revivalproject | affliction

Entry tags:

affliction

WHO: Tony, Billy, and anyone that wants to deal with the fallout from the first bug bites
WHERE: L'hopital
WHAT: Come visit Tony as he recovers and try to figure out what's going on with this infestation!
WHEN: Backdate a bit. Shortly after the rage incident with the Young Avengers (Tommy's included? Unsure.)
WARNINGS: Everyone got a little hurt, some injuries might be gross? Depends on if anyone is here to do actual hospital stuff.

The recovery was definitely going much faster than it would have without Extremis' accelerated healing, but that didn't make Tony any more patient with it. They had worked fast, he had only been out for a few minutes, he knew that much-- he had been completely brain dead for half an hour the last time he had a very similar heart attack, and Nick Fury couldn't keep him lying around in bed for more than a day. He could at least get some sleep that time, though. The shock hadn't burst straight through his chest, leaving him feeling mummified under the dressing that only irritated the raw depression over his heart and the lightning burst that shredded across his back, impossible still to put any weight on. And he had been revived by a team of very professional EMTs, not one frenetic teenager stabbing him with a needle that left his whole chest cavity feeling bruised and swollen and impossible to breath in any other position. If he deigned to stay in bed, he was sitting up, cross-legged, bent over the D.A.T.A. sphere recovered from where he had abandoned it in the diner, excruciatingly trying to coax Extremis from focusing on the physical to let him do some programming, at least, barely mustering a small, golden nanoweb over his fingertips to create a contact point with the sphere.

More likely, though, he was draped in a sweater that made him stiff and uncomfortable, too aware of every stitch of yarn in it, but not feel quite as vulnerable as he lurked around the front desk or break room behind it to try to fill in the gaps of his still unreliable short term memory. He still didn't exactly understand why he was here, what could have possibly gone so wrong after several months of solidly risky behaviour in an alien environment on a morning that, Tony was pretty sure, he only had plans to behave himself with a cup of coffee for once. And he was still owed that cup; he definitely didn't remember enjoying it.

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Tony was ready with the incredibly helpful advice to stop worrying then, easy, problem solved, but Jon was taking his recovery far more personally than Tony realized. It wasn't even him that did the damage, the fact that he was even sticking around to make sure Tony had something to occupy his hands was a salve that Tony kept limping out of bed to seek out; did he like Tony calling him an idiot? It might have been obvious enough in Tony's irritable sigh as Jon closed his eyes and Tony brought his captured hand back to his chest, carefully, to hold against the edge of the bandages that could be felt under the sweater that Tony certainly hadn't been making sure were there. He didn't want magic, he was fine, and he really didn't think he had to make that any more clear at this point.

He was ready with a smile by the time Jon's much more preferable frown was back, and finally felt steadied enough to peel his hold off of the door frame to curl his arm around Jon's shoulders, heavier than normal and tugging him closer for Tony to lean his forehead against Jon's. "Please, that's the only good part of a hospital stay. What, did you want to go first? Come on," he prompted, plucking at Jon's collar with a laugh in his voice.

Jon lets out a short exhale of relief once his hand is no longer being quarantined for assaulting Tony's chest, but moved back against it. Maybe he doesn't mind being called an idiot by Tony. The man sure has his ways of making Jon feel like one. And he does enjoy Tony's voice about as much as he admires his hands. Hands that- Yes. Hands that constantly crave to be occupied.

It's one of those hands that moves around his shoulders again in that so familiar way, pulls him close and is partially to blame for Jon nearly going cross-eyed from peeking over the frame of his glasses to meet Tony's eternally teasing gaze.

There's no way he is being serious.

"Y-you shouldn't tease about that, Tony." Jon tries to capture Tony's air of carelessness and doesn't entirely succeed. "I might... End up taking my time with you. To keep you from wandering these halls for a bit." Jon pauses a moment in response to his own words, then sputters and tries to look down, only to find that Tony's forehead against his own quite effectively prevents him from doing just that.

That sputtering at his own unpolished flirtation prompted a snort from Tony that was worth the surprise of pain that came with it and the unsteady waver that made him drop Jon's hand to catch himself on the door again, not about to put that weight on him when he was already struggling to maintain his own boldness. Like he meant to do that, Tony drew away to rest his head on his bracing knuckles instead where he could better watch Jon squirm, his wry smirk dim but unavoidably present. "And what are you doing with all of that time?" he challenged, shoulder already hunching and arm around Jon's neck ready to slip away with the next poke that earned him, willing to suffer the consequences of his craft.

