I'm Not Quite Right At All, Am I?
Chapter 1: I’m Not Quite Right At All, Am I?
Tony awoke gasping, and took a moment to be surprised that he was awake at all. It was too quiet, everything felt wrong. The almost comforting incessant buzz of extremis was gone. He couldn’t breathe, extremis wasn’t responding, there was nothing there to regulate his biological functions he couldn’t breathe.
He panicked. Attempting to sit up he realised he was tangled in sweat slick sheets and that his limbs felt heavy and leaden. Shakily reaching up to push his hair back from his face he let out a startled shout, and stared in confused dismay at his hand. His tiny, child-sized hand. What the hell?
Reaching towards the little spot in his mind that he mentally thought of as extremis’ area Tony tried to boot it up again. He was rewarded with an intense lightning bolt of pain to his temples, spinning vertigo joining the intense all over body ache.
He lurched towards the side of the bed, but didn’t quite make it, the resulting vomit dripping down the vertical edge of the mattress onto the floor.
He didn’t know how long he sat there hyperventilating in the darkened room in the centre of the soiled bed.
“Master Tony?”
Jumping in fright at both the noise and the sudden light complete with looming shadow, Tony tried to back away from the source of the voice. Forgetting that he was tangled in the bedclothes he managed a startled yelp and fell off of the bed dragging most of the sheets with him. Fortunately he’d fallen off the opposite edge to the vomit puddle.
“Tony!”
The exclamation of alarm at the thump had his brain reeling in shock. He knew that voice. No it had to be a trick. Stupid, pathetic, Stark men are made of iron. He had to be better than this, who knew what tricks Tha- The Titan was capable of. He should have at least investigated the room he was trapped ins-
His internal tirade was cut off at the sudden bright light that blazed in the room. Cringing back in pain as black spots danced across his vision Tony again tried to retreat from the intruder.
He didn’t get very far, between the sheets, the inexplicable heavy feeling and his new status as a midget, Tony found he was incapable of extricating himself from the knotted ball. The tall man rapidly crossed the room in a couple of strides and scooped up Tony’s struggling form, ignoring the uncoordinated flailing with humiliating ease.
Peering blearily up at the person gently manhandling him onto the bed Tony swallowed down his protestations when the blurry face above him slowly resolved itself into the familiar features of Edwin Jarvis.
“There there Tony, just wait here whilst I go and fetch something to clean you up.”
Shuddering in exhausted fear Tony allowed himself to relax back into the bed. Even if this was a trap, he could selfishly let it run out for now, he was in no state to make a break for it. It was nice, letting the illusion of Jarvis care for him again.
~~~~~~~~~
Edwin gently mopped down Tony’s sleeping form with a damp cloth, he’d been unpleasantly surprised when the boy hadn’t stirred when Jarvis had deposited him on the floor to change the sheets, or even at the wet touch of the cloth.
Edwin peered down at his young charge in consternation as he settled him into the clean sheets. The fever still hadn’t broken, and Tony had been worryingly confused when Edwin had checked in on him, the vomit he’d cleaned up another cause for concern. If Tony’s temperature continued to rise, consequences to Howard’s reputation be-damned, he was going to take Young Sir to the hospital and get him professional treatment. A childhood cold wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous.
As if sensing Edwin’s anger Tony stirred uneasily,
“J- Jarvis?”
The wary fear in his young charge’s voice nearly broke Edwin’s heart. He wished dearly that Peggy were here. Young Tony damn near worshipped her, for all that the young boy exaggeratedly claimed she was “scary”, which Peggy had always preened at as intended.
Plastering a calm façade onto his face Edwin warmly enquired,
“Yes Young Sir?”
“Wh-“ an uneasy swallow, “Where am I?”
Carefully smoothing down the frown that wanted to make itself known Edwin responded with a calm he didn’t feel,
“In your bedroom of course Young Sir.”
Edwin carefully didn’t react at the suspicion that crossed Tony’s flushed face, his slightly unfocused eyes darting back and fourth rapidly as if to verify that information for himself.
There was a pregnant pause, Tony’s laboured breaths loud in the silence.
“Wh-“ Tony’s tongue darted out to wet chapped lips, “When – I mean what day is it?”
Edwin really was concerned now, Tony hadn’t been this bad when he’d put him to bed earlier that evening, grouchy and ill tempered yes, but not delirious.
“It’s Thursday Tony, don’t you remember?”
“No, I mean. What’s the date?”
Edwin’s mood dropped into icy fear.
“Tony?”
“The date! I said what’s the DATE?!?”
Tony’s mood flipped alarmingly from lethargic to enraged in a moment. Edwin took the path of least resistance to placate him, answer the question.
“3rd August, Tony.”
“Year.”
“What?”
“What YEAR?!”
“1976.”
Immediately Tony slumped back into the sheets despair radiating from every pore, the mercurial shifts had Edwin reeling to catch up.
“Whe-Where’s Howar- Dad?”
Edwin frowned outright at Tony’s sudden forgetfulness, noting sadly that even at the height of apparent delirium there was a justified tinge of fear in Tony’s voice.
“Your father is on one of his expeditions,” Edwin spat the last word out with distaste, “He’s due back at the end of the month.”
The despair seemed to leak out of Tony at that, leaving behind world-weary exhaustion. Tony’s eyes fluttered closed, his harsh breathing evening out into the deep regularity of sleep.
Mopping down Tony’s brow with a cold cloth Edwin prepared for a long night of watching his charge’s temperature like a hawk.
He thanked his lucky stars that the house was otherwise shutdown; it was just himself, Tony and a skeleton staff for general upkeep until Howard returned. As he’d said to Tony, Howard was somewhere in the arctic searching futilely for Steven Bloody Roger’s frozen corpse. Edwin knew the epithet was unfair, but he’d watched the guilt eat at his once friend until it left the bitter shell of a man that he now knew behind. Edwin didn’t think he’d ever forgive Howard for holding Steven Rogers up as an example to which he always, always, found Tony wanting. Maria was currently visiting family in Italy, during a stopgap in her travels for her charity foundation.
He removed the thermometer from Tony’s mouth and worriedly inspected the temperature, 103F – not good but not as high as he’d feared. Edwin thought it would be safe to quickly nip down to the kitchen and fetch a bowl of cold water and a clean cloth. It was going to be a long night.
~~~~~~~~~
Edwin spent most of the next day keeping an eye on Tony, he’d managed to coax him into eating a piece of plain toast, but the boy had no appetite. As he chopped the ingredients up for their evening meal Edwin debated with himself if he should ask Ana to come and help him keep Tony company. He didn’t want to intrude on his beloved wife’s free time, which he would be doing if he asked her to take leave to come and look after his employers child, but he knew she cared for Tony as much as he did.
