revivalproject

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WHO: Tony and...you?
WHERE: The forge, the hospital
WHAT: Dealing with Iron Man
WHEN: Mid-September
WARNINGS: Tony's depression is a rich bouquet of alcoholism and self-destruction. It's a touch gory.

a. forge
This wasn't a completely unusual scent in the close air of the forge. The acridity was standard, the taste of coal and slag even before the regularly singed hair. It was the richness, like oil that shouldn't have been so close to the mouth of the fire, that Tony could taste in the back of his throat and had him blinking out of his distant focus to finally feel the sear that seemed to reach straight to his heart. He sucked in a sharp, wakeful breath, any other sound cut off by the metal clanging to the ground as he dropped the crucible, tearing the deadened skin of his palm with it and leaving him still again as he watched silver spread across the floor and held his scorched hand shakily aloft, struggling to remember what his intended next step was meant to be. His glove dangled from his other hand, along with a glass, chosen primarily for its cleanliness as he searched through the Deep End, and was now smudged liberally with fingerprints as Tony endlessly twisted it at his side.

The criteria for the bottle he had taken had been significantly different, though no less straightforward; as long as it wasn't a terribly lurid colour, it would probably do the job. Tony backed away from the fire, to return to the bottle on the workbench, dropping the gloves and the glass alongside it to consider his blistering hand with a sigh of disappointment. It did hurt a little more when he tried to stretch out his fingers, and he couldn't quite bring himself to, instead leaving it with a glare and propped up on the table as he searched carelessly through nearby boxes and baskets for something to wrap it in so he could keep working. Not that he was going to get much further. Dedicating the amount of resources that he had in the first place to the Iron Man had been a profound waste, and now anything else was best applied to regrouping and rebuilding, and actually protecting them against a future disaster. If he was going to build something like the armor, he was really going to have to recycle what he already had. Which meant he was going to have to go get it again.

b. hospital
When a gentle knock returned only silence in the darkened hallway of the hospital, and Tony easily pushed the door open to a largely empty room, there was an unspooling of disappointment in his chest. Not that he was exactly prepared for what he might say to Wesker, but it didn't seem like he'd have to carefully calculate the kind of provocation that would get him pinned to a wall. A cheerful 'good morning' would have been perfectly effective. Leaving a small puddle of water behind, Tony went drifting into the abandoned room, and slowly sank down onto his knees in front of the lumpy rag that he knew when he tweaked up would reveal the slightly battered scales of the Iron Man. "Morning, dear," he mumbled to it in lieu of someone that would punch him, and slid the scattered pieces he'd dredged out of the fountain alongside it. They jangled delicately, while the bottle he set down at his other side clanked on the ground with conviction. Now what? It wasn't like he could lift the imposing weight of the full set of armor and cradle it back to the forge to be melted. It wasn't even all here; there were more parts yet, glowing like embers behind his eyes, somewhere further down the hall, the full list of their individual destructive power and itemized armament scrolling endlessly at the back of his skull like white noise drowning out everything around it. He was squeezing the glass in his lap, and had to take a deep breath to release it again, and shake out his stinging, bandaged hand. He could have at least filled it with water while he was at the fountain, so he could also have something to sip.

He unstopped the bottle, so he could watch the pour, just a couple inches, then carefully set the arrangement aside. He could just ask the armor to assemble and walk itself out of here. It was probably fine. What was the worst that could happen? Plenty of people could have one drink. He wasn't doing anything anyway. He took another breath so he could push himself back up, and set out for those last few pieces. Once the full set of armor was together, then he would have to think about tearing it apart.

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"You say that like I picked the last one," he pouted, blowing out his cheeks as he remained devoted to looking for some gloves. At the very least he could pick up the fallen crucible. In any case, it was something to busy his hands with.

Donnie pulled his sleeves back, the show of bandaging brief as he tugged on an oversized pair of mittens that had two fingers too many. Regarding the floor, he stepped around to carefully pick up the fallen receptacle.

"For a wrist computer- more like a bracer, but yes," he said regarding portability as he set the weighty cup at the edge of the forge and then more or less let the gloves slide off his hands. Tony's insisted stance behind the workbench had him arch a brow, but he didn't seem to think too much of it.

