Heyyyy so guess who’s not dead! Anyway, for anyone that’s interested, I’ve decided that I’m not posting ongoing works until I’m done with them then will post as I’m editing. Sorry! However, I do have an excerpt that I like a bit that can stand alone, so here it is! Also, despite the sexual nature of the initial conversation, this is pre-starker and isn’t really much about sex.
Minor background info: Tony has come back from the dead and is still with Pepper but they’re having issues. Meanwhile, the Starker bromance is developing and they hang out quite a bit.
“Spit or swallow?” Peter asked out of the blue as they sat on the couch watching reality tv.
Tony’s eyebrows were about to climb right into his hairline. “Excuse me?”
“Spit or swallow?” he repeated, over enunciating. “What are your thoughts?”
“Just to be clear, we’re talking about…” Tony trailed off slowly.
“You know, bjs. Blowies. I’m sure you’ve gotten one once or twice,” Peter said with a roll of his eyes, tossing several pieces of popcorn into his mouth.
“Yeah, might have happened on a rare occasion,” Tony responded dryly. “Well, honestly I can take it or leave it on the receiving end, doesn’t make that much of a difference to me.”
Peter’s head tilted back and forth, considering, before shrugging.
“When giving though, I generally don’t like either. Don’t get me wrong, I love going down on people and making them feel good, but I prefer if they don’t finish in my mouth. Obviously I’ve done it before and may very well do it again so I guess I’d probably say swallow? It’s already there, so why make a mess?”
Peter’s attention was now fully on Tony, the TV forgotten in the background. Tony glanced over and smiled wryly when he saw his gaping mouth and red cheeks. “What’s with the stunned mullet impression? Did you not literally just ask that question? Am I going senile already?”
Peter cleared his throat and turned back to face the tv again. “Uh, yeah, I uh I did ask. But I was thinking more on the receiving end - I wasn’t expecting you to talk about giving.”
One of Tony’s brows crept back up. “Oh? And why is that? Because you think I’m a selfish asshole in bed as well or because you think I’m shy?”
Peter shook his head quickly, not catching the amused tilt of Tony’s lips. “No, no of course not! I just didn’t know that you, uh, you know, partake, in partners of the, uh, male persuasion?” If Peter shoveled any more popcorn into his mouth after the desperate handful he just shoved in there, he was going to suffocate.
“Huh,” Tony said thoughtfully. Had they really never talked about this before? “Well, weird phrasing aside (because that was weird, kid, what’s up with that?), I thought it was pretty common knowledge that I was bisexual.”
Peter shook his head again, glancing back Tony’s way. “Nope, definitely not. At least not in any of the articles or interviews online. I mean, yeah, there are a few sources that mention the possibility of you not being completely straight, but they all sound like speculation.”
Tony was speechless for a minute. He watched Peter notice the extended silence and seem to realize what he just said, curling forward and burying his face in his hands, ears bright red.
He finally gathered enough wits to say, “Well, then I guess it was just common knowledge among people who actually know me. SI probably paid off the men I slept with - because heaven forbid the infamous playboy figurehead be seen with a man back in the day. I honestly never paid attention to what exactly was in the press, just made sure I was in it. If I’d known, I definitely would have been more blatantly obvious.”
He was quiet again for about five seconds before he pulled his leg up on the couch and fully turned towards Peter. “I’m sorry, I tried, but I can’t just let this go. I knew you were a big fan, but sounds like you’ve really done your research, Pete.” He couldn’t drop the shit-eating grin on his face.
Peter flopped all the way forward, shoving his face into his knees, groaning. “Can we not do this?” he whined. It only took another ten seconds of pointed silence before Peter broke. “Ugh, okay, so I may have had a crush on you when I was younger,” he admitted. “A teeny tiny, definitely not life-consuming, crush.”
Tony laughed. “And when was this?”
“I don’t know, it started when I was like 13 probably.”
“And you thought you should google my sexuality to see if, what, you had a chance with the guy four times your age that you’d never meet?” Tony didn’t think he’d been this amused in a long time.
Peter sat back up and peeked at him just to throw him a glare. “Yes, because thirteen year olds are so logical, especially when it comes to hormonal urges.”
“Never would have pegged you for being into older men.”
“Really? Because most people aren’t surprised - I apparently just radiate ‘twink with a daddy kink’,” Peter said matter-of-factly.
Tony choked, coughing loudly. “I’m sorry, did you just, in a roundabout way, call me a Daddy? In a way that has nothing to do with my daughter?”
“I- can we talk about something else now?” Peter squeaked.
“That...is probably a good idea,” Tony agreed, feeling his own cheeks heat.
They both stared very intently at the TV, trying to think of anything else.
After a while, Peter spoke up. “Why would you do it again?”
“What?” Tony asked, confused.
“Sorry, I’m back on the spit or swallow question,” Peter explained.
Now it was Tony’s turn to groan. “I thought we were talking about something else.”
“Yeah, something that’s not my personal and very embarrassing past. Now that I have the question, I can’t think of anything else.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. So why would I do what again, exactly? Give a blow job?”
“Well, I mean, that too, considering that you’re still with Pepper and I’m 99.9999% sure she doesn’t have the right equipment for that. But I was talking about spitting or swallowing. Why would you do either? You said you don’t like it.”
“Relationships are about compromise Pete, even in the bedroom. And I don’t hate it when I’m in the mood for it.”
“What a ringing endorsement,” Peter said flatly. “Yeah, there’s gotta be some compromise, but that should be more along the lines of maybe trying new things that you may not have done on your own but are open to. Doing something you definitively, straight up don’t like in bed should not be one of them.”
Tony looked at Peter, perplexed. “I...don’t even know what to say to that. When did you become an expert in this?”
Peter shrugged. “You’d be surprised how much of my time as Spiderman is spent just lending an ear when people are having a hard time. And sex and relationships come up a lot because I guess it’s easier to talk to a random person in a mask than to someone you know. I try to just listen and not to give advice most of the time, since I’m not an expert and everyone’s situation is different, but sometimes people are in circumstances that are dangerous, emotionally and mentally. So I took a couple relationship health and psychology classes my freshman year in college and read up on some of these things to know what to say.”
Tony’s heart warmed, hearing how earnestly Peter wanted to help people. He smiled softly. “Never thought you’d use that on Tony Stark, did you?” he joked.
Peter scoffed. “Please, you were like, the poster child for a lot of these issues. I like to think you’ve finally gotten wiser in your ‘old age’, but I’ve mentally given you several high-handed pep talks.”
Tony was taken aback. “Oh? And what was the subject of these pep talks?”
“Mostly self-worth and your complete lack of it.”
Tony chuckled again. “Well maybe you haven’t heard, but I actually have an unrealistically high opinion of myself, kid.”
“Yeah, do you think that if you keep talking about it loudly enough, you might start believing it?” Peter asked, eyebrow raised.
“Excuse me? I am one of the richest, smartest people on the damn planet. I single-handedly created a superhero while a prisoner in a cave. I created clean energy that can power the planet and I’m pretty sure I’m damn close to being able to end poverty,” Tony rebuked, getting irritated.
“I know, so why do you still feel like it’s not enough?” Peter asked with a shrug, pointedly not looking at him. “All those amazing accomplishments, things no one else would be able to do, but how often do you think about that instead of the few mistakes you’ve made?”
Tony crossed his arms. “Get out of my fucking head, kid,” he grunted.
Peter turned to him with a grin. “You think I should change my degree plan and become a shrink?”
“Definitely not. You’re pretty much done anyway and I need you in my labs, not consoling lunatics like me.”
Peter reeled back exaggeratedly. “You’re quite presumptuous, Mr. Stark, assuming I’ll be working for you.”
“You’d better,” Tony insisted.
“Is that a threat?” Peter asked cheekily.
“Definitely.”
Laughing, Peter settled back into the cushions and resumed his popcorn eating.
After several minutes of watching TV in silence, Peter turned back to Tony. “You know I still think you’re just as amazing as you try to say you are, right?”
Glancing at Peter out of the corner of his eye, he shook his head at Peter’s earnest expression. “No clue why,” he said wryly. “But yeah, I know. Thanks, kid,” Tony said, smile soft as his hand came up to grip the back of Peter’s neck before pulling him into a hug.
Tony cleared his throat and sat back before saying gruffly, “Now shut up and watch...whatever the hell it is you’re making me watch.”
Peter snorted but kept his mouth shut. And as he settled more comfortably under Tony’s arm, his back pressed up against Tony’s side as Tony’s arm draped across Peter’s chest, Tony had to wonder if this is one of the things Pepper had been talking about.
But as he felt the warmth of Peter pressed against him, felt the soft rise and fall of his breathing, felt the proof that Peter was alive and safe, Tony shook away the thought.
So I’m starting to see a pattern - I tend to write like hell during the fall and winter and not during the summer at all. So apparently I have an off-season lol. Hopefully the pattern continues for the next few months and I can get a few projects finished!
When Geralt sees Jaskier a year after that bitter day on the mountain, Jaskier is surprisingly unenthusiastic about their reunion. Suddenly, he doesn’t seem to need (or want) Geralt anymore. Good. That’s exactly how he’s always wanted it. This is fine.
.
So, as is my nature, my oneshot has become longer than anticipated. I’m impatient with myself and decided to go ahead and post the first part. So enjoy part 1!
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“Witcher,” a man hissed disdainfully, face hidden behind his collar aside from his eyes, which were spitting sparks of hate.
Geralt rolled his own eyes as he continued trudging through the village, covered in yet another creature’s guts. People got brave once he’d dispatched whatever monster they’d wanted gone.
He threw open the door to the inn where Roach was currently stabled, uncaring when the door slammed into the wall with a crash. He ignored the resulting silence that followed his entrance, stalking to the innkeeper standing behind the bar.
“It’s done,” he grunted.
“You got proof?” the innkeeper asked, lip curling as he was assaulted by the foul odor emanating from the witcher.
“Outside. Unless you’d like me to bring it in?” he asked with a cold smile.
“No, no, that’s quite alright,” the innkeeper hurried to say.
“Payment.” Geralt extended his hand expectantly.
The innkeeper eyed it for a long moment before ducking behind the bar to withdraw a small purse, tossing it onto the countertop and quickly pulling back, lest he accidentally come into contact with the witcher.
Snatching it and pulling it open, he plunged his hand in and felt the coin inside. “This is only half of what we agreed upon,” he growled.
“Well, I assumed you’d be wanting a room for the night. That, a meal, and lodging for your horse will all add up to the difference, I assure you,” the innkeeper said smugly. “But don’t worry, I’ll throw in a bath free of charge.”
The accompanying smirk slipped as Geralt glared in his direction, the loathing in his glowing yellow gaze palpable. “Now, sir,” the innkeeper prattled, realizing the potential danger and feeling trapped.
He snarled, unsurprised but already in a piss poor mood. His fists clenched, itching to slam the man’s head into the counter, but he refrained, instead turning sharply and heading for the stairs. “I’ll have that bath now,” he bit out, low voice carrying through the stillness that had fallen in the room once more.
He paused, one foot extended to the first step. Everyone in the crowded room was unmoving, an instinctual reaction like prey before a predator. All but one, who was shuffling quietly near the hearth. His eyes narrowed on the anomaly, noting the bright doublet and shaggy brown hair. He blew out a breath. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
He pushed his way through the crowd towards the man. Noticing the familiar lute leaning against the wall by the hearth, he grabbed it by the neck.
The waves of tension that rippled with each step Geralt took finally reached the fleeing man. He froze, stumbling before he turned slowly, eyes wide and wary as he remained silent.
“Jaskier,” Geralt grunted.
“Geralt,” Jaskier returned curtly.
Somewhat surprised by the lack of response, Geralt’s brows furrowed. “Forget something?” he asked wryly, holding up the lute.
Jaskier snatched it, cradling it protectively against his chest. “I was going to return for it,” he said, a stiff facsimile of a smile on his face as his eyes focused on the fire crackling behind the witcher. “As soon as you’d lumbered your way upstairs,” he continued, one hand flailing in the direction of the staircase. “Thank you for saving me the trouble.”
“Avoiding me, bard?” he asked.
“Yes,” Jaskier said bluntly. “I thought that was the expectation. Also, you smell absolutely terrible.”
“It’s always been the expectation. Doesn’t mean you’ve ever done it before,” Geralt quipped, ignoring the last comment.
He watched the muscle in Jaskier’s cheek jump as he clenched his jaw tight. “Yes, well, my apologies for not obliging you sooner,” he said with an attempt at a casual shrug. “And now I will bid you aideu, dear witcher.” Jaskier sketched a flourished bow before turning on his heel and marching out the door.
Geralt stood for another moment before turning as well and heading for the stairs again. He made it back to his room uninterrupted to find a steaming tub waiting for him.
He stripped quickly, letting his armor fall with a thump before sinking into the water with a sigh. He grabbed the small bucket near the tub and poured water over his sodden hair, fingers scratching through the muck.
He gazed into the murky water, loathe to admit that he’d been looking forward to Jaskier’s assistance when he’d sighted him in the tavern. Jaskier was always insistent on overseeing his bath after a particularly gruesome hunt, not allowing Geralt to skimp on cleanliness when Jaskier would have to smell his stench.