The fever wasn’t getting any worse at least, Edwin didn’t want to risk Ana’s health unnecessarily he wasn’t sure if her immune system was up to it. He decided to wait until Tony got better, until then he was contagious, and he didn’t feel right exposing others. As he prepared the dish he’d learnt from Ana, Jarvis decided that a visit from his wife might be good for all three of them, Tony could use some company, and spending a couple of weeks under the summer sun on the mansion’s grounds could be good for her health. Not to mention he’d be able to stop pulling double shifts, he was exhausted.
~~~~~~~~~
So Tony was six, six what the hell?? He was currently holed up in his childhood room with a bad summer cold on strict bed rest. Turns out that typically of the man, Howard had abandoned him to Jarvis’ care for the summer.
Tony was inordinately irritated by his six-year-old self’s choice of décor. The room was actually painfully plain and cold like the rest of the mansion, all oppressive brown wainscoting, ghastly green brocade wallpaper and heavy dark furniture. Neither Howard nor Maria approved of Tony adding any touches of his own to the mansion – inside his room or out of it, but the little he’d been allowed was depressingly star-spangled. His bedding was in shades of red, white and blue, there was a Captain America poster tacked to his wardrobe door, and his long-lost Cap figure was posed, limbs akimbo, on his dresser.
Despite Jarvis’ words about an expedition yesterday Tony was still semi-terrified that Howard would storm into the room any moment, accusing him of malingering, with the familiar rant about displaying weakness and the refrain “Stark men are made of Iron.”
More than once when he’d still been living with his parents Tony had been sent to school when he’d had absolutely no right to be there. The teachers had rapidly learnt to leave him alone when he turned up in that condition, pursing their lips disapprovingly (not that Tony had understood that the disapproval wasn’t for him) and letting him hide out in the nurse’s office for the duration of the illness.
Tony really did feel fucking awful, 5-day hangover level wrecked, complete with inability to keep much more than water down. The heavy leaden feeling in his limbs had only increased, and he was either wracked with the shivers or far too hot. Sleep was impossible, so he figured he might as well try to work out what was going on. But he kept losing time, Tony could have sworn it was bright out a minute ago, yet the sky had a distinctly dusky tinge to it.
He was still staring at the sky in a daze attempting to remember just when this was, when Jarvis re-entered the room carrying a tray,
“Suppers up!”
Tony was suspicious of the falsely jocular tone but said nothing. Supper turned out to be chicken soup and bread, both homemade by Jarvis. Tony shivered nostalgically as the smell of the broth wafted up at him, gods he’d missed this. Digging into the matzoballs Jarvis had included with enthusiasm he rarely held for food Tony chewed and slurped his way noisily through the bowl.
He unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn, predictably as soon as Jarvis saw it he insisted on helping Tony get ready for bed. Tony tried not to feel too gleeful that Jarvis even tucked him in too.
He resolved that he’d try to work out what the hell was going on tomorrow.
~~~~~~~~~
The following morning the fever had finally broken. Edwin was relieved at the development though he didn’t envy Tony the persistent cough. Tony had insisted that he was well enough to come down to the kitchen because he felt “cooped up” in his room, and that it “smells funky”. Edwin had only resisted the urge to point out that the smell was all Tony by a great force of will, painfully aware of how fragile his charge’s ego was. He had only eventually ceded to Tony’s wishes on the basis that he could make sure that Tony didn’t do anything foolish when the boy inevitably got bored.
Humming as he scrambled eggs for their breakfast he noticed Tony’s strange, almost wistful, gaze. Edwin put it down to the illness, after all Tony hadn’t been out of his room for about a week and that felt like a lifetime at that age. Despite his relief that the fever, in his opinion the most dangerous symptom Tony had shown yet, had gone down Edwin didn’t like the sound of his cough. It was a wet hacking noise; he’d keep a close eye on his charge’s health, perhaps make Tony take some expectorant that evening.
He smiled at Tony’s dubious look at the eggs and wholegrain toast. Whilst he knew that Tony preferred sugar, sugar and more sugar for breakfast, Edwin thought that the boy could do with the protein.
Tony heaved a melodramatic sigh and picked up a fork, he immediately started shovelling eggs down his gullet. Noticing Tony’s sudden lack of table manners Edwin raised an eyebrow in mild reproach.
Tony paused mid-chew, eggy mess grotesquely visible in his open mouth, and flinched. Ducking his head, Tony swallowed loudly, removed his elbows from the kitchen table, and adjusted his grip on his utensils from a fisted clench to dinner-party polite. Edwin filed away the unsettling response for further analysis later.
The comfortable silence the pair usually shared had an uneasy tinge to it that morning. Tony wouldn’t meet his gaze, and had apparently lost his appetite at Edwin’s non-verbal reprimand. Tony poked listlessly at his eggs, pushing them around the plate rather than actually eating them.
Edwin knew from experience that pushing Tony when he was feeling down like this wouldn’t get positive results, but his young charge needed to eat. The poor boy hadn’t been able to keep much down this past week,
“Don’t you like your eggs Tony? I know you usually prefer Cap’n Crunch in the mornings, but I thought this would be gentler on your stomach.”
Tony startled, before he guiltily started shovelling the eggs down at an alarming rate, table manners apparently forgotten again.
“Please Tony, slowly, you’ll choke.”
Although not intended as a reproach Tony clearly interpreted it as one. Edwin resisted the urge to sigh, Young Sir was being remarkably skittish this morning and he wasn’t sure what had brought it on.
Edwin watched Tony carefully as he slowly finished the rest of his breakfast at a measured, pace, manners impeccable. The old butler wished he hadn’t automatically checked Tony’s table manners, it was such an ingrained response that he hadn’t thought twice about it. Edwin had only started doing so to help Tony remain under Howard’s notice.
As Edwin bustled around, tidying up the remnants of their meal, the awkwardness between them didn’t abate. It only grew thicker with strange undertones that he didn’t know how to begin to interpret.
“Jarvis?”
Edwin absolutely did not jump when Tony’s quiet voice broke the silence.
“What’s the date again?”
Swallowing down his worry, and remembering that Tony had only calmed down the other night when he’d listed off the full date Edwin responded,
“5th August 1976.”
Tony’s entire face seemed to crumple at the reminder of the date, and Edwin wasn’t sure how to respond. He carefully watched his charge’s expression for any clue as to why this fact upset him so much.
