'Lucky' Emo

Grim tried his best to find a good time to share his not-so-little secret with Stark, but it seemed like Stark’s life mainly consisted of lurching from disaster to disaster, picking up adopted children and therapists along the way. It seemed ‘a good time’ was never going to come, but maybe instead ‘a better time than earlier’ could work. 

Therefore, he chose the time about when Stark was neck-deep in some project (a new suit, once again. He still didn’t know the differences between a lot of them, though this one was suspiciously him-sized) and he didn’t truly want to know either. 

Stark let him hang out in his workspace, since he always wore gloves anyway, and had thick-soled shoes and didn’t go near the blowtorch or whatever. He was hanging out on a spinny stool, agonizing over how this was going to go as Jarvis played what was definitely not ACDC (he looked it up) and lots of holograms flitted in and out of view. 

He sighed, and stared into the black fabric of his gloves, faintly damp in the palms very much not from sweat. He smoothly started changing them, and opened his mouth as he did. “Stark?”

Stark’s head whipped around, instantly honing in on any chance of Bonding Time. “What’s up, kid?”

He slid the new gloves on, and fiddled with the fit around the fingers. “What do you think about mutants?”

Stark put down a wrench, a faintly knowing look on his face. “They’re people, just like us, and should be treated as such. Do I get to ask…?”

Grim hesitated, then bit his lip. “You haven’t asked about the gloves.” Stark blinked. 

“At first I thought it was a fashion thing, then I figured you wouldn’t want the questions.” How nice of him.

He nodded, staring at the concrete floor, smudged with soot and smoke and cracked in a few places. 

There was a long moment of silence as anxiety welled up in him, and Stark eventually broke the ice.

“Look, kid, I don’t care if you can put someone to sleep on touch or summon ice cubes or whatever-”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

Stark quieted, then glanced at the ceiling. “J, are all recordings off?”

“Yes Sir, as of two minutes ago.”

“Loop the footage.”

“Already on it, Sir.”

Stark spun around on his own stool, and looked him in the eye, which he found highly uncomfortable but also kinda the push he needed. 

“I… my hands secrete a super-effective sleeping medicine, so the sleeping guess wasn’t that far off. But you know, anything in high enough doses is fatal…”

Stark filled in the gaps easily enough. “It concentrates as it builds up, eventually becoming lethal. So, you have to wash your hands a lot? Wait, so all those gloves have coma-juice on them? And you’re just stashing them in that bag of yours?” 

He huffed. “It’s a separate flap, and it’s lined with stuff to keep it from leaking, a friend did it. But uh, that’s kinda only a side effect. The main mutation is in my eyes and ears.”

“So like, Clint? He can see really far.” 

“Um. I can see stuff you guys just… can’t.”

Stark straightened up, eyes bright. “Different kinds of light? Uv, ultraviolet? Quieter sounds? Kid, that’s awesome!” 

He winced. “Not… like that. Kinda? I’m not sure how it happens or anything but…” Deep breathe, fill his confidence in his core, review his escape plans- “I can see and hear the dead.”

Stunned silence, and he anxiously starts blurting stuff out. “And I know I’m not hallucinating or anything! I do research! The people I see you guys can’t are people that recently died in the area, and once I saw them actually climb out of their body, so uh- I’m not crazy?”

Stark snorted, leaning back in his chair. “If you were, I wouldn’t sell you out, kid, I’d just point Cho in your direction.” 

He bit his lip further, nodding along. Stark hadn’t seemed to fully understand yet, but it should sink in soon… 

“Wait.”

Yep, there we go.

“Can you see…” He waved his hand around him, a bit choked up. “All the people I’ve…”

Grim hesitated again, then nodded. Yinsen, a man who apparently died so Stark could escape in Afghanistan, motioned at him frantically. “But I can also see all the people you’ve saved. Um, Yinsen from Afghanistan is here? He’s got some strong opinions, uh, and you know, a lot of the people that hang around you have like, forgiven you and all. They’re more concerned about the drinking thing.”