He’d stupidly come to expect Jaskier’s company as a certainty any time their paths crossed. It went against all his natural instincts; everyone left, he knew that all too well. Why would Jaskier be any different?
He grunted to himself as he sank deeper into the small tub, knees breaching the surface of the water as his head fell back against the edge. Despite the lukewarm water now engulfing his torso, the strange tightness in his chest wasn’t eased.
.
Geralt left the inn early the next day, glowering at the innkeeper on the way out before scanning the tavern.
Seeing a man he’d noticed nursing an ale the night before, Geralt stopped by his table. “Where’s the bard?” he questioned.
The man turned his head where it rested on the table, eyes rolling slowly up to meet Geralt’s. He blinked slowly before turning his head back down and grumbling, “‘the fuck would I know? Didn’t come back after you chased him off, least not that I saw.”
Huffing, Geralt made his way to the door but stopped when a man at the table in the corner said, “He left.”
Geralt stopped, turning his head to the man who’d spoken. “Where?”
The man shrugged, shoulders rustling his black curls. “Pretty sure he didn’t want you knowing, sir witcher,” he said mildly.
“Then why the fuck did you say anything at all?” Geralt snapped.
The man smiled in a way that made Geralt want to punch him. “What do you want with him?”
Good fucking question. “None of your damn business,” Geralt growled.
“Well, then I guess I can’t help you,” the man said with another shrug.
Geralt gave into the growing urge for violence and kicked a chair in the man’s direction. He found himself even more pissed off when the man did nothing but dodge slightly, seeming unconcerned by the wood splintering right behind his head.
Geralt’s lip curled before he jerked around and stormed out the door.
.
He paced through the roads, tense and restless with pent up energy.
He stopped at the apothecary to restock on ingredients for some of his potions, but it was a small affair, as was expected in a village of this size, and didn’t have much to offer. He refused to admit that he was looking for excuses to continue searching the village.
Annoyed with himself, he abruptly stopped and made his way back to the inn to retrieve Roach.
He’d spent the last ten years trying to get rid of Jaskier when he’d been sticking like an obnoxious burr in his blanket, with intermittent success. It had been nearly a year since he’d last seen Jaskier, not since that ill-fated day in the mountains where his life had taken a shittier turn than even he’d expected. That in itself wasn’t noteworthy; they’d gone longer without crossing paths in the past. What was new, however, was the lack of enthusiasm from Jaskier and his willingness to actually leave him be. And it aggravated Geralt to an absurd degree.
He saddled Roach, consciously gentling his hands so as not to take out his frustration on his one faithful companion. She huffed and butted his chest when he was done. He spared her a tight smile and a pat on her neck before turning and leading her out of town, concentrating his gaze only on the road in front of him.
Fuck Jaskier. He always knew one day he’d leave for good for one reason or another. And fuck his own cold, black heart for making him think he cared.
.
Two months later, Geralt was entering Redania when he noticed the gentle waving of the surrounding maize stalks wasn’t quite as gentle to his right. He reined Roach to a stop, hearing a muffled disturbance following the irregular motions.
He dismounted and left Roach at the road, creeping swiftly but silently into the field, sword drawn. Perhaps he’d lucked upon something that would get him some coin in the nearby town.
He slowed as he approached the creatures, which appeared to have stopped. He edged forward and was almost in view when he smelled the familiar notes of lavender and heard, “Come now, fellows, have mercy on a poor bard.”
Geralt dropped his stance, standing up straight and eyes rolling skyward. Of course. He shook his head and pushed forward to see the situation. There were three men surrounding Jaskier, burly farmhands by the look of them. Jaskier’s hands were spread in front of him, looking as unthreatening as possible.
“Don’t look so poor to me,” one man grunted, fingering Jaskier’s stupidly fine clothing carelessly.
“Well I wasn’t always poor,” Jaskier allowed, still managing to preen slightly. “But-but I assure you I am now!” he babbled quickly when the men advanced. “Seriously, look!” he said, fumbling at his belt.
The men tensed but Jaskier simply pulled out a worn coin purse and tossed it at their feet. One of the men picked it up and looked inside before snorting. “Boy, you ain’t lying. You got less than I do.”
“Right? You’d think with all this tension with Nilfgaard that people would want some good entertainment! But nooooo, no one wants to hear my new songs, which are frankly amazing if I do say so myself. Would you like to hear what I’ve been working on?” Jaskier asked eagerly, reaching for the case on his back.
The men backed up, the one holding the purse tossing it back to Jaskier, apparently uninterested in robbing someone less fortunate than themselves. Of course Jaskier would find the only decent would-be muggers on the Continent. “No. Now scram.”
Jaskier didn’t need to be told twice. He fumbled for his purse and didn’t bother resettling it on his belt before bolting right past where Geralt was lurking.
He followed behind, making sure the idiot got to the road in one piece, still undecided whether he was inclined to show his presence or not.
He watched Jaskier burst out of the field, hands on his knees as he heaved for breath before straightening, returning the coin purse to his belt, and moving on down the path, grumbling under his breath.
Geralt remained motionless, adrenaline still pumping but nothing to do with it. He couldn’t recall a single moment where Jaskier had been in trouble that he hadn’t had to intervene in some way. He felt strangely at a loss.
He shook it off, sheathing his sword and walking back up the road in the opposite direction to retrieve Roach.
.
The next altercation Geralt witnessed was decidedly more violent.
It was only weeks later when he’d been returning to an inn after eradicating a pack of wargs that had been attacking the town’s livestock. The pay wouldn’t be great, but this innkeeper at least allowed him a free night with a meal and a bath, which he’d not had in...too long.
The creatures only approached the town deep into the night and no one had been sure where they came from, so it was nearer to dawn than he’d like when he was through.
He heard a scuffle to his left and glanced to the side indifferently, having no interest in interfering in drunken squabbles. As he turned his head, the scent of lavender and fresh blood hit his nose and he was moving before he’d registered the connection, running soundlessly down the narrow, twisting alleyway.
He rounded the final turn just in time to see Jaskier thrusting a dagger into the hand of a man before spinning around and piercing a stiletto under the arm of another man that had been rushing him from behind, sword raised high.
Jaskier’s eyes jumped to Geralt as he appeared, flitting back to the scene before double-taking back to him and widening. “Go!” he hissed before turning back. But the distraction was already bearing consequence as a third man swung his heavy broadsword at Jaskier’s belly. He jumped back, twisting away, but was unable to avoid the blow completely, the glancing blow easily slicing through the thin doublet and scoring over his ribs and down to his hip.
Geralt rushed forward, plunging his own sword into the third man’s chest. The rattling gurgle as the man’s lungs filled with blood was strangely gratifying.
“Fuck!” Jaskier cursed. “You big oaf! If you were going to interrupt the least you could have done was finish the job properly,” he burst, gesturing angrily at the mouth of the alley where the first man had just fled, cradling his maimed hand.
“Job?” Geralt questioned, brows furrowed. “You an assassin now?” He asked scathingly, completely bewildered by what had just happened and irritated by his bewilderment.
“What? No! What?” Jaskier said incredulously. “No,” he said again, “I definitely did not start that. Seriously? But you let that bastard get away! And you just made my life a whole hell of a lot harder since he saw you. Fuck,” he swore again, gritting his teeth and holding his side.
Geralt kicked aside the corpse of the second man, kneeling down to remove the stiletto from between his ribs and pocketing it before approaching Jaskier cautiously, unsure of his welcome.
“I’m not sure why you’re here, but I’ve been working damn hard to stay out of your way so it’s not my fault. Now can you kindly return my dagger before you fuck off?”
“Jaskier. Don’t be an idiot. You need help,” Geralt rumbled.
A bitter laugh tore its way out of Jaskier’s throat. “Oh, that’s rich, Geralt. And I suppose you’re offering? I’m not sure why - what better guarantee could you have to not see my face again? Maybe destiny likes you a bit after all,” he grunted as he slumped against the wall behind him, blood pumping sluggishly between his fingers.
Rattled by the scent of Jaskier’s blood still fresh in the air, Geralt bent to grab Jaskier’s arm and throw it over his shoulder. Jaskier hissed in pain as the skin around his wound stretched to accommodate the movement. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna help, you giant behemoth. You’re way too tall for this to work.”
“Hm. Not my fault you’re so short,” Geralt replied lowly, falling easily back into their usual banter. “Now suck it up,” he growled, even as he stooped further to ease the strain, shuffling Jaskier out of the alley.
He waited for the inevitable overdramatic response from Jaskier but it never came. He glanced over to make sure he was still conscious. Jaskier’s face was slightly pale and drawn, but his gaze was focused furiously on the road in front of them, alert and astutely avoiding Geralt.
Geralt gritted his own teeth at the wave of irrational displeasure that swept over him. But if there was one thing that he was good at, it was shoving his phantom emotions deep, deep into the bowels of hell.
Finally to the inn, Geralt’s eyes automatically swept the room, noting no obvious threats in the few patrons still lingering at this early hour. A young girl was dozing with her head on her hand behind the bar. “Healer,” he barked in her direction.
She startled, head jerking up suddenly. “Wh-what?”
“Healer,” Geralt repeated impatiently. “I assume this godforsaken town has one?” When she nodded spastically, gaze edging away from him, he had to restrain a growl. “Send for him,” he ordered.
“If you would use a little tact, maybe you wouldn’t scare the poor girl into uselessness. Seriously, Geralt, you’re only getting in your own way. Or my way, since, you know, I’m the one bleeding out over here,” Jaskier rasped before lifting his gaze to the girl and offering her a pained smile. “I do apologize for his brutishness, but if you really could send for the healer, I would be,” he stopped and drew a sharp intake of breath as another wave of pain wracked him, leaving him limp and trembling, “oh gods, eternally grateful. Please, for the love of all that is holy, woman!”
The girl shook herself and rushed out the back.
Geralt lowered Jaskier into a nearby chair, supporting him with a hand on the nape of his neck. He was tense, on high alert for any possible threat.
“Why?” Geralt grunted.
Jaskier looked up at him before hanging his head again. “More than one word would be helpful. Why is the sky blue? I don’t know Geralt, maybe it’s Melitele’s favorite color,” he said caustically.
Geralt sent him a withering glare. “For fuck’s sake - you’ll be a pain in my ass until your very last breath.”
“What can I say? It’s a gift,” he wheezed, hands clenching the edge of the table white-knuckle tight. His eyes suddenly flew open. “W-wait a minute? Am I really dying? Geralt, I-I don’t want to die, please, I’m sorry,” he babbled, shifting listlessly.
Geralt knelt down and settled his hand on the side of Jaskier’s head, his thumb under one eye and fingers sifting through his hair. “Jaskier,” he said lowly. “Look at me Jaskier,” he ordered, grip tightening, anchoring him.
Jaskier’s eyes slowly rolled to meet his, glazed, breath hitching. “Hey, you’re going to be fine. I won’t let you die, you hear me?” Geralt insisted intently.
Jaskier’s lids fluttered shut, lips pressed tightly together as he finally nodded. He slumped further as the tension slowly bled from him.
He felt the stirrings of what he imagined to be panic simmering in his gut as he glanced down again at the wound. It was still bleeding, although the flow was intermittent and sluggish. But he had no idea how much blood Jaskier had already lost, or the likelihood of extensive internal damage. He may have promised Jaskier that he wouldn’t die, but Geralt wasn’t a fucking healer.
“Thought you wanted me to shut up,” Jaskier mumbled.
“Why were those men after you? You fuck one of their wives again?” he asked, partially to keep him talking but also because he wanted to know. Those weren’t your average village folk.
Jaskier choked out a short laugh that ended in a cough. “If only that were so - then I’d at least have a warm, fond memory to hold onto as I got cut down.”
When that seemed to be the end of what he had to say, Geralt rolled his eyes before prompting again, “Why, Jaskier?”
Jaskier was quiet for a long moment before he said reluctantly. “You.”
Geralt recoiled then returned his grip to the back of Jaskier’s neck, grasp tight but careful. “What the fuck does that mean?”
Jaskier’s eyes were darting restlessly and he couldn’t tell if it was because Jaskier was dizzy on the verge of unconsciousness or if he just wanted so desperately to avoid looking at Geralt. He refrained from shaking him when no further explanation was forthcoming, but it was a near thing.
“It’s not exactly a secret that we’re pretty closely associated. Or were,” Jaskier said with a trace of bitterness. “And you can be a bit of an ass,” he emphasized pointedly, cutting a sideways glance at Geralt, “so you’ve got more than your share of enemies.”
Geralt grunted in agreement. But when he simply continued staring expectantly at him, Jaskier scoffed. “Do I really need to spell this out for you? So they come after me looking for you. Gods above Geralt, I know people mistake you for a brainless baboon but I always gave you the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps wrongly so, I’m finding now.”
Geralt didn’t hear Jaskier’s derisive comments over the rushing noise filling his ears. “Who?” he choked out, tongue feeling heavy and clumsy in his mouth.
“I don’t know, I didn’t quite get that far before they tried to kill me. Believe it or not, real life isn’t like the stories where the villians wax poetic about their life story and grand plans! I found that out a long time ago, to my everlasting disappointment.” Jaskier’s voice was steady but growing weaker.