Face eerily blank Tony jerked his rickety chair back, and stood rapidly.
“May I be excused?”
“Of course!”
Edwin worriedly watched Tony’s retreating back as he left the kitchen.
~~~~~~~~~
If this place was an illusion it was a good one, they’d even included the splintered scuff on Tony’s wardrobe that he’d long since forgotten about. Of course that had somewhat scuppered his plan to tear down that Cap poster as soon as he could stand, his six year old self had been sneaky, Tony was impressed.
He needed to find something to put up there instead; he didn’t think he could bear to stare up at Steve Rogers, posed painfully patriotically, from his bed for much longer. He’d already successfully put Little Cap away in a box somewhere in the depths of the mansion, he’d allowed himself the tiny possibility that he might find it again someday and a brief smile at the well loved toy, paint already completely worn through in places. But Tony Stark as he was now, couldn’t carry around Little Cap as a protective charm in his pocket as he’d once done, not after everything that had happened.
The sheer star-spangled hopefulness of his few childhood possessions had Tony’s thoughts spiralling down dark well-worn paths, he’d had enough of this kind of self doubt to last a lifetime, hell it had lasted a lifetime, but it seemed some things were inevitable no matter what was going on around him.
Steve Rogers was far better than him, always had been, always would be no question of it, he was pure and good and everything Howard had always claimed. But the self-righteous perfection, always, always in the right, and blind devotion he inspired in others infuriated him.
Tony had worked so damned hard to bring the Avengers together, and Cap had torn it all down without a seconds thought. They’d worked together as a team for years, and he’d thrown it all away in an instant without even trying to listen to Tony’s explanation about their delicate political situation. He’d thought he’d known better than more than half of the sovereign states of the world, and he’d somehow concluded that the UN, the bloody UN, the benevolent organisation behind Universal Human Rights and the Geneva Convention, were going to allow Bucky Barnes to be executed.
Perhaps it was Berlin that had done it, maybe if they hadn’t been in Germany Cap wouldn’t have seen Nazis at every street corner?
Urgh even now, years later Cap’s instant automatic mistrust of Tony still ached. Had he honestly thought that Tony had any of that kind of political clout that he’d come up with the document that had split them all apart? Tony agreed with the broad-brushstrokes of The Accords, always had, accountability had to be a good thing, right? The police, the military, medical professionals all had to go through training and certification before they were allowed anywhere near the general public. Accountability was the keystone of so much of the modern system of morality. There was a reason that vigilantes were considered outside the law and dangerous for fucks sake, even he, hypocrite that he was understood that. Otherwise any idiot with a gun could claim that the person he’d just shot dead deserved it like the bad old days of Might is Right.
Tony had recognised that the Accords were deeply flawed, tried to explain that they’d be able to sit down with the UN to ratify them; they’d be part of the process. They’d hash it out with 137 world leaders until there was a system in place that protected everyone, the public, the super-powered vigilantes (because let’s be honest that’s what they had been at the time), and the people unlucky enough to have abilities who just wanted to lead normal lives.
But instead Cap had taken one look at the things, seen swastikas, and torn his world down, destroying any hope of getting the Accords amended and furthering Ross’s bloody agenda. Cap had proven their point for them, and Tony had had to spend so much time on damage control and appeasement, that by the time Tha- The Titan had reared his ugly purple head Tony had been worn thin and ready to drop.
He’d barely had the energy to try to come up with a solution, let alone fight battle after battle alongside people he no longer trusted, or make nice with said same people, living under his roof, spending his money but shooting him contemptuous looks every time he dared to be in the same room as them. He deserved it he knew, but the general public had deserved better. More than once they hadn’t had his back in a fight, or ignored his tactical suggestions and people had gotten caught in the crossfire. Peter had gotten hurt far too often, the poor kid tarred with the same brush as him. Vision only accepted on sufferance. He thanked his lucky stars that Rhodey had been their military liaison and therefore hadn’t seen the worst of it; Tony wouldn’t have been able to stand it if he’d gotten hurt - again – trying to protect him.
No one who’d sided with him that dreadful week had been safe. Even those who’d joined the team long after the events in Berlin had been forced to take sides. Cap had drawn a line. Immutable. The team was forever divided and frankly it had shown.
Those final months had been awful. Absolutely awful, and somehow only the neutral magic users Strange, Doom and Loki of all people had seemed to understand.
And then they’d started losing their people, first Thor and Loki when Asgard burned, Peter, Sue, Stephen, Luke and Jessica, Matt, T’Challa, Vision. The litany of the dead grew in his minds eye, decaying faces staring down at him, blank eyes accusing. It was his fault, all his fault, if only he’d been better, then Steve would have agreed to work with him and they’d have had a unified front to stand up to the unstoppable cosmic forces battering down on them all.
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry. I wasn’t good enough I know. It’s all my fault. I’m sorry.”
The faces of those who he’d seen fall in the final battle joined the others, Bruce, Reed, Starlord, Groot, Hope, Kamala, Victor.
Tony came back to himself on the floor in front of the wardrobe, crumpled and soggy Captain America poster clenched tightly in his fists.
If Jarvis noticed Tony’s red rimmed eyes that afternoon he didn’t say anything.
~~~~~~~~~
Edwin finished cleaning up the kitchen before he checked on mansion security, and gave the surfaces in the main living areas a cursory dust.
Edwin and Tony skirted around each other for the rest of the day, Edwin’s exhaustion and the sheer size of the mansion allowing Tony to avoid him with ease. If Tony’s earlier behaviour hadn’t been so uncharacteristic Edwin wouldn’t have been too worried, Tony had a tendency to hide in strange corners of the mansion putting together little contraptions in a bid to impress Howard. He had a love/fear relationship with his father, forever trying to gain the man’s attention and impress him, but always terrified of the consequences. Which were inevitably poor, at best Howard would dismiss the boy with barely a glance in his direction.
After checking in all of the likely places, Edwin had given it up as an impossible task and went to air out Tony’s room. Edwin knew that all of the dangerous areas were secure – including the routes outside, Tony would come and find him when he was ready. (Edwin felt like a terrible caretaker at this thought, the boy was six for heavens sake! However the Stark-Carbonell genes were already showing true, Tony had a stubborn streak a mile wide, and more than enough intelligence to back it up.)
Tony had been correct in his assessment, however crudely phrased, his bedroom had been doing double duty as a sickroom recently after all. Edwin left sandwiches after clearing a spot on Tony’s bedroom perpetually parts-littered desk. He’d ended up changing the sheets out a second time in as many days.