"...what do you need?"

That bandage looked to Tony like Donnie had got that fight that he and his friend were spoiling for, so he raised an eyebrow as Donnie moved around, only until he couldn't crane his neck anymore and went back to searching through parts. "That's what it looks like from here," he pushed. "Thing about this place is, everyone is meant to be extraordinary, specially picked. You can't go swinging your dick around and assume it's going to be an easy win. Probably should think a little harder about what you want to get out of it." If it was some kind of prison rules thing that Donnie was going for, picking a little girl to make his display of dominance probably wouldn't have worked out under the most favourable of circumstances.

Despite the warning, Tony continued conversationally, assuming Donnie wasn't actually asking after anything Tony would need, "Your phone, probably. No sense carrying it around if you're also going to have this bracelet, might as well put it to use. And some sand. How are you with glass?"

Donnie dragged a hand down his face at that. "For the record, it was not my idea to call anyone out, I was trying to stop him," he huffed. "But if I disappear then you can assume I got eaten by someone bigger." He sounded sarcastic (okay, his usual tone tended to lean that way in general), but there was a flicker of worry there and gone in the next as he pushed it aside.

The request of his phone was startling, or would have been more so if he'd actually had his, so he relaxed a little then. "What, the communicator? I mean, true, if I can get a functional computer, but the tablet's still a backup..." He'd have to consider that one.

"Glass, like, are we talking glass-blowing or for windows or something? Although the sand from the beach would probably put out some really nice coloring..."

"Uh-huh." Tony had paused his rifling again, looking to Donnie like he clearly had more to say, only to bite his lip as his eyes darted and he tried to calculate how far he had overshot how much he should have been saying already. "There's always someone bigger," he mumbled instead as he turned back to the array of screws and solder in front of him. If Donnie wasn't willing to repurpose his communicator, Tony was going to have to grow this pile some other way.

"Like glass-blowing, sure," he accepted, raising his eyebrows at DATA who drew himself up over the edge of the table from wherever he had been idling, answering Tony's silent call. They eyed each other for a moment, then DATA was slinking away again, scuttling across the floor to let himself out of the forge. "Projections take a lot of glass, small pieces, delicate work. Is this not something you made before, is this theoretical to you?"

Sidestepping the ever-cooling metal on the floor, Donnie drifted over to where Tony had for whatever reason decided to root himself to. He'd pulled out his tablet, lips pursed in thought.

"I've never had to make something like that entirely from scratch," he admitted with a frown. "And with limited tools."

It was weird to think that he might have been spoiled, considering most of what he'd ever had had been cast off by someone, scavenged from somewhere or another. Parts were still parts, components still very much in convenient, yet workable states.

He had said it with such confidence that it sounded like a foregone conclusion, of course he could make this thing, he just needed the parts, and Tony had to breath a fond laugh before accusing, "The ego is verging on delusion." He plucked up the empty glass that had been sitting in front of him then, only to prop his chin on his knuckles, still committed to his spot but not looking like he was waiting expectantly. "Wouldn't know anything about that."

He didn't have to wait long, because the door was swinging shut again in a moment, and DATA was returning with a brother-camera that he rolled out ahead of him. As he approached, Tony flicked a finger, then nodded toward them impatiently, for Donnie to collect the camera so Tony could get to work disassembling it. "If you weren't picking fights," he noted, despite telling himself that he didn't need to talk, "you wouldn't need a third redundancy, you could be making something else right now. Like a popcorn maker. Or a Gamecube."

If he could tuck his head into his shell as easily as Mikey, he would have right then, instead taking some weak refuge behind the gathered folds of his hood. Sullen, a bit, embarrassed, just so, but he eventually he was also looking over towards the door upon DATA's return.

Donnie arched a brow at the camera before glancing back at Tony. He stepped over to gather up the camera at the man's indication, bringing it over.

"Wasn't picking a fight," he still felt he had to say, practically out of reflex as he wrinkled his nose, but he settled there by the bench, folding his arms to stuff his face against in a proper sulk. "I'd still need games," he mumbled into his sleeve. "Thought the arcade could be salvageable but all of the internal systems are beyond repair so we can't even make any use of the parts."

