I’m watching a video essays from a gay man about old Disney animated films and it’s making me laugh and cry lmao. Something about the little mermaid movie is making me so emotional. 😭 I never watched the Disney movies with a functional brain so like listening to someone break it down in coherent gay language. It’s all too much at the same time and I feel mute so often because I don’t have the words to describe what I want to say.
Also I am not an expert in this field, nor have I ever dealt with or been close with someone who has dealt with this type of illness. So I apologize for any medical/character inaccuracies or misrepresentation.
Tony wakes slowly, trying to ignore the incessant badgering going on inside his head, telling him to wake the hell up! It’s like a heavy fog of something. Something important that he should be feeling or doing, yet no recollection of what that something might be. Like, that instinctual, panicked drive to achieve a task without even knowing the importance of the task to begin with… so he ignores it, and tries to pull himself back into sleep, and away from this confusing state of consciousness.
Then, the bright morning sun shines through the open window, opposite his bed. He hums in annoyance when the sun hits his face and his eyes blink open lethargically to shoot a quick glare before they’re falling shut once more. Then he grunts and rolls over, away from the light because he wants to savor this moment of restful sleep, and he wants to stay far away from whatever the hell was happening outside of this peaceful cocoon of unconsciousness. He had just a simple taste of it moments earlier, and, god, he didn’t want to face that right now. He can’t even remember the last time he actually got a good night's sleep. Not after--
Thanos!
That wakes him up. He sits upright in bed, chest heaving with the strain of his harsh breaths.
Thanos.
He remembers Thanos. And then he remembers the battle. And God, Peter. He remembers losing Peter… He remembers the five years without Peter… the five long years of watching the world try and fail to recover from the disaster, and the stagnant state that was doomed to linger for generations to come.
He cradles his head in his hand and trembles. Oh god, why couldn’t he just forget? Why couldn’t he just forget about everything that happened and continue life with Pepper and Morgan, happy and healthy? Why couldn’t he just forget about Peter? And the battle? And Thanos? Because it was over! It was all over, everything’s been done, and there’s no way of reversing it...
But then he remembers something else from last night. Or at least he thinks he does… it’s at the tip of his tongue, a tap of information dawdling at the back of his mind and he strains to remember. He closes his eyes and clings to the small string of hope intertwined with the memory, but he can’t recall the picture. It pieces together slowly. The memory of a visit from old friends… then he remembers juice pops…. But there’s something in the middle. Something important that is being repressed and it seems that the harder he tries to reach for it the farther away it pulls…
Time travel! He figured out time travel!
He lifts his head from his hands and stares ahead at the window opposite his bed and he grins. Time Travel. He has a chance at bringing Peter back! He has a chance at fixing the mess of a world he’s created!
He throws the sheets from his legs and swings them around, ready to stand from the bed and get to work. But a sharp pain in his hip slows him down and he winces. And then it’s in his leg. And then it’s in his shoulder. Then his back. And his neck… and why did everything hurt? It was a constant dull throb that he hadn’t even realized was there until he started moving. Did he go out as Iron Man again and get injured? He didn’t think he did… but he grabbed for his left arm, cradling his elbow in his right hand as if on instinct as he pondered all the facts.
He rolled his shoulders a couple of times and moved a bit slower this time as he stood from the bed. Then he turned around to pull up the sheets and make his side of the bed just as Pepper had trained him to do over the years, but he paused… those weren’t his sheets. Then he looked at the bed as a whole and… that wasn’t his bed. Then he glanced around the room, brows lowering in suspicious confusion as he found that this wasn’t his room either.
He shook the thought out of his head. He probably ended up crashing at a friend’s house and he couldn’t remember since apparently his brain wasn’t working anymore… but then he walked to the dresser across the room and pulled open a drawer as if it was second nature and he paused… because these were his clothes.
What was going on?
“FRIDAY, where am I?” His voice sounds old and unused as he spits out the words with a tired rasp and his frown deepens. This didn’t feel right.
“You’re at home, sir. Would you like me to get Pepper for you?”
Pepper was here too?
He shakes his head in abject confusion, spinning in place with some hope that maybe he’d recall a reason as to why he was sleeping in a strange room and why his clothes were in said room.
