sixthiterationlogs | Here's to my future, Here's to my yesterday

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Here's to my future, Here's to my yesterday

WHO: Tony Stark
WHERE: Village, Forge, Spring
WHEN: September 29th - October 7th
OPEN TO: Marked prompts are locked, ota marks are ota
WARNINGS: Swearing, descriptions of canon appropriate violence, recreational weed use

September 29th - [ Locked to Iron Bull, Kamala, Elena, Steve Rogers ]

He doesn't know why he thought it'd be a stroke of midnight kind of deal, a bibbity-bobbity-fuck-you' sort of thing but, well, he thought it'd be one moment of having a full, unscarred chest and all his youthful spring and a jolt before he went back to having a chest full of shrapnel scarring and shitty, shitty knees. A more gradual decline is- well. Probably less traumatic and more reasonable, thank you mysterious sciencey bullshit magic overlords, but no thank you, not really. By the time he makes his way to the Inn some of the grey hair's back, the ache in his shoulders from working the forge hard and long for the last two weeks, settling in, an odd hitch to his breathing he cant quite peg as being mostly normal until it wasn't. It's nothing, he's fine, this was expected, right? Right. Just means he takes a little bit longer to squint down at his notes while he eats lunch, stands up slow as his spine pops like a set of firecrackers when he clears out.

Work, predictably, slows down somewhat at the Forge. He can't hit as hard, as long, as he might've the day before- which is probably a sign shit is going down with his system but denial thy name is Tony 'Fuck You I Reject Your Reality And Substitute My Own' Stark. He's not going to give in to the fact the hammer feels heavier, drawing the wire feels more difficult, or that he's got a building migraine (Which he hadn't had for the past two weeks, what a fucking joy it's been). Nope. He's sweating, taking breaks, and denying that he should probably just. Take a day. One more hour? Maybe two.

End of the day- earlier than he's been clearing out for the last while- and he's resigned himself to taking maybe one or two days of just to recover. Admitting that yeah, he's back to how he was when he arrived, now (minus the hole Thanos gave him) at least to himself Tony's taking a not so long walk to the Fountain for a bucket to shut down the forge- leaving it to burn attended for that Long? Asking for trouble. It's not the walk to the Fountain. It's not dropping the bucket in and filling it, it's hauling it up that hits him hardest. He manages- barely, to get it up to the lip before that hitch he's had all day doubles down and locks in with, oh, right, he's missing parts of his lungs and shit- and he's forgotten how to breathe through it. Tony slumps against the ledge, hand pressed to his chest, eyes squeezed shut as he tries and fails to get any actual air in his mangled lungs.

October 1 - 7th OTA

Two days of weren't exactly enough after pushing so hard for so long and letting it all catch up to him- Tony'll never admit it, not in a million years, but he's...taking it easy. Handling theoretical work for the time being. Which means research at the School House, or hiking all the way over to the Mill to see what he's working with RE getting some kind of analog power set up- or making a hydroelectric power a more consistent kind of deal. He'd been by before but now? It's less pacing and measuring, more sitting, listening to the wheel work, and letting his mind wander. It's actually kind of peaceful.

The hooka of weed probably doesn't hurt much either, but joint pain is joint pain and self medicating is something he's got a history of. As long as he's tucked up in the mill he's not likely to expose Pete or Kamala to the terrible habit. Theoretical Engineering under the influence has always led to some interesting (only somewhat implausible) ideas. Couldn't hurt.

Most nights he makes the trek out to the Springs- only once measuring a flattish area for changing stalls or whatever before giving up on it for the time being. His stuff's packed up somewhere safe (in a zebra print bag that use to be a snuggie, tied to a tree) He's got a canteen of water and a few peaches to gnaw on. Might as well double dip on bullshit accelerated healing assistants.

Later still, when he can't sleep, when he can't work due to lack of light or lack of energy he sits on the porch of House 34 staring out into the night, mug of tea at his elbow. Quiet. Contemplative like he normally isn't, hands twisting and turning a length of delicate chain between his fingers as he wills himself into exhaustion- or at the very least attempts to do so.

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"Spite's a pretty powerful motivator." It'd been enough for him and Yensin in the cave- enough for him when Vaanko tried to tear him apart, when Loki cracked the sky open overhead, when Killan tried to burn everything he'd built to the ground. But the longer he was here, the longer the quiet had to seep into his bones now that he couldn't work himself into exhaustion? The more time he had to think about what they'd left behind. The ruin on Titan.

The ashes that'd been Peter, been Quill and his crew.

The world he'd flown away from to save even as Pepper begged him to come back because she knew it was a one way trip. She knew.