“I know,” Geralt replied softly, at a loss for what else to say.
Then his brain caught up to the conversation and his brows snapped down, eyes narrowed. “You speak as though this has happened before, Jaskier,” he growled.
Jaskier’s responding bark of laughter was almost too faint to hear. He held a hand up, palm out toward Geralt. “Aren’t I the victim here? Please, can the interrogation wait?” he pleaded softly.
Geralt took in the fine trembling of Jaskier’s outstretched hand, the beads of sweat gathering on his hairline, and nodded. “Fine,” he relented before looking hastily around the room as if the healer could have entered in the last few minutes without him having noticed. He clenched his jaw, tempted to tear through the town and drag the man here himself. But he looked again at Jaskier, noting how he swayed as he struggled to hold himself upright, breathing rapid and shallow. He couldn’t leave him alone.
Jaskier’s eyelids were drooping heavily when the door finally opened. Geralt immediately reached for his sword before he saw the girl from before. His hand slowly returned to Jaskier’s shoulder as she was followed by not a healer, but a mage. Triss. Of course. Despite how he didn’t wish to see her at the moment, he knew that Jaskier was in good hands.
“Geralt,” she greeted with a crooked smile. “And this must be Jaskier,” she guessed, eyes traveling to take in the bard under his hands.
“Heal him,” Geralt ordered.
Triss shot him an unimpressed look and lingered across the room.
“I’ll pay,” he continued. “Whatever it is you’re wanting, I’ll give it to you.”
“Well, I was just wanting a properly polite request, but now I may have to rethink my demands,” she mused, lips quirking.
“Triss, please,” he said beseechingly.
Her expression softened as she finally approached. She laid a hand on his forearm and assured him, “He’ll be fine, Geralt, I promise.”
She knelt in front of Jaskier, hand brushing gently across his cheek as his eyes fluttered open. “Hello, Jaskier. I’m Triss. I’m going to fix you up, alright? So just hang on a bit longer and you’ll be right as rain.”
“Geralt?” Jaskier croaked. Geralt squeezed his shoulder to let him know he was still there. “Are you sure I haven’t died? I’m pretty sure there’s an exquisite angel here.”
Triss chuckled as she straightened. “Why don’t you bring him upstairs and lay him down - he’s near unconscious already and my potions will only exacerbate his exhaustion.”
Geralt gathered Jaskier in his arms. Even he wasn’t cruel enough to toss him over his shoulder as he’d normally do in his current state. Jaskier groaned, curling in on himself despite Geralt’s attempts to not jostle his wounded side. “Shh,” he murmured. “You’re fine.”
Jaskier muttered something unintelligible in response. Geralt looked back up and locked eyes with Triss, who had a somewhat pinched expression. She turned away and gestured to Geralt to lead the way upstairs.
In Geralt’s room, he settled Jaskier gently on the sheets before withdrawing and leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, averting his eyes to watch the shadows on the wall move slowly with the rising sun.
Triss sifted through her potions before selecting a small green bottle. She held it to Jaskier’s lips. “Come on now, little bard, drink up,” she coaxed. “This will stop any internal bleeding.”
It was only a matter of minutes after Jaskier finished his dose that he was fully unconscious, his soft breathing and rapid pattering of his heart still too fast but steadier than before.
Triss pulled aside Jaskier’s tunic to close the wound. Geralt’s gaze now drawn and refusing to be moved from Triss’s hands on Jaskier’s flesh, his own skin buzzed with tension, fingers flexing against his biceps.
As she finished, Triss stood and faced Geralt, lips pursing as she took in his agitation. “He’s fine, Geralt,” she said yet again. “He lost a bit of blood but this was really quite minor to have you so worked up. He may sleep for the next 24 hours so don’t be alarmed,” she said briskly as she gathered her things.
“Thank you,” he said, gruff but sincere. “What do I owe you?”
She paused and looked at him again before shaking her head. “Nothing. I had hoped that we could perhaps reconnect after I’d heard that you and Yennefer had...parted ways. But I see that it appears I may have already missed my chance,” she said wistfully.
“There must be something,” he insisted, ignoring her other statement. She was right that they would not be ‘reconnecting,’ but how could she possibly know that?
“No,” she said as she closed her bag and turned to the door. “Just helping an old friend.”
Geralt grabbed her shoulder gently to stop her. “Triss. Really, thank you. I am in your debt,” he said intently.
He watched her eyes dart down to his lips and was prepared for a renewed proposition. He wouldn’t refuse again; it was an easy way to repay a debt that would sit heavy on the shreds of his conscience that remained.
But she simply smiled once again, with a soft, “Goodbye, Geralt. Take care.”
He watched her leave then settled on the floor at the side of the bed, removing his swords from his back and slinging them across his lap
Another Geraskier Fix-it Fic, Part 2
Jaskier tells Geralt to fuck off, Geralt is forced into some self-reflection.
Part 1
I was going to wait until I finished this to post the rest, but that’s gonna be in approx. 3 million years at this point, so here’s part 2 if anyone is still interested. Should only be one part left after this since I actually have an ending in mind!
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Geralt was jostled from his meditation by a foot to the side of his head. He whirled around and caught the ankle, yanking until the perpetrator fell to the floor with a squawk. He had a knife to a throat before he realized it was Jaskier, hands up defenselessly and eyes wide.
He tsked and released him.
“Excuse me,” Jaskier said indignantly as he sat up, wincing, and brushed his hands across his bare back, which had been dragged across the dusty floor in the scuffle. “You’re annoyed at me? I don’t even rightly know what’s going on right now! I woke up and was just trying to get out of bed! What did you expect to happen when you took up post there like some looming lurker?”
“You seem to be feeling better,” Geralt muttered.
“I can’t even tell; my bladder is about to explode and I literally cannot even think about anything else. So if you would kindly move your arse, I would like to fix that particular problem.”
Huffing, Geralt shifted to the side to allow Jaskier to go and relieve himself.
Jaskier was soon collapsing back onto the bed with a sigh. “In answer to your non-question, yes, I am feeling better. Thank you for pretending you care. You’ve fulfilled whatever bizarre obligation you seem to have felt so please feel free to leave. Preferably without soul-searing insults this time, but that’s honestly up to you.”
Geralt scowled as he watched Jaskier watch the ceiling, one arm thrown over his forehead and partially obscuring his view.
“You never answered me,” he said gruffly.
Jaskier’s head tilted minutely in his direction. “You’ll have to remind me what exactly I didn’t answer. My memory of our conversation while I was bleeding out is a bit vague,” he said acerbically.
“Those men,” Geralt clarified. When he saw Jaskier open his mouth with an expression of exasperation, Geralt continued. “You said they were after me.”
Jaskier nodded, peering through his fingers up at the ceiling again.
He didn’t offer any more information. Gritting his teeth, Geralt mustered all the patience he could and asked for it. “Why? And why are they after you?”
“Oh yes, I’m starting to remember now - I told you already that I. Don’t. Know,” Jaskier sneered. “I have no idea who those men were.”
“Stop the bullshit!” Geralt finally barked. “You also implied this was a regular occurrence. What the hell is going on, Jaskier?”
Jaskier continued glowering. Just as Geralt was ready to start physically demanding answers, Jaskier suddenly turned so that he was fully facing Geralt.
“Okay. Fine. You want to get into this? Alright. This has been going on for years, Geralt. People have been trying to kidnap, kill, or maim me to get to you for years. Not the same people - sometimes it’s hired hands for rich people you’ve pissed off, sometimes it’s people that don’t want you stopping them from doing something, and sometimes it’s random folk that just don’t like you.”
Geralt felt as though he had ice water coursing through his veins, freezing the breath in his lungs and slowing his heart to a sluggish crawl.
“Most of the time, I don’t have a clue who or why unless they’re successful,” Jaskier continued.
Suddenly the ice in his blood was seared to steam by the raging fury that overtook him at the thought. “The fuck does that mean?” Geralt growled.
“Oh, yes, I’ve been in some pretty precarious situations, my friend,” Jaskier pressed cruelly, noting how each new piece of information wound Geralt tighter. “Been attacked more times than I can count. Although, to be fair, I don’t know how many of those were just because I am such a delight to all those around me and how many were thanks to you. I’ve been kidnapped at least 3 or 4 times. That’s never enjoyable but has ended up being surprisingly relatively benign,” he mused.
Geralt was trembling, strung tight enough to snap.
“Oh relax,” Jaskier said, rolling his eyes. “I never tell them anything.” He rolled back to stare at the ceiling again, arms folded behind his head, appearing to tire of his game. “I can withstand a lot more than you might think.”
“Why?” he rasped.
Jaskier shrugged. “Well most of the time I actually don’t know anything since you usually just ditch me with not a word of where I could find you again even if I needed to. But also because I’m not a heartless bastard; I used to consider us very good friends, you know. I would never do anything that might cause you harm. You do so much more good in this world than I do so if I had to sacrifice you to save myself…well, I’m not that kind of selfish.”
The sound that punched out of Geralt at the thought was choked and miserable. “Jaskier,” he croaked, then stopped, unable to find the words to continue.
Jaskier turned his gaze back to Geralt again, a delighted, malicious grin stealing across his face. “Oh, my,” he crowed. “Does it hurt, Geralt? To know someone has suffered for you?”
“Yes,” he hissed, eyes narrow and intent on the bard perched above him. His hand lifted briefly towards Jaskier before he dropped it to fist in his lap.
“Good,” Jaskier replied simply. His clenched jaw and the fire in his eyes belied the casual tone.
Geralt flinched slightly before lashing out. “What the fuck is your problem?”
Jaskier quickly rolled back towards him, pushing himself up to sit on the edge of the bed, looking down at Geralt, still seated on the floor, with contempt. “My problem?” he parroted incredulously. “You rip out my heart and tear it to shreds for no gods damned reason and I’m the one with the problem? I’m sorry, was I supposed to just roll over and take it? Beg for more?”
Geralt’s glare intensified. “What bullshit are you spouting now? I haven’t even seen your godsforsaken face in a year.”
“Were you dropped on your head sometime in the past year? Gotten amnesia or dementia of some sort? I feel like I should ask because this could be a legitimate issue before assuming - No?” Jaskier asked facetiously before continuing. “Okay, so you’re just willfully misremembering the way you very sincerely wished me out of your life? I’ve done my part and stayed out of your way! Yet here you are, still...maligning me.”
Geralt scoffed, immediately knowing that was the wrong thing to do but unable to stop. “That’s not anywhere near the worst thing I’ve said to you.”
He saw the muscle in Jaskier’s jaw jump repeatedly, accentuating the slight tremor in his chin as he took a long moment before responding quietly. “True. But that was the first time I knew beyond a doubt that you really meant it. Also, the fact that you think that’s a justification just proves what a fool I was to follow you for as long as I did.”
The silence that followed was oppressive and suffocating.
When Geralt made no move to refute, or even acknowledge, the accusations, the renewed expression of disappointment on Jaskier’s face hit him like a forging hammer to the chest.
Jaskier’s mouth opened as if to say something, but all that came out was a heavy sigh before his lips pressed together tight. He pushed himself off the bed, face drawn and shoulders slumping in defeat.
“Well, thanks for saving my life yet again. I hope you don’t mind if I steal a drink before I’m off,” Jaskier said with forced nonchalance as he stumbled the two steps across the room to a pitcher on the small table.
Geralt looked up when he heard the clangor of the cup clattering against the pitcher, both trembling and unsteady in Jaskier’s grip. As water sloshed against his front, Jaskier slammed them both back down onto the table, breathing sharply through his nose in frustration.
Standing silently, Geralt stepped close and gently grabbed the cup from Jaskier. Before he had grasped the pitcher, Jaskier snatched the cup back. “I can pour my own damn drink, Geralt!” he snarled.
“Of course,” he agreed as he stepped back. His eyes traced the tense lines of Jaskier’s back as he fumbled to get enough water into the cup for a long draught, somewhat surprised by the definition of hard muscle just visible beneath a shallow layer of softness.
Jaskier turned and brushed past Geralt to get to the door. Geralt grabbed his arm. “Jaskier.”
“What?” he replied curtly, still facing the door.
“Stay,” he said gruffly.
“No. I don’t wish to add to my debt to you.”
“Since when do you care about such things?” Geralt asked mockingly.
“Since we’re not friends,” Jaskier bit out.
Geralt’s grip tightened with the pang of annoyance that pierced through him. He quickly released his hand when he heard Jaskier hiss softly.
“You’re in no condition to be out there alone,” he said, frustrated with Jaskier’s stubbornness.
“Who says I’m alone?” Jaskier replied. “Believe it or not, there are others who don’t find me so despicable.” He watched as Jaskier stopped briefly to rummage through Geralt’s saddlebags to take one of his shirts, turning and showing Geralt quite pointedly that he was taking it, daring him to say something about it.
For once, there were many things Geralt wanted to say, ranging from groveling apologies to scathingly cruel remarks that made his previous ones sound like fucking love letters. But he remained silent as Jaskier turned and opened the door, jumbles of jagged words clamoring against the back of his teeth, shoved down his throat until he could scarcely breathe.