But there was nothing other than the dull sense that he should be a bit more concerned with his apparent cluelessness… but he wasn’t actually all that concerned, just confused. So, he just shrugged his shoulders and hsi brain deemed the matter unimportant, tossing any thought of it away like a doll as he began pulling on his clothes slowly, being mindful of his sore muscles and squeaky bones. It took him so much longer than it should have to get dressed. His coordination now was apparently horrendous and fitting his legs into pants seemed much harder than it was the day before... But he had to hurry because there was something very important he had to do!
...There was something important he had to do... He paused for a moment and turned back to look at the bed. There was a reason he got out of bed....
He sits and thinks for a minute eyebrows creased and lips pursed as he focused.
Then-- oh yes! Time Travel! He stands up and hurries to the door, and soon he’s down the hall. He is no longer bothered by his unfamiliar surroundings and he’s walking aimlessly through this stranger’s home in search of his lab, in fact, it’s as if his brain has totally dismissed the notion of this being a strange house to begin with. He just continues on his way, hand braced against the wall as he stumbles down the hall, completely clueless as to where he’s going.
He wanders aimlessly, mouth puckered in thoughtful confusion as his brain fights to both recall where this lab of his is and also maybe what he should make Morgan for breakfast.
He passes by a wall of picture frames, and his eyes slowly gloss over the images encased in them, smiling reminiscently at the sight, without actually recognizing or mulling over them. It’s an instinctive action, and he pays no mind to it. Much more focused on his important endeavor.
To make Morgan and Pepper a tasty breakfast…
His brain changes course, now looking for the kitchen instead of his lab. And he spins in a slow circle, heading in the direction he just came.
He comes to stop in front of a childishly decorated door, unsure why the sight of it has him frowning again, because surely this is Morgan’s room. What other child’s room would it be?
He opens the door slowly, a small smile spread across his face as all the harsh worrying faded behind this new eagerness to see his daughter.
But instead of his daughter, he finds a young boy who couldn’t be much older than six. Tony cocks his head to the side as he tries to put together what must be happening.
The boy was familiar, so he must know him already… he had big brown eyes and curly brown hair, and the way he was looking at him meant, surely, they must be close.
“Good morning,” the boy greeted with a wide smile, and Tony made himself smile back.
Then that’s when it hits him! This boy must be Morgan’s friend! He pays no mind to the noticeable differences in the room compared to Morgan’s. Then he comes to the oh so obvious conclusion that the child must have slept over last night and just because he doesn’t remember doesn’t mean squat at this point, because it’s really ridiculous how he’s having such a hard time. He’s always had such a flawless memory… he supposes old age may just be finally catching up to him.
“Good morning, kid,” he greets, offering a small half smile as he works his way into the room, subtly searching for his daughter. She had to be in here somewhere. The boy, though, didn’t seem very pleased with his response. His mouth falls open in worried confusion and his eyes widen as he watches Tony slowly scuffle around the room, lifting blankets and pillows, and kicking around piles of scattered legos as he walks through. “Have you seen Morgan? I was gonna make breakfast.”
He turns back to the boy, his name escaping him, just like everything else, and waits for a response.
The child slowly puts the picture book he was reading down on his lap and slowly gets up from the bed, approaching him with tentative steps and reaching for his hand. Tony pulls his hand away quickly. He couldn’t be that close to this kid, god, he must still be star struck by Iron Man… he hopes the boy isn’t only friends with Morgan because of that, because if he is he wouldn’t hesitate to pummel him into the ground, child or not.
“Umm,” the boy speaks slowly, wringing his hands together in a familiar show of nervousness… Tony wryly remembers Peter doing the same thing, and then the panic and sadness is back because Peter is gone. He’s gone forever… and there’s nothing he can do about that…
Wait! There was something.... But what was it…
He doesn’t have much time to think because the kid’s talking again and what he says is much more interesting. “Umm, Grandpa… Morgie’s at the big kid school, ‘member?”
Grandpa? No that couldn’t be right. The kid must be mistaking him for someone else. So, he writes it off as a simple mistake and moves his thoughts elsewhere.