Edwin was beginning to worry about Tony’s wellbeing, the cold had faded to a general lethargy and unpleasant cough, but the jumpy edginess? That had lingered. If Edwin was being honest with himself the expression he kept catching on Tony’s face was a painfully familiar one. Tony tended to wear it whenever Howard was around. The alarming thing was, he’d never seen it directed at himself before.
Noting the disappearance of Tony’s beloved Captain America action figure and the giant poster on the wardrobe (he smiled ruefully at the revealed gouge in the wardrobe door, he still remembered Tony’s panicked confession and the plan they’d come up with together to hide the evidence) Edwin’s worry for Tony increased tenfold.
For all that Edwin disapproved of what Howard was doing to Tony with the stick of Captain America, Tony adored Steve Rogers. More often than not he asked for tales of the Howling Commandos for his bedtime stories, the fact that Tony had removed all evidence of the good captain, his idol, from his room was more than a little alarming.
After discreetly looking around Edwin espied the damp remnants of the poster in the wastepaper basket. The action figure was nowhere to be seen.
~~~~~~~~~
Fortunately for Edwin’s peace of mind Tony materialised from who-knew-where in the kitchen at dinnertime. It was difficult to set rules with a child, when he was technically one of your employers, but Tony had always respected the few boundaries that Edwin set, and morning and evening meals were one of them.
Edwin attempted to draw his charge out into conversation, drawing on and discarding several topics that had previously been guaranteed to lure Tony into loud proclamations and debate. Robots, engines, maths, computers, Captain America (Edwin had hesitated over this one, but he’d been dredging the bottom of the barrel) none of them raised a spark of interest. Polite, Jarvis hesitated to call them evasions, but he didn’t have any other word for it, but no real answers or conversation. Tony’s responses were all surprisingly perfunctory, even the slightly underhanded choice of Rex, the robot dog Tony was trying to finish before Howard came back to the mansion elicited nothing more than a quick rather technical reply about proper wiring practices. Edwin was taken aback when Tony latched upon his awkward and desperate conversational salvo about music with all the fervour of a starving man grasping at a banquet.
“Do you like music Tony?”
“Of course! What’s not to like? The baseline really helps me keep my mind on track, and the words drown out the -”
Tony lapsed into guilty silence as if he realised that he’d done something wrong, Edwin couldn’t have that. It was the first real response he’d had all night,
“What genre, um type, of music do you like Tony?”
“Um…” Tony’s face took on a strangely considering expression, as if he was trying to work out what answer would be the correct one, his expression hardened, shoulders squaring as if making a decision “Hard Rock. Uh- that is Heavy Metal, Rock, Punk. You know ACDC, Black Sabbath, Metallica.”
“Who?”
Tony blinked as if he’d never considered that someone could not have heard of, well presumably the list was band names. Edwin wondered how he’d come across them. He’d never heard Tony express a particular interest in music before; Edwin decided it must have been at the awful private school Howard had insisted upon.
Tony’s face started to fall again, Edwin hurriedly jumped in with a semi-panicked suggestion, he wanted to see Tony rambling enthusiastically again, not this quiet jumpy child that had taken his place.
“Well Tony, we could look at my music collection tomorrow and see if there’s anything you’d like to listen to?”
~~~~~~~~~
As promised the next day saw Tony and Jarvis both sat inside Edwin’s little suite. The rooms were fairly comfortable, well appointed and a reasonable size. However Edwin much preferred the cosy rooms at the tiny house he and Ana shared.
Edwin looked at Tony in fond amusement, his young charge’s outrage at the woeful lack of any “modern music” in his small but perfectly formed thank you very much, Jazz collection, had him biting the inside of his cheek in an attempt to keep a straight face.
Knowing Tony as well as he did, he knew that laughter would only be interpreted as mocking. Edwin was grateful that Tony finally seemed to be settling back down to himself, he’d been worried there for a while that something was seriously wrong.
“Well perhaps we should rectify that when you’re less contagious?”
~~~~~~~~~
Once Edwin was satisfied that Tony’s persistent cough had finally receded to acceptable levels he made good on his promise. The pair took one of Howard’s ridiculous cars into New York proper.
It would be good for Tony to get out of the house for a while, even if it was only for a drive. Edwin’s breakthrough on the music had been the only one, mores the pity. The previous couple of days had seen the pair of them in an uneasy holding pattern, Edwin was unwilling risk upsetting Tony when it could be nothing more than an old man’s imagination, and thus far Tony had seemed happy to abuse that reticence.
“Where are we going Jarvis?”
Edwin smiled mysteriously,
“Oh just a little shop that I know.”
Tony’s look of dismay as they pulled up outside of “Jazzin Solos” made Edwin chuckle.
~~~~~~~~~
It was the realisation that ACDC didn’t exist, not properly, not yet, that pathetically made Tony’s chest ache. Once the shock of losing extremis had worn off it had actually been a relief to be alone inside his own head again. No more live stream of the world’s hatred of him direct into his brain in cold uncaring binary. Or at least for now, Tony wasn’t sure yet if it was gone or dormant, or just suppressed as part of some cruel trap.
Tony wasn’t entirely convinced that the cosy situation with Jarvis was going to last beyond the time it took him go to sleep and wake up again. But it was nice to pretend for a while.
He’d just about convinced Jarvis that his current inexplicable new interest in music wasn’t a fad that would be discarded and forgotten about within days, only to be horrified when they’d finally reached the mysterious record store and the clerk hadn’t even heard of ACDC.
Swallowing down the lump in his throat Tony half-heartedly browsed the ridiculously outdated collection of music, albeit on a format that hadn’t aged into defunct even back in his time, it was downright depressing. Somewhat cruelly he ignored Jarvis’ worried glances, he was supposed to be six, supposed to be oblivious right?
The store was grotty and smelled strongly of tobacco smoke (with more than a whiff of something… herbal) and the stacks were reassuringly full, if eccentrically catalogued. The shelf dividers were clearly homemade, hand scribbled artist names and genres sharpied directly onto brown chipboard. The brick walls plastered with black and white images of the old Jazz, Blues and Rock masters, big band names side by side with the likes of King Curtis and Little Richard.
The shop clerk matched the eclectic feel of the place, his personal style a disconcerting mix of Jazz aficionado, and aging hippy. Old fashioned 5-piece suit, long greasy hair held back by a peace-sign adorned sweatband, hairy toes poking out from his pressed trouser legs, pudgy feet squeezed into some charmingly hand-woven flip flops.