He shifted a look towards Tony as he watched him work. "You still didn't tell me what you need."

The dedication to the line was admirable, but it got weaker without any better explanation for why Donnie thought he needed the communicator, the goggles, and this new interface, so Tony treated him to another skeptical expression as he eagerly put the glass down again to roll the camera across the table, contemplating how to break it down with one hand. A hammer straight to the shell would be pretty effective.

Following that loud crack, then quick scramble as the camera bounced and Tony had to drop the hammer to catch it, it probably wasn't so convincing when he panted, "Did I say I needed something?" He was perfectly fine, see, the camera was coming apart easily now so it could be divested of its parts. "You can make a game. Game's easy. What, were you just going to use this as a calculator? That's 95% of the way there."

"...."

If Tony thought he was going to overlook the whole one-handed challenge the guy was apparently undertaking then Donnie would take it as an insult to his intelligence. He was already a bit tender in that department for his lack of acceptable (by his standards) productivity.

"I can make a game but it's the whole process. You can't make anything around here without needing to make something else for it, everything's connected and it's annoying- what's wrong with your hand."

Donnie slid right into it as abruptly as he pushed away from where he'd been leaning to make a grab for Tony's hidden hand.

"I know, what do you think I've been doing this whole time? You're welcome, by the way, you should have--Hey!" Tony probably shouldn't have been in the habit of talking over people in the first place, but especially when it left him open and unprepared to be so assaulted. His instinct was to make a quick brace with his free hand against Donnie's shoulder, like he was putting on the brakes too quickly, like seeing the damage was enough to hurt him, too. Tony had at least managed to close his hand by then, clutching around the worst of it where the metal had been against his palm, but that left his knuckles bleeding where the seared skin cracked and broke easily as it stretched. That did look bad. "It's not as bad as it looks," he said quickly. "It's the fire. Occupational hazard. You get used to it. Listen, that's why you can go straight to making a tactile interface, and can skip all of the caveman steps, this is just the price for not living in the stone age."

Donnie held firm, his grip strong but not in a way that would further cause any hurt. He winced as he saw the blood, concerned that maybe he had caused him the pain. But he looked over the mess, letting Tony babble, his own concentration spent analyzing the damage.

Finally he released Tony's wrist, turning to step away from the workbench so he could gather some things. A couple of clean rags kept over by the sink, soaking one in water. He circled back to where he kept a first-aid kit by the pillow and blanket he had stuffed in the neatest corner he could manage in the place. And then he circled back to where Tony was, provided the man wasn't going to make him chase him down.

"Hand," he said once he'd set things down on the workbench, holding his own out expectantly while arming himself with the wet rag.

Edited 2023-09-17 04:38 (UTC)

At least Tony could stretch up out of his awkward hunch finally, but the roll of his shoulder and crack of his neck was a short-lived relief before he was weighed down around his hand cradled against his chest in uncomfortable shame after Donnie's cold departure. He'd have to run out of ways to disappoint the kid eventually, right? Maybe try not to race toward that inevitability, and get some of these parts sorted so he could build his computer.

The most unexpected part of Donnie's prompt return was definitely the prepared kit he brought with him, making Tony's mouth open the moment it appeared so he was saying, "Where did that come from?" even as Donnie made his demand, and had to double back and belatedly work up the proper amount of indignation. "What? No. Didn't I tell you to go get sand? DATA can't handle that, awful at it, he'll be bringing on grain at a time, some things you have to do yourself."

"Oh you know, after getting clawed up and bitten I figured it'd be a good thing to have around," Donnie replied, glib as ever. He gave another shake of his awaiting (bandaged) hand in emphasis. "Hand. Now."

His neck wound wasn't nearly as deep as the ones on his forearm but he still had a thin bit of bandaging wrapped around there, just visible behind the gathered folds of his hood. "DATA, can you grab the bandages in there? And the salve should still be in there too." At least he knew someone was cooperative around here. Well, when he wanted to be, anyway. Sigh. It was difficult being the adult. He hated having to be the adult, but it seemed more often than not, no one else wanted to be.