The kids must be playing a game. Morgan is always playing games, so he supposes he should probably play along. “Oh is she now?” He asks in a playful voice, crouching lower as he continues scouring the area for any signs of his daughter. “She must know then that big kid school means lots and lots of work and no play time.”
“Umm, yeah…” the boy squeaks nervously from behind him.
But then Tony shoots up, eyes flying open as he takes a sharp breath. He remembers!
Time Travel! He figured out time travel! How could he forget?! He needs to get to his lab to figure this out so he can get Peter back! He needs to get Peter back.
Only problem is he keeps getting lost in his own house… and he can’t find the stupid garage! He growls in frustration and runs a quick hand through his hair, wincing at the sharp throb of protest his shoulder puts out at the quick, unexpected movement.
Then he turns to the kid, slowly… because maybe the kid might know. Morgan’s probably taken him in there to explore many times even though she knows she’s not supposed to.
“Hey, kid, you know where my lab is by any chance?”
The kid just looks at him and Tony finds himself getting a little frustrated.
“C’mon kid. We don’t got all day! This is time sensitive. Literally.”
The kid gave him a look, one filled with doubt and masked forbearance. “What is it you need ta work e’sactly on Mista’h Tony?”
And Tony’s just so taken aback by the serious and mature tone that he has to pause and his mind draws an ugly blank. He stands there for a moment, struggling to grasp onto any string of thought or feeling, but it’s not there… he can’t remember.
Oh god, he can’t remember… what does he need to remember?! It’s important! He knows it’s important! God, he can’t forget this, not now! Peter needed him! He needed to save Peter, but he couldn’t. It was impossible.
“Mista’h Tony?”
There was that voice again.
Tony breathed in sharply through his nose and spun in a slow circle as he absorbed his surroundings. None of it was familiar. He had no idea where he was, what he was doing here, or how he got here. He was confused and scared and he didn’t want to deal with it anymore… it had to be a dream. That’s the only explanation. That could be the only excuse for what’s happening, because this doesn’t happen to him. It just doesn’t. He never forgets anything.
“Grandpa?”
And now the voice sounded worried, like maybe they were hurt.
But Tony didn’t know what to do.
“Hey Grandpa, le’s go to Daddy, ‘kay? He makes you feel better all the time.”
The little boy takes his hand, and this time Tony doesn’t pull away. Instead he blinks rapidly, throat and jaw spasming as his mind slowly overloads with panic and a muddle of blank information overlaying his ability to think... and it was terrifying.
He didn’t realize he was being led out of the room until after they stepped past the threshold. He turned his head left and right in hopes of spotting something he might recall, but there was nothing. Only this little boy who seemed so, so familiar. But then he’s passing by the pictures again and he actually has the clarity of mind to look. And, thank god, he sees a familiar face.
“Pepper!” He shouts, tugging on the boy’s hand and pointing eagerly to the picture of him and his wife posing together on what looks to be their wedding day… but it’s not like he remembers it being… “That’s Pepper. Where is she?”
The little boy looks up at him, mouth downturned into a sad frown and eyes sparkling with tears. “She went to see Morgie. Tha’s why we’re here Grandpa.”
“Who’s we?” Tony questions in a panic, chest convulsing with panic. “Where am I?”
“At your house,” the little boy answers shyly, tugging desperately on his hand to spur him into movement once more, “C’mon. We gotta get to Daddy ‘fore you cry.”
“Before I cry?” Tony scowls, then turns back to the pictures. “Why don’t you piss off kid. I don’t need your help!” He shakes his hand out of the child’s grip and turns away from him.
That must have been the wrong move, because the kid wails, and dives for him again, grabbing onto his leg and clinging to him. Tony doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know enough about the kid to call his parents, all he knows is Morgan is never having him over ever again. The kid is wasting his time and time is sensitive! He needs to get Peter back and he needs to do it now!
“Grandpa! ‘Member me p’ease! It’s Anty, it’s Anty! I’m sorry!”