For all that Tony really wasn’t nostalgic something about this place gradually made a tight knot unfurl in his chest. The silence of his rooms had been unnerving him all week, the promise held here was liberating.
This was a style of shop that Tony hadn’t even been aware that he’d missed, digital copies lasted forever with the correct precautions, and he’d easily been able to take his entire music collection with him wherever he went in the future. And yet Tony had kept his record collection, albeit in the same dusty corner of the Malibu mansion as Howard’s heavily edited Stark Expo film reels.
Despite his dismay at the lack of heavy metal, he caught something intriguing on the edge of his vision. His eye was drawn to a striking cover of black and pure white, bold red lettering running into one giant uberword as German was prone to.
Turning to look at the LP (he was in a record shop buying LPs for gods sake!) head-on he read off the album name bemusedly: STATIONTOSTATIONDAVIDBOWIE. Huh. He’d been vaguely aware of the guy, enough to make note of his death and acknowledge his apparent musical genius to the press when it came up, but he’d never really paid much attention. Perhaps it was time to change that.
Reaching almost reverently up to the shelves, ignoring the clerk’s mild outrage, he was stymied by his lack of height.
Thankfully Jarvis was right there with him, gently reaching over his head and passing the record down.
“Are you sure Tony? Remember you are only allowed to choose three records.“
“Yes.” And then a belated, “Please.”
Eventually Tony and Jarvis left the dingy little record shop with four albums in hand, well in Jarvis’ hands, given that the LPs were currently bigger than Tony was wide, three for Tony and a Jazz record for Ana.
He’d had a bit of a fight with both Jarvis and the clerk over his choice of record. Jarvis had expressed concern when he’d picked a second David Bowie LP from the stack,
“Wouldn’t you prefer to pick a selection of artists Tony?”
“No.”
To be fair Tony had picked the second Bowie LP purely for the reaction it would garner if Howard ever saw it. The bloody thing was glorious, a twisted playboy centrefold of an image with a naked half-dog half-man version of Bowie looking directly out at the viewer with Tony’s own trademark “I know you want me so let’s fuck” look in his eyes. The clerk had actually perked up by that point with the promise of a sure sale, and had mentioned that he could order in more Bowie records for them if they came back. Tony had been tempted, but thought he should actually listen to his purchases before making a decision.
Frankly he’d been surprised Jarvis hadn’t tried to push him into buying something more “age-appropriate” but he should have given the older man more credit. He always had cared for Tony far more than he’d dared to let on, and it showed whenever they were alone together and he could carefully indulge his young charge.
It was a relief to see the clerk’s face light up in recognition at the name Black Sabbath, pointed disgust at Tony’s poor taste, and Jarvis’ lack of intervention at Tony’s choice of a “satanic” band sure, but recognition nevertheless. Tony had been disappointed that the only LP under their name was Paranoid – but it was far far better than nothing. Having a familiar band’s music clutched in his stumpy six-year-old fingers was a hell of a balm to the soul. Even though Jarvis’ choice of music shop was lacking in hard rock at least he’d found something of home.
~~~~~~~~~
Edwin smiled down fondly at the top of Tony’s head as he drove them back to the mansion, the boy was practically vibrating with excitement. Their purchases clutched carefully to his chest. Their little trip had definitely been an excellent idea.
Edwin thought it might be wise to make sure that Howard never saw Tony’s budding music collection, perhaps he’d suggest that it be stored in his room?
When they got back to the mansion Edwin carried out the plan,
“Tony – why don’t I show you how to properly place an LP on my set-up? That way Howard won’t know if you accidentally do anything to the needle. Records are delicate, and needles more so.”
Tony rolled his eyes at him. Edwin wondered where he’d picked up the habit.
“I knooooooow how to play an LP Jay-“ a guilty pause, “Jarvis.”
“Well you won’t mind reminding an old-timer like me how it’s done then will you?”
Edwin watched Tony carefully as he placed the LP on the turntable with seemingly practiced hands. Where his charge had learnt the proper technique he wasn’t sure, Howard had certainly never let him anywhere near the turntable in the family living room.
Edwin excused himself to make lunch whilst still ruminating over the growing list of changes to Tony’s personality. He seemed different, simultaneously more confident and more nervous all at once. He even held himself slightly differently. Edwin wanted to believe it was down to Tony’s recent illness, but he hadn’t helped Peggy Carter and Howard Stark carry out clandestine operations for all those years without picking something up. He’d have to be a very dull fellow indeed to not pick up on some of the skills needed for the job.
~~~~~~~~~
Once Jarvis left Tony hurriedly and reverently plunked the hard won Black Sabbath LP on the turntable in Jarvis’ little room. Tension he hadn’t even been aware of gradually faded out of his shoulders as the first low metallic almost lazy chord of Warpigs leaked out over the speakers, the harsh electric buzz thrumming almost laconically. Perversely he relaxed completely as the air raid siren rang out.
Chuckling to himself darkly at the irony of a warmonger adoring this distinctly anti-war album, he noticed once more the irony that he’d probably subconsciously named Rhodey’s suit after this track. Probably had something to do with the pleasing coincidence of his own alter ego’s name and this album.
Hrmm perhaps he could use this album’s “influence” during his formative years as an excuse to never follow his father’s legacy into the weapons industry.
Iron Man when it came on was not as much of a comfort as he’d thought it would be. The song’s doom laden tone, and wrathful lyrics hit distressingly close to home after everything that happened between himself and the other Avengers, the rest of the world really they saw him like this, and then his mind turned to the distressing months during the build up to Thano- and well he’d gone off to save the world and ended up somewhere utterly strange hadn’t he?
Forcibly biting down on his distress in case Jarvis were to come in to see him having a panic attack over a rock album Tony hurriedly ripped the LP off of the deck almost unheeding of the possible damage the needle could have wrought. Only the thought of Jarvis’ disappointment added any degree of care to his actions. He couldn’t bear the idea that Jarvis would think him so careless with something he’d bought for Tony.
Rifling through the brown paper LP bag Tony hesitantly dug out STATIONTOSTATIONDAVIDBOWIE, as he’d forever think of it in his head. Gently placing the LP on the deck he laid back on the floor trying to calm down and focus on the music, he wanted the act of listening to prevent further distressing thought about everything he’d left behind. Fortunately the strange unexpected sound of a train of all things working it’s way across the room had his mind spinning in new more mechanical directions, the harsh spin of his thoughts slowed to a calmer ticking over.