Of course Tony will put up a strong front. Try to mask his own pain and appear invincible. But Tony isn’t invincible. Jon knows that, now more than ever before. The hand Tony lets go remains pressed gently against Tony’s heart and he wills himself to keep his eyes locked on those of the other man’s despite his bout of embarrassment. He even adds a little smile, followed by a light pat to his chest.

Tony’s challenge is being returned rather than Jon picking the way of repeated punishment “Shall I escort you to your room and you can chose between the tape recorder and the sponge and we let you find out?”

Jon had started to develop an immunity far too fast, and Tony couldn't even be too disappointed about it as much as he pouted for not being treated to Jon's flushed squeaking. He must have been less convinced Tony was just bullying him. The pout at that even match to his challenge softened to a fond grin at the realization, making him slow to give what should have been an easy answer as he loosened the domineering hold around Jon's shoulders with an apologetic pat for it as he laid a hand along his neck instead. Tony probably didn't have to do that anymore to focus Jon's attention, he should have realized that already.

It was only when he could make himself look away, biting the grin back with his lip between his teeth, that he could finally answer, "Do you really think that's a choice?", shocked that Jon would even propose an alternative to finding out all of the ways he was not going to be able to keep Tony still, but his gaze was over Jon's shoulder into the room he had been lurking in. There were plenty of tempting, alternative ways to spend his time, but the idea that he had left Jon's tape recorder in pieces was going to distract him through any of them.

The shift of Tony’s hand to his neck makes Jon briefly glance towards the shoulder Tony has been holding before, maybe missing the hand there a little, yet not complaining about the relocation. Tony’s words make him incline his head, feeling curious. But then Jon notices where Tony’s attention has wandered off to and he turns around just enough to try and follow the other man’s gaze. Has he spotted anything in this room? Or is it simply.... Memories. Memories that just might bring back some of that flustered color to the Archivist’s face.

“...speak your mind?” He prompts, glancing back up at Tony, not sure he is quite following. But if Tony has spotted something of interest to him... Why wouldn’t Jon be willing to indulge him a little?

It should have been obvious, Tony thought, that Jon should have had him stripped and wet five minutes ago, making his gaze jump back to meet Jon's to return the question with raised eyebrows and spot that curious flush, realizing his shift in demeanor must have been more evident than he thought. Jon had wandered down quite a different path than Tony was considering, but he could see from that expression where Jon might have gone astray and his sharp grin was back as he pushed his thumb under Jon's chin to tilt it up for an unhurried kiss. "Focus," he muttered despite it, grin threatening to burst into another painful laugh at the scattershot of Jon's desires, one thing at a time. "I," very deliberately, "was wondering where the tape recorder was." The dignified one, for once, if he could still claim the position with his thumb tracing down the hollow of Jon's throat to his collar.

If Jon were to attempt and pinpoint just where exactly his thoughts have wandered off to, he would be facing quite a dilemma. Somehow his thoughts have ended up everywhere and nowhere at once and neither location seems to be even remotely near the correct one. Tony's expression makes him blink at first - Then there is that grin and Jon pulls up his own brows in an attempt to follow - Only to get entirely lost again when a single thumb coaxes him into a single kiss that single-handedly discards whichever coherent thought Jon has been having that very moment.

Telling him to focus of all things is almost cruel. Especially in that voice... Jon opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't even manage to stutter the beginning of a word when Tony informs him what he has been looking for. Oh.

Oh!

He raises a finger to point in a direction that isn't the correct one while his eyes outright refuse to stop staring at the other man "F-f-.... F- front desk...!" He stammers around various inappropriate and unrelated thoughts provoked by that single digit traveling down his neck in that perpetually teasing manner Tony calls his own.

Those inappropriate thoughts were practically written on Jon's face, and Tony could feel the heat of them on his skin and in the bob of his throat, but had to bite his lip to keep from laughing again at Jon's grappling for coherence or falling into another kiss that would have been more difficult to find his way out of. Instead, he held Jon's gaze, lingering long enough to follow his thumb with the fan of his fingers down Jon's neck and tickle along his collarbone to his shoulder, eyebrows raised expectantly for Jon to voice any one of those thoughts, quickly, get it together, before nodding carefully. "Front desk," he accepted and pushed away from the door, slouching almost immediately without the support as he curled the arm that had held him up against his stomach protectively and shuffled back the way he had come to find the job he had left lying around.

Those. Fingers. Are. Torture.

