sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] One-Man Show

Early morning detailwork isn't normally how Tony deals with his day- but the tea is steeping, Elton's curled up by the hearth as it roars and Tony's got a new list of projects in front of him, chasing chisel in one hand and hammer in the other-

He's there, then he isn't. Then he's thrown, mind and soul, into a suit that failed him, into dust and desperation and death. They fought. They fought harder than he thought possible, planned through the odds, gambled-

And lost.

Revisiting this is an exercise in looking over every moment he could've done something differently. Could've made a better call, could've built something different with the nanites- every teeth grit moment sweeping through him until he can't breathe, staggering somewhere unfamiliar with the taste of blood and dust lingering in his mouth, a twinge in his scar from where he'd been stabbed.

He tried. They tried- and fell short.

Dropping to his knees isn't so much a choice as an involuntary reaction, gripping the ground as he forces himself to breathe. It's over. It's done. He's here, now, wherever the fuck here is.

I'm not going to lie, it takes me a probably inexcusable length of time to figure out what the hell I'm looking at, and only part of that is because I'm hungover. I'd been in bed, and so I think, actually, that I'm dreaming — What I'm seeing is definitely weird enough for that. Then, when the cottony throb of my head makes it clear I am very much awake, I think I'm watching some kind of production. Like a weird village movie night I showed up late to.

Even after the whole thing with Peter telling everybody about the stones and the glove and hearing about that in some form or fashion over and over again, it doesn't click.

Not until I see Tony's face.

And then I almost fall down myself, taking two shuffling backwards steps, becoming peripherally aware that I've only got socks on my feet and my right hand is clasped around the neck of a bottle of vodka — Or what used to be, anyway. Only a few swallows left now.

I want to throw up, that's how desperate I am to both see Bucky and not.

It doesn't help that I know how this ends.

It doesn't help either that I know Tony survives this, that I helped him survive this. I can't move — Physically, I mean, although it's possible this place wouldn't let me leave if I could. I just stand there, shaking my head like I can will the onslaught to stop, like it's going to go any other way.

I think I cry out at one point, but I can't be sure.

I don't remember sinking to the ground, but here I am, my breath stuttering into my lungs as I become aware, finally, that Tony is actually there next to me, gasping for air. The bottle clanks as it falls to the ground and rolls away, my hands coming up to press against his arm and back.

"Just— just—" I swallow roughly around the lump of emotion in my throat. "Count to five, in... Count to five, out."

Edited 2019-01-25 05:17 (UTC)

Suddenly appearing in a strange place, she's not entirely sure what to make of the change from checking on the snares to being thrust into the middle of something so otherworldly and so awful that Peggy's defenses rise, like she's back in the war. She sees Liv, comforting Tony, and it's a good thing because warm platitudes have never been her strong suit.

Peggy's had to hear the man she loves go down on a plane and she still recalls the jagged edge of the grief that went along with it. It was as if being stabbed with it, and then someone began to pull it back, inch by inch, and the ache was all the worse the whole time. Grief is an uncomfortable and foreign thing to Peggy. She'd much rather find the person who's done this and fight them to solve her answer, punching her way through the problem.

"Tony," she manages, not sure what she's going to say, but knowing that she needs to give him some form of support. She lets Liv comfort him, on her knees in front of him to lock in her eye contact and ensure that he sees her. "Listen to Liv, darling," she coaxes. "You heard her. Count to five, simply in and out."

Perhaps, if they had more time, it would have been fine, only, then something shifts. Peggy can hear something, and she's forced to take her eyes off of Tony when she hears her own voice, pleading. No, she thinks, setting her jaw firmly and steeling herself, expecting to open her eyes and see her pleading with Steve as he goes down on the Valkyrie. And yet, it's not that. Horror flashes in her eyes and she's not sure she can apologize to Tony, but she knows what's happening now.

She still recalls how this moment had been the one where she'd had to let go and finally admit that Steve was dead. She'd nearly lost Howard, nearly had to kill him, and she lets herself feel it, closing her eyes to the video, cheeks stained with her tears as she slumps back on her heels.

She hears it, hears herself say, "I loved him too," and the grief of losing Steve here again hits her. She exhales, shaky, but doesn't open her eyes. She knows this story has a happy ending for Howard, for herself, but it doesn't feel like a victory that had come without being bruised and battered for it.

