open | april/may catch-all

[industries]

WHO: Tony Stark & you
WHAT: April catch-all for open, planned, & future threads
WHERE: Free Cities - Cadens & Desert Outpost
WHEN: 4/05 - 4/30
WARNINGS: None yet.

NOTES: Although he left his world emaciated and malnourished from months adrift in space, Tony's body was rejuvenated to its normal state by the healing powers of being pulled to Abraxas. TL;DR he looks like his normal self, except more depressed.

▶ i. we are not soldiers
    Cadens Desert Outpost 003 - Wagon | Apr. 6
    [ open ]

[ The last wagon to Cadens only has a couple of seats left when its wheels finally roll and crunch against the sandy road. ]

Hey! [ The shout comes from the right side of the departure area, in the general direction of the barracks. The driver reins in the horses and a middle-aged man jogs up to the wagon, a standard issue knapsack slung over his shoulder. ] One more for – yeah, okay. [ He squeezes in, past a particularly miffed soldier. ] Uh, Private Pyle? 'Scuse me? Thanks.

[ The man drops into the empty seat across from you and sinks into it with a long, slow breath. Judging from his plain fatigues and lack of epaulets, he looks to be a newly-arrived Summoned, though he at least appears to have taken the time to trim his facial hair into a neat goatee. Although his eyes roam cooly across the passenger area, the white-knuckled grip on his knapsack's strap betrays the kind of sharp anxiety common to Abraxas' newcomers – and perhaps something more.

His eyes flit up to you as the horses whinny and the wagon rolls forward again. He frowns. ]

What. Not a Kubrick fan? [He rolls his eyes.] What am I talking about, "Arrival of a Train" is probably peak entertainment here.

▶ ii. we won, mr. stark
    Cadens - Mag's Inn | Apr. 7
    [ open + planned: peter, nadine ]

[ It's only when he sits down at the inn table that he lets himself breathe.

Okay. Okay.

Step completed, box checked off. He drags a hand down his chin, then splays that hand on the table, feels the wood-grain of its surface, old and polished from years of use. It feels real. Has heft, and tactility, enough to tell the mechanoreceptors in his fingertips and the neurons in his thalamus that he's here. This is real. But that doesn't mean they couldn't be lying to him, because how-

Last thing he remembers, with relative clarity, is Steve Rogers' face. The rage rising up his throat, boiling over, barely standing, shaking. The arc reactor in his hand. Liar.

The last thing he remembers, with more bleary haze, is light streaming through glass windows, Pepper's hand over his. Slowly blinking at her face, her creased brow. The answer to a dozen sleepless nights on the Benatar: Alive.

Then – floating in water. And he was here – healthy again, and away from home... again. In... what? A glorified steampunk convention? Las Vegas' most dedicated LARPer club? He'd kind of hoped so, until the outpost wagon neared a city out of some YA fantasy and kicked him to the curb.

He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. Footsteps approach the table.]

Not hungry – starved for a month on a spaceship, you know how it goes – hey, [ he presses the back of his thumb against his eye, ] so I heard you guys do a care package?

▶ iii. wildcard
    [ open + planned: sam ]

Keeping to two prompts for now since I'm not sure if Tony's going to find out... certain information.

Regardless! If you're jonesing to thread something in particular with Tony, please don't hesitate to drop it here! Also feel free to hit me up at LaCidiana, DM me, or PM this journal if you want to ask about anything. ♥

Comments

[industries]

[ His eyes snap open.

They travel along the length of the table to where the kid stands a few feet away.

Tony's had dreams like this, on the cold metal floor of a ship far from home. The kid grinning, and joking, then crying, and pleading, until he turns to ash in his arms. Nebula would wake him up, tell him he was making noise in his sleep. She'd be kind – wouldn't tell him the noise was him saying "sorry," over and over again. He knows because he could hear himself, on the knife's edge of waking up.

He's not waking up now.