Stark’s eyes went a bit glassy. Yikes, okay, what was it now?

“Right.” His voice wobbled, and he partially collapsed against the metal work table.

“Your parents aren’t though. Their last thoughts were probably on something else, that’s how the whole haunting thing works I’m pretty sure. Maybe um, where they lived at the time? Each other, the car? I dunno, it could be they’ve moved on from this plane or whatever.”

Stark raised a hand. “So the afterlife is real?”

Grim shrugged. “Well, not everyone who dies becomes a ghost, and even if like, a fraction of everyone who died did, I’d be up to my ears in them by now if they didn’t eventually go away, right? So uh, sometimes I see spirits being absorbed by this… bright light? Like looking into the sun, the imprint on your eyes afterwards. And there are ghostly service dogs, they lead people to what I’m pretty sure are portals between dimensions. I tried throwing a pencil through once, but only like, incorporeal things can go in probably. So that failed.”

He peeked up at Stark’s expression again. Not lookin’ too good, he should probably slow down, Stark’s not great at processing in the first place anyway.

He hopped up and headed for the kitchenette, and filled a cup of water. He trooped over and handed it to Stark, who seemed to not notice when he took it and down half of it in one go.  

One finger, the person he’d touched would fall asleep for 24-hours. Two and they sleep for two days. Three, they go into a coma without medical help. Four he can only imagine they would fall into a coma with medical help, and five… well, he didn’t wanna find out, but he could do the math on that one just fine. 

He pulled up a chair opposite to Stark in the aisle and waited for him to mentally resurface. 

It took a minute, but when it did, it did. But not in the way he was expecting. 

“Oh my god. We have to test this!” He tensed. “You could be seeing a new form of light entirely! Or a new form of matter? A new element! Grim, this is amazing!” Stark’s hands flew, pulling up blank pages in his mess of holograms and began frantically typing.

“We can get the eye and ear test in with that check-up with Doc Cho, non-invasive and all, and oh my god, your hands. The medical opportunities! I assume it works on touch, and pretty quickly.”

Grim nodded hesitantly, not sure how to deal with this new level of hyper Science!-y ness. “Almost instantly as soon as I touch them.”

Stark’s eyes gleamed. “That kind of medication or method of usage would be incredible. Grim, this could save lives!” 

Grim stared at the man like he had lost his mind. 

Because he had.

“Can I see those gloves? The ones you just stashed?” Stark pulls out a souped-up chemistry set from the work table drawers and Grim hands over the gloves, following his sense of morbid curiosity. It has always bothered him, the differences between his abilities and modern medicine and knowledge. 

Stark fiddles with his stuff and his gloves, careful to not touch them, and eventually extracts a drop of clear liquid front gloves. He wonders how much of it is just sweat but stays quiet in silent fascination. 

The actual process from there looks less how he would have imagined, but then again, he’s mainly running off sci-fi movies at this point. It still looks pretty cool, though, what with him pulling out all sorts of liquid samples and tubes, a souped-up microscope, and a burner for good measure. 

But it is frustratingly quiet. Jarvis is no longer playing music, and the silence is driving him crazy. He fidgets with the cube Kala picked up last week and marvels at Stark’s ability to juggle big concepts in seconds flat. 

He wonders when the meltdown about privacy and weapons dealing and greif is going to happen. Hopefully not in the lab; that would probably be dangerous. 

He had been telling the truth; most of them had forgiven him, at least the ones that hung around him. Sure, there was that one guy who possibly hated himself because he sneered at Stark every time he saw him, which was every few seconds, because he was haunting him and literally couldn’t get farther than fifteen feet away at any point, but like, that’s hardly the norm. 

There’s a crowd gathering around them both, whispering. It helps fill in the silence, even if it feels kinda freaky watching them occasionally phase through things. Some things he’ll just never get used to. Like people casually telling physics to take a hike. 

But Stark probably had dead cursing his name all over the world, changed man or no. And that was just something that would have to be dealt with.