Pausing, Jaskier looked back once more, eyes tracing Geralt’s features. “Goodbye, Geralt.”
Nothing had ever sounded so devastatingly final.
.
Geralt left the inn with the rising sun, body still humming with pent up tension.
Not knowing where Jaskier was or who he was with became Geralt’s newest form of personal torture.
He would have stayed with Jaskier, traveled with him again, kept him safe. He didn’t like feeling responsible for Jaskier’s hardships. But apparently Jaskier’s pride was more important than his safety. Fucking idiot.
He grit his teeth, hands clenching. Roach snorted and shook her head, making Geralt loosen his too-tight grip on her reins. “Sorry, girl,” he murmured.
He dismounted and prowled beside her, unable to stomach sitting idle with his fuming thoughts.
What right did Jaskier have to punish him? For all of his extravagant overtures of devotion, Jaskier was the one who left. And all it took was a few unkind words. It certainly hadn’t been the first time he’d lashed out at Jaskier when his frustrations had lain elsewhere. He wasn’t proud of how he’d acted, but it was far from the worst thing he’d done in the decades that they’d traveled together. What kind of ‘friendship’ could be shattered by something so trivial?
Geralt spent the next mile attempting to force his mind into silence. He was unsuccessful like he hadn’t experienced since he’d first become a witcher all those years ago, his thoughts roiling and ranting violently.
Geralt was not stupid - he knew that a distraction such as this would only result in a quick, needless death while on The Path. Fortunately, he was also not a coward. If this required putting thought to the...feelings he was experiencing, he would do it.
Geralt mounted Roach, trusting her to keep the path and warn him of any conspicuous threats. He squared his shoulders as he turned his focus inwards.
Putting a name to the emotions that were clamoring below the surface was a trying task for one who only experienced pale shades of their human counterparts. He approached each tangle of sentiment marring the dreary landscape of his inner mind, prepared to unravel it, acknowledge it, and move the fuck on. There was anger, yes, that he was all too familiar with. Some hurt, he supposed, if he had to admit it. But the biggest beast was a deep-seated sense of betrayal.
The realization made him snarl; betrayal to this extent wasn’t possible without a level of trust that he thought himself incapable of. How could he be so fucking stupid? Geralt was forced to acknowledge that Jaksier had, despite his valiant efforts to keep him at arms length, insinuated himself as the closest anything came to a permanent fixture in Geralt’s life. He’d trusted Jaskier in a way he’d not done since he’d been a boy, been so unquestionably sure of Jaskier’s loyalty.
And he fucking knew better. Nothing was permanent and nobody could truly be trusted. How many times must he learn that gods damned lesson in his endlessly long life? Apparently at least once more, it seemed.
Fury reared its head once more, searing through his nerves until he could think of nothing else. Partially at Jaskier, at destiny, at this shithole of a Continent. But mostly at himself.
But self-castigation was of no use to him. He drew a deep breath and pushed through it, finding that he was once again placing his misdirected anger firmly on Jaskier’s shoulders, something he’d been doing so long that he didn’t even think about it.
Perhaps he’d been needlessly cruel for too long. Jaskier was an easy target, one who would take a beating with nothing but a cheeky comeback or sullen silence. And wasn’t that on Jaskier, not standing up for himself? Perhaps a little, but no, he had to admit that this was his own shortcoming. It only incensed him further to realize just how much he’d taken advantage of...yes, his friend. If he had ever had a single friend in his life, it would have been Jaskier.
But despite his self-involvement and constant reparation of the thick stone walls protecting his inner self from the rest of the world, Jaskier had grown like weeds through any cracks in the mortar. Though he’d stopped the spread, the sprouts of greenery stubbornly remained in the endless brown and gray of dirty stone, demanding his attention. And as the mulish weeds started to finally die, the color fading, Geralt was forced to recognize the beauty of a bit of color in a colorless life.
So you’d think quarantine would be the optimal time for writing, but I’m finding I have less time/energy than ever between keeping up with a 3 year old and a 1 year old that are cooped up inside while trying to work from home and not neglect our little bit of husband/wife time.
Not having any time to myself is the hardest part of all this for me (for which I’m so incredibly grateful, that that’s my biggest problem) and makes me want to just curl up and do nothing the few moments I’m able to steal for myself. So, plan on me being EVEN SLOWER THAN USUAL. Yes, that’s possible. And it’s happening.
Despite my complaining, things in general are good for us - Husband and I have job security, are continuing to get paid normally, and have bosses that understand our need to juggle family/work balance, and we’re all in good health.
Stay safe and well out there, y’all, both physically and mentally, as much as you can!
What would happen if Tony just suddenly reappeared at the Avengers compound and the first person to see him is Peter, who’s still haunted by Beck’s reality bending?
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Three years after the final snap, Tony suddenly appeared outside the Avengers Compound, disoriented and weak but alive. He wandered into the nearest building, having to stop every few steps to breathe and clear the white spots from his vision, chest heaving. When he’d regained his bearings enough to look around him, he realized he was in the common area for the Avengers.
He released a sigh of relief. “Fri, what the hell happened?” he rasped.
He frowned when nothing but silence met his inquiry. Something wasn’t right.
He scrutinized his surroundings closer. It was similar to the compound he knew but not quite the same.
He staggered, hands gripping the back of the couch tightly as he was bombarded with images of the smoking ruins of buildings surrounded by scorched earth.
Right. Thanos and his cronies ensured that a redesign would be necessary. And apparently whoever was in charge of the rebuild either scrapped his baby girl or couldn’t figure out how to coax her into running their buildings for them without Tony’s brilliance.
Well, it appeared that this was once again Avengers HQ so this should be as safe a place as any to be until he figured out what was going on. He hoped.
Right now, he was willing to risk just about anything for a glass of water and the sight of the refrigerator across the room was too tempting. He shuffled across the room, leaning heavily on furniture and walls along the way.
He reached for a cup from the cabinet, but his shaking hands couldn’t maintain a grip, sending two glasses plummeting to shatter on the floor at his feet. Falling forward, he rested his forehead against the cool metal of the fridge and tried to hold back the frustrated tears crowding behind his eyes.
He heard footsteps padding into the kitchen but didn’t have the energy to turn around. If it was an enemy, they could just kill him at this point for all he cared.
That resolve was quickly tested when he heard the footsteps stop abruptly before he was suddenly hauled into the air and thrown against the wall next to him, an iron grip around his neck.
His eyes wide and heart about to leap out of his throat, it took him a minute to recognize who had him captured. Peter.
His muscles relaxed as much as was possible with adrenaline overflowing his system while still being pinned down by a superhuman.
If he was expecting the same reaction from Peter, he was gravely mistaken.
“Who the fuck are you?” Peter snarled, eyes flinty and mouth a tight line.
Tony’s hands were coming up, open-palmed in the universal sign of ‘I’m not a threat’ but they were webbed in place before they moved more than a couple inches.
“Well this brings back fond memories,” Tony joked weakly. Fight or flight brought out either life-saving genius or the stupid and snarky in him. Obviously this was a case of the latter.
Peter’s face twisted, grasp tightening around Tony’s neck. “What do you mean?”
Tony wheezed, wishing he could tap on Peter’s arm, something like real fear creeping through his veins. He’d always known Peter was among the most powerful of all of them, but his sweet temperament, even in the worst situations, made that easy to forget. There was nothing sweet about this hard creature in front of him, all rough edges, bared teeth, and corded muscle.
When it was obvious that Peter expected an answer, Tony let out a few pointed coughs, eyes darting down to the hand nearly cutting off his air supply.
When it loosened, infinitesimally but enough that he could speak, he answered, “When we met the first time, you webbed my hand to the door when I tried to leave,” he croaked.
Peter pulled him away from the wall just to slam him against it again. “How do you know that?” He growled, eyes wild.
“What do you mean how do I know? I was there, you idiot! I had that stupid webbing stuck on my hand for two hours!” Tony babbled, hysteria building.
Peter’s grip slackened but didn’t completely release. Tony could feel the fine tremors traveling from Peter’s hands into the thin skin behind his jaw.
“Something else. Tell me something else only you would know,” Peter commanded.
“What? There’s a lot that I know that no one else does. One particular item apparently seems to be how to get my AI integrated into this building.”
Peter wasn’t amused. “I’m not playing around, asshole. You have thirty seconds to tell me something to prove your identity or I’m gonna snap your neck.”
Okay. There was some motivation. Tony’s mind was racing, but mostly in useless circles, everything still cloudy and sluggish. He continued to latch on to their early interactions. “After we got back from Berlin, I did a video to show to your aunt and in one of the outtakes I made a comment about her wearing something skimpy. You didn’t think it was near as funny as I did,” Tony said quickly.
“That was on video. Easily hacked and found by someone else,” Peter dismissed immediately.
“I-I don’t,” Tony stuttered, panic setting in.
“I’m losing patience,” Peter warned, eyes narrowed.
“Just wait! I-I’m trying to-“ Peter’s finger brushed against Tony’s carotid. “Titan!” he shouted.
Peter’s whole body froze. “We were on Titan and you were the last one to disappear. You begged me not to let you go, to make it stop, but I couldn’t, I failed, and you-you died in my arms and I was left there alone and I never got to tell you how fucking sorry I am for dragging you into all this bullshit, for not protecting you and-“ Tony hoped that was enough because he physically couldn’t push any more words past the familiar mass of guilt that took the place of Peter’s suddenly absent hand in stealing his ability to breathe.
“Mr. Stark,” Peter breathed. Tony looked up to see Peter staring at him cautiously. Seeing him with eyes wide and hair rumpled, looking so suddenly, vulnerably young was jarring after the cold-blooded killer act.
“Hey, kid,” Tony responded hoarsely, knees buckling as he crashed to the floor, hands still stuck to the wall.
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Bruh. This was again supposed to be a start of a prompt that I wanted to just fill in a quick one shot, but this initial intro part keeps coming out much more involved than the single paragraph I plan for. 🤷🏻♀️ At least this version is much less intense/angsty than what I came up with a few days ago.
Hoping to continue this though and finally get into my original idea
Addicted, pt 2 - Tony can’t stop touching Peter, just to see his reactions
Part 1 - Tony loves the way Peter worships him as a hero. It only gets better when he realizes that extends to him as a man.
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Tony had thought he’d been addicted to Peter’s innocent idolization before; it’s nothing compared to the sick thrill he gets every time he catches a glimpse of the kid’s desire for him.
It becomes an experiment, to study the reactions of his subject with different stimuli.
Suddenly there was an endless stream of excuses to lay his hands on Peter. He started out with soft, subtle touches -
The paternal clasps on the shoulder started lasting a few seconds too long and ended with a deep squeeze of the muscles beneath. The hand on his upper back to lead him where Tony wanted him started drifting a little lower. The “atta-boy” hair ruffles became more like a caressing threading of fingers through the boy’s hair.
It took a few weeks for Peter to notice. And when he did, Tony knew he thought he was imagining it. Tony found his agonized confusion adorable, but after a month of this he was getting impatient himself. Time to up the ante.
The next time Peter came to the compound, Tony led him down to the lab with his hand firmly on Peter’s lower back, their shoulders brushing. This was completely unnecessary, seeing as how Peter had been there hundreds of times and was more than familiar with the way there. He heard Peter’s sharp intake of breath and had to suppress a grin, fingers brushing against the waistband of his pants through his shirt.
“Uh, Mr. Stark?” Peter queried hesitantly.
“Mmm?” Tony hummed in response, turning his head and bringing them face-to-face.
“I-you-um. Are you-?” Peter stammered.
“Spit it out, Parker,” he drawled.
“I just-“ Peter blew out a heavy breath in frustration. “Never mind.”
They had reached the lab at that point so Tony’s hand gave a gentle shove to propel Peter forward, finally releasing him from his hold. When Peter looked back at him, Tony just quirked an eyebrow at him. “If you’re sure, Pete.”
Peter shook his head and made his way over to his usual workstation.
.
Two weeks later, Peter was working in the lab again, concentration fixed on working out a kink in his new web shooters. He hissed in aggravation before throwing it onto the table. “Mr. Stark,” he called, voice just short of a whine. “I can’t figure this out.”
Tony was intrigued; Peter had to be really stuck to blatantly ask for his help. But when he saw the way Peter was standing at his work station, shoulders drawn up to his ears, well, he couldn’t resist such an invitation.
Peter noticed him coming towards him and started explaining the problem. “The left one keeps jamming every time I try to shoot a blast for more than, like, a second."
He sidled up right behind Peter and settled both hands on his shoulders. “Relax Pete,” he cajoled, kneading and massaging the muscles there. “You can figure this out. You’re a smart kid - the smartest I’ve ever met, in fact. Myself excluded, of course.” He noticed the tips of Peter’s ears turning red. Hmm, was this due to the gesture or the words? Or just the combination of both? A thought for next time.
“Uh, th-thanks Mr. Stark,” he mumbled, hands fumbling with the tools next to his hands. “I’ve just been working on this for the past three hours and gotten nowhere. The mechanism in the right one looks exactly the same but it’s not glitching,” Peter grumbled, holding up both of the web shooters in evidence before letting them fall back to the table.
Tony found he was not happy about how quickly Peter regained his composure. He felt himself pushing further without a conscious decision to do so.