That was a little detail that Donnie had been keeping to himself thus far, making Tony finally betray, "Did you let a vampire bite you?" He couldn't imagine doing something so reckless, he'd never do such a thing. Before Donnie had to answer, Tony was finally properly turned toward him, to reach out and brace a hand on his face to first drag down on his cheek to check for any redness in his eyes, then his lip for any evidence of growing fangs.

DATA was entirely unbothered by this examination, more than happy to be of assistance and dip his legs into the kit, slowly dragging it toward himself until it was tipping over and spilling across the table.

His retort in annoyance turned into an "Ow!" as he tried to pull away. His cheek was still tender but the scratches and bruising were faint if not already faded. His neck however was still protesting to certain angles.

"I didn't let her do anything, she had me pinned!" Donnie tried to explain around the intrusion of space. "But as soon as I felt her teeth, she disappeared!"

His eyes flicked to the side at the sound of things being knocked over. "DATA, careful with that stuff!"

Not immediately seeing any notable vampire signs wasn't entirely reassuring; Lestat didn't have any of them, either. Tony didn't have any reason to keep a hold on Donnie, though, so he could draw away easily as Tony brought his hand back to his chest, drumming anxiously as he continued to study Donnie's face like he could see through to the infection. DATA was not so easily deterred, rolling a bundle of bandages toward the edge of the table in much the same way he had rolled the other camera, with the delicate push of two legs.

"I think something happens to them, when they get their teeth in you..." Tony was formulating, now that he had this new data point, having never been able to rationalize why Lestat had thrown himself in the fountain. "Or--" It wasn't a great formulation. Every other time he had been at risk, it wasn't the risk that went away, necessarily. "Something doesn't want us to die," he was at least sure about.

The turtle did draw back, tightly at first as he fixed Tony with a look of disapproval for the extra handling before his eyes once again settled upon the man's hand. He reached for it, pausing just short of grabbing it, his own inspection fresh in his mind. Instead he left his hand open, waiting.

"Better than bringing us back from the dead," he mumbled, brow furrowing. "The guy with the mullet said that when he was stuck with some fleet thing before all this, people who died just...got brought back. Not completely unscathed, but they didn't have a say in the matter."

Maybe it was only fair now that Tony aborted his move to recoil, leaving him suspiciously poised, glancing between Donnie's hand and his face like he thought this was some kind of test. Eventually he decided the solution was muttering again, "It's fine, look, doesn't even hurt," and biting his tongue while he flexed his stiff fingers.

Besides, "What mullet...?" was much more important, and Tony might have been able to figure out who might have had this experience with the Atroma if he wasn't immediately distracted by a shiver running through him like he was back int that blowing snow with Felspring dragging him cruelly back to life. Not being allowed to die did sound like torture, but getting that much closer was worse.

The continued stubbornness had Donnie blowing out a frustrated sigh, nose wrinkling at this standoff as it started off anew. "Not fine, only going to get worse," he warned. "It's like you think I'm going to do surgery or something. ...do you not think I know what I'm doing, is that it?"

This wasn't supposed to be such an exhausting thing. It felt that more often than not for every two steps he seemed to achieve in whatever this relationship was, he was knocked back three just when he thought things were comfortable. But he could be stubborn too, and right now he was more worried about Tony potentially messing his hand up permanently.

"Black hair, outdated hairstyle, somewhere between you and me in age." They kind of breezed over names and Donnie had neglected to scroll through the directory to find it.

"What? I--" Tony started indignantly, baffled by the accusation until it became abruptly clear that arguing with him and cutting him off did sound a lot like the way Howard would speak to Tony. That sick clench around his heart did not make him any more eager to burden Donnie with this other broken part of him, but now he had to say something, and all of the tools and repurposed camera parts weren't cutting it. "I think you're the most capable person in this room," was probably not the most glowing of endorsements, Tony was going to have to work on that.

More immediately, he had to quickly decide who might have had outdated black hair, and landed on, "Gladio?," then immediately, "You think Gladio looks younger than me?" Horrifically, another realization struck Tony even as he was talking; Gladio had never mentioned the Atroma. "You think Reeve looks younger than me?"

It couldn't be helped. "You need to leave. Right now. Take him with you, don't even look at me," he demanded, flicking an accusatory finger at DATA, who stared back at him innocently.