The cool detached tone of the song suited Tony’s mood eminently, seamlessly matching the refrigerant coolant for blood helplessness of his mood without forcing his mind into a downward spiral of dark self-loathing panic. This time the dire chorus of “It’s too late!” screamed out by Bowie synced with his emotional state instead of tipping it over the edge. By the time the ten minute long opening track had played out Tony felt far more in control of himself, not better, he didn’t think he’d ever feel alright ever again, but with his hands grasped firmly around the steering wheel.
Feeling a renewed interest in the world around him, Tony reached out and started examining the unfamiliar record sleeve; he found he appreciated the stark cold contrasts of the design. Chuckling darkly at the ironically named song Golden Years, Tony realised that he’d found a new musical soul mate. He’d never usurp ACDC, but this David Bowie understood the pain of living in the public eye, and expectations, and the desperate helpless rage of living down to a public image. Of course Tony realised he may well have been projecting onto the somewhat obtuse lyrics – he wasn’t in the best emotional place right now, though honestly he didn’t think he knew what a good emotional place was. Still, squashing his extremis enhanced brain the size of a planet (and several server banks and satellites) back into his still expanding six year old self’s head can’t have done him any good.
He’d given himself a whole week to bask in Jarvis’ care. Tony really wanted this situation to be real, but even struck down with a serious fever the whole time he’d been thinking that he’d been through far too much weird shit even before he’d created Iron Man to trust in his perceptions. Shuddering at the memory of what Ty had done to both of them in his obsession, Tony lay back on the carpet to stare at the ceiling and think.
Assuming this wasn’t all some elaborate trap, and Tony still hadn’t dismissed the option, he thought he was currently in the last month before Howard sent him off to that fancy boarding school. Howard had sent him off at age six and a quarter in spite of, or perhaps because of the genius he’d shown when he’d toddled into his study with that circuit board at four, and the V8 engine he’d put together when he was si- well a few weeks ago at this point. Again assuming this wasn’t all some elaborate charade.
He, he really needed to test this wasn’t a dream world of some sort. Though of course the rules of the DreamVision tech wouldn’t necessarily apply here, given the level of tech equals magic insanity that Thanos and his armies had had access to. Though if this dream world was based on his memories, would an album he’d never knowingly listened to before be available? He didn’t think even his brain would dream up the cold soundscapes he was currently enjoying. He hadn’t thought that he’d ever come to like this sort of music. Ironic really considering that it was electronic, cold and familiarly funky in a very soothing way. It felt like one of his engineering binges, one of the healthy ones, where creation for creation’s sake was a joy rather than repentance or an escape from other thoughts.
Letting the plans for testing his environment tick over on one level of his mind he got back to thinking through his ideas of what to do, just in case everything really was as it seemed.
He vaguely remembered getting sick, and Jarvis staying with him. He’d been sent away not long after, after the incident at dinner. Howard had hit him for some fictional perceived slight, not that he’d known that at the time. He’d never known what he’d done wrong, just that he had. No the physical violence hadn’t been the final straw; it had happened often enough, it had been Howard forcing him to gulp down that glass of bourbon to be a man that had done it.
Maria had somehow been able to ignore the physical abuse, but forcing her bambino to drink alcohol? When both of his parents were already alcoholics?
Again though he hadn’t realised any of this the first time around, he’d just thought he’d done something wrong. That he’d been sent away because he’d been bad, or at least worse than usual.
On the verge of another panic attack Tony let the ritual of flipping the LP and positioning the needle carefully on side two keep him from tumbling over the edge. The off kilter melodies of the current track soothed him back down into a more productive frame of mind. Gods – he really wasn’t in a good place right now. If his hypothetical captors had wanted something from him, all they’d have had to do was dump him in a cell and start the torture – he’d crack like an egg in his current state. He sincerely doubted that anyone would ever be able to put him back together again either, not the King’s horses, nor SHIELD, nor the Avengers, or the surprisingly compassionate King T’Challa. Not that they’d ever shown any inclination towards giving him the time of day. But the image of Egg-Tony, complete with goatee, being clumsily held together in Hulk’s large green hands as the Black Panther reamed into the other Avengers for their incompetence with the glue and tape brought a twisted smile to his face.
Once he’d managed to reacquire some facsimile of calm Tony realised he needed to sit down and try to come up with a plan of action, just on the off-chance that this was really real. He had a vague grasp of world history, or rather current events – but the really big stuff? He’d been there. He needed to make sure it didn’t happen that way again. He really hoped that Tha- The Titan was truly gone, but there was no way to tell, so he needed to prepare as if he was still a threat. Starks knew when to hedge their bets.
Perhaps it would be a good idea to try to contact Asgard, warn them not to let Loki fall. He’d grown to like the miserable git in the run up to The End, their backgrounds were too similar for him not to notice the parallels. Nah they’d never listen to a puny Midgardian, not without a hell of a push. Tony remembered what Jane had told him about the casual and shocking level of jingoistic racism the Asgardians displayed during that mess that led to the destruction of Greenwich.
But as Fury had said so many years ago, they were hopelessly and hilariously outgunned. And it would be lovely if first contact wasn’t a violent incident that resulted in a small town getting, first levelled, and then, adding insult to injury split apart as a community. They were forcibly relocated and made to sign NDAs that ensured they’d be sued into the ground if they so much as whispered about the incident with The Destroyer.
The destruction of that little community had been made moot not long after, with the Invasion of New York, and magical craziness of the Glowstick of Destiny.
Huh maybe he should branch out his specialities a bit. Of course he’d still continue with the tech, he couldn’t not, it was in his blood, and his innovations were needed. But maybe just maybe he should attempt to do as Strange, or rather Doom – with his bizarre but potent mix of science and mystical knowledge – had done before him.
Blinking in surprise at his own conclusions Tony snorted at himself, he’d always hated magic. And now he was proposing that he learn it?
At least his brain was young and malleable enough again to take to the bullshit and nonsense.
And it could prove useful in ensuring his current level of existential dilemma never reoccurred. Being able to detect mystical hoodoo directly would be ridiculously useful.
Speaking of, he had picked up some of the basic theory from Strange and Doom lately. Though he hadn’t had time to feel smug, several of his long-held observations and theories had proven true. Perhaps he could attempt to apply it? Urgh no doubt the illusion would account for that. Still it might be worth a shot.
This whole situation was untenable – he had no way to get outside verification that what he was seeing was the real world. He didn’t know the rules of this place. Didn’t know if he was caught in the Matrix, or if he’d already taken the red pill.
And even if an outside party did turn around and say that everything was real and true and right… He couldn’t take their word for it. Gods it was enough to drive a man mad, though Tony secretly thought he’d been insane for far longer than even the meanest of the gossip rags gave him credit for.