He sighed, and signed for Kala to find that one nice therapist lady from the Bronx. She hung out on one of the bridges where successful suicide attempts had occured, comforting and assuring, mostly. Made her easy to find, if nothing else. 

They might be needing her sometime soon. 

Apparently his poison was a new type of medicine never before seen, so, fun. Stark did a scan of him, and his skin had a secondary transport system like the blood or immune one, little tiny liquid vessels smaller than the tip of a hair. The poison was released like how a tree releases extra water, in little tiny holes in the skin. 

He poked at his palm at the mention of that, but no weird juices came out. Stark snorted and started walking him through the chemical formula, which apparently was extremely willing to be absorbed or something? A water-property, a big deal in chemistry, he was kinda lost. Science had never been his best subject after he hit high school. 

But that was mainly because he’d never really tried- the property only water had in comparison to other molecules wasn’t exactly something he’d use to survive anytime soon. Well, unless he met more friends who could do all sorts of wacky impossible stuff, but then he could learn that at the library just fine. 

Sure, once in a while something struck his fancy or was actually useful- for instance, phycology. That had been a good class. But most of it was him training in how long he could half-dissociate. 

Anyway, Stark was in some sort of Science!-induced haze. Muttering to himself and Jarvis in equal measure. He eyed him, halfway curious and halfway concerned. 

Should he call that Darcy lady? Natasha mentioned her as the only person that could get Tony’s type of brain to focus on anything but research 100% of the time. He had pocketed her phone number into his bag, and felt around for the slim piece of wrinkled paper as he watched. 

But then Stark took a deep breath. “Right, kid. I’m not going to reject you for how you’re born or how you cope, I’m past my *sshole phase.” He tried to get the self-deprecating joke past him, but Grim only raised his eyebrow, well aware of the undercurrent of trauma and esteem issues. “You’re you, and I care about you. And that’s final.”

Grim smiled a bit to himself, heart warming in his chest. He slipped off the stool and disappeared for the rest of the evening to go for a run to burn some energy off. (after telling Jarvis and letting him give a necklace Tony had apparently made for him? Weird, but whatever, sure. Apparently earrings were in the works, and he dryly stated he’d prefer some studs to an easy grip an enemy might have in a fight. Jarvis said that wasn't what he should be concerning himself with. He only saluated the ceiling in response on his way out the door) 

He met Peter Parker, Tony’s not-son-definitely-just-intern a few days later, just hanging out in the lab with Tony watching him rememorize chemistry to properly deal with Grim’s personal poison. 

The kid walked in, and Grim immediately clocked him as exactly what he was: brave but anxious, a genius but reckless, and most importantly of all, entirely made out of sunshine and rainbows. 

He was perched on the bar stool that was possibly once in an actual bar when he came in, clutching his bag straps and smiling like he had the sun behind his teeth. His eyes latched onto Tony before bouncing to Grim, who held up a hand casually in greeting. The kid returned the gesture hesitantly before calling out his entrance to one highly oblivious Tony. 

“Mr. Stark? I’m here, are you busy?” Tony dropped the chemistry tools he had been working with immediately, spinning in place to get a look at the kid, grin wide.

“Underoos! How ya doin’ kid?”

The kid smiled more hesitantly. His body language spoke of bruised ribs, and Grim made a mental note to keep an eye on him.  “Good! But, uh, who’s this?”

Tony snorted. “Underoos, meet the newest resident of the tower and our local emo, Grim. Grim, this Peter, my intern.” Ah, this must be Tony’s not-son everyone keep mentioning. He nodded at him before going back to scanning the news. The only major thing to report had been shut down quickly by Spiderman- who also took a hit to the core, his brain idly noticed. He tucked away that likely-useless piece of information away for later. (or never) 

Within a few minutes everyone had relaxed again and Peter was going on about the possibility of making a functional lightsaber (cool) and Tony was listening while doing Complicated Chemistry Stuff, and was even in a good enough mood from the kid’s presence to order and eat a pizza. 

