Do Your Best
He blinked, fought back the urge to immediately shut the door (too much weird too soon, thank you very much) and stared at the man. He seemed… sheepish. Awkward, under his ill-fitting baseball hat and cheap sunglasses, a massive hoodie swallowing him up from below that down to nearly the knees. (though the jeans he could peg as expensive immediately, the man tried)
“Hi. I- uh. You the kid who saved Pepper?”
He scanned his memory for a ‘Pepper’ and came up empty. Maybe the unnamed lady he helped from the Invasion with the broken leg? She ever introduced herself, too confused and disoriented by the pain and sheer ludicrousy of what she was witnessing. But what would Tony Stark have to do with a random civilian?
He could think of a few options, but none that made total sense.
Curses. How was he supposed to respond to that?
Okay, okay. Think. First things first: Tony Stark is at his doorway. Manageable. Stark is a human being same as he is, and seems about as capable of casual non-romantic/political interactions as Grim was. Two: Pepper, someone he knows, and that I saved, and he knows I saved and cares as a result. Not knowing who Pepper is is the main problem here, but how on earth does he address it?
Oh, also his newest pair of watchers will be back from their shifts any minute. He had been risking it with the chat with the Widow, but this was getting dicey.
He can’t even fathom what would happen if they walk up to him with Tony Stark on the doorstep. They weren’t the most respectable sort: the kind that were sitting decently, but got foster kids regularly for extra pocket money.
Anything could happen if they stop this. Manipulation, blackmail, questions he can’t answer, anything in between.
So he clears his throat and throws on a Customer Service Smile(™) and beckons him inside.
“Of course. Come on in. Would you like something to drink, sir?”
Stark blinks, and his facial expression smooths out to something neutral and perfectly polite. A practiced expression.
They were in it together, then.
“Coffee, please. You can never have enough of that, eh?” He steps inside with his polished black boots that click on the cheap hardwood. Grim chews on his lip subtly while he’s facing away from the man.
He’s only got the strongest, cheapest stuff that was palatable on hand.
Maybe he could water it down? No you’d be able to tell, like, immediately.
Well, here we go then. Better make this quick.
Stark settles onto the surprisingly comfortable couch like he owns it (or is in that sitting-how-you’re-not-supposed-to meme) while Grim retreats to the kitchen to think in peace.
God help him. He’s going to keel over from all this potentially dangerous social interactions.
Billionaires, spies, foster parents. Ugh.
He brewed an extra cup for himself in case he had to give himself time to think/regret life decisions by drinking conveniently while talking.
He put on his mental armor, eyed Kala asking if she could rob Stark, shook his head in exasperation and walked in with a confident posture to boot.
“Here. I hope you like it strong.”
Stark snorted with a smirk. “If I didn’t kiddo, I wouldn’t be awake half the time I am.” He accepted it quickly and sipped it far too quickly to not have been burned. So he was a fellow man of culture. (When food was too hot, Grim showed no weakness. Most people try to cool food by like, sucking in air or something. He just swallows and lets his throat burn. Eventually he burns through the tissue and can’t feel a thing, so it evens out in the end)
He sits down on the uncomfortably overstuffed armchair that had almost never been used while he had been in the house.
“You wanna be a doctor or something? I could give you the funds for that easy. What college you aiming for?”
He nearly dropped the mug into his lap, which would have been bad for a variety of reasons, not the least of which the extreme embarrassment.
He sets it down on the side table just to be safe. “I-uh. Don’t know. I’d like to be able to help people and-” Not work late hours so he can wander around helping the living and dead in the constant drama spiral he called life- “make enough not to worry about getting by ever again. You know?” He probably didn’t, considering he had been swimming in bills since he was born.
Damn it, he couldn’t even pull the relatable card here.
Stark nodded, and smirked again. “Done. I’d be happy to put in a good word too… Jarv?”
He blinked as the man’s watch came alive with nothing more than a soft click and flash of blue light. “Yes, sir?”
Stark hummed and took a sip. “Put in a recommendation to all human health colleges in the state. If they’ve got the program, they’re getting an email, you know the drill.”
“Of course sir.” The glass face pushed upwards, revealing more bright neon light, before clicking shut again. Stark thanked him, and Grim considered finding a reason to verbally push him out the door for the sake of his sanity.