And those words, and that face, and those eyes, make him gulp. Surely this was a dream, he chanted as he felt him slowly losing himself to the first memory that flashed across his brain like a motion picture would a TV screen. Of Peter, in his arms, turning to dust, and him, with nowhere to go and nowhere to be because he had lost, so what was the point.
Then he was being startled again by a new voice this time.
“Ant?! What’s going on? I thought I told you to come down for breakfast,” a loud, but tired voice carried down the hall. It was familiar, but it was deep and carried a new sense of maturity, and Tony’s stomach did an odd somersault as his brain raced to match the voice to a face.
It wasn’t until he saw the face that his heart stopped.
It was Peter.
It had to be.
“Ant, what’s wrong?” Peter asked, voice dropping an octave as his worried eyes settled on the little boy clinging to his leg. “C’mon, let’s get off Gramps before you hurt him.” Then Peter looked up at him. “You alright Dad?”
Tony couldn’t get the words out. Dad?
Alright? Alright?! Was he alright?! He should be asking Peter that question!
“Peter?”
This time Peter actually looked at him. Really looked. And it must have been the way he said the kid’s name, because now Peter’s expression matched the little boy’s from earlier. Despondent with a sad, but comforting smile that was able to somehow make him feel a little more at ease.
“Hey, Dad, it’s okay. I know you’re confused…” Peter’s hand lands on his shoulder and he’s still too stunned to say anything. “But you’re okay.”
“You’re dead,” he whispered softly, eyes glassy and wide as he drinks Peter in with new fervor. His mind can’t seem to connect the dots because all he can see is the young boy he held in his arms, not this grown man standing before him.
Peter’s face falls though. “Oh…” he breathes softly. “Well, um, that’s a pretty long time ago, Mr. Stark.”
No more Dad. He notes to himself.
Tony shakes his head. “Four years…” tears form in his eyes and his chin quivers. “It felt like forever.” And then he’s hugging him, pulling him close to hold him tightly. It doesn’t even cross his mind to take note that the kid is at least a foot taller than him now. And when they pull apart Tony doesn’t even try to hide his tears or his confusion. Everything was just so overwhelming.
But then Peter turns to address the little boy named Ant apparently and Tony watches. “Why don’t you go down and help Mom and Benny make breakfast?”
“But-but I wanna stay with Grandpa!” He clings tighter to Tony’s leg.
“Gramps and I will be down soon. I just have to talk to him about something first, okay?”
Tony watches the child go
“I-I-I-- who’s he?”
Peter looked at him, a proud smile on his face.
“That’s Antonio. He’s five.”
“Oh,” Tony whispered, eyes glassy. “Okay.” And then his brain is spinning and he’s spiralling back through the memories from this morning, suddenly recalling his mission. He had to bring everyone back and save them, and now that Peter was here, he could help!
He grabs Peter’s shoulders and grins wide in excitement. “Peter! We have to get to my lab. There’s a chance I can bring everyone back. I figured it out last night. All we need to do--”
Peter’s hand settles heavily on his arm, humorless smile spreading across his face. “We don’t need to Mr. Stark. You already did that.”
“What? That’s impossible. I just came up with it last night!”
“No, that was about 18 years ago. It’s okay now. Everyone’s okay because you saved them.”
Tony shook his head defiantly. “Nope. Not possible.”
“Well how do you think I’m here then?” Peter questions him softly. And Tony has to draw a blank at that one.
He opens his mouth and searches his brain for a logical solution, but then his brain discards the notion and he’s back where he started, ignoring Peter’s question. “We need to hurry Peter! We need to fix my suit and yours. And then we need to go get Steve at the compound.”
“Dad, listen to me,” Peter’s voice turns serious as he grasps Tony by both his shoulders and forces the man to look at him. The title itself gets Tony’s attention more than anything else. “Everything is fine. Everyone is fine.” Then Peter’s eyes get a bit glassy too. “You’re just a bit sick and you can’t remember that sometimes… do you trust me?”
Tony nods slowly and Peter continues.
“Then trust me when I say that everything is okay. You saved me and you saved everyone else, okay?”
Tony nods again, gulping visibly as his brain fights against him in a constant battle between absorbing and understanding the information and blocking it out as if it was never said.