Even when she'd been resigned to him taking action.

How fucking ridiculous was he to assume that two years would mean more peace? To forget, even for a moment, that the world didn't work like that, not for him. The chain in his fingers twisted and snarled- something fragile meant for a pendant. He hadn't gotten around to working on that, simply practicing drawing out wire so fine and hair thin to leave it delicate. "We don't even know if we can make it back home from here, Bruce. There are too many variables."

Normally he could streamline them but- right now? They were over-fucking-whelming.

He definitely doesn't seem good, but Jake isn't one to judge. Not that he makes any effort to move away, his hand moving to catch the other man's elbow, offering that stability even if he says he doesn't need it.

Figuring the hooka has a lot to do with it, but not bothered so long as the guy is okay. Even if the scent is pretty nice, making him wonder why he hasn't indulged in this before here rather than being a spaz looking for people that are not there.

"Oookay," he murmurs, not sure what brought that on. "Do you need to sit down then?" The boyscout thing is coming to him fairly naturally, though he's used to being around four guys that would kick his ass for trying to help them in a situation like this.

Her head is going to hurt quite soon after even twenty minutes of this, Peggy suspects, but at the same time, she'd never want to turn it off and imply to Tony that she doesn't want him in her head. Still, thinking about the words, she narrows in on a few that she intends to pick up.

"Your father was a very strange man with very specific likes," she notes. "Like Velveeta," is the deadpan, her mind flickering to thoughts of him and Jarvis over breakfast, a warm and fond almost-memory that gives her joy. "What are you planning to do with Peter?" she asks, on the heels of that memory, hoping to get the truth from Tony.

Natalia chuckles, but it’s sheepish. She hopes she wouldn’t be that distracted, but she didn’t even realize there was someone else in the building. She shifts her books around so he can get his notes out from under them all.

As he reclaims the papers she catches a glimpse of some of the contents.

“What is all this, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Somehow, they're friendly enough that Tony is handing him an improbably useless item from his zebra print murse--they've overcome greater odds than having a series of friends in common. "I take it back," he says, leaving the envelope in Tony's hands and picking up the box to inspect for himself. "You've had entirely too much."

Flick; open; flick; close. It's a silly little thing, and his amusement is more squint than smile. "I can't tell if you were carting this around with me in mind, or if you're just weird hookah Santa."

Watching it a third time, the gears click over. "You know, I might actually have a couple of things I can do with this." If he's quick enough on the draw, it's not a bad way to hide a few smaller items. "I've got a crow that won't quite leave the next. This'll entertain the shit out of him." With Kira, the thought only diverts momentarily. "You doing alright?"

"Spite isn't sustaining as a motivation. And that's not your primary drive." Spite helped, but it was shallow. Changing the world, making choices to help people, it had to come from somewhere else. In the case of a few people, it came from guilt and seeking redemption. For Bruce, it started out from a very genuine philanthropic place. Now it was a mix of motivations. He generally assumed everyone had about ten reasons for every one thing they did, they just weren't always aware of them, or likely to list them in their head like he did.

Bruce witnessed their people turning into ash. He thought at the time that Tony was almost certainly already dead. His mind hadn't gotten to the full scope of how many people were dead, but he knew it was half the planet, and then half of every plant and every part of the solar system. Getting out of this situation just led them to get into the other one. And he was still pretty sure he didn't want to go back, but he also couldn't send Tony back alone. It was all a mess. He still had to have the faith all the same.

"Yeah, I know the variables, but again, we've managed to do a lot of unbelievable things. We'll just have to keep trying." He sighed and reached out to rub Tony's back soothingly. He never really knew the right things to say. It wasn't like anyone was able to talk him out of a dark mood. "And if we're stuck here, for now, we'll have to make the most out of it. We'll share information, get a bunch of brilliant minds together to not blow up things, and survive." It really was the only option at the moment. What else could they do?

"But ...." And this was the truth. "Sometimes it's okay to just not have any answers or any ideas of what to do and to just wallow is uncertainty and sadness for a little while."

"Rogers. When'd you grow a goatee?" It hasn't been that long, he knows it hasn't been that long, and as rude as it is (personal space is a thing) it really doesn't fucking fit with- well. Anything. Tony reaches up to poke at Jake's chin, thoroughly baffled. "Seriously, what?"

He sounded- not like Rogers. But he looked like Rogers. With glasses-

"Wait are you sad gnome beard guy?" He can't think of anyone else that worried about facial hair quite like him in the village.

the ramble stutters to a stop at Velveeta, like an engine hiccuping before it settles along a few flashes- all amused, fond warmth.

Jarvis was always offended by having to serve it.