While Grim didn’t know jack about complicated laws of physics or obscure math formulas, he did now how to put a thing together with another thing to make a new thing, and was plenty able to design the handle-bit with all the requirements Peter rambled to him. It would be longer than in canon because it had to be, but it came out looking pretty sleek. Besides, a bigger handle is better for this kind of weapon- less of a chance of your hand slipping into the super-charged energy you were using to slice up your enemies. 

Peter was overall nice, if a bit sunny for his taste. Dorky, positive, brilliant, a bit of confidence issues, and surprisingly strong. He didn’t ask about his last name or why he living in the tower or anything, so that was good.

He wondered what shenanigans it would take for you to Tony Stark’s intern and resolved to ask Rhodes or Potts at another time. 

That afternoon was Natasha’s main bonding time with him: workout/sparring. She had asked him on his second week in the tower if he wanted to learn how to knock out a man with only one arm (he of course said yes) and was later told by Barton that she had prepared the activity and proposal for days.

In short, Peter would fit in fine with everyone else, and so would he, maybe.

Hopefully the mutant thing wouldn’t blow up too bad, especially with everyone’s tragic backstories and the ghostly figures following them around. 

Grim hated the Villain of the Week scenario that NY collectively seemed to have adjusted to. Like, how many psycho geniuses were there in the city? Were they moving house specifically to have their revelations/breakdowns/tempertantrum in the big apple? Because the chances of this happening only in New York state were starting to get ridiculous.

Worse yet, he was being dragged into it.

He had been going for a wander, his usual people-watching session, when it happened. Some weirdo with green skin on a hoverboard that looked like a modified snowboard made out of scrap metal trying to blow everyone up. Grim, armed with a pocket knife, taser, brass knuckles, and a small army of ghosts, wasn’t too alarmed. Or suprised. But he was vaguely worried for everyone else stuck in the street. 

Especially the guy who had gotten out a handgun, because most of NY would rather swing a baseball bat at the newest villain rather than running screaming now they had gotten used to these idiot’s existence. 

Another kid was throwing rocks at the guy, who had announced himself to be the Green Goblin, and he quickly scooped him up, handed him off to his coffee-and-fear-addled mother and had them duck into a store with everyone else huddling in the back.

The street, of course, was clogged with cars, people desperately trying to escape the bomb-laced gridlock. He helped- climbing on hoods and trunks to pull people out of tough spots, having Kala punch the Very-disrespectful-to-folklore-Goblin to distract him at opportune moments, that kind of thing. (he somehow thought it was Spiderman doing the hitting, yelling for him to come out and fight like a man or whatever, proving he had a few screw loose and rattling around in there)

Just as the frustrated two-bit-villain pulled out a bomb about the size of a medicine ball from… somewhere, Spiderman did actually show up.

He swooped around the corner and used the momentum to nail Goblin in the face, sailing by feet-first before slamming Goblin into a (thankfully not glass) taller building to thoroughly knock him out. He of course ignored the witty quip, but immediately identified the voice.

Huh. Peter was Spiderman. Good for him. Were the webs a mechanical invention of a biological thing? It’d be cool to have another mutant around that hadn’t fallen for Xavier’s recruiting speech.

An unorthodox-powered one to, score. They could bond over ridiculous scenarios and weird side effects. Maybe they could have a group chat? (wouldn’t really be a group chat with only two people but still)

Oh, he couldn’t wait for Xavier to try the recruiting speech while inside Avengers tower, that would be great. 

He wondered if he should warn the Avengers or not for that. 

Nah. 

Were all the superheroes in NY this janky? I mean, it makes sense that the people who run around in spandex saving lives don’t have their sh*t together, but, I dunno, he was expecting some more… normalcy, for some reason.

That was probably dumb of him.

