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]

[ 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. ]