Something there and gone that he thinks he says- or isn't sure he didn't say- Keeping track of whether or not his mouth is running is difficult on a good day. When he's baked? Sort of impossible.

"Peter? Uh. I'm making him better lab equipment."

"Research. First step in R&D. Most of what I work with is a few...hundred years ahead of most of this shit but, this is what we've got." So it's worth researching, seeing what he can build with what they've got available. What loopholes he could get around techwise.

Never before had he wanted the arc reactor back quite so badly. "What've you got there?"

"I made that stone cold sober." Which probably says more about how his mind works than it does how it wanders when hes a little baked. Sometimes he needs to make things that aren't practical, and maybe it made him smile a little to have something close to a salty robot on hand- up till it made him miss Dum-E and U so- gifts. "Why not both?"

Could be both. Probably is both. It doesn't really matter until Kira decides he can ascribe a use to it. "It's a useless machine. But- if you can make it work, more power to you."

If anything, it's impressive. "I've been kicked out of the forge and if I spend anymore time in the schoolhouse I'm going to give myself a migraine. So."

"I'm not wallowing." Except he was, wasn't he? Sitting out here, soaking up the uncertainty, letting his mind wander and weave through every horrific possibility that might befall Pepper. Maybe she was snapped. Maybe another one of those ships came down in New York. Maybe what was left of Hydra swung in if they were left, and how fair would that be? Rhodey would take care of her, if he never made it back. She could handle herself but-

"Maybe I am." He listed, sagging into Bruce, eyes dropping closed as he turns his head to rest against his shoulder. "I can't stop thinking about it."

His greatest tool's always been his biggest curse- a mind that never quit meant he could think up any kind of future if he went at it long enough- or any kind of hell when he couldn't keep himself distracted. And even with all the projects he made for himself, all the work he put into keeping busy- when the nights ran longer and he spent less time in the forge, he couldn't help but think of it. Her crumbling away into nothing. Everything he might've done differently to prevent it.

"It's easier when I've got a project. When I can look at the next step, and the one after that, what we need to do to keep people here safe and alive and it's so fucking basic compared to back home it's almost laughable. This shit? This shit is easy-" His laugh was low and bitter and raw edged, of course it was easy. "And I still don't know how to fix it."

"Okay, wallowing might not be the right word. Sitting in your sadness for a little while instead of denying it. We've gone through a lot the past few years." What an understatement. Bruce always considered what he did wallowing, but that didn't mean Tony was. He settled closer so he could wrap his whole arm around Tony and be his shoulder for now. "It's not like you can say stop thinking about it, and that works." If it did work, they wouldn't be haunted by their mistakes so long. "You're traumatized." He wished he did have the temperament of a therapist, maybe he could help people around here with those kinds of skills. Ask him about how a brain functioned, he understood that, but the inner workings, not so much.

Bruce listened and nodded, because he knew all too well about projects being good distractions. It was all he'd done since getting there, not in the forge but in the schoolhouse. Organizing things. Reading the bulletin boards that were up, but trying to see if there were holes that needed to be filled by others. It was very good at keeping his mind engaged, but at the same time, Bruce was better at shouldering through grief and trauma.

"You can't fix it alone. You don't have to take the lion's share of the burden, Tony. We're all in the same boat here." It wasn't the same thing as back home, when he had the money and influence and toys. Everyone relied on him heavily and sometimes didn't realize the extent of what he did every day. He was used to taking things off the plate so other people didn't have to, because people had more freedom there, to focus on their own issues. Now everyone had the same issue. One giant alien experiment issue.

"We are going to get the group here, and we are going to work together. Everyone will be responsible for keeping us safe and alive. It's a better unifying force than what the Avengers had." They got together to fight bad guys ... when it was necessary? When they got a mission? It was always a question mark about when and what they had to do. Here, survival was instinct. There was no arguing about survival. People wanted to stay alive and mostly wanted to get out of there. "And you're not alone."

"Since I joined the ... Wait. " Nope, not his name, even as he's being poked, jerking back slightly. "Okay. One, you really are wasted," he says, chuckling a bit.

"Two, I have no idea who the sad gnome beard guy is, but details would work because that sounds like someone I really want to avoid. And..."

He takes a breath, because he has an idea, also because there's still smoke everywhere and he kind of needs it. He's been warned, but hasn't faced it yet and still isn't sure how he feels. "Rogers first name is Steve, isn't it? Bucky warned me that I kinda look like him."