Tony dropped his hands to the table on either side of Peter, caging him in as he leaned down to look over his shoulder. “Show me,” he said, right next to Peter’s ear.
“Hnn!” The low, barely audible, grunting gasp that Peter emitted was music to Tony’s ears. His blood sang through his veins as he saw Peter’s chest heaving, his hands white knuckled on the tools in his grasp.
Peter recovered enough to stutter, “Sh-show you what?”
“You know, show me what you’ve done and what your thought process has been so far. I’ll help but I want you to figure it out. I won’t always be around to take care of you.” Tony’s voice came out lower than he’d intended.
“Yes you will,” Peter said automatically.
“Hmm?” Tony asked.
“Be there to take care of me. You’re always there to take care of me.”
Oh, sweet, sweet boy. Tony had to close his eyes and take a moment to recover, holding himself rigid. He desperately wanted to reward his boy. It would be so easy to just press forward two inches to pin him to the table, so easy to just turn his head, press a filthy kiss to his neck.
"Of course, sweetheart. I'll always be there for my favorite boy, as long as I'm able." Tony's hand drifted to Peter's hip, giving a quick but firm squeeze, fingers dipping into the hollow right inside of his hipbone, before letting go and stepping to the side. His mouth watered, fingers tingling as he noticed Peter shuffle closer to the table, the top of which was conveniently placed right above waist height. If his face got any redder, he might spontaneously combust. Probably a good time for a redirect.
"But I'm not invincible, no matter how much I may act like it. Don't tell anyone," he murmured conspiratorially.
Peter rolled his eyes, seeming grateful for the distraction from the previous tension. "Yeah, wouldn't want anyone thinking you're actually human," he shot back.
Tony grinned. Was it weird that he found the insulting, snarky humor stupidly attractive as well?
"Anyway," Peter said pointedly, cutting a glance to Tony standing aloofly at his side now. "So I've looked at the catch and..."
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So since I finally finished my other fic from a year ago, I was feeling nostalgic for my little drabble from back then too. And I’ve also been wanting to see if I can still tap in to my more slutty side so there will hopefully be more to come soon. Idk, we’ll see how it goes 🤷🏻♀️
Tony Reappears, Pt 5 - Tony gains a new confidant in the form of one Peter Parker, Pepper tries to understand.
Part 1 - what would happen if Tony appeared out of nowhere to be found by Peter, who’s still haunted by Beck’s reality bending?
Part 2 - Tony is in bad shape and Peter helps, Strange snarks, and Pepper gives him the kick in the pants he needs.
Part 3 - Tony has come back with more than he bargained for.
Part 4: Tony is Iron Man. Plus, Tony gets to go home.
It was a Wednesday night and Tony was trying desperately to find a distraction.
He’d hit a block in his control design and was spiraling, down, down into the depths of his bitterness and guilt. He couldn’t focus on anything, head jerking up periodically as he drifted in and out of consciousness while sitting at his work table. He also couldn’t stand the thought of actually trying to sleep in this mindset.
He flung his schematic holos away, growling in frustration as he dropped his head into his hands. His eyes cut to the side to check the time. 12:15 AM. Too late to call and pester reasonable people. He sighed.
But wait. Maybe not too late for a college student.
“Fri, call-“ he cut himself off. No. What if Peter has a big exam in the morning and had just gotten to sleep? Or what if he was out actually enjoying his life? It’s not like he was just sitting around his dorm waiting for Tony to call.
“Who would you like me to call, boss?” Friday asked.
“Never mind, sweetheart. I just saw the time,” he fibbed, ”I don’t think anyone is up for a call from me right now.”
“Peter is currently taking a break from patrolling,” Friday dutifully reported. Talk about an intuitive AI.
Tony arched a brow. “Is he now? And how do you know that?”
“Karen told me,” she replied. Right, they were basically connected at the metaphorical hip now.
He mulled this information over for a minute before he bit the bullet. “Okay, old girl. Call him up,” he called, leaning back in his chair and steepling his hands over his chest.
He was weirdly nervous as he listened to the phone ring.
His heart was racing by the time Peter answered with a breathless, “Hello?”
Tony’s mouth opened but nothing came out, suddenly speechless. What was he even supposed to say? I was feeling mopey so I called someone half my age to cheer me up? What the fuck was wrong with him?
“Mr. Stark?” Peter questioned as the silence drug on. “Shit, did I hang up on you? Damn it, Karen, I thought we’d fixed that! Ughhhhh why am I this way? Well we’d better call him back before-”
Tony chuckled, nerves evaporating as his chest filled with amused affection. “No need, kid, I’m here.”
“Oh, great! Except for the fact that you definitely just heard me rambling like an idiot. Am I talking fast? I feel like I’m talking really fast.”
“Definitely fast. You good? I thought you were patrolling - you’re not doing that high are you? Don’t make me lecture you about stupid choices,” he warned teasingly.
“No, of course not! I’ve just been slinging around a lot, which gets my blood pumping and gets me kinda hyped up, you know?”
Tony nodded. “Ah, to be young and enjoy life just for the hell of it,” he said sagely.
“Don’t you get that feeling too? I mean, come on, you can fly!” Peter asked, huffing as Tony heard him sit down heavily.
“I guess I used to,” Tony said thoughtfully. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done it just for kicks, though.”
“Well you should!” Peter insisted.
Tony was quiet for a moment as he thought about it, remembering the thrill of flight the first time in his Mark II. But the idea of getting back in the suit made his chest sieze. He drew in a sharp breath before gathering himself enough to respond quietly, “I don’t know if I can.”
Peter hummed. “Yeah, I get that,” he said softly. “It took me a while, too. I always had flashbacks of...well, you know. And panic attacks. But it got better,” he offered.
Tony felt that knot in his chest loosen just slightly. It didn’t make it all better, but it did help, knowing someone else understood what he was going through and could validate it. He appreciated how Peter was so casual about it - he obviously took it seriously but it was also something totally normal and okay. But he’d known for years that Peter is much stronger than he is, and not just physically.
“Maybe,” Tony replied hesitantly, not quite as optimistic about his own mental health improvement capability. He’d been in some pretty tough spots before and come back, but this was the first time he’d died. But so had Peter and half the rest of the world, so apparently that wasn’t even particularly noteworthy.
“So, anything exciting tonight, Spiderling?” Tony asked.
Peter graciously allowed the subject change, rambling happily about stopping a mugger, walking a girl to her car who was leaving work late, playing catch with a couple kids in the park. It was amazingly relaxing, listening to Peter recounting his night, voice animated in a way that indicated wild gesticulation on the other end of the line.
It made his throat a little thick, remembering how fucking wholesome this kid was. This was the first time he’d gotten to hear this again since...before Titan, almost ten years ago. He was suddenly grateful to himself for making it possible to reverse the snap, in a way he hadn’t been able to truly appreciate until this very moment.
He realized Peter had paused, the quiet stretching before he questioned softly, “Mr. Stark? You okay?”
Tony cleared his throat. “Yeah, ‘course. Keep telling me about the- the, uh, search for the best slice of pizza in Manhattan; I’m dying to know, here.”
After another hesitation, Peter continued, detailing all the places he’d visited in the past few weeks.
Tony leaned back, closed his eyes, and smiled.
.
A week later found Tony standing in front of one of his suits that had made it back to the lab, kept all this time, he assumed, for sentimental reasons.
He reached out but recoiled before he could make contact, breath catching.
Shaking his head to clear it, he turned quickly and went back to his work table.
.
They had a schedule now. Tony spent the weekends at the cabin with the girls and occasionally picked up Morgan in the evenings after school for a few hours.
He’d finished his control protocols (now named FEMA because he was his own natural disaster), which used subdermal chips to monitor his vitals and would deploy nanites from the wristbands he now wore to restrain him in the instance of nighttime adrenaline spikes - an unfortunately common occurrence, as he was plagued by nightmares. The restraints didn’t particularly help with the nightmare situation, but they were a necessity.
He’d start out in bed with Pepper, but when she fell asleep, he felt the panic settle gradually over him until his chest felt concave with the pressure of it, breath coming shorter and shorter. So he’d roll out of bed and go down to the crude lab he had out there, usually tinkering with cars and blasting music loud enough that he’d hopefully drown out that inner voice whispering soft, hateful self-incriminations.
He’d quickly discovered that alcohol no longer had any effect on him. He also discovered, in a fit of desperation, that neither did drugs. So his faithful old friends had deserted him when he needed them the most.
So he was trying so-called “healthy coping mechanisms” now, like hard work and spending time with loved ones. Which was great, but Tony’s issues were gargantuan and he was an addict at heart; he craved any release like a starving man craved food (which he was actually quite familiar with, so he knew it was apt). He knew this, knew he came on way too strong, too needy, and was just...too much. In his attempts to not smother his people, he found himself becoming withdrawn and distant, tormented by the certainty that he’d drive them away with his clingy dependence.
Tony was terrified Pepper would remember just how inadequate he’d always been, how much his love for her, his money, his intelligence never overcame his inability to give her what she needed. He knew she still talked to Tom, and he’d never ask her to completely cut him out of her life, but it didn’t help his insecurities. He would see Pepper’s jaw clench or her eyes dart away and he’d find a way to quickly shut up and make himself scarce.
Happy would check his watch and Tony would suddenly recall an important task running in the lab he needed to check on.
Morgan, his sweet angel, would gladly hang off him until the end of time, but he knew she needed to get back to having a normal life. Well, as normal as life gets when you have a family of billionaires and superheroes.
And he also didn’t want her to see behind the curtain, to see what a weak man her father really was.
Rhodey came by when he could, but he was kept busy with his duties in DC and a new wife. Tony had done enough to damage Rhodey’s career and relationships in the past. He didn’t need to add his newest level of instability onto his friend like that.
And Peter. He never seemed annoyed by Tony’s random check-ins but also didn’t have a problem telling him when he was busy, which actually did more to allay Tony’s worries about being a nuisance than anything. Tony never found any indications from Peter that he should pull back. But he did anyway. Because, well, Peter was a goddamn blessing to the world. And if Tony could, he’d bottle him up and keep him all for himself.
So, anyway, “healthy” was...probably still not an accurate term for his coping mechanisms, shoddy as they were. But at least he wasn’t poisoning his body into an early grave. Again. Ha-fucking-ha.
.
“Mr. Stark?” Peter questioned one night.
“Yeah, kid?” Tony replied easily, distracted by the circuit board he was soldering while they talked.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked.
Tony’s brows snapped down and he automatically looked up at the screen in front of him despite the fact that this was an audio call, which was frustrating since he’d really like to see Peter’s face to see if he could tell what had brought on this madness.
“What?” He wracked his brain, trying to figure out what the hell he’d done now that made Peter feel like he’d done something wrong. He hissed as the soldering iron pressed heavily into his finger. He finally set the tool down and looked down to see the circuit board he’d been working on was ruined now. Not surprising.
“What?” he said again. “Of course not. I mean not as far as I know. What the hell are you talking about?”
Peter’s heavy sigh echoed through the lab. “I dunno, just thought maybe I’d pissed you off or done something to annoy you,” he said, too casually. Tony could perfectly imagine the shrug and eye aversion that would go with that statement.
“What?” Tony intoned again. He knew he sounded like a broken record but seriously, what? “Not at all, kid. I mean, not more than normal. Which was a joke, sorry, I can’t help myself. In all seriousness though, I’m not upset at you. Why would you even think that?”
“Okay, sorry, it’s nothing. Anyway-” Peter said quickly, trying to change the subject.
“No, no, no,” Tony interrupted. “Nuh uh. Circle back around here. I’m not letting this one go. I need to know what I’m doing that’s making you feel like that so that I can fix it.”
“No! You’re not doing anything wrong, Mr. Stark,” Peter insisted.
“Well, obviously I am. Just tell me what’s going on, kid,” Tony coaxed.
After a brief hesitation, Peter took a deep breath before responding. “You’ve just been kind of...distant, I guess. I felt like we’d been getting along so well when I was visiting and we were talking on the phone more and it was like we were...friends, you know? And it just seemed like lately you haven’t been as engaged and you’ve been calling less. But I know you’re super busy and you’ve got a lot going on and more important people to hang out with, so I’m sorry, I’m just being overly sensitive.”
Tony’s elbows fell down onto the table in front of him, hands cradling his head. Of fucking course. His idea to help spare the kid had just ended up hurting him. And how was he supposed to explain this without sounding as fucked up as he actually was?
“Mr. Stark?” Peter pressed softly.
“Yeah kid, still here. Just...give me just a minute, okay?” he replied wearily.
Tony listened to Peter’s soft breaths, the rustling of the wind, the NYC traffic far in the background over the line.
“Pete, I - fuck, I don’t know really know what to say,” he said, unable to come up with one of his usual lines. “Just know that it is definitely not your fault. I’m not tired of you or upset at you or any other bullshit you’re coming up with in that head of yours. And I don’t know what ‘more important’ people you think I’m hanging out with, but that’s definitely not the case either. I mean, hell, I think only maybe ten people are even aware I’m alive. But regardless, even if I had every single person on the planet at my disposal, you would still be one of the most important people to me. So don’t sell yourself so short.”