After getting everyone to safety, making sure Peter-Man didn’t further bust up his ribs, and checking on his ghost entourage, he slipped his earbuds back in and walked back, texting Tony that he was fine. He received a half-frantic answer asking what that meant, and he waited a second for him to bother to glance at the news, slipping the phone back into his pocket, waiting for a buzz. 

He’d be almost back by the time he figured it out anyway.

HYDRA became more of a problem. Not right now, really, but the ghosts were getting uppity. Reports of human experimentation, an escaped super-soldier with amnesia, SHIELD imploding, something about some trying to assasinate Fury (idiots) and something called the Accords. Or maybe just a set of chords? Unclear, when he asked they just said he wouldn’t be interested in paperwork, and like they were right, but it was frustrating.

He casually implied to Rogers that his boyfriend lived before talking about sustaining human life artificially when he got interrogated at their semi-weekly drawing/chilling time. Ms. Widow was totally back to suspecting him, but less in the you-might-be-the-enemy way and more in a you-might-have-seen-something-or-heard-something-and-are-very-stubborn, or maybe a you-might-be-being-blackmailed-and-I-kinda-like-you-so-spill-already way, he wasn’t sure yet. He soon learned attempting to avoid her was pointless, so he kinda just occasionally dropped a hint. (“So like, your boss, that Peirce guy? What’s his background check like?” “Do you really think Fury’s dead from a car crash?” “So this new project airship thing, right? Ever though about the morals of that?”)

Barton trusted him more but was equally insistent on getting answers. So far he just kinda stared at them until they had other things to do or went away, sometimes ignoring them (but only with Natasha- Barton would try to prank him to force him to react like the d*ck he was) and mostly feeding them just enough to go off to their red-string-covered cork boards, satisfied for the day.

Tony of course knew how he was getting this stuff, and he kept him posted. Or like, as much in the loop as he was, even though that wasn’t always very far.

There was something about someone’s parents and a car crash that was actually an assasination, and on principle had done a check on how everyone the Avenger’s had lost had died.

Bingo- Maria and Howard Stark, car crash. Security footage? Missing. What a coincidence, huh? 

He had hoped that mentioning awkwardly to Tony that he had tried to look into his parents when he couldn’t find any ghosts and finding out that weird tidbit about the lost footage, hoping that would put him on the right track to finding out the truth or at least being semi-prepared for it.

He realized he probably should have done a bit more when he came down the hall for breakfast and walked into a full blown argument, posturing and yelling and threats and all.

His instincts prickled, telling about hurt and run, which he ignored. He kept by the wall and swung by the fridge for his emergency smoothie, both men too absorbed in their spat to notice.

‘All that’s special about you came out of a bottle,’ youch. 

Well. This wasn’t the best form of communication, but it did get the unspoken thoughts out there.

And then then, about halfway through his smoothie, they got to the meat of the issue.

Tony’s parents had been killed by the boyfriend of the man he was sheltering from a government manhunt. 

The billionaire's face spasmed at that. Hurt, grief, anger. 

“He-I-what?”

Grim waited, eyes flicking back and forth between the men, frozen in the stony silence.

“And you didn’t say anything?” 

Pure rage filtered through, which was odd, because from what he can tell his parents hadn’t been the most loving or caring bunch.

“Well, you don’t exactly react great to these sort of things, Tony!”

He could tell the explosion that was about to happen, feel it in the air.

So he did the only logical thing and slammed the glass down on the counter hard enough for it to crack. Purplish juice slowly seeped onto the counter as he death-glared both men. 

“I’m sorry, are you both not fully grown, fully capable men?” They both stared at him, like they hadn’t noticed him before these, which he had predicated. Tony looked immediately guilty for yelling while he was nearby. 

“Tony. This is majorly hurtful, but you suspected foul play from the start, especially recently with the lost footage. You also wouldn’t know how to healthily process an emotion if someone gave you step by step instructions- relatable, fine. Get a therapist. Rogers, I know they don’t exactly cover emotional communication in the army and you’re really put out of place with the time period, but like, communication is key guys. So. Let’s take this a step at a time. Rogers, do you know for a fact Mr. and Mrs. Stark were killed from foul play and there was a cover up?”