Tony stands up, slow, as if he's back to the body he had back home, weak and wasted away. He grips the back of the chair for support. The kid's smile is strained, his eyes worn and tired. Tony's brow creases. ]

Oh my god. [ He marches over, wraps his arms around him tight enough to suffocate. But Peter stays there. Breathing. ]

[piqure]

[ he knows that look.

he's seen it before, so wretchedly familiar peter's eyes sting at the recollection. he remembers coming back, from life to dust to life again, in the midst of a space, in that red landscape and back into the thick of battle, careening through one of stephen strange's portals and straight into the path of iron man, ready to keep on fighting against thanos, but never ready to lose in victory.

it's been a few years since then, impossibly lived in a world without tony stark, and far more losses endured and in his mind's sprint to fill in the blanks of too many questions, it momentarily goes treacherously blank.

it's funny, how much one can learn to live with. or without.

but seeing that look rips against whatever bandaid time had barely soothed over, hairline fractures spindling out against a composure that leaves much to be desired in the first place. what is grief if not love persevering?

his breath is shallow as he watches tony stand up. there's an unsure step out towards him as he wobbles, brows pinched in concern but the distance in closed in hazy disbelief.

a small sound escapes the back of his throat when tony pulls him in, choked surprise, as peter's own arms are thrown around him in return, hold on nearly as tight. ] Yeah, [ he says lamely, muffled as his cheek is pressed against a shoulder. ] It's — it's really good to see you, Tony. [ oh my god, he thinks too, again, he thinks, and dreads whatever may come next, heart hammering in suddenly brittle ribs. do you know we won?, do you know you die?] Did you just get here?

[industries]

[ The kid feels warm in his arms. Solid. Like he's a person, like he's right here. Real. Mechanoreceptors in his fingertips, neurons in his thalamus. They could be lying to him, but he doesn't care.

His fingers dig into the fabric on Peter's back. He breathes him in, remembers the acrid smell of ash and embers on Titan, and the silence, dead and absolute, somehow worse than the sounds that had come before. I don't want to go.

Something clenches in the pit of his gut. He squeezes tighter, keeps him here, the way he couldn't back then. For one awful second he doesn't let go, because he's afraid of what'll happen if he does.

Mr. Stark–

He exhales, sharp, and pulls away. Clasps his hands on Peter's shoulders. The world realigns around him. Gears turn, click from one mode to the next. Lenses refocus on this new reality, still a little blurry around the edges. ]

Hey – yeah, uh. You too. [ He swallows down a knot in his throat. A blip registers on the radar – "Tony"? – along with his new close-up of the kid's face. There are creases Tony doesn't recognize, dark circles, tiny marks. Tiny misaligned proportions meet faint, deepened lines.

Age. He's aged. ]

I... yeah, I... [ His mouth goes dry. He shakes his head, responds on auto-pilot. ] A few days ago. [ More blips: The kid's archaic clothes, the full shoulder bag. Tony's brow furrows. ] You've... been here a while.

[piqure]

[ stark’s fingers dig into his back, bunching up fabric. he’s solid and real and how odd it is how parallel both their thoughts run.

I’m not going anywhere he wants to say, thinks of ash and dust all the same, I’m right here an overlap of scared memories, entirely too close to the surface.

but he knows he can’t promise that, can’t promise not to disappear, not with the tumultuous push and pull this place can have. not with having just come back after not even remembering leaving.

but he clings, that same hold returned, same edge behind it — he doesn’t want mister stark to disappear either. like he has before. doesn’t even want to be greeted with a horizon he can no longer find, or a message no longer returned.

it hadn’t been a long time, between peter’s return and whatever hours were carved out in time spent with a man who defined so much in his life, and it wasn’t ever enough.

it wasn’t forever.

because he just finished thinking it’s okay if he never sees tony again, the same way it’s okay with aunt may and the rest. it’s fine, some mantra repeated because he just had to keep going, keep doing, keep helping. ]

Not really, actually, [ the answer, in similar autopilot. his nose scrunches, eyes on stark’s face — searching, trying to place a time, even if it’s becoming more and more clear when tony’s from. ] Maybe like a month? Mister Stark — [ calling him that feels more natural, rather than tony it’s true. he wants to ask him — well, what does he want to ask?

too much. his hand finds tony’s elbow, still anchored by the hold on his shoulders. he smiles — it’s tight, eyes already rimmed red, but he tries to blink it away. so instead he asks something simple, deflecting, ] — Did you want any food? I can get you something — I mean, I can tell you more about this place too, but —

[ it’s his usual tumble of words in a quietly somber tone before he tries to collect himself. he can do this. as many times as he needs to. tony’s here again, and that’s all that matters. big picture…] — One big thing. A lot of us are here, from our universe.