He heard Peter’s breath hitch slightly before he cleared his throat. “Oh. Well, okay. And, uh, same. Just so you know.”
Tony’s lips twitched in a tired smile. Despite the awkwardness of it, he knew Peter was ridiculous sincere about it. “And hey, you can always call me, too - stop making me do all the work.”
“Okay,” Peter said. “I just don’t want to bother you. Between trying to get your family back together and figure out your new body, I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, so I don’t want to be a nuisance.”
“Never,” Tony replied immediately. “Nah, kid, you’re not a nuisance. I like hearing from you. And honestly, you’re probably my best source for figuring out the physical craziness and I’m not utilizing you near enough for that.”
Peter hummed. “Okay, well just promise to let me know if you’re busy or if I’m getting to be too much.”
“Same,” Tony responded, echoing Peter’s earlier statement.
As Peter huffed a laugh, Tony felt confident enough that had been handled as much as it needed to be and launched into an explanation of his current project.
Thank God, because the moment of touchy-feely honesty was surely going to start making his skin crawl.
.
It became a thing: Tony calling when he was stressed and couldn’t sleep, Peter calling frustrated about classes, and everything in between. Peter realized that Tony was basically under house arrest so he’d send him pictures of random things he saw on the street - a cute dog, a weird sign, his lunch for the day, a crazy outfit someone was wearing.
More and more often, Pepper would come downstairs looking for Tony when he left their bed on the weekends to find him lounging in the lab, laughing as he talked to Peter in the middle of the night.
At first, he’d see her come in and nod and she’d smile back, relieved to see him happy and connecting with someone else.
Tonight, she was not smiling. Tony noticed her jaw clenched and eyes shuttered when he glanced at her and he frowned.
“Hey, Pete, I’m gonna have to cut this short, okay? We’ll talk later,” Tony cut in.
“Oh,” Peter said dumbly. “Uh, yeah, sure, no problem. Good night Mr. Stark!”
“Night, kid,” Tony replied before promptly hanging up.
“What’s wrong, Pep?” Tony asked, turning and giving her his full attention.
She stood in front of him, arms crossed and fingers tapping agitatedly on her opposite elbow as she battled with whether to say what she really wanted. Tony was quiet as he waited for her to decide.
“I’m trying to be understanding, Tony,” Pepper finally said. “I am. But are you ever going to be able to sleep in the same bed as me or is this going to be how it is for the rest of our lives?”
“Honestly? I have no idea. As long as I feel like you or Morgan are in danger then the answer is no.”
“Isn’t that what the FEMA protocol is for?” she asked.
“Yes, but it’s one thing to have it work in a test situation and another thing completely to trust it with your life. And I don’t. Do you think I don’t want to be able to sleep next to you?” Tony said, frustrated.
“Some days I feel like I really don’t know. You seem perfectly content to come down here and talk to Peter every night,” she said.
“Is that a problem?” Tony asked, brows furrowed. “Me talking to Peter?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know,” Pepper said, sighing, hand coming up to cover her face. “I just feel like you’re able to talk to him in a way we haven’t been able to manage and I’m...jealous,” she admitted. “And yes, I know how incredibly childish and stupid this sounds.”
“Hey,” Tony said softly, standing up and coming to grab her by the elbows and pull her close. “No, it’s not stupid at all. I get it. Mine and Peter’s relationship is easier than ours, and it’s not fair. But it’s because we have a simpler relationship - we’re not trying to juggle a romantic relationship, a parenting relationship, and a potential working relationship in addition to our friendship.”
“But it’s not just that,” Pepper said, looking up at him. “You talk to him in a way you don’t talk to me. And I never see you laugh like that with me - it’s like you’re always waiting for the other shoe to drop.”
Tony dropped his gaze, pulling back slightly. “I guess I also don’t feel like I have as much to lose with Peter.”
“Because he doesn’t mean as much to you or because you think he’s a sure thing and I’m not?” Pepper asked bluntly.
He pulled back another step, sighing as he ran his hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t say Peter necessarily means less to me. Of course he doesn’t mean more than you, he’s just important to me in a different way - like how you and Morgan and Happy are all important to me in different ways.”
“And?”
Tony didn’t want to answer the second part of that question. But Pepper was staring expectently at him, no out in sight. “What do you want me to say, Pepper?” he asked wearily.
“I want you to tell me why you always act like you’ve got one foot out the door.”
Tony grit his teeth before replying. “Because I know I’m gonna fuck this up and I still don’t really know where I stand with you. So instead of bumbling my way through it, it just seems...I don’t know, safer, I guess, to just be ready for it all to explode in my face so I’m prepared for the inevitable end.”
“You’re being a coward,” Pepper said harshly, eyes filmy and lower lip trembling.
Tony recoiled, eyes hurt and wary, but didn’t deny it. “You’re right,” he admitted softly. “But can you honestly tell me that you’re not waiting for the same thing, Pep?”
She immediately started shaking her head. “No, of course I’m not! I…” but she trailed off.
“I see it,” Tony cut in before she could gather herself. “I see how you’re always waiting for me to disappoint, bracing yourself for how to deal with it and make this work. I’ve always admired your problem-solving abilities, honey, but this shouldn’t have to be something that you grit your teeth and push through just to get it done. I don’t want to be another chore.”
Pepper shut her eyes tight, brow scrunched in pain briefly before she opened them again. She sniffled quietly, a tear tracking slowly down her left cheek as the rest of her face remained stoic.
As the silence drew out, she sighed, shoulders slumping. “Maybe that’s true. And I’m sorry for making you feel that way.”
Tony shrugged in response, scuffing his foot across the floor.
“But I still want to work on this, on us,” she said.
“Me too, honey,” Tony murmured, stepping back into her space.
Pepper smiled tremulously, reaching out and twining her fingers behind his neck. “So come to bed,” she coaxed.
Tony stiffened, shaking his head. But as he opened his mouth, she put her finger to his lips, smile turning coy. “Beds aren’t just for sleeping, Tony.”
Eyes widening, Tony blinked helplessly for several seconds before gathering her in his arms and bolting for the main house, Pepper screeching in laughter on the way.
.
It was wonderful.
The closeness, the intimacy, was everything he’d craved, miles of warm, smooth skin against his own. He trembled violently, overwhelmed, skin soaking up the contact it had been deprived of for so, so long.
It was beautiful.
His hands glided over every inch of her, worshiping her body until she’d pulled him back up impatiently. He sank into her, warmth that permeated through him, down to his bones.
It was earth-shattering.
As she came apart beneath him and he reached his peak, he felt his blood surge, hands flying to the headboard to brace himself. Groaning deeply, his hips jolted forward and the headboard exploded in his grip.
It was terrible.
Chest heaving, he looked down and froze, seeing her wide eyes staring up at him, splintered shards of wood in her hair. He scrambled backwards, all that glorious warmth turned to ice in his veins. Despite her rushed assurances, he stumbled out of the room.
So I ended up having to split up this update. Because I seem to have a major problem with not having an ending that’s depressing.
I’ve got a pretty good chunk of the next part written (look forward to Peter visiting Tony but everything still being frustratingly sweet and platonic, and a brief return mention of badass/scary!Peter) so hopefully the delay between updates will be shorter buuuuut no guarantees. Kids, y’all, they are a major time and energy suck - but they’re worth it because I love them :)
The next few hours were filled with catching Tony up on some of what he’d missed. Peter convinced Strange to step out and let him be for a while as Pepper filled him in on what Morgan was like now - how she was so dang smart and had his snarkiness and his sense of humor. But she also had Pepper’s level-headedness, thank God. It helped ease some of the sting of her not being there, but it still hurt like hell that he’d missed half her life.
During a pause in the conversation, Tony asked, “And what about you? How have you been, Pep?”
“I’ve been good,” she replied automatically.
When he just looked at her, she dropped her eyes and pressed her lips together briefly. “It was really hard, Tony,” she admitted, voice thick. “I knew there was a chance you wouldn’t come back, but there was always that chance and you somehow always got yourself out of it. I guess I’d gotten lulled into a false sense of security. And with Morgan...I wasn’t prepared to handle that. But we got through it, with the help of so many people. I don’t think you really ever realized how many people cared about you, Tony. Everyone has been really great - especially Peter,” she said, directing a fond smile at the door where he’d left a couple hours earlier.
“They adore each other. And Peter loves taking her into the lab and teaching her everything she could possibly want to know, which is great since I sometimes can’t keep up with her brain already.”
That was a bittersweet image. He loved the idea of Peter bringing Morgan into his family and using what he learned from Tony to teach and mentor her, but not being able to do that himself was still hard to come to terms with. Hopefully, they could all go together soon. He was getting more and more antsy the longer he was awake.
But as much as he appreciated Peter taking care of his daughter, Pepper had once again brought the subject back around to Morgan. “And you? Who’s helping you, Pepper?” he asked.
She was quiet for a minute. “I’d been seeing someone else,” she finally said.
Tony could see that she was still talking, but he couldn’t hear her over the roaring in his ears.
He’d had a small hole behind his heart that had been growing as he heard more and more about what he’d missed while he’d been gone. Dead. It was now ripped open into a gaping pit, threatening to pull him under. Everyone had moved on - SI, the Avengers, Morgan, Pepper. Even if he was here to stay, what possible purpose would he have? No one needed him anymore.
Small, soft hands were gripping gently at one of his own and he was vaguely aware of Pepper calling his name, but he couldn’t snap himself out of it.
Someone else was suddenly grabbing his chin roughly and his arm instinctively came up to push them away. There was a loud crash that rang dimly in his ears as his eyes were caught by the brown gaze in front of him, slowly becoming aware of the heavy hand on his chest pushing him down into the bed and a blazing weight across his thighs.
“Mr. Stark. Tony. You need to calm down,” someone was saying firmly, voice low and even. “I know you don’t want to hurt me, Mr. Stark, so I need you to come on back now.”
It felt like an eternity before Tony was able to focus on anything long enough to comprehend what was going on.
Peter. That was Peter in front of him, eyes steady and intent on him. Probably also his hand on his chest. Okay. His gaze traveled down and his heart kicked back into overdrive again when he saw the hand wrapped around Peter’s throat, his skin white and dimpled around the clamped fingers. What the fuck was going on? Was someone else - ?
No. That was his hand, he realized numbly. He let go abruptly, feeling his cheeks flush as reality suddenly came crashing back all at once, horror and shame coursing through him. His other hand was holding tight to Peter’s. He released that too. Peter stayed perched where he was, slowly bringing that hand to his side as he moved the other one from Tony’s chest, obviously ready to spring back into action if necessary.
Strange wasn’t so trusting. He used bands of energy to immediately restrain Tony’s arms, which appeared to have also been the oddly warm, tingly weight on his legs he’d felt earlier.
“This is why she shouldn’t have been here. Definitely not unsupervised,” Strange bit out, throwing a cutting glance in Peter’s direction.
She? Oh, God. Pepper. Tony’s head whipped to the side, searching for her.
He found her on the floor several feet from his bed, one wrist cradled in a nurse’s grasp and a slow trickle of blood oozing from a shallow cut on her forehead. He saw her eyes clench tight and her breathing hitch as they tried gently moving her hand. What had he done?
“Not helping,” Peter said, still keeping his voice steady and eyes locked on Tony. When he saw Tony’s attention refocus on him, Peter smiled.
“Hey Mr. Stark, you’re good now. Everything’s under control and everyone is okay, just a couple bumps and bruises.”
Seeing the helpless confusion still lingering, Peter continued. “I'm not sure exactly what happened but I heard your heart suddenly start racing so I came in to check on you. You looked completely zoned out and Pepper couldn’t get you to respond. When I tried, I guess you saw me as a threat and lashed out. And, uh, it looks like you might have some kind of super strength now?” Peter tacked on at the end, over casual.
“Excuse me, what? How about you run that by me again,” Tony said, looking incredulously at him.
“It probably would have taken all my strength to hold you down,” Peter explained.
“Which he wasn’t willing to do, in case he sent you back to a grave,” Strange expounded, not sounding like that would be such a terrible idea. “Hence the additional restraints.”
“Well we don’t know if accelerated healing is part of the package, or if your body is even strong enough to handle the effects of using that strength - it puts a lot of stress on the bones and muscles,” Peter said, arms crossed and posture defensive.
Tony turned back to Pepper. “Are you okay, Pep?” he asked quietly.
She looked up and gave him a tired smile. “I’m fine, Tony, don’t worry about it. I’ve been shoved off worse things than a hospital bed.” Tony didn’t appreciate that particular allusion.
At Tony’s raised eyebrows, the nurse spoke up as he finished wrapping Pepper’s hand and stood up. “Just a superficial scratch and a sprained wrist.”
“See?” Pepper said. “They should really be looking at Peter, not at me.”
Tony’s gaze moved back fast enough to catch Peter throwing her an irritated glance and a slashing motion with his hands. Pepper mouthed ‘sorry’ back at him with a shrug, not looking particularly sorry.
As Peter waved off the nurse coming to do just that, Tony finally noticed that a few of his fingers were bent at odd angles. From him. Fuck. This just kept getting better and better. At least this was making him much more grateful for Morgan’s absence. He probably would have willingly thrown himself back into the afterlife if he’d hurt her.
