I don't know anymore
Hi
The phone beside him lit up with a soft blue glow, casting shadows that danced around his face. With a hint of a frown, he picked it up, curiosity winning over his 'sulking' as Peter tended to call it.
There's something deep and unsettling in the fact that the number is untraceable. Though it does nothing to help his curiosity, only making his eyebrows crease in frustration but still, he unlocked the phone onto the chat box, watching intently for any signs of hacking.
But there was none. Only the small message and the intermittently disappearing bubble with three dots.
Deciding that the person was probably having trouble, he takes it upon himself to respond.
Hey
Who are you?
Short and sweet, exactly what he wanted. His finger hovers over the send button but before he could press it the phone buzzed quietly and a second message popped up.
I'm sorry Stark. I'll never be able to say it enough. I know my word means nothing to you, after all, we don't really know each other, do we? I wish I could take it back, my choice or not. I know no amount of sorry's will bring them back, bring any of them back and I'm not asking for anything in return except relief from the nightmare that is the avengers quarters. I don't have to apologise for Steve but I will. I don't expect a response or forgiveness, and I know this doesn't change anything.
JBB
Well, that solved that mystery.
Stark drowned in thought. He had long since forgiven Barnes, it may have been his hands that were coated in red, but it wasn't him in there, it was never fair to blame him. Whilst the hurt may have faded for Tony, the other betrayals were as fresh as the day they transpired.
He wasn't feeling particularly bad today, but this was as good as it'll get.
At least, for now.
It's ok. I forgave you a long time ago. Its surprising how much clarity you get while in surgery, figured there was no point holding a grudge for an innocent man.
This time the response came much quicker.
Hardly an innocent man.
Not the only one.
Life is just not great sometimes.
Understatement of the century.
To say he was shocked at how close the conversation had been too friendly would be accurate. He was in his closet again. Phone light illuminating the darkness and keeping the panic attacks at bay. Mouth slightly agape and eyes blown wide, he tried not to go into shock seeing as his...abilities were still rather temperamental when it came to his emotions. And unlike Maximoff, which Rhodey had drilled into his head, he didn't let the emotions get the best of him on purpose, with an intent to harm.
With an unusual amount of courage, he typed another text out hoping for a response.
So, How is Wakanda?
While it seems like a simple question, both knew it had deeper meaning because while he was tactless, Tony knew exactly how to ask indirect questions
Nice. People are great too.
But not them?
All they do is talk trash about you
You mean bullshit
I guess so. That's funny.
Remind me to teach you what 'lol' is
Later?
Later.
It was a silent promise from the slightly tense but otherwise fine beginnings of a friendship. And with that revelation, Tony let his lips curve up in the ghost of a smile. He shuffled over to the door, and gently pushed them open, tumbling onto the floor in a rather unflattering manner.
"Ow," yelped Stephen Strange who had been leaning down to open the doors before Tony landed on his feet.
"Sorry," he groaned, not without a single ounce of apology in his sass "I'm assuming you're here for a reason..."
"Yes dumbass, I'm here to teach you magic," Stephen rolled his eyes but extended a hand to pull Stark up.
"Uhh no. No offence Dumbledore but what could you actually teach me?" The reference was not lost on Strange who ploughed on without a second thought.
Stephen rolled his eyes “A lot, douchebag” he responds absently, too busy staring at the blankness of Tony's room "Don't you ever decorate, it's so boring in here,"
Stark looked hurt but deflected "If you done insulting me Potter, let’s go,”
The walk was silent, tension and questions hanging unanswered in the air, which is why the silence quickly reached unbelievable amounts of awkwardness.
"So, who are you?" Tony is the first to speak, hating the lack of sound.
"Doctor Strange," came the curt reply and a small mutter carried through the air to Stephen, 'Strange is right'. Expecting that response, he hastily brushed it off and the rest of the journey wasn’t quite as silent as the first part.
“What razor do you use?” Strange ground out, blatantly refusing to look at Stark.
“Gillette, why?”
“Your-ahem-goatee is nice,”
“It’s all in the flick of the wrist, yours isn’t so bad yourself,” The pair were now only a few metres away from the doors but the feet were planted in the ground as they examined each other’s facial hair thoroughly. As if something had just dawned on him, Tony’s eyes lit up like a flame and his mouth curved into a familiar smirk.
“Facial Hair Bros?” It was accompanied by a fist bump between the new friends, both wearing cheeky grins.
“Definitely,”
Strange yanked the door open, strutting through with his cape billowing behind him. Unfortunately for Tony, the door slammed in his face and he was left with an angry bruise, sour expression and a strenuous magic lesson to attend.
Most of the conversation was filled with unencouraging shouts of ‘stop slacking Stark’ and playful glares from the two. Although Stephen did seem to earn more angry ‘looks’ from his peals of laughter when Stark ended up on the floor, surrounding by broken lightbulbs and ash coating his mussed hair.
“Can we take a break? I feel like your slipping Strange,” Stark groaned, creating an intricate barrier to squash the magic.
As soon as it began to waver, Strange flipped his wrists and thrust them forward, once again, ending with Stark on his butt.
“Am I? maybe I should do that again.” He retorted.
“Nope, no, nada, no-way,”
“Five minutes!”
“Fifteen”
“Five!”
“Fifteen”
“Ten?”
“Sounds good,” Stark finished, disrupting their argument and instead, spinning on his heel to grab his water bottle.