“And Brucie-Bear tells me you were at New York too.”
“That is where I live, yes.”
A snort, a friendly smile with a flash of mischievous eyes.
He felt threatened.
“The battle with the space slugs? The Great Invasion For All Armored Bug-Kind? Ring a bell?” A camera ready grin, a pose better settling back in. Looks like all the avengers were way over-dramatic, huh? He’s batting about two and a half to three, so the odd’s aren’t looking great. “Made a med-station. Tried to wave him down.”
He grimaced at the memory, and used the spoon to swirl the molten hot coffee around to give him an excuse to look somewhere else. “He obviously had a concussion.” He managed simply, and Stark nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, we noticed when he got back to base. He’s fine now, that gamma radiation really does wonders, eh?” He took a sip and nodded along, ticking off the dangers of exposure to radiation in his head, once again in utter disbelief of the Hulk.
Maybe there were some scientists that hadn’t survived the blast that could fill in the gaps wandering around Bronx he could track down. It would be useful, if he could feel it in his bones.
Most ghosts can’t move far past the spot where they died, so if they’ve cleared the building the explosion happened in…
“Stark Industries has departments for that kind of thing. H*ll, our interns get living wage.” I blink, and do a double take.
He did not just turn this into an advertisement for his own company. Did he?
“Now, I know this sounds like a sell out, but somehow who can keep cool in that mess is more than welcome over with us. Plus, I want an excuse to boot our Medical Department head that’ll look good. Less ‘he’s a prick’ and more ‘there’s a tiny genius who can do it better than him.’ Preferably from a minority, but don’t let the press hear that. Whad’ya say?” This somehow didn’t feel like an ad. This wasn’t a scripted offer, this was… him legitimately wanting to keep him close.
Huh.
A long moment of silence as he had an internal freak-out. (He moves enough that working anywhere was risky. One day he can be within commute range, the other he’s clear across the city. But steady pay- And being guaranteed a good job and future-)
He snorted. “Yeah, people get like that. Well, Emo Wonder. Call once you think on it a bit more.” His watch produced a slim piece a paper with tiny letter showing a phone and email for JARVIS, which he recognized as his crazy AI project. “Call if you want something else, too, I’ll set it up no problem. And... thanks. Again.” The abrupt change from World Famous Billionaire Albeit A Nice One to An Actual Human Being was striking. Softer, almost. Less on guard.
“I- I’d do it again.” He mumbled, still deep in his own thoughts.
Stark grinned again, chugged the coffee, and made for the door with even, measured steps.
He even walked like a rich guy.
His nostrils flared as he scrambled to follow. The Samsons would be back on average in three minutes, that should be enough time for Stark to be long gone right? Except there’s usually a media frenzy everywhere he goes, so how would this go down?
They uttered polite goodbyes, shook hands, and he made to close the door.
“Honey, why is a man at our door. Dear, did you call for guests?”
His heart skipped a beat. The Samsons were… fine. Uncaring, but providing.
He had seen their type before. Draw attention, cause trouble, you’re out flat on your back, possibly with a fresh bruise. Or maybe you get an awkward dinner conversation and two extra months of steady meals, you can never tell-
He swallowed down the raw anticipation and kept his Customer Service smile firmly in place.
“Samsons.” He ducked his head in a nod, keeping his gaze down and posture relaxed. Mrs. Samson caught sight of Stark, started, then slipped into Important Guest Mode.
“Oh, dear. Call me Mom, how many times do I have to tell you?” A hand gripped his arm, pushing him subtly move inside, and he felt his teeth creak from how hard he was smiling.
Mr. Samson was some political big-shot. He was their ticket to a free good headline and positive press after some tax scandal last month, so he was likely to stay for a good while, even after this.
For better or worse.
So he was probably thinking Stark was here for him, Grim opened the door, and he managed to botch it up somehow. They’d probably crowd him into his room, dance around begging Stark for a good cut in a deal, and then maybe they could all move on with their lives.
He just had to wait a few minutes with the anxiety eating away in his gut. Then he could slip out the window, buy something cheap and messy from that stand two blocks over, track down his friends-
Polished and manicured nails dug into his arm lightly as his socks ground against the carpet. Right, he was supposed to step back. Retreat, stay out of sight and mind.