Peter noticed Tony notice his fingers and moved quickly to straighten them with his other hand, bones popping loudly as they were shoved back into place. He tried to smile through the harsh wince. “No big,” he grit.
Strange heaved a put-upon sigh. “I’m surrounded by idiots,” he muttered. To Peter, he said, “You know, I wish you wouldn’t do that. I can tell you from personal experience how soul-wrenching it is to be without properly functioning hands.”
Peter wrinkled his nose in Strange’s direction, stretching his arms over head. “Never been a problem before. My hands get messed up all the time with all the slinging - throwing my body weight around on a string at high speeds is hell on my hands and shoulders. One wrong turn and bam! Everything is out of place,” Peter said nonchalantly.
Tony felt his heart sink further. He thought he’d accounted for that when designing Peter’s suits. Apparently not good enough. Story of his life.
Peter looked around when the silence drew out past a normal pause. “Oh come on, guys, it’s really not that big a deal. They were just dislocated, not broken. And hello? Super healing? It’s a great perk.” He held up his previously injured hand and wiggled his fingers. Fully functional.
“That doesn’t mean it’s okay,” Tony cut in harshly. “It still hurts.”
Peter’s eyes shuttered and his jaw clenched, looking abnormally vulnerable. But it only lasted a second before he relaxed, shoulders rolling back.
“Yeah, you’re right Mr. Stark, sometimes it sucks. But at least I heal, so if someone has to be hurt, I’d rather it be me,” he said with a crooked smile and a helpless shrug.
And right there - he reminded him so much of himself, except 10,000 times better, that Tony couldn’t bring himself to say anything.
Luckily, Strange took that chance to chime in. “You know what’s even better? Making it so that no one has to get hurt, including yourself.”
“Yeah, well, if I could control the fabric of time and space then maybe that would be a valid argument,” Peter grumbled with a roll of his eyes.
“Or you could work on not being a self-sacrificing moron who rushes into things the second there seems to be trouble.”
“I feel like that’s directed at me,” Tony said dryly. “But if I remember correctly, it was that exact quality of mine that, oh, I don’t know, saved the world? And I seem to remember you saying that was literally the only way for that to happen successfully.”
“The exception is not the rule.”
“Pretty big exception,” Peter pointed out.
Strange tsked, rolling his eyes. “You’re impossible. I don’t even know why I bother.”
Pepper approached his bed and took his hand again. “Well this is truly awful timing, but I have to get going - there’s a stakeholder meeting that starts in two hours. Please try not to beat yourself up too much. Everyone is fine and we’ll get this figured out.”
“A stakeholder’s meeting? Really? You don’t think they might let you off the hook considering one of their greatest assets has returned from the dead? Even if they don’t like me, I make them a lot of money. Made. Will make again. Hopefully.”
Pepper smiled wryly. “If it was common knowledge then yeah, maybe so, but we’re keeping it out of the public for now.”
“But you’ll be back, right?” Tony asked.
“Of course. Not tonight, but soon.”
“Right. You’ve got someone else to go home to,” Tony remarked bitterly.
Pepper grimaced. “Okay, well yes, I do - our daughter. Apparently you didn’t hear what I was trying to tell you earlier. I had been seeing someone else, but we called it off when I got the news about you coming back.” She moved forward, touching his cheek. “I still love you, Tony. And I want our family back together if possible.”
Tony felt the knot in his chest loosen, slightly. “Okay,” he said simply. “Soon, then.”
“Soon,” Pepper agreed, pressing a kiss to his lips.
Then she was gone. Tony was agonizingly aware of the loss of her touch, her warmth.
Peter flopped into the chair next to him and propped his feet up on the edge of the bed, grinning when Tony shot him an incredulous glance. “So, what else do you wanna know, boss man?”
They talked about what Peter was up to now - in his 3rd year at Columbia, double majoring in biochem and computer engineering, still the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man but also a full member of the Avengers.
“And they let you keep your secret identity?” Tony asked.
“Oh, no. Man, I forgot you didn’t already know about that. Yeah, I was outed only a few months after you were gone.”
“By SHIELD?” Tony asked, brow furrowed.
“No, by one of the bad guys. He tricked me into thinking he was one of us then when he couldn’t get rid of me, he made sure to record a video that he broadcasted internationally right before he died, revealing who I was and saying I was the bad guy that killed him and was responsible for everything else. It was kinda, uh, crazy for a while.”
Tony felt his heart drop. At this rate, it was going to end up a permanent resident in his stomach “Shit. I’m sorry, kid. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you.”
Peter shrugged and quirked a quick smile. “Nah, it was my own fault really. I was young and stupid and trying to just be a kid instead of a superhero. I was too ready to trust someone else to take the load because I didn’t want it. And Ms. Potts actually helped a ton in containing the bad press and image recovery. She was a life saver!”
Tony flashed a quick, fond smile. “Well she’s had a lot of practice dealing with a lot worse. I feel like there’s more to this story, though. What exactly happened, Pete?”
Peter focused on a point to the left of Tony’s face, jaw tight. “I’d actually rather not talk about that right now, if that’s okay?”
Tony blinked. “Uh, sure, yeah, no problem kid.” To be completely honest, it was killing Tony to not know what happened, especially since it was obviously still very present in Peter’s mind. But it was also evident that if he pushed any harder, Peter might break. But why? What the hell happened?
Peter’s answering smile was weak. “Thanks Mr. Stark.”
Tony glanced awkwardly around the room during the following silence. “So, uh, got a girlfriend? Or boyfriend? You know, no judgment,” he finally blurted.
Peter shook his head. “Nah. I did finally go out with MJ, you remember her,” Peter said with an amused sideways glance. Tony snorted in response. Yeah, he remembered her. “But it turned out we were better off just as friends. She’s still kinda pissed that no matter what she does, she’s still mostly just known as ‘Spider-Man’s girlfriend’, even though we were only dating for like 6 months after I got outed.”
Peter leaned back in his chair, resting his ankle on his opposite thigh and playing aimlessly with his shoelaces. “I tried dating a few other people, but it just hasn’t worked out. Either they just wanted to get to know me because of the whole Spider-Man thing or I just couldn’t pay them the attention they deserved between school and patrolling.” He shrugged. “It’s okay though. I’ve got good friends and the occasional hookup when the stress gets too high.”
Tony’s eyebrows rose, somewhat impressed. “Peter Parker, an active participant in casual sex, whoda thunk?”
Peter laughed. “Well, turns out I don’t do casual real well, which surprises nobody,” Peter said wryly. “But sometimes a guy’s gotta do what a guy’s gotta do. It’s all good as long as everyone’s on the same page.”
Tony held up his hands. “Hey, no need to defend yourself to me, honeybee. I mean, look at who you’re talking to here.”
“You still remember that far back, old man?” Peter jibed.
Tony grasped his chest. “Ouch! Critical hit, kid. Don’t you know I have a sensitive heart?”
Peter rolled his eyes.
After another soft pause in the conversation, Peter pulled out his phone, tapping it against his palm and opening his mouth to speak several times before stopping. He huffed a breath then finally just asked, “Do you - um - do you want to see more pictures? Of Morgan?”
Tony couldn’t help the way his breath caught in his throat and his eyes stung. His immediate answer was yes, of course he wanted to see pictures of her. But at this point, he didn’t know how long it would be before he’d be able to see her. If at all. Could he handle seeing her right now?
“I...I- yeah. Yeah, I think I would. Please,” he said hoarsely.
Peter nodded, quickly punching in the passcode and pulling up his photos. Tony felt his heart stutter when he noticed Peter had a whole album dedicated to her. He craned his neck in Peter’s direction, suddenly desperate to see. Of course Pepper had shown him pictures of her, but that was before the idea of not seeing her felt so real.
With shaking hands, he took the phone from Peter when he thrust it in his direction, cradling it gently. The picture on the screen showed her laughing - big, wide-mouthed, teeth-baring, nose-scrunching, eye-squinting laughter. Tony’s fingers ghosted over the screen, tracing her wild dark hair, the freckles on her cheeks. It made Tony smile, even as his eyes blurred.
He ran his hand over his face as he sniffled and cleared his throat. “Man, it sure is warm in here. What’s a guy gotta do to get a glass of water in here?”
Peter got up to get him one, passing it over (with a snarky, “I feel like I’m becoming your personal water boy,”) without commenting on the bullshit excuse that was fooling no one. He remained standing and stretched in an exaggerated manner. “I think I’m going to just stretch my legs for a minute,” Peter said before ambling across the room. Tony appreciated that pointed ignorance of his vulnerability more than he could say in this moment.
He glanced back down at Morgan, noticing now that she looked just as he remembered her. He looked at the time stamp. Three years ago. He scrolled slowly through the 643 pictures in the album, watching the subtle changes as she grew up. Whereas Pepper had showed him mostly school pictures and professional photos, Peter had the real shots. There were silly selfies, blurry, grainy shots in what looked like a blanket fort, stupid Snapchat filters, several sleepy, angry glaring photos where she obviously didn’t appreciate having her picture taken (with some middle finger action thrown in the mix there), ones where her face is scrunched in concentration while she stands on tip toes on her stool at a lab table with her hands buried in a project. But mostly, she was smiling. Looking so damn happy. And surrounded by love - Pepper, Peter, Happy, and Rhodey all featured heavily. He stopped at the first picture he saw of Morgan with Pepper and a man he didn’t recognize. The man had his hand on Pepper’s hip and Morgan was smiling up at him.
Tony couldn’t help the immediate surge of rage and loss he felt as he realized who he must be.
“His name is Tom,” Peter said quietly, looking over Tony’s shoulder.
Tony had to set the phone face down on the bed for a minute. Just breathe. He couldn’t blame Pepper for moving on, he reminded himself. He was dead. No one would have guessed he’d be coming back. And he wouldn’t have wanted her to be alone forever.
“I can’t.” Tony grit.
Peter pulled gently at the phone. “I can take those pictures out.”
Tony tightened his grip. “No.”
Peter looked at him.
“No,” Tony said again. “I can. I just don’t want to. But I need to.”
It was almost another minute before Peter sighed and pulled his hand away. “Okay.” But he stayed close by this time, seemingly on edge.
He picked up the phone again and kept going. Although he’d braced himself, there were actually not that many photos with this Tom guy in them.
He’d started to relax when he got to one of the last pictures, this one just of Tom and Morgan, her curled in his lap, asleep, his arms around her.
His vision went white and his head felt full of cotton, the world muffled and distant. He felt a sharp pain and looked down to see Peter’s phone crumpled in his hand, the glass shattered. Peter’s hand came slowly into his line of vision, coaxing his hand open. He pulled the mangled phone from his fist then sat on the bed and held Tony’s hand in his lap, methodically plucking shards of glass from his palm.
Peter seemed to sense that Tony was floating back to the surface because he looked up briefly before resuming his task. “I think we’re gonna have to get you into anger management classes, Mr. Stark,” he said dryly.
Tony blinked. And again. And again. And - there we go. Now his brain was connecting with what he was seeing. “Shit. I’m so fucking sorry, Pete.”
Peter scoffed, tightening his grip on Tony’s hand. “Stay still,” he chastised. “Yeah, super strength isn’t all fun and games, that’s for sure. If you think I haven’t done this same thing way too many times before, you are sadly mistaken. Don’t worry about it! Although if it’ll make you feel better, I’ll make you replace it.”
“I’m not only replacing it, I’m upgrading it. Isn’t that the same phone I left for you three years ago? That thing’s gotta be a dinosaur by now.”
Peter shrugged. “Not as much as you’d think, actually. With dealing with the consequences of the reversal of the snap, it hasn’t really been top priority to come out with new phone models. And there’s still nothing that can compare to your StarkPhone.”
“I knew those assholes at SI were lost without me,” Tony muttered a bit smugly.
They were quiet for a while as Peter continued pulling the glass from Tony’s hand. A nurse came in and tried to insist that they do that, but Peter firmly declined, belatedly glancing at Tony to make sure that was okay. At his nod, Peter smiled and returned to his work.
The nurse pressed her lips together firmly before sighing and bringing back some medical tweezers. “At least use the proper tools,” she scolded. Peter murmured his thanks as he took them. Tony waved cheekily as she turned and left.
Feeling Peter’s firm grip, fingers dancing over Tony’s hand as he searched for any remaining pieces, was releasing a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Despite the sharp stings as each shard was pulled from his skin, Tony found this oddly relaxing. He leaned back into his pillows, watching Peter methodically squint, massage, tweeze, and pull, over and over again, strangely content with the silence in a way he rarely was.
Tony hadn’t realized Peter was done until Peter finally released his hand. With the loss of contact, that drifting, floaty feeling came crashing back to earth, shattering as effectively as the phone had in his super-powered grasp. He had to use all his self-restraint to keep from chasing after Peter’s retreating touch, desperately wanting an anchor to ease his sudden reeling. But that would be weird. And pathetic. Which he’d had enough of, thank you very much.
Suddenly that silence, so peaceful and soft, was deafening, suffocating. “Kid!” Tony blurted.
Peter jolted, startled by the sudden, jarring exclamation. “Uh, yeah?”