And the shudder Jon falls victim to tells as much. Tony letting go of him is both a mercy and a disappointment and Jon has to take a few deep breaths to gather himself again enough to follow, if not on a pair of temporarily uncoordinated feet.

"Y-yes. Wait, it's under--" Jon mutters as he scrambles past Tony, brushing a single hand lightly over the man's upper arm as he passes and first vanishes behind, then partially under the desk to pull out a grey plastic box containing the parts of both his tape recorder and Tony's sphere. Everything that had been left lying on the table back at the diner. He takes the entire box and lifts it onto the table before turning to Tony and stepping aside for him to take a look.

"I don't think I missed anything."

Tony wasn't sure he would know if Jon did miss anything, so he just nodded his acceptance as he followed to the desk, then carefully lifted himself up to sit on it next to the box with a long sigh of relief. When he could bring himself to sort through the offered problem, he muttered, "Doesn't look like it was working," and started to collect the obvious parts of the recorder on the table between his hip and the box. He didn't know now how to ask any more about it without incurring that concerned frown from Jon again, so he grumbled instead, "Are you sure you couldn't stand an upgrade? All you have to do is listen to people's stories, right, what's the difference? Couldn't I tell you one right now?" What use that would be to Jon when he went back to whatever dark ages pit he worked out of was probably moot, their budget was clearly fucked, but it would be nice to know he was willing to be part of the 21st century and maybe even the future with Tony.

Since Tony opts to sit on the table, Jon pulls out the small chair by the table and sits on it with a shrug before pushing his hands between his knees and watch the other man work.

"It's... Actually- I originally planned to make digital recordings. But it turns out the statements... The real statements- They... For the lack of a better word? They come with a certain magic. It's literally impossible to record them on any other medium without making the recording entirely useless - Or destroying whichever device is being used to try recording them." He pauses there, eyes sticking with Tony's work "Life statements... Yes, those work. They are... Actually a lot more satisfying than reading or listening to old... Stale ones. But..." He shakes his head and lets his shoulders drop with a sigh "Let's say my victims suffer for the rest of their lives for feeding me. I'd rather not put anyone here through that."

And especially not Tony.

It was such a relief to have something useful to do with his hands, and for someone else no less, after wallowing in his own putrid weakness in that bed, that Tony was only partially listening, rapidly sorting through the fragments of recorder and fitting them together in his head faster than his fingers could work. Some of his tools were in the box, he must have gone to the diner expecting to pull Jon's weird crutch apart. There wasn't anything particularly magical about the thing itself, it only took a screwdriver and a few plastic joints. The tapes must have been the real problem. When it was obvious that Jon had gone quiet again, Tony hummed like he had been listening all along, and muttered, "You fed me plenty, are you suffering?", carefully balancing a speaker in place on his lap before offering the lopsided grin that was supposed to go with it to Jon, then a not entirely apologetic shrug. "How is that different than when you do your..." he started to ask, hands occupied so eyes rolling to try to phrase the less pleasant way Jon had gotten inside of him, "thing?" Hopefully, that was clear enough for Jon. "I haven't been, uh, suffering," he tried to elaborate, not even sure what that was supposed to mean, but fairly certain he could pinpoint the cause of any of his current gripes well outside of Jon's range of influence.

"Compulsion." Jon offers and shifts on his chair enough to pull one of his feet onto it to loosely wrap his arms around it and rest his chin on his own knee.

"When I know someone has a... Story I can feed on and just ask them to tell me, they will feel compelled to answer as you know. Whether they wish to or not. I have been told my presence even helps them deliver their statement in a coherent manner, without being paralyzed by having to relive their trauma. Then they... They go home as if nothing happened." He pauses there, a frown settling on his face.

"And then the nightmares begin. They will relive the events they have told me about in graphic detail. Over and over and over... And I am there. Watching. These people are perfectly aware of me, even recognize me. Being there in their dreams, haunting them night after night and just watching them relive their terrors. And I... I have these dreams, too. When I sleep or close my eyes to rest, I'm there. Wandering from one nightmare to the next just to... Watch. Drink in their fears unable and unwilling to interfere. And once I reach the last it all starts again." Jon exhales, not daring to look up. "That's why I... Try to avoid sleeping. Maybe if I don't, then these people..." - Maybe they don't have to suffer those dreams. "My... Body. Seems to be doing okay enough without the rest. So that's fine. I haven't taken any life statements since I found out..."