Hide, hide, hide. Stark can’t help you here before it gets bad. Retreat, retreat right now. Why are you sticking around!?
The Black Widow had slipped back towards the window at Mrs. Samsons shrill exclaiming, picking back up her laundry with a fresh cup of steaming… something at her elbow. Watching, Waiting. Poised and waiting to strike.
Dread settled like a weight in his stomach, but he took a breath and loosened up as Stark explained why he was actually here out of sight on the other side of the chunky dark oak door. Apparently Pepper was his fiance? Whatever. It didn’t matter now. He could look up someone named Pepper’s relationship to one Tony Stark later, for now he had to focus.
Stark joined him in the Please The Public zone, instantly reverting back to that shallow, blank oh so rich man. It was almost disturbing to watch the complete one eighty in character of a person at close range. I had just seen that mean joke about coffee and the wink at me when his watch came to life. Now he had a smile that you could cut yourself on, and the stiffest posture he had ever seen of someone not within range of a threat to their life. Back straight, eyes ahead, smiling and ready for battle.
He weighed the pro and cons of staying and going. Widow could get him moved from an abusive home if he jumped ship, but it was pretty decent here. So he had to stay nearby, but staying in his room at this point wasn’t going to cut it.
D*mn it. Caught between a rock and one very hard place.
“Nius, dear, don’t be rude. Grab the nice man some coffee.”
He’ll take the rock.
Ah, Nius. His ‘presentable to new foster couples’ name, because Grim was ‘his temporary emo rebellion nickname’, silly him.
His lips twitched momentarily into a frown before slamming back into place. His cheeks were going to hurt soon. “I already did, Mrs. Samson.”
“Mom, dear. Lovely.” She scrambled for a reason to get him out of sight, and came up empty. Yeah, him too lady. “Such a polite boy. You’d never know his… background.”
The Samsons were big fans of getting over any mental trouble like it never happened, preferably within a time limit. They treated his depression like a bad cold. A lot.
Normally it was mildly annoying. Now he felt like hiding and never coming out.
Stark glanced at him, and he refused to shrink back. He kept his back uncomfortably straight and whisked both mugs off to the kitchen to buy some time to recover.
Oh, he means “washing the mugs”. Slowly. By hand. And putting them back. After drying them. Slowly. By hand.
The Horsemen would approve.
He listens passively to chatter about business deals and stock percentages, easily accepting that most of what he’s hearing is going right over his head. Oh well. No skin of his nose, at least probably.
Stark sounds stiffer than before, even when he was on the more defensive side. All flash and intimidation, straight as a board.
Huh.
He finishes one mug, gives himself a minute to rid himself of the slimy feel of too much soap and too little water on his hands (ewwww) before painstakingly starting on the second. Luckily coffee left a stain, even if it could be scrubbed away, it would take time to do by hand.
He was so glad he had thought of this.
He wondered if Widow was going to report for child abuse. He hoped not. Going back to the shelter where he had the reputation for being the Weird Witch Kid wouldn’t exactly be pleasant, and the staff there didn’t like him even a little.
Now they’re going on about the benefits of government and economic interests, and how it can be hid from the public eye easily (yikes) and he would be able to do whatever he liked. (double yikes)
Stark shut it down so fast it left him subtly smiling into the sink. He still remembered the time he drove up to a pride march, rolled down the window, and shouted ‘H*ll YEAH, HERE WE GO MY FELLOW GAYS!’ much to the horror of the media and delight of the internet as a whole.
The next day they came out with Pride Iron Man merch, funded different LGBT charities by a lot, and named every Stark business an undisputable safe ground for the community.
Honestly, why did everything have to get so complicated so fast?
Stark left as quickly as possible, and he was locked in his room within a minute of the door closing in a flurry of polite smiles and fake concern.
Fine by him, really.
But then he thought about it.
A superspy, if that was even a thing, was watching him. This meant that if he went to his homeless has-definitely-broken-the-law friends, he’d be putting them in danger. He could always raid vending machines for food for dinner, wander around for a few hours to help people, and then check back in at midnight to sleep. But what if Widow saw him talking to someone that didn’t seem to be there?
Grr.
Well, sitting here and staring at the walls until he got tired didn’t sound appealing.
He sighed, cut his losses, and opened the window he had picked the lock on last month.
Soda sounded pretty good right about now.