Tony’s mind raced, trying to come up with something to say, anything. “You gonna be my jailer for a while, I guess, while we try to figure out what’s up? You got some good board games or something?”
Wincing, Peter looked down at his hands for a second before leveling Tony with an apologetic gaze. “Actually, I’ve got to get back to school tomorrow. I’ve been studying here, but I’ve got to get back for finals.”
Tony was pretty sure he was able to keep the hopelessness from being broadcasted across his face, but it didn’t stop Peter’s kicked puppy look. “Yeah, of course, I’m sorry Pete - I honestly thought it was still summer. Shit, I have no idea what month it is.” He rubbed his hand across his face, suddenly tired in a way that had nothing to do with his exhausted body.
“It’s December, Mr. Stark. But in two weeks, I’m done with my semester and will have a month off! Hopefully you’ll be out of here by then, but if not then I’ll be back to give you the ‘good cop’ experience.”
“Ah, shit,” Tony groaned, realizing what Peter meant. “That means I’m stuck with Strange for two weeks, aren’t I?”
Peter grimaced sympathetically. “I’d say he’s not really that bad, but-” At Tony’s unimpressed glare, he cut himself off. “Yeah, I’m not even gonna go there. But at least the feeling is mutual? I mean, if you’re both dying to get away from each other, hopefully that just means you’ll both work harder to figure everything out so you can get out of here?”
Tony snorted. “Is your middle name Positivity? That’s got a ring to it - Peter Posisitivty Parker: always looking on the bright side.”
Peter laughed but his smile was a little off. “Yeah, when there aren’t a lot of good things going for you, you either get angry or find each little piece of goodness around you,” he said with a shrug.
Tony looked at Peter for a long moment, watching him stare aimlessly to his left. He struggled to sit up a bit, raising his hand to card through Peter’s hair gently. “You’re a good kid,” Tony said, voice quiet and sincere.
Peter raised his eyes to meet Tony’s briefly before he looked back down, cheeks dusted pink. “Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he said softly, leaning subtly into his touch. Tony relished the soft strands of hair, the warmth of Peter’s scalp against his skin before finally pulling back, knowing he was quickly broaching ‘weird touch’ territory.
Tony cleared his throat. “So, finals? How about you quiz me on some stuff? See if any of my brains made it back with me?”
“Shouldn’t I be the one being quizzed? I don’t think asking you questions is going to be super helpful for me,” Peter said with a grin.
“Teaching is the best way to learn, you know,” Tony said, hand waving dismissively.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Yes, because I’m definitely going to need to teach you engineering concepts.”
“Hey! You never know, I may be a bit soft in the head now. I’m counting on you, Professor Parker.”
“Some would say you’ve always been a bit soft in the head,” Peter quipped.
“I would say I resent that, but I’m sure you’re right. Books. Now. Chop chop.”
I was originally going to cut parts out of this and make it shorter, but I’m terrible at editing down, so here it is.
Someone pointed out last post that I mentioned at some point that this might be four parts. ha! Definitely going to be more than that. Not sure how much, but we shall see. I’ve got a few future scenes written out, I just need to get there (yikes). I also mentioned that the starker would start here aaaaand I lied again. Seriously y’all, don’t ever believe a word I say about future updates that haven’t been written.
Tag list: @starkerprince @peachbabytarte I feel like I’m missing somebody? If I am, super sorry!!!!!
Part 4 - Tony is Iron Man. Plus, Tony gets to go home.
The follow-up to my previous post looking at what would happen if Tony appeared out of nowhere to be found by Peter, who’s still haunted by Beck’s reality bending.
In which Tony is in bad shape and Peter helps, Strange snarks, and Pepper gives him the kick in the pants he needs.
This is now Part 2 of what is looking to be turning into a slow-burn starker, y’all. Just a heads up, it’s still Pepperony for now since it’s pretty much canon compliant through Endgame.
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Peter was at his side before he could blink, hands hovering, unsure, before cradling Tony’s face briefly, eyes darting across his features as he catalogued every detail. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. I-is it really you?”
Tony just nodded wearily, letting out a soft huff as Peter’s hands slid back through Tony’s hair, touching the gray at his temples reverently. Seriously, if he wasn’t already about to pass out he’d probably be reeling from the emotional whiplash of seeing Peter transform back into the gentle, wholesome boy he remembered.
When Peter seemed to be content to simply stare, followed by flitting, fleeting touches, Tony cleared his throat before croaking, “Hands?”
Peter’s brow scrunched in confusion before realization dawned, cheeks flushing. “Oh! Oh, oh, oh my gosh. Of course. Um, here, one second,” he muttered, fumbling with something on his web shooters before producing a vial of clear liquid that he poured carefully over the webbing on Tony’s hands.
“This is normally something I use in aerosol form from my web shooters, but it can make a mess and it makes everything ironically sticky, so I figure you might not appreciate a potential full-body spray. I’m still working out the kinks - It’s surprisingly rare that I ever need to prematurely dissolve my webbing,” Peter explained, voice high and quick like he was nervous.
“I seem to remember designing a solution for that specific problem - in fact, I think it was the first thing I did when I got back to my lab with remnants of your spider juice still stuck to my hands after our first meeting,” Tony said. Or at least he tried to, but his mouth just wouldn’t cooperate. It came out more like; “I...solution already...lab...spider juice,” with incoherent mumbling in between.
But Peter, bright, wonderful Peter, got the gist and grinned, small and guarded but genuine. “Yeah, of course you did Mr. Stark,” he assured as he pulled Tony’s hands away from the wall and set them gently on the floor next to him. “You thought of everything for my suits! But I’m always tinkering with the web fluid design so I’m also having to change the dissolving solution.”
How long has it been? Tony finally thought to wonder.
Peter sat back on his haunches, still staring wonderingly at Tony. Tony couldn’t blame him - if he had the energy, he’d probably be doing the same thing. He had invented time travel, primarily to bring back one Peter Parker, to remedy his worst failure. Of course, saving the rest of the world was motivation as well, but that was mostly an afterthought. And other than a quick, heartfelt hug on a battlefield at the end of the world, he never got the chance to acknowledge that he had actually succeeded.
But now that his life wasn’t in immediate danger, his pounding headache and burning throat were clamoring for attention again. Right. A glass of damn water, that’s how this started.
Tony’s head listed to the side, staring forlornly at the fridge. It was only about two feet away, but it might as well have been two thousand miles.
Peter followed his gaze and, noticing the shattered glass on the floor, quickly realized what Tony was wanting. “You want some water, Mr. Stark?”
Tony nodded gratefully. When Peter returned a minute later, he tried to lift his hands to grab the cup, but couldn’t get them to do more than twitch. After hovering awkwardly for about thirty seconds, Peter hesitantly lifted the glass to Tony’s mouth, tilting it carefully so that the water trickled slowly past his lips.
When that first drop of cool, clean water touched his tongue, Tony’s breath hitched and his eyes stung, overwhelmed by the relief of it. But after only three swallows, he felt the liquid fall heavily into his completely empty stomach and he clamped his lips shut tight. Peter’s intent, watchful gaze and quick reflexes ensured that he noticed almost immediately and righted the glass, pulling it away. Now that Tony could feel the moisture on his face from the slight dribble that escaped his mouth, he realized how agonizingly dry his skin felt, stretched taut and paper thin. His heart was racing, chest heaving, the thirty seconds of interrupted breathing it took to have his precious drink apparently too much after everything else.
He glanced back up at Peter to see his face creased with concern, his mouth moving but no sound coming out. He could definitely make out the ‘Are you okay?’ forming on Peter’s lips.
He tried to respond. To reassure him that he was fine, he just needed to rest, but spots were blooming behind his eyes, slowly taking up his field of vision as his heart rate continued to increase. Uh oh. He was pretty familiar with the way an overstressed heart felt and this was suspiciously similar. He felt Peter’s hands press firmly on his chest and saw his name frantically falling from his mouth before his eyes rolled back and everything faded away.
.
When he awoke, he blinked blearily, eyes sluggishly tracking around the room he was in. Off-puttingly white, machines beeping quietly in the background, and people in scrubs off to the side. A hospital. Which was probably apt, considering he felt like he’d been starved to death only to be thrown in front of a train and lit on fire. He also took note of the comfortable mattress and tastefully low lighting. So he was probably in one of his own facilities.
“Mr. Stark! You’re awake!” Tony startled at the exclamation to his right, not aware that anyone was there. He turned his head to see Peter, the wizard standing aloofly behind him.
“What happened?” Tony asked scratchily, hand coming up to rub absently at his throat. Peter leapt to his side to bring a cup of water with a straw to him, only letting him take a few sips this time before pulling it away. Tony gave him a quick smile in thanks.
“Well I was hoping you’d be able to tell us,” Strange said dryly.
“I meant my health at the moment, which I thought you might have a better idea of than I since you’re actually a doctor, as you’re so fond of reminding me,” Tony responded, finding the remote and levering his bed up to sit up slightly, feeling much more human than the last time he’d been awake.
Strange stared at him impassively for a long moment before replying. “Of course. Well your vitals are stable now. Your main ailments are malnutrition and dehydration extreme enough to bring you to the brink of organ failure, which has been aided by the IV fluids and nutrients you’ve been receiving for the three days you’ve been unconscious. You’ll be on a strict diet for a while before you’re ready to eat normally.”
“Spectacular,” Tony sniped. At least he’d regained enough energy to maintain his flippant attitude. Priorities. “Don’t worry Doc, I know the drill. Been there, done that. Would have gotten the t-shirt, but they were fresh out. You know the saying. Whatever. Point is, that’s a pretty standard medical issue. A little above your pay grade these days isn’t it?”
“I was simply answering your question, Stark. That’s not why I’m here.”
When silence followed that statement, Tony gestured in his direction. “Do you need an engraved invitation to finish that thought? A drumroll? Some dramatic mood lighting?”
The smothered laugh from Peter’s direction was a pleasant counterpoint to the irritated pursing of lips from Dr. Strange.
“I would have thought it would be pretty clear. You reappeared unexpectedly after being dead for 3 years. I’m here to figure out what’s going on and make sure you haven’t completely torn a hole in the fabric of the universe, as I’m sure you would at the first possible opportunity.”
“And to make sure you’re really okay, you know, mind, body, soul and all that,” Peter chimed in.
“Yes. You do appear to actually be alive, by the way, considering near organ failure affected you as it would anyone else. Further tests will need to be done to determine if everything else is ‘normal’,” Strange explained.
“Mmhmm,” Tony hummed with a dismissive nod. He was choosing to work very hard at not thinking about the fact that he’d pulled some kind of resurrection act. He didn’t know how he was back, if he was still himself, how long he would be here or anything. And he was choosing to live in blissful ignorance at this point. That was a problem for future Tony. If there would be one. Who knows? He could disappear tomorrow.
“So you really don’t remember anything?” Strange pushed.
Tony glared at him. “Whoops, you caught me, Merlin. I’m purposely keeping a whole host of information all to myself so that I can remain under constant surveillance and suspicion. Because that’s how I get my jollies. No. I remember dying - which, not super fun, let me tell you - then nothing, until I suddenly showed up here. Or there. Am I still at the Compound? Where am I?”
“Yeah, you’re at the Avengers medbay on the Compound campus,” Peter answered helpfully.
“Well there you go. Consider me interrogated,” Tony intoned.
Strange was opening his mouth, probably to continue his inane, insulting questioning, but Tony cut him off as he saw the door to his room open. “Pepper, Honey, light of my life!” he called, holding his arms out in her direction.
Pepper stopped right inside the doorway, hand falling heavily on the wall beside her as she stared at Tony with wide eyes that were quickly filling with tears, chin quivering. “Tony,” she whispered.
“The one and only. Come on Doll, don’t leave me hanging here,” he joked, hoping the desperation that was creeping into his chest wasn’t apparent in his voice.
Pepper finally moved, stumbling to a stop at Tony’s bedside and collapsing to the side of the bed to gather him in her arms. Tony let out a heavy, ragged sigh. Yes. This is what he’d needed, her warmth seeping into his skin like a toasty towel fresh out of the dryer.
After a moment, he looked around and frowned. “Where’s the munchkin?”
Pepper pulled back, looking uncomfortable but not averting her gaze. “Tony. We don’t know yet what’s going on - are you really back? For how long? Are you completely stable? It didn’t seem right to bring Morgan into this until we knew for sure.”
“Right, yes, of course,” he murmured, heart seizing in his chest again. It all made sense and objectively, he agreed. She was still so young - to involve her now when he could possibly be gone in another five minutes would just be devastating.
But subjectively, it was fucking ripping him to shreds. His daughter, his baby girl. Even if he was only here for five seconds, he’d want to spend them holding her tight. But that was selfish. She’d probably moved on by now, made some kind of peace with his death. He didn’t want to ruin her world all over again. And what if he wasn’t safe? What if he suddenly went berserk? What if he was some radioactive mutant or some crazy shit like that? No, this was the right decision. Didn’t mean it wasn’t low key killing him all over again though.
Suddenly he was a lot more motivated to face everything and get it all figured out. Guess he’d have to actually cooperate with fucking Dumbledore. Wonderful.
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Part 3 - Tony comes back with more than he bargained for
