Tell me they’re paying you well enough to work in these conditions.
[ End rant. Now he’ll mosey on over to you, suddenly looking as though he’s gonna keel over from all that nervous energy he just let off, and sort of slumps into the seat near you. He rubs his temple, looking like the literal weight of the world is on those bony ass shoulders of his. ]
Sorry, little allergy attack there; obsolete technology makes me itchy. Tony.
➥ WILDCARD; ANYWHERE
(( ooc; Hit me! This will serve as Tony’s catch-all for the rest of the month, and he’ll definitely want to get out and about eventually. So if you wanna bump into this scrawny unshaven mess of a man moseying around town in an oversized hoodie trying to find the nearest sources of caffeine or any technology that isn’t dated Ancient in Tony Stark years, feel free to throw yourselves in his direction! Gently please. ))
Dr. Strange - Medical (cont. from TDM)
But before Tony can shoot another barb from the only weapon he can currently operate, Strange chooses to immediately follow that first helping of half-assery with a palate cleanser that Tony's innate pessimism had chalked up before to auditory hallucinations somehow brought on by the whole almost-kicking-the-bucket thing. It's like a switch is flipped. 'How could you give up the Stone to save my hopeless ass did you fail your fucking D20 roll Wizard' backs up just a step because right now Tony wants, needs, starves for one glimmer of a good fucking thing and even his natural bitchiness can't override that hunger. ]
Did you seriously just say insofar? [ Okay he had to get one in. Biting his lip, Tony shifts closer, fingers opening slightly as if physically grasping for reassurance. ]
You said they're all back. This ain't just a fluke, just you being here with me, everyone came back? Because you gave it away? How-- no, scratch that, don't give me the logic, I don't need it right now, just tell me again. Everyone. Tell me you're sure.
no subject
But he’ll take a respite from the anger and irritation he knows is simmering under the surface. Because Stark, despite himself, cannot argue this point; to return half of the universe’s population back to the land of the living, sacrifices had to be made, and they were worth it.
Even if they had been difficult ones to make. Even if, standing here and talking to this man, pries needles of guilt somewhere into his chest.]
I’m sure of it.
[He doesn’t waver, he doesn’t look away. Stephen is as confident as he can be, stating that. He’s sure. He’s lived in a world, since, trying to recover, trying to parse how to rearrange itself again with the sudden return of so many people.]
Wanda Maximoff. She’s here, too. She can verify it, if you don’t believe me.
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. ]
YOU'RE FINE
But this situation is delicate. He isn’t even sure if he’s handling it the way he should, and for Stephen, this lack of knowing and control rankles him. Sits like burs under his skin, a quiet anxiety that he keeps partitioned in his skull—turning over and over—but keeping it from shadowing his demeanor. Especially now. Especially in front of Stark.]
Wanda won’t throw a bus at you.
[Circling around his actual request, maybe it’s to buy time, but he does trust her. (If quietly glad he’s glad he never had to deal with Avenger drama himself.)]
And I know you’re wanting me to give you the details, give every ounce of information I can spare, but I can’t. I just can’t — I don’t know how just this very conversation might affect the events of our return home.
[Maybe they’re all royally screwed already. Maybe his caution means nothing. But he can’t take that chance.]
I’m not willing to risk… undoing our victory after all we’ve been through. Can’t you just trust me?
no subject
So yes, this is difficult for both of them. ]
Just trust you? [ Tony snorts, and his tone is unkind. ] Sorry Doc, I'm fresh outta the stuff. Don't suppose you heard what happened between me and the frontman of the artists formerly known as The Avengers? [ Speaking of acting on emotional hair-triggers... ] Pretty sure I mentioned it during our little pow-wow at your place, right before we blasted off to parts unknown. If I didn't have trust issues before...
[ Tony trails off into a sigh, rubbing at his temples, clearly exhausted. Though he wants to press further, he also knows a lost cause when he sees one. And he's so, so tired. When he speaks again, it's with an edge of sadness. ]
Right. Well, clearly I'll mess things up if I'm in the know, so...forget it. As long as everyone's back, and--and safe. I can...suck it up.