It wasn't very convincing. The pause before it already stung, and Donnie had no idea what Tony's thought process was, but the words didn't mean much when he was still refusing help.

He rolled his eyes with an exasperated sigh, taking the opportunity to grab at the man's hand again. So help him, he was going to fix this even if Tony got mad at him, was already mad at him, he figured, even though he wasn't sure why.

"I'd keep such insecurities to yourself," he said, sharper than he probably meant it to be, but Donnie wasn't the greatest at potentially delicate issues. Granted he wasn't being fought against or forced out, he was going to resume his efforts in cleaning up the blood around that burn with careful application of the rag. If Tony didn't believe him, he'd just have to prove it. He'd had plenty of practice; when you lived with brothers like his, there was no way around not learning first-aid, especially when you didn't have casual access to a hospital or a doctor.

"I know who Gladio and Reeve are. I mean someone else. He was mapping out stuff too. DATA, can you pull up the directory?" Could he? Sure, the ball had some rough patches when it came to how he did things, but he'd grown on Donnie ever since their odd stand-offs at the beginning.

The snatching made Tony grimace, though he again didn't resist but put the other hand up in caution, which he had to slowly draw back as he complained, "Jesus, what is this, you're terrifying," for all of Donnie's pushiness. It only became difficult not to yank his arm back, making him clutch tightly into the front of his shirt, as Donnie proceeded so gently. It certainly wasn't a gentleness that he deserved, or that he wanted Donnie to think he needed, or that should have been Donnie's responsibility in the first place. Tony had done it to himself, he should have had to live with it, and now he had to hold himself uncomfortably still as he stared, unseeing at the table where DATA obediently projected an array of images from the network directory.

"Yeah, yeah," Donnie muttered, fixated on this self-appointed task. To him it wasn't a matter of who deserved what or whose mess it was. It was what made sense at the time. Some things didn't need to be thought out so deeply, and it was nice having tasks that he couldn't or had no reason to overthink. Besides, Tony was already giving him plenty in that department, but if there were any issues with his ability, then Donnie hoped to settle that matter here and now at the very least.

Wounds cleaned to the best of his ability and just as carefully dabbed dry, the turtle looked over at the spill on the table, reaching for the jar of ointment so he could smear some liberally over the burns. "...are you mad?" he asked quietly as he worked, feeling the need to break the silence weighing on them. He wasn't even really sure what he thought Tony might be mad about but given their conversation he figured it could be anything between his supposed picking fights with vampires to getting attacked by one to...well, trying to be the responsible one.

Finally he reached for the bandages DATA had sorted out for him earlier, offering the little bot a thanks as he started winding it around Tony's hand. "-that guy," he said as one of the projected images caught his eye, glancing over his shoulder to point at Keith's entry.

Donnie had very plainly just told him not to talk, so all of Tony's calculations of his talking:not talking ratio were already critically failing before Donnie's quiet question. It snapped Tony's focus back from its vague middle-distance, inquisitive and panicked, realizing he must not have been listening again. His hand felt painfully stiff from where it had been crushed against his heart as he untangled it to brush reassuringly over Donnie's head and he said, "Of course not, sweetheart." With his wrist still balanced on Donnie's shoulder where he could keep a grounding hold at the edge of his bandana, Tony assured him, "No one's mad at you."

Well, Keith might be a little mad. Without anyone else around for the task, Tony had to defend, "His hair doesn't look so bad."

The reassurance eased the knot in his chest, a spot of discomfort Donnie hadn't realized had been there until then, something that had never really let up since they'd left the underground. This time he didn't mind the invasion of space, the pat on the head, the lingering hand. He looked up from the bandages, managing a ghost of a smile in silent relief.

Finishing up the job with a quick trim and securing the loose ends, Donnie set things back on the counter before splaying his hands as though he were showing off some fancy new gadget and not just a bandage job. "Ta-daa~" It was the meekest little thing, but he was done and at least Tony wouldn't be oozing and bleeding all over the place.

He snorted, his expression turning critical as he turned his attention back to the image. "Well...okay I guess it's not terrible."

Edited 2023-09-18 00:51 (UTC)

Scoria

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