sixthiterationlogs | 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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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.

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."

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.

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?

Well, if she's having a stroke right now, it would be rather unfortunate to go out in the prime of her life like this, but no, she doesn't think this is stroke-related, not after her last run-in.

Already had a bit of a disaster out in the land around the bunker, she thinks at him, which really is a quicker thing to do as she approaches, giving him a somewhat wary look, because she's not sure how deep this goes. How much can you read off me?

The speed of thought is a thing. It's quicker than conversation- and he can take a puff while he's 'speaking' with her. Win/Win.

What you're consciously projecting, I think. I'm not going to dig around because, um, rude? Had that done to me before and it's not fun. He pointedly does not think of Wanda since This Wanda is not That Wanda and exhales slowly, face tipped away from Peggy. What kind of mess?

Nearly decapitated by a board, she thinks, but quickly speaks out loud, "and saved by a giant plant of a man? Or giant, I'm not sure what I'd use to describe him, but it was certainly odd," she guarantees, relief pulsing through her at Tony's promise not to go digging.

She also won't, not because of a kindness of spirit, but perhaps because she's nervous about what she'll find. She tries to avoid too much of the future. Is the marijuana medicinal?

"Alec? He's good people- wait. Wait." He squints at her, suddenly grave. Growing up on tales of her heroism and daring, her wit and determination is one thing. Having proof of it and dealing with the stress another entirely.

"What do you mean by Decapitated? You're being figurative, right?" Because this is- stressful. Yes? Yes. Absolutely.

On the barest of technicalities, but yes.

Peggy waves a hand casually, like this is the sort of every day thing that happens around here. "Yes. No, I'm not sure that my head would have been taken off, but some part of me certainly would be gone," she can confirm, seeing as it had hardly been a very safe situation she'd been in.

It's hardly the worst injury I've had in most recent memory, I can assure you. Tony probably doesn't want to hear that either, but it's true.

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

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