Allowing himself the tangent, Tony got back to planning for a potential future. He had to make sure he was sent off to that boarding school, much as the very idea of the place made him shudder in revulsion. He’d hated it there. Hated it. It had only gotten better when Ty- Tony swallowed down the bile that even thinking of Tiberius invoked.
Either way he had to get to the boarding school, and test out of the system ASAP. Earn himself some measure of freedom from Howard. Even if it earmarked him out as an even bigger freak than he’d been the first time around.
If this was for real he needed to get out from under Howard’s thumb, he needed to get away, reconfirm his qualifications – and oh gods that was going to take years, but it had to be done.
Tony Stark needed to be known as a technical and scientific genius once again, much as he’d hated everything that came with Stark Industries and his public persona he had to be in a position to take control and build up Earth’s defences pre-emptively.
Cap would probably be sneering at him right now, once again he was choosing to further his own goals, his selfish capitalist empire was going to have to exist in order for this half formed plan to have any hope at succeeding.
Sighing to himself Tony realised with a heavy heart that he’d need to add a business degree to his resume, he’d avoided it the first time around, effectively leaving all of the heavy lifting to Obie – and look how well that had turned out.
Was MIT far enough away from Howard’s influence? Whilst his memories of the place were mixed at best, he’d met Rhodey there. He couldn’t bear the idea of not knowing his oldest friend in this lifetime.
Of course if none of this was real, perhaps school was part of the trap. Maybe they’d sneakily get him to build for them?
Realising his thoughts were spinning in increasingly erratic circles Tony sighed and turned to put on the third and final LP he’d acquired today. He still had a few weeks of breathing space to work things out.
He took the time to appreciate the opening strains of Diamond Dogs –“This ain’t rock and roll, this is genocide!” Yeah he definitely wasn’t letting Howard see this LP.
Leaning against the LP cabinet Tony prodded gingerly at the corner of his mind he thought of as Extremis – and got a blinding headache for his troubles. It felt like knives were stabbing into his eyes. Hell it felt like the migraines Tony had gotten when he’d come down with heavy metal poisoning from the palladium. Thankfully they’d left with the palladium arc reactor, and the Starkanium (don’t laugh, Howard had named it, the bastard. Tony had been hoping to register it as Unobtanium only to find Howard had beaten him to it) he’d synthesised had somehow fast-tracked the process of flushing the palladium from his system. He hadn’t thought about it at the time, but once the fight was over he’d been grateful for that small miracle. He had not been looking forward to years of chronic illness as his body broke down the fat the palladium had been sequestered in.
Taking deep breaths through the pain Tony forced himself to focus back on the music, Diamond Dogs was segueing into the next track. He half-heartedly spread the gatefold sleeve out to find its name – Sweet Thing. Tony shut his eyes and found himself appreciating the gloomy soundscape and evocative nonsensical imagery the next 10 minutes brought.
“Is it nice in your snow storm, freezing your brain? Do you think that your face looks the same?”
The line brought him up short, remnants of his headache sparking behind his eyes as they shot open. Damn that was his twenties in a nutshell; he knew a coke bender when he heard one. He was going to do his damndest to avoid that vice this time around.
As the familiar electric riff of Rebel Rebel blared over Jarvis’ speakers Tony settled in to listen to the music.
~~~~~~~~~
Edwin found himself peering fondly down at Tony’s small form sprawled on the floor in the middle of the rug surrounded by his newly acquired LPs. The room was designated as his whenever he needed to stay the night rather than go the short distance home to the house just off the mansion grounds and Ana. The LP Tony had clearly put on still spinning through its music, somewhat alarmingly the lyrics were a chanted repetition of “shake it up shake it up” but Edwin just knew that Howard’s one track mind would immediately hear “gigolo gigolo” instead. The track descended into a cacophony of noise before thankfully trailing off into silence as the needle reached the run out groove and moved back to it’s cradle.
Beyond the basic necessity of keeping Tony’s belongings from Howard there was no way on earth he was ever letting Howard get a hint of this particular LP. If it weren’t for the look of hurt betrayal that was sure to grace Tony’s features Edwin would have been tempted to confiscate the damned thing for his own good. But he knew it was no good – one look up at him with those ridiculously oversized chocolate eyes and he’d cave immediately.
Edwin carefully stowed the dangerous LP in its equally dangerous sleeve, and slipped it between some of his own records. He pondered whether to wake Tony from his snooze, the tyke was drooling into his rug.
Glad as he was that Tony was getting some much-needed rest, he still wasn’t fully recovered from the virus. (Frankly Edwin had been shocked at the amount of self-restraint Tony had shown there, he’d been sure that the Young Sir would instantly be found in the little area he’d claimed as his “workshop” inhaling solder fumes, heedless of the instructions to carry out the process in a well-ventilated area.) But he still looked wan and pale, or rather more wan than usual.
Gently shaking his charge awake Edwin decided that he’d continue trying to draw Tony out of his shell over lunch, and let him take another nap once he’d eaten.
Lunch was a fairly light meal of tomato soup and sandwiches. Whilst lunch at a table wasn’t one of Edwin’s rules, he’d missed Tony’s company, so pushed the issue.
“Did you enjoy the records?”
Tony’s face took on that unfamiliar considering cast again, Edwin was quickly learning to hate it,
“It’s ok if you didn’t Tony. There’s no shame in buying a record and realising it’s not as good as it looked in the shop.”
‘Uh – well, I really liked the David Bowie records, but there was one song on Paranoid that I. Well. I thought I like it at first, but I, um, well I didn’t.”
Edwin really wasn’t sure what to make of that little speech, he was well used to Tony stumbling over his words, brain constantly running faster than his mouth could keep up. This slower brand of reticence was yet another worrying new development. However Tony’s taste for one of the two artists gave Edwin an idea of just what he could use to replace that ruined Captain America poster.
“Well it’s fine to not like all of the songs on an album Tony, there’s a reason there’s you can lift the needle off whilst the record is still playing you know.”
Tony shot him a look that Edwin had no idea how to interpret, and pointedly started in on his soup.
Edwin decided that he really did need to bring Ana in to help with this.
~~~~~~~~~
Tony couldn’t believe he’d been doing nothing more than hanging out with Jarvis for nearly a whole week, he stared out of his open window with mixed feelings, the unexpected nostalgia that kept cropping up warring with the more familiar feeling of icy coldness that he associated with his childhood “home”. He inhaled the smell of grass and the gentle waft of Maria’s favourite flowers appreciatively and reluctantly moved away from his window to settle down for a round of serious problem solving. He was glad it was apparently summer here - he’d been living in Malibu all those years for more than the lure of LA’s beaches, and ever since The Accords, and Siberia, he’d hated the cold more than ever. It was time to try and answer some of those nagging questions that kept spinning around in his brain.