The work slowed as Jon continued his explanation, but Tony was still watching thoughtfully when he was done, tongue between his teeth and fingers drumming softly on the plastic in his hand. The nightmares weren't something he had a solution for, the one he had apparently wasn't good for the liver, and he was still working out an alternative for himself. The statements, though, that Jon was starving himself of, that solution seemed obvious to him. "But they could write them down. Or tell someone else. Marty or Ingrid or whatever," he said, waving away the hundred names Jon had for him, sure he got the picture. "Why's that?" Tony knew the answer was going to be magic, and the stupid shit logic that magic ascribed to, just to confirm for him that magic was still awful.

"Writing them has always been an option. Many people took it, if only to remain anonymous. Others wanted to talk to someone. And that... Well. It was my job." And when he had started Job had still hoped to do his job properly "I believe I already told you that Elias liked to keep these information to himself. Later he would insist it was for my own good. That I needed to learn on my own. And neither of us could just- Leave the Institute either." More magic. Definitely the awful sort of magic.

"Tim... He tried. Left for another country and... He got sick. Him and Martin wrote several resignation letters and just... Couldn't leave. I couldn't fire them either." Another pause, one that leads into a grim expression "I recently found a way for us to leave, though. It was- Christ. My own hand refused to touch the tape. Pressing play was a struggle and it was physically exhausting to listen to it! Even harder to tell the others... The Eye... It doesn't want to lose any of those it owns. It's not good, Tony. But... Yes. Written statements are what I have been sticking with back there. It wasn't optimal, but it kept me alive."

That was, confirmed, awful, and while not as terrible as some of the other fragments of horrors Jon had offered Tony about his life, Tony found he still regretted asking. This was firmly Strange territory, magic and eyes and nightmares, and Tony would have been glad to have Jon around to be the one dealing with those kind of problems if he didn't seem to be the one exclusively generating them. Stephen would have easily shared a tea and some tips to battle his demons, they probably would have been fast friends, and Tony could only snap this tape recorder closed, feeling the exhausting loneliness of being without his team. The feeling had briefly loosened its hold while they sat together in the diner, working toward a common goal, and now that it was back it made that venture feel foolish.

He couldn't stop asking, though, even though the tape recorder had come together and he was just turning it in his hands, slouched over on the desk, because Tony distantly realized, "What did you do to Tommy then?"

Jon lets out a long exhale at that question, then shakes his head "I didn't give him a nightmare. But I think I... I could have. He... He radiates fear. I don't want to hurt him, but at that time..." Jon looks away in shame "I was hungry. The... The urge was there. But... No. I just made him tell me his darkest secret. Made him afraid of me. Of his secrets being known." And while Jon has no intentions to share what he has learned, he knows well enough that Tommy is still wary of him. Rightfully so.

'He radiates fear' could have easily been one of the creepy things Jon said, but in this case Tony had to agree that the kid certainly radiated something and teenage rebellion wasn't accounting for all of it. Tony didn't have the energy to be angry about it today, continuing to twist the tape recorder around silently instead, staring blankly at the scars on Jon's hands and not finding a good way to solve the problem. This kind of thing, whatever Tommy was going through, Jon's guilt over his own terrible gift, this wasn't Tony's territory, either. He just made stuff, he wasn't even a man in a can here.

Tony thrust the tape recorder Jon's way, rattling it for Jon's attention, accepting his weird crutch for now. He wouldn't try to take it apart again, not until he had an actual solution to the problem. "You know what I keep thinking?" he mumbled. "I was promised a bath." Maybe Billy would be easier to ask about what had actually happened.

Tony's lack of an angry reaction is a relief to Jon. Yes, there is a telling silence of the man, but it's not an entirely oppressing one. Tony may not accept what Jon has done, but Jon wouldn't want that anyway. He doesn't wish to accept it himself - Or find excuses rather than looking for solutions.

The rattling of the recorder at least tells Jon that he isn't being abandoned, which brings a small smile to his face and he unfolds from his chair to carefully reach for the device he knows he will have to rely on for the time being. The 'thank you' he mutters is small, but genuine. At Tony's question, Jon has a moment of looking up in wonder, only to have that wonder be turned around into appreciative relief with the complete shift of the topic away from the terrible things Jon did or could do and towards things he could do that aren't harmful to anyone. The smile Tony earns in response to that is a glad one and Jon nods as he stands and sets the recorder down at one end of the desk where he can pick it up later.

"Right. Let's go, then." He says gently, adding a little gesture for Tony to come along. He's earned being pampered and fussed over for a while. And Jon will gladly indulge that.

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