[ and he may just have, in the span of those words, sent a very quick message to sam. ]

[industries]

[ A month? That... doesn't add up, but Tony can't bring himself to point it out. Not when Peter's moving, emoting, breathing, right there – right here, in front of him. Tony can't wrench his eyes from his face, feels like he has to memorize each piece of it – the kid's focus, his intensity, his misty eyes, looking back at Tony with the same...

The same look. Huh. ]

I'm fine – hey, don't worry, [ Tony gets out, quicker than he means to. What's he saying? His thoughts swirl. He can't let the kid leave his sight. He can't lose him. Can't lose him, he repeats in his own head, like a mantra, as he tightens his grip on Peter's arm and guides him back over to the table.

Tony sits down, pulls Peter into the chair beside his. He listens, throat dry. ]

A lot of us. [ He echoes it back as his gears turn. Tony's synapses aren't built to be overloaded beyond what they can handle, but this comes close – data, variables, algorithmic shifts right under his feet, racing desperately to beat the raw ache in his belly, and the pounding in his chest. He's fine. I'm fine. We're– ]

Okay. [ He evens out his breath. Looks back at the kid. ] Pete. How is this... [ Pause. ] How did you get here?

[piqure]

[ it still feels unreal. and if peter had illusions (or hopes, maybe) on tony's timeline of memories, there's barely any guesswork now. tony acts like peter is some ghost.

funny that. spiderman can relate.

peter shifts his weight. tries not to think too far ahead — maybe tomorrow he can show tony around more, and maybe the next day he can talk to him about ideas he was starting to have here. and maybe — oh god, what if tony asks about anyone —

the ambition of plans flows in near tandem to the dread, that mad sprint of thoughts that never stops. it sits at the forefront of everything. to the here and now and tony's grip is still anchored on his arm, grounding, and peter lowers into the chair without complaint.

hey, don't worry and something chokes back in his throat. how can he not? tony's anxieties are almost palpable, and peter shifts in his chair, leaning a small bit forward with an elbow on the table. hurriedly — ] I can fill you in on whatever I can, Mister Stark — [ whatever he can, but not all of it. he can't, not right now. he can't keep talking about losses, not tony, not aunt may — ] — and I think Sam will help a lot too. Sam Wilson?

[ at the next question, as he watches tony run through the motions of settling, peter hesitates, a slowly forming frown. ] Well — I mean, I got summoned? Like you did. I was back in our world, and then their Singularity magic happened, I guess, and then I was here. [ infilling useless facts, excessive words in an attempt to veer away from the truth except for the fact that he can't, not when tony looks the way he does now and he can't quite restrain himself enough from adding: ] I'm after the Snap.

[ and, again, in trying to redirect: ] Timelines are really weird here. But it's okay, we're okay. [ god okay where is sam when you need him. ]

[industries]

[ Sam Wilson? Tony's brow furrows. He saw him in the readouts at HQ too – DECEASED, just like Peter, and Vision, and Wanda, and all the countless, billions others. DECEASED, DECEASED, DECEASED- ]

That's not– [ Tony sighs, raises his free hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Sudden, familiar annoyance shoots through his chest, and that's – somehow that's more concrete than anything else. It's Peter in front of him, isn't it? This is real.

He drops his hand from his face but keeps the other one on Peter's upper arm, fingers firmly gripped, an anchor. He thinks he hears everything the kid babbles out, but maybe not, because only half of it makes sense – or... well. Actually. That kinda just. Further proves the point, doesn't it. ]

Singularity. Summoned. Yeah, I've – they mentioned all that in the day-one orientation. But like– [ Tony waves his hand in a small circle. ] After the... [ He can't even get it out. ] You–

[ We're okay, Peter had said. Tony exhales. The part of his brain that lives to tinker, and test, to pick things apart and see how they work – it's overflowing with words, questions, demands of logic and sense in the face of the impossible. It needs to Know.

But there's also the rest of him, that hears the hesitation between Peter's words, and sees something awful written on his face. (The kid's focus, his intensity, his misty eyes.)

He's okay.

A long silence hangs over Tony. He lets go of Peter's arm and leans back in his chair. ]

You... [ He scrunches his mouth. ] You know it's full helicopter dad now, right? Or like – helicopter... sponsor? Mentor? Whatever – [ he raises his finger, looks Peter in the eye, ] you're grounded, no more space missions for you, young man, I'm putting my foot down – et cetera, et cetera. [ Pause. ] You said Wilson is here?

[ Maybe it'd be better to ask an adult the questions burning a hole through his cognitive faculties. Even if he, like, put said adult in prison that one time. ]