A new chapter
Tony's not planning or looking to make connections or reach out to anyone; he just wants to find the end of the line and die at some point. He just has to live long enough to walk out of here and find somewhere to wait out his time, doing just enough to not wind up back here for one reason or another. But, unfortunately, what Tony thought was a favour turned out to be a curse, and now he no longer cares. He can't even find peace in being able to do things on his own again. It's not his job anymore, and Tony finally found the bottomless pit of numbness he'd craved and wrapped himself tightly in it. The life that was once desperately clinging to him in his eyes let go, and dead blank eyes stare back at him now. It's finally over, and all he has to do is wait patiently until the time comes; he doesn't have to wait any longer, and he'll be permanently erased from everything.
With his newfound numbness, Tony finds a sort of sanctuary in it as time passes by, stuck in the bed he's known for how long now? His only notion of time passing is the changing of the staff and the outside world he watches tirelessly from the window by his bed. By the time the tube came out, they had rid him of some of the other things he'd accepted as part of his body thanks to the crash. Summer and the hot weather that brought back deliberating nightmares of the crash turn into fall, and he can feel the temperature drop as leaves change colour. So he should be happy, right? Breathing on his own and all that, able to move and sit on his own, right? Except he's not, he's making a miraculous recovery and couldn't be more upset about it. He wanted to wither away and die in this place, not actually walk about and half to think about the next steps. So what the fuck is he supposed to do now!? Where is he going to go, and what the fuck is he going to do after this shit hole!? This was not the plan, dammit!
As fall starts, so does the physical therapy, which is usually joined by Fury, and they finally have that talk after a few visits where Tony actually participates. It's not the talk Tony thought it would be. In fact, it felt like an interview with the not 'talks' before and after; it felt more like the big 'talk' honestly. Still, Tony tolerates Fury's visits as they come with every session, and he finds himself talking back more than either expected. After one of these sessions, it's just switched seasons again, and the snow has begun to fall outside. Usually, Fury leaves after the therapy, but this time he tagged along and sat in his usual chair, waiting until Tony is checked out and settled. Tony is sitting crossed-legged on the bed under the covers like a kid in class, watching Fury with a cold, muted annoyance as he rubs a finger between his brows, trying to smooth out the lines. Fury is sitting as usual with a book. By now, he's read through about four of them as something to do instead of focusing all on Tony.
"Why are you still here?" Tony grates out with as much emotion as a fish which is all he can muster these days
"You said you wanted to know what I wanted from you," Fury says, closing the book he'd been reading.
"Yes, and?" Tony sighs, not getting it
"You can come in, James," Fury calls out into the hall.
Seconds later, in walks a guy, maybe twenty-two if he had to guess, so about four or so years older than Tony, depending on his birthday, and Tony's coming up in the spring when he turns nineteen. He's good-looking and handsome by many standards. Tall, about six, two maybe and strong, definitely well built with pale ice blue eyes and shoulder length medium brown hair he's got half up. Work boots, dark jeans with a chain, a worn red hoodie under a leather jacket and leather gloves, which he takes, and there it is. A metal that Tony knows blends into an arm and up to the shoulder, then all the little pieces of this puzzle slot together.
"You want me to fix the guy the drunk hit," Tony says bluntly before devolving into hysterical giggles as the man stiffens under Tony's words.
"You're saying that," Fury says, looking between the two.
"I should go," The man says, his voice deep and cold and rightfully pissed off at the news he just heard.
It made sense to someone to everyone in the room as they tried to ignore Tony, who was doubled over his lap, unable to stop laughing and looked downright insane. He can't stop laughing, and he might have even started crying at that point, but neither man can see it. Fury leaves with the man, and in minutes someone comes in to sedate him because he can't stop or calm down. Tony is grateful for the darkness that consumes him and finds comfort in the nightmares that follow now that he's locked in his mind once again. Tony isn't sure what that poor man had done wrong in his life to be thrown into Tony's lap for help on the very thing his father ripped from him. Tony knew all about the crash that night years ago. Maria died on impact, and the kid had his arm ripped and ground off as he was thrown from his bike. Thanks to the booze in his system, Howard walked away with scratches and bruises, and then the system let him walk without ever saying his name. Howard never let it out, and Tony never cared enough to say otherwise or expose the truth because why should he care? In his eyes, the kid was lucky he never had to deal with Howard.
Tony never expected the man to come back, or Fury for that matter; why would they? Tony knew, after all, and never said a thing before laughing at the face of the victim years later when reaching out for help unknowingly. At this point in his recovery, Tony has demanded some of his regular clothes and stuff from his room at home to keep him in line, so he was given them as an act of good faith. Unfortunately, Tony won't be getting out until summer; If he's lucky, a full year may be needed in the hospital's eye before his earliest release. He doesn't plan on wearing jeans or anything, but he's down with hospital clothes as soon as he can leave the bed; he is in normal clothes. That day it'd just snowed a little, and Tony wanted to go outside; no one wanted to deal with him, so there were no issues. He'd pulled on thicked but still loose and baggy sweatpants, a band tee under a thick winter pullover hoodie and a pair of sneakers. Taking the shit that he currently needs to live with him by kangaroo pouch or in his hands, Tony heads to the roof. He bums a cigarette because he's a charming fellow who knows how to lie very well and finds a spot at the roof's edge. He lights up and leans on the railing, looking down on the city under him, the cigarette hurts, but damn, if he cares, he still trying to die, you know.
Tony'd been out there for half a cigarette by the time someone joined him. His nose, cheeks and fingers are red from the cold, yet he doesn't feel cold. The numbness may work in more ways than one. He's also aware that he'd very clearly either zoned out or disassociated during this time, one hand absently rubbing his chest every now and then. Taking another drag, Tony glances over his shoulder a little the snow that'd dusted his face shakes and falls a little at the movement. Seeing a figure standing there, hands in their pockets and tightness to their frame, makes Tony's lips quirk up a little at the corner.
"Hello, James," Tony purrs coldly.
"Stark," James says just as coldly.