How lucky for her that her past self gives her the advice she needs, that they must move on. As much as she doesn't want to, she knows it's true. They have to move on, not just in this, but with Tony's. If not, wherever they are, whatever trap this is, it's only going to get worse.

And then, it's over. Mr. Jarvis promises to bring Howard home, the way they couldn't with Steve, and suddenly, it becomes apparent that they're not back in a moment, but rather, in a place.

"Tony," Peggy says, latching onto the immediate problem at hand. She wipes at her cheeks and eyes, pushing away her sadness to fixate on the issue. "Are you all right?"

Edited 2019-01-25 18:56 (UTC)

Count to five. He drags in a ragged breath, tasting air sharp with the bite of winter, not blood. Tasting green on the back end and that, oddly enough, is what yanks him from the vision. There's no dust on his hands, no guilt clogging his throat, no weight of broken armor down his right side and spine. The wound is a scar and he survived.

Again.

For a brief, hysterical moment he wonders: What the hell does it take for me to die?!

It comes and goes as he exhales for five counts, the subtle tremoring that wracks his frame easing into a steady thrum of tension that isn't half so debilitating-

At least until the scene shifts again and oh. A plane, Peggy at the console and this? He knows roughly about what he's going to hear up until it isn't that at all. His father, younger than he'd ever seen him, determined to fly...into New York? And Jarvis offering to shoot him down.

This is a story he's never heard. As scraped raw as his own vision left him this? This- is and isn't a balm. Hearing his father voice the same concerns, the same doubts- he could've left the arms dealing game then, maybe. Built something else. He was brilliant, he wasn't unskilled, why stick with it if this weighed on him so deeply? Being shaken out of it has him vaguely aware and vaguely ill, a million variables rattling in the back of his mind like ammo in the canister, like marbles on tile.

"I'm good." It's a lie, he's not, but- he will be. Eventually. "You?"

Obviously Tony's not okay, and who could blame him? But at least his breathing has mostly evened out. I have no idea what was happening in the second clip, but obviously it wasn't anything good for my two comrades here.

The good news is that there's nothing else after that. The scene fades away, replaced with rows of unfamiliar red columns. In the distance, there's snow banked against the place where the floor stops, opening out into the wilderness.

"Oh no," I say, and plop down squarely on my ass, hands drawing away from Tony's back to instinctively pull my Snuggie in closer against the chill. "I know where we are." I flick a glance from Tony to Peggy. "Right before I got here, there was a group that disappeared, said they went to a temple or something? But then something happened and— I don't know. They had to walk back. Major was with them."

He also never came back, but one thing at a time. I don't even have shoes on.

Peggy's grateful that she'd been out and about, even if the clothes are beginning to warm her skin, in the proximity of the others. She's not fine, but she can bury that down and cope with it later. She's used to creating a triage for her feelings, this is no different.

Walk back is not a good sign, but Peggy is happy to simply get moving. "We can take turns porting you on our backs," she says instantly, wanting to fixate on solutions. She doesn't give Tony an answer as to whether she's fine, because she wants to address the problem and not a memory that she hasn't told Tony about. Honestly, she hadn't told anyone about that.

She and Mr. Jarvis bore that together, but they had solved it.

"How far of a walk are we talking?" Not to mention, in which direction? "I don't suppose one of you has a map on you?"

"Fantastic." He scrubs at his face, rolling to his feet. He can panic later- and he probably will, about suddenly how they can be pulled out of their beds to some random point on the continent. A hike and a half down a mountain-

And Liv has no shoes. Double fantastic. At least he and Peggy are dressed-

Well. Peggy's dressed. Tony's out a coat and the chill in the air will start to bother him if he's not careful. Right now- he tries to shake off the visions, braced for another round but- nothing seems like it's coming. "Unfortunately, no. But we're all Navy. We'll be able to find our way back to the village, easy."

What I have on me is, in fact, pretty bleak: My long johns with one of Bucky's shirts on top, socks, my Snuggie, and of course, my almost-empty bottle, which I reach for now out of some ingrained habit not to litter. I'm not even wearing a bra.

"At least there's that," I mirthlessly concede, and rub a hand across my throbbing forehead. "Alohomora," I add, brandishing my hand out in front of me. It's totally the wrong spell, but the only one I can remember right now. And, funnily enough, it works.

A faintly glowing blue line unfurls in front of me and then takes a u-turn, around behind my back, darting off through the columns. I twist, watching it go, and then look expectantly up to the others.