Bzz Bzz
As he was downing his last few droplets in one big gulp, he fished his phone out of his pocket, to reveal another message from Barnes.
Honestly, it’s like their obsessed with you or something
What lovely descriptive words did they use?
Self-obsessed pig who can’t deal with others getting the glory.
Well that’s a new one.
Is it though?
Hell no.
The remnants of that smile from earlier danced across his face, so he faced away from the wizard who wasn’t really paying him any mind. Before he even knew it, his fingers were tapping out a question his guilt refused to allow him to ignore.
How is you shoulder?
Did you get a new arm?
Can I make you a new arm?
He wanted to yell in frustration, but settled on a hopefully snarky asking of:
Did ya get a new arm? The old one was kind of spectacularly violent.
No but don’t feel bad it only feels like my finger is being cut off every ten minutes.
Bile and shame threatened to spill out of his throat while he reread that text countless times. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thought that Barnes had probably been tormented in pains worse than that, but (quite obviously) that did nothing to heed his guilt. Thankfully, another message popper up, and only partially brought him out of his misery.
Don’t feel bad. I have a high pain tolerance.
Can you read minds?
Seriously Stark.
Tony pouted, tapping his finger against his knee tunefully, quite aware of the curious eyes of Strange locked onto his figure. Scrambling through his brain for responses, he sent a glare towards Stephen, before humming along the tune to his tapping. He always was known for his multitasking and humming. But the humming had stopped a while ago, Steve had become agitated in time and snapped at him. Before he knew it, he was freezing up as his mind was dragged unceremoniously back in time.
“Bum. Ta. Bu bu bum. Ta. ba bu bum. Ba da da da da da. Ta. Bum. Ta bum bum bum. Ta bu bum aum. Bu bam bu bam bu bam. Ba la la bum.” Tony’s quiet humming filled the incessant silence f the workshop, Steve always complained about it ‘subtly’ when he was down here.
Steve grunted from his place on the sofa, reading what was most likely a mission report on his Starkpad. Tony was stood halfway across the room, tapping the table time with his humming, as he solved his equations.
“Problem, Cap?”
Steve just gave him a look and continued to tap away at his tablet, refusing to subject to Starks ‘ways’.
“I would appreciate it if you would stop your…sounds.”
“It’s called humming, grandpa,” Stark said, smirks on the outside, pain on the inside. Steve didn’t like his humming? At least he’d never sung in front of him, that would be embarrassing. No one seemed to like any of his little quirks.
Singing? Howard had quickly stopped that little habit with a few sharp smacks, although his mother had been pained, he stopped singing, he found it was better she didn’t know about that day. Each time he let a sound out that sounded remotely like singing, his father would whack it out of him.
“It is better this way” he would convince even if it didn’t work.
And so, he’d taken up humming, a cute little way of continuing the long-gone hobby of his. For Steve to not like it? It hurt. Because his father had been right, Steve wouldn’t like his habits too.
“Well stop Stark,”
It was deadly silent after that until Tony began working on the suit, whenever he worked on it, he couldn’t help but hum, and bob his head to the songs of his childhood. Little hums began escaping his mouth, the notes of song begging to be released.
“Shut the hell up Stark! I told you to be quiet! Why the hell can you never listen to your captain?!” Steve had taken a step forward with each cutting word, succeeding in backing Tony into the corner. Tony took a futile attempt to escape, ducking under his arm, but Steve’s large hand wrapped around his wrist in an iron grip.
Tony was fully panicking now but somehow concealing it under a wavering smirk. Looming over Tony’s face threateningly he whispered the words that were carved into his mind forever.
“It’s your job to listen to me Stark. I’m your captain, and you are inferior.” Slowly the grip around his wrist faded, and it took all of his willpower not to look down at the inevitable bruising.
“Got it,” he muttered, gaze glaring straight at the marble floor, tears almost spilling over the edge.
“You got to listen Tones,” Steve’s tone turned honey sweet, fakely so and he pulled Tony into a tight hug, nails digging into Tony’s back.
He remembered the blue and red swirls covering his wrist, the indents with tiny droplets of blood dripping out on his back.
He didn’t even know he was shaking, or lying on the floor, the memories whipping him into a state he hated; being weak. His body thrummed with silent sobs, ripping through him, and bringing pain to the scars he’d cut into his skin after every meeting like that one.
Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see and feel Strange’s concerned gaze followed by the infamous question he was sick of hearing.
“Are you okay?”
“No! Do I look okay to you? Do I? Of course, I’m not fucking okay! I never will be! A
nd you’ll never understand so don’t you dare ‘are you okay’ me. It hurts so much, and no one notices. So, go the fuck away from me and take all your shitty repetitive questions with you! You are just going to turn out like the rest of them, dead, hurt or hating me, or maybe all three, just get away from me!”
Realising Strange was awaiting a response (because he would never say what he had just thought aloud) he almost sighed with his response. Oh the countless plethora of times he’d said variations of this.
“I’m fine,”
He let out a breath and spun around walking towards the sparkling sliding doors.
“I think that’s enough for today,”
BZZ.
He tugged his phone out of his pocket and almost screamed.
Stark, you okay?
I’m fine.
Are you?
No
Help me
Instead of the reply he so yearned to say he gave up, sick of the fake smiles and smirks, the chuckles and scars.
No.
But fake it till you make it right?
Wrong.