A stiff nod. Good.

“Okay. Do you think Buck Barnes would commit that murder willingly?”

Shake of head.

“Okay. So he was coerced. We know for a fact that Nastasha committed many crimes under duress from HYDRA, and you’re okay with that.  So the real hurt here is a mixture of the personal effect of the situation and the fact Rogers didn’t immediately come clean, which is understandable.” Tony opened his mouth, but Grim shot him another glare. He wasn’t done therapisting.

“Tony. I’m sorry your parents are dead. I’ve experienced that aftermath too- it changes your life forever, you never escape it. But get your sh*t together, please? You trust this man with your life, don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t bullsh*t me Tony Stark, I’ve seen you fight, nod your god d*mn head. Alright. You’re friends and roommates and whatever, and you both struggle with talking to one another. But we’re not going to have any miscommunications or assumptions here, got that? Okay, each of you say how you feel. You can say it in a cause or effect way but don’t accuse each other. Tell your point, don’t interrupt. Okay? Tony, go.” 

They both stared at him some more, and he twitched. “Hello? Go.” 

Tony jerked, making a weird sound somewhere between a groan, a grunt, and a sigh. He slid on his emotional-support sunglasses, the ones he wore to press conferences, and looked Rogers in the eye.

“Right. Whatever kid. Look. My parents weren’t the greatest, but they were mine. And I’ve agonized how I could have changed their deaths for years, and you don’t just get to walk in here and-”

“Tony.”

A low growl.

“I know you love this Bucky guy, if he killed my parents, that might be something to mention, right? I don’t- I-” He cut off, and eyed the hallway where Natasha was either sleeping or waiting for them to finish the drama. 

“I can forgive murder.” He said softly. Grim nodded- he could forgive a lot, including killing. “But I just- just- need time. I guess.”

He sounded almost defeated. Grim sighed, walked over, and gave hima stiff hug before sitting him down on the couch. Rogers awkwardly joined them on the opposite end of the U couch.

“Alright. Your turn- state your case or whatever.” 

Rogers swallowed, and looked down at his eyes, eyes both far away and very, very present. 

“I- I love Bucky. And I thought I lost him.” Oof, voice crack. “And now I have him back and I find out in a way that could really hurt you, my friend. I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you but-” God, just cry already. Have they introduced the concept of toxic masculinity to him during their Welcome to Pop Culture sessions? He couldn’t remember. “It’s hard. It’s like telling the boys that we were the only ones that got back. It’s so heartbreaking every time, and I already feel like I’m breaking from all this time travel and new century and secret government stuff and I- I didn’t know where to start. I wasn’t sure how to go about where we wouldn’t both just break.” 

God, they all needed therapists, huh?

They waited. Tony sat boneless beside him looking incredibly tired. Rogers was trying to pull himself together, and Grim was a patient man when he had to be. 

Steve broke first. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you, even if that meant going in without a plan. I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you, but I will.”

Tony, significantly darker in mood yet much calmer, nodded. He sighed, and put his head in his hands. “I need time to process. I’ll be in the lab. And yeah, I’ll set up a therapy appointment or whatever.” And with that, he swept out of the room. 

Rogers and Grim stood still for about three seconds before actually getting around to addressing that.

“We’re going to have to drag him into eating, huh?” Rogers muttered, almost to himself if Grim hadn’t been able to easily hear it. He shrugged, and made for the paper towels to clean up his spilled breakfast.

“Probably. But Rogers?” He looked up, eyes lost. Grim smiled, just a little.

“Show him you’re there. Get him to take care of himself, be thoughtful, be present. Oh, and run everything by Pepper. Anyway, Imma study- I’ll postone the Interrogate Everyone About Thor session for later.” Seriously, he had questions about the Norse Mythology Being Real Thing. He tapped at his phone to reschedule the reminder for next week, and Rogers laughed as he retreated back to his room to plan and read.

Well. That went well.