Phase One in the Work Out If His Current Situation Was Mystical Mojo Plan (it was a hell of a mouthful but he was working on it) involved sitting cross-legged on the floor of his small bedroom and attempting something he’d not dared try in years. Meditation.
He’d first learnt the technique from Bruce, back when they’d just been Science Bros, high off their success at repelling the Chitauri attack the pair had spent weeks together sciencing and just talking about things that neither of them had shared with anyone else.
Of course eventually even Bruce in his infinite calm and wisdom had tired of Tony’s… Tonyness one day and gently persuaded him to sit with him in silence to try to clear his mind.
Clear his mind. That was important, not emptying his mind. That was a dangerous and stupid goal to aim for Bruce had been extremely firm about that. And for all that Tony had internally scoffed at the so-called danger, he’d heeded Bruce’s words. Bruce had never given him reason to doubt, so when his fellow scientist instructed that the technique was just so Tony had listened.
It was a good thing he had too, as he’d later found out when he’d met his Awesome Facial Hair Bro, Stephen Strange. They’d ended up fighting demons, actual bloody demons together. Not to mention the whole load of crap that came with every single encounter with Doom, he still felt his teeth grinding whenever he thought about Spamalot.
Consciously refocusing on calming his multiple thought streams down Tony got back to thinking through the meditative process. Allowing the mental armour upgrades, and dozens of other ideas for prototypes to continue unimpeded he followed the fond memory through to its conclusion.
Tony hadn’t really enjoyed meditating back then, he could see that there could be some benefits to the mind-state, but he hadn’t really felt the need to consciously alter his habitual thought streams when they worked so efficiently towards scientific discovery and creation. He’d willingly joined Bruce when the mood struck, but never really sought out opportunities to do so. After Sokovia, and The Accords the very idea of willingly examining his own hateful mindscape had been absolutely abhorrent.
Taking a series of deep calming breaths in through the nose and out through his mouth Tony gradually managed to settle down into a light trance. He leisurely began sorting through his working knowledge of magic, acquired over years of dealing with Asgardian-brand idiocy, uru, Strange’s requests and Doom’s particular brand of scientifically laced awfulness.
On a simplistic logical level Tony knew that magic at it’s most basic was energy manipulation. He had the scan readouts to prove it, and thanks to his eidetic memory, or perhaps the effects of extremis he could pull up several sets of data in his minds eye to compare.
Of course nothing in his life was ever that simple, the type of energy varied from individual to individual, with situation, and with the object. Sometimes the energy released was something simple and quantifiable – like thermal energy, or gamma radiation. More often it was something that his sensors couldn’t identify, and occasionally, much to his frustration – whatever it was blew out all of his equipment.
Useful as his heard-earned technical knowledge would probably prove in the long run it was useless to him now, though perhaps the basic ideas about energy would prove a decent stepping off point. When questioned magic users had always been adamant that attempting to explain what it was like, was akin to explaining colour to someone who’d always been blind. Even when trying to be helpful their explanations had been frustratingly vague and hand-wavy. A common thread to the explanations, which even more annoyingly had as many variations as assholes and opinions, was that a particular frame of mind was needed. Again the explanations about the frame of mind were all over the place, but it was a start.
Remembering the mental state he’d used when accessing extremis on an extremely fine level, and remembering the pain he’d incurred on every other attempt, he was careful to stop short of actually trying to access the software. Tony attempted to focus his attention on trying to work out if it was possible to feel out anything like that level of energy detection with purely the senses he’d been born with. It was frustrating enough that he almost dropped himself out of his hard-earned meditative state. Relaxing his grasp on his thought processes he released the frustration and tried to look at it from a different angle.
Where did the energy come from? How was it manipulated? Nope no that was going down the same route again, and he’d been sitting here long enough that even in his six-year-old body he could feel things beginning to protest.
He moved on to testing out whether his solution to the DreamVision incidents with Ty would solve anything. This whole situation, with its frankly awful level of existential angst was horribly familiar. He’d simply…willpowered his way out of both situations if he was being honest with himself. Tony wasn’t sure that would work even if his whole situation was a horribly advanced technological trap, but it wouldn’t hurt to try.
Tony started applying will at his environment, attempting to manipulate it with thought alone. He felt vaguely ridiculous, sitting there straining like he was trying to take a particularly difficult dump. In the end he had to give it up as a bad job when he began to feel his heart racing and his temple throbbing.
Letting his mind wander where it would Tony absently came up with a new design of Starkpad that had a much more efficient battery life, using an ecologically sound bio-battery system that was ridiculously recyclable. Of course the technology to manufacture the device’s basic computer components probably didn’t even exist yet. Let alone recreating the bacteria and cell for the battery. But it was a nice thought.
The bio-battery specs had him pondering the play of the wind through the leaves of the tree visible from his open window. Still half in his exerting will mindset and half in his extremis-monitoring mindstate he thought he heard something questioning. There was an inexplicable and terrifying sense of being examined by something unknowable, other and fundamentally alien. He tried to answer back, but he didn’t speak the language, didn’t even understand the question. The wind spoke to him, he was one with the birds and the clouds in the sky, and he felt the turn of the earth. The sense of questioning seemed to grow angrier, impatient. He wished he knew what it wanted, he felt tiny and insignificant next to this being, though of course he knew the feeling all too well had done long before his trip into the Void. Something about that thought seemed to satisfy the other. And the sense of impending doom left abruptly.
Holy flying fuck! What the hell was that? It felt horribly like a hallucination, with a sinking feeling he dragged himself out of the impending flashback, he did not want to remember the time he’d been roofied by that idiot who’d thought LSD was the same as-
Tony came back to himself panting on the floor, feeling as though he’d just run a marathon with the arc-reactor out and no idea what on earth had just happened.
Oh gods he now had a third option to add to his list of potential scenarios, 1) Trap by Tha- The Titan, 2) Back in time 3) He’d gone insane. Bag of cats, batshit, certifiable, nuts, crazy, mentally disturbed…
Cutting the stream of thought off ruthlessly Tony tried to focus. Right. Shakily grabbing the glass of water on his desk, he noticed the breeze caressing his hair. Tony gulped it down in one long swallow, and turned to look warily at the tree. Nothing. It was a tree.
Well Phase One had been a long shot anyway.