“Okay, so let’s go downstairs and eat some breakfast. And maybe we can call Pepper and Morgan after so you can say hi.”
“Morgan?!” Tony shouts, head whipping around to find her.
“She’s not here right now. She’s at MIT, working on her second phD.”
“Oh,” Tony’s shoulders dropped and the throbbing in his back returned.
“Yeah, so let’s go downstairs, hm? The kids have been bugging me about when you’d wake up.”
“Kids?”
Peter smiles at him and it warms Tony’s heart.
“Yep, three of ‘em. You already met Ant, but you still gotta meet Ben and Katie.”
“I-I,” Tony’s eyes widen as the information settles, “you’re a Dad.”
Peter nods slowly and chuckles. “Yep. And when I told you the first time, I honestly think you were more excited to be a grandpa than me and MJ were to be parents.”
Tony’s face brightens with a wondered smile. “I’m-I’m a grandpa?”
“Oh yes, and you spoil them rotten. They love you way too much, it’s ridiculous.”
“Really?” Tony’s voice feels small and he can feel a few more tears on his cheeks, but he’s smiling through them.
“Really,” Peter affirms, putting his arm around Tony’s shoulders to guide him. “And maybe tomorrow it’ll be better and you can remember a bit more, but don’t worry about all that right now. They understand you don’t feel so good sometimes; we all do.”
Tony looks up at him, mouth suddenly dry. He couldn’t put into words how upset he felt that he couldn’t remember the past 18 years, watching Morgan grow up, watching Peter become a father, and being a grandfather. “I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he whispered, “I wish I never forgot.”
Peter looks back at him, a sad smile on his face. “It’s okay. You’ve taken care of me when I was sick so many times, so now it’s my turn.”
“You didn’t sign up for this Peter.”
Peter smiles wryly. “Nope I didn't, but you signed me up for it when you signed those adoption papers. So if anything, it’s actually your fault.”
Tony’s mouth falls open. “What?”
Peter releases the most unmanly sounding giggle and darts around the corner.
“Peter!” Tony calls, doing his best to chase after him without hurting himself, “what did just you say?!”
My stomach be hurting in a way I can’t describe. But I’ve been feeling better kinda. I have a lot of ideas on what to draw. But my body’s just in a lot of pain. Darn it all.
I probably draw so much just to cope with this pain. I can’t keep whining forever after all. At least I’m making something to make it worth the suffering. Maybe I’ve been doing this for as long as I remember, always drawing and gaming to distract myself. Otherwise I’d feel so worthless and scummy, I wish I’d just die. But I gotta force happiness and force joy, so I could be on the same level as everyone else. If I don’t try hard, I’m just going to confirm the worst of my thoughts against myself. Am I that bad objectively? I don’t know, but some days I couldn’t stay objective about this.
I can’t even think well right now. I want to cry, I want to tell somebody about it, but I won’t. When it comes to personal matters, I always clam up and lie that I’m okay. Even now I just want to keep my mouth shut and not say a thing. Because if I say anything, I’m going to be implicating real people and they don’t deserve that. I only hate me. I could only hate me. I just can’t seem to allow myself to hate anyone else because it feels immoral. I want to say I’m hurt, but I can’t even say by whom. It’s all just me, if I blame only me then it’s easier to swallow. So why am I so upset about it? Why can’t I accept that it’s really just my fault? Why can’t I commit to this lie? Why do I hesitate and vent all of this here when I should be quiet? Why is it all so contradictory?…
I don’t get any of it…
Additional notes: I’ve been hearing in my head that if I just wait this out and endure it, then I’ll forget it eventually. It would just be categorised in my head, no matter how painful it has been (almost spelled, cauterised). Yes, eventually I will give up and incorporate this into my life. As all the painful experiences in the past. It wouldn’t change whether I live or die, this would still be history. A very insignificant person’s (me) history no less. Just like the way I waited for my parents to stop hitting me and come to their senses, I would keep waiting until it no longer hurts in my head. I’ve been passively begging for it to stop all this time, but I’m glad I never actually pleaded for it. It would be so shameful to me. I’m glad I endured it until they withdrew their hands on their own, so I could believe I made the right decision.