Kamala is here making her daily cooking run. Nothing all that unusual for her. She tries to wave at Tony whenever she does see him without ever going out of her way. She loves superheroes, Iron Man is in her top three, but she does have a life here even if stuff is complicated as of late. It just so happens this is one of the times she catches him. She starts to wave before picking up how clearly stiff and tired the guy is. She beelines over with her containers of food to walk him out like the well-meaning teen she is.

"Hey, are you feeling okay?"

"Nothing's useless," he says, which his packed closet can attest to. He's continued his last incarnation's tradition of never throwing anything away, even with the loss of that deeper intuition, that knew exactly what to pick up when, and eventually figured out why.

Now he just goes for quantity over quality: if he has everything, it'll be there when he needs it. "Which I guess also applies to benched inventors. We just have to find a use for you."

And a fresh dose, now delivered, for the reading or otherwise induced aches. "I'm going to see if there are any last minute peaches growing, if you want to hike-and-bake. I can carry your shit." Which, considering his usual company is chosen for their ability to carry his shit, is not an offer made lightly.

[If Pepper's not here to do the thing, at least someone is. Lord knows he needs it.]

And you can finish them later. Bull's not going to care if it takes a couple extra days. Neither will anyone else.

[She turns to set the hammer down out of reach before she turns back to him, arms crossed over her chest.]

Tony, I'm worried about you. You look...terrible, like you're going to pass out on me any second. You're working yourself into the ground.

She puts her hand over his for a few moments, letting the silence get good and comfortable.

"I've talked to him, at least. We've called a truce for- well, everyone else around us's sake. He's too much of a coward to try anything here. The playing field's too level." She snorts a little bitterly after saying that.

There's some part that says she should tell him more. That Svain had been a good man and he'd held her while they both "died" in the past. That it had been for love of Waverly they'd both agreed to the truce over.

But there'd be way too much admitting of her own missteps, and half of those she hasn't even admitted to herself yet.

She hums thoughtfully, still trying to work out what she's looking at in those diagrams when he asks his question.

"Just a few things I'd like to learn, since I'm struck here." Recalled to her original task she pulls a chair over to her space and picks up the top book from her pile: A Woman's Guide to Housekeeping. She's not sure what makes it particular to women, but it seems like a good place to start as far as basic skills go.

Should she feel relieved that Tony is taking this kind of responsibility or should she be worried given that Howard's parenting skills didn't seem wildly excellent. All these thoughts and more are through her head as she watches Tony.

She wants to see what he thinks about this whole mind business, so thinking at him deliberately, she thinks, do you have a theory about how this works?

Because she's still not sure how much she likes the idea of having someone else digging around in her mind, given the thoughts she has. With Tony, there's always the fear that she'll think too much about Steve and it won't be appreciated.

"Mm? Sure, I'm fantastic." He paints on an easy smile, fighting back the odd wave of fatigue that's hit him. Maybe he pushed it too far the other day? Or maybe the low ache in his bones isn't imaginary, it's whatever mojo he'd snagged temporarily finally fading. Nah. Can't be that, he still feels- fine.

Mostly. "Just a little too much squinting into the forge. I need to make a welder's hood or something."

"We do have a guide for just about everything relevant to our level of technology, don't we?" And a few things he could probably extrapolate from to get them closer to something familiar to anyone not of this particular time period. Though multiverse theory does make some of that shit dicey.

"If you see anything over here-" He flicks to his many, many stacks of reference books. "That you want? Let me know."

Not a clue.

Wait, what? He blinks a little, head tilting to one side as he drags his focus to the here and now- to Peggy in particular. Shaking of the bulk of his rambling, winding mind is difficult but, this is apparently a thing? And not something he's imagining.

Okay, weird? Weird. It's all pretty clear, right? No messy complications like a migraine or smelling burnt toast?

"I am very baked, this is true." Tony offers cheerfully, smile flickering for a moment while he tries to prove to himself (without excess poking) that this is, in fact, not Rogers. And for every shade of similarity- it seems like it's not.

Still.

It's fucking weird.

"I'm the guy that works the forge. You mentioned something about not growing a beard because it makes you look like a sad hobo gnome? Or something." He can't recall the details. "And yeah, you do. But...not as built."

...Normally this is where I'd bribe you but currency isn't a thing here.

[ And he can't fire her, either, because technically she's doing her job. Even if this wasn't exactly in the job description. He sags, bracing his elbow against the worktable, scrubbing at his face. ]

Just. Trying to make the most of this whatever it is as long as it lasts.

"Do we need to have someone keep an eye on him?" Not act, no, but- be mindful of a potential threat to the safety of the village. The world's even here, that's fine, Tony's happy to call it a fresh start for most everyone here but this?

Sounds like something to keep an eye out for. At least for the most part.

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Here's to my future, Here's to my yesterday

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