Peggy's already in the process of pulling off her coat, having worn a rather warm shirt and second layer underneath, because when she heads into the woods, the chill always seeps into her skin. "Here," she offers, because between the two of them, one should be able to make use of it. It's only a little wet, still, from the morning walk to the river for the fish.

Liv spouting gibberish all of a sudden gets a confused look from Peggy, but the power is a good idea. Glancing to Tony, she debates whether she's going to need to coax him to action, but he seems ready to get moving.

She summons up her own power and sees the line of it, heading out through the columns. Well, at least that's handy. Unfortunately, Peggy has a suspicion that what her main goal is right now isn't returning to the village. "We need supplies of a sort. If we're all that far, exposure could do a great deal of damage, not to mention the food and shelter situation."

"Liv. Vodka, Snuggie, gimme." He holds out demanding fingers, wiggling them slightly as he waits for her to comply. "We can put the word out on the network, see if this has happened to anyone else-"

Off to one side it looks like another group has finished up their round of 'THIS IS YOUR LIFE!' from hell. Not his favorite field trip that he's ever taken, in fact it's second only to The Cave. Which says something.

Settled in his boots, slacks, and a tank, he's underdressed by a long shot- but Starks run hot. He'll be fine. Between he and liv? Liv doesn't have shoes. Priority goes to her. "CIrcle the wagons. We dont know who we've got and who's still in the village."

Has it been mentioned that it's really cold where we're at? Because it's really cold where we're at. And as could be expected, I narrow my eyes a long moment Tony's way before complying, shaking the Snuggie off my shoulders before thrusting both his way. Tony is probably going to do something genius and/or well-meaning with them, but even if he isn't, I really don't know if I have the energy or inclination to argue the point.

I push myself back to my socked feet, scuffing my hands over my upper arms as I peer around, my Google Maps pathway still cheerfully glowing off into the distance.

"This is going to suck." Just in case that escaped anyone.

Peggy hadn't been joking about being willing to take Liv on her back if needed and she coaxes for Liv to join her, if she wants. If it's going to be a long walk, it won't be the first time that she's slogged through an awful situation, but those had been missions she'd gone into willingly.

Not that she had particularly loved the New York sewer system, but she'd managed. "Tony, what are you doing?" she asks, already working on getting some messages on her device sent back to people she knows to try and see how many are left back there.

"Making footwear. Makeshift, but-" He swigs back the last two mouthfulls of vodka before finding a relatively safe space away from people with bare feet and carefully cracks the bottle of vodka. All he needs is an edge sharp enough to cut through the snuggie. Some tearing and twisting later and he's got a rudimentary glass knife (yikes) and two bundles of fabric from the bottom hem of Liv's snuggie- the bulk of it (sleeves and all) still whole for her use in not freezing. "Here we go. Wrap up your feet. It's not perfect but it's better than just socks."

"See, I knew I kept you around for a reason," I reply. I try to not snatch the fabric from him like I have no manners, but I'm only partly successful. My toes are just about frozen through, okay? You'd be grabby, too.

The Snuggie fabric is thick, and I can barely get my socks back on over my feet once I've securely wrapped them, but hey, it also means my toes feel considerably less frost-bitten. If anybody has to lose an appendage, I guess I would rather it be me, but that doesn't mean I'm gunning for it to happen.

"Alright," I say as I push myself back to my feet, just a little wobbly on their wads of fabric. "I guess let's go find out if anybody else is up here or we're just super special."

Peggy wishes that she had more of a kit with her, but given that she was fishing, all that she has in her pockets is some twine and the clothes she'd bundled up with. "If you need the carry, let us know," she says, because the solution is a good one, but she fears temporary once they get soaked.

Looking towards Liv, she's more than happy to fixate on anything but what she'd just watched. "Lead the way," she says, trusting in the path that she's got and not wanting hers to show any different (though she is so very tempted to see if it would finally, finally lead them to the people in charge).

"We're the most special, clearly." Tony falls in line, slipping his wrapped glass, his hammer, and his chisel into his belt. The leather gloves and apron would've been some kind of extra layer but no, he'd had to go without this morning. He could kick himself for it or he could press on, keeping his eyes and ears out for-

Well he never did figure out what a Wendigo looked like other than huge, or what it sounded like other than monstrous so that's.

Stressful.

[MINGLE] One-Man Show

Closed to Group: Tony, Peggy, Liv

Tony's Train To Trauma! Ft. Thanos. CW canon typical violence, bizarre physics, evil grapes

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