revivalproject

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dive

WHO: Tony and Catra
WHERE: The factory (Orange 16)
WHAT: Meanwhile, where Tony's been.
WHEN: Also a little while after Jon's disappearance
WARNINGS: Tony's in a dark place, suicidal tendencies up to 11.

This Iron Man wasn't designed for space; Tony didn't have the means or materials and doubted he even had the battery power, but space, he reasoned, he could deal with. The nanoweb could hold the line for a few precious minutes, and then it was really a battle against time. If it cost Tony a limb or an organ, that would something for him to fix later. Right now, the problem was getting to the Agrii ship, because it was clear that they were not capable of properly comprehending the incredibly nuanced request that Tony blasted at them, nor could they be trusted to manage their own Handy He Row Generator and could use the technical expertise.

When the air thinned, Tony hardly noticed, his heart already vibrating against his ribcage and head swimming, vision narrowing by the time he reached the stratosphere and a bit of a journey ahead of him yet. He didn't waste the precious oxygen lingering on tactical decisions, rocketing through miles in minutes, the armor the briefest wink of light as it caught the gleam of the sun as he took to the air, then rapidly disappearing into the clear sky and leaving behind only an echoing shudder of the sonic boom rattling the dust from the factory walls around the forge.

It was long minutes before another sound broke over the area, the faintest whistle of wind whipping through the metal cut with the occasional burst of jets that hissed then stuttered into powerless silence. The crack and crash through the roof of the long standing factory was quick and clean, the Iron Man breaking easily through wood and cement and torturing steel beams into contortions as he ripped them out of their foundations. It was the blast as he hit the floor that shook the ground, sending debris bursting out of the empty and broken windows and threatening to shake the walls into rubble, that bone rattling thunder travelled through the empty streets and skirted easily through already decrepit structures like a rolling wave of dust and a sigh of pain that lapped against the city's walls.

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Tony was always doing weird things and making weird sounds over in the forge, so much so that Catra hardly ever batted at eye anymore when she heard something strange. But then there was a new noise that sounded like it was getting closer, and just as Catra decided to investigate all hell broke loose. She heard and felt the crash, the shock running through her bones and knocking her to her feet.

She groaned, hair standing on end as she righted herself, trying to shake the ringing from her ears before scampering off to find the source of destruction. Luckily for her it was the far end of the factory where she found the crater, and not anywhere close to where she'd been, or there might have been nothing left.

She frowned, climbing through the rubble to the broken man at the heart of it, chest tight as she tried to roughly shake him awake.

The Iron Man was not very visibly responsive at its best, impassive faceplate fashioned into a stern shield that didn't give away if Tony was laughing, or if he was dead. The crystal at the centre of its chest, typically a steady glow, was faint and flickering, like a struggling heartbeat that occasionally sent a spark flying from an exposed wire in the battered armor, or valiantly lit the glare of the slits of his eyes like he might blink awake, only to power down again. It was stubbornly heavy, too, dead weight wrapped in unforgiving bounds of metal and wedged into the tortured earth and cracked concrete, a thick layer of the debris that came crashing down with him coating him dull.

It wasn't the kind of fall that someone just woke up from. Slowed by the erratic kick of an uncooperative jetboot and crunching through several stories of the factory, it still started from an impossible height and left the invincible armor dented, scraped and shredded, and struggling to deploy the 'first aid' protocols that kept Tony upright through the worst of his fights. It wasn't terribly restorative when the Iron Man did finally to execute program, mostly numbing Tony's limbs enough for him to blearily reboot without retreating rapidly away from the pain into the cradle of unconsciousness. The only sign he gave was a rattling breath, shoulder shifting slightly to try to lessen the pinch constricting his chest.

She felt a familiar burning in her eyes and glared at him for making her feel that way, giving him another fierce shove and then shrieking and leaping away as that toppled some of the debris to rain down over them.

She was cautious in her return approach, her tail swished anxiously behind her, and she scrubbed angrily at a cheek with dirty hands to keep those tears from falling.

"I dunno what I'm supposed to do-" she accused, climbing back to his side. Was she supposed to move him? Did he need out from the suit? Was he dead in there? No, he was breathing...sort of. She could see that now. Did she call someone? Should she get Jon?

"Stark-?!"

A glow eventually presented itself through the still settling dust, the sound of debris being pushed aside and the crunch of it underfoot hailing the Hunter Vanguard's entrance.

"There," another voice, feminine and bearing the same electronic echo of the first, spoke up, a smaller point of blue light that began to weave its way ahead of a larger figure. It was the Ghost that Catra would see first, a floating star-like form that was as wide and tall as the length of ones hand. Cayde came up behind her, bright gaze shifting from the cat-girl to the mangled armor beside her. "Dammit Stark, what did you do," he said, metal features pinching in a wince as he started closer.

The shriek cut through some of the fog, but Tony was left squinting in the shower of dust that cascaded over his helmet and was sucked greedily in through the cracks in the armor as he tried to gasp, coating his mouth and making him shudder more than he could properly cough. When Catra reappeared, she was a smudge blocking out the light dappling through the hole in the ceiling far above them, but her voice was unmistakable enough that he tried to raise a hand to steady her and insist very lightly, "What are you even doing here?," which came out as more of a croak than any words. It was for the best, because he probably wouldn't have been heard over the further shifting of the cracked concrete and earth under Cayde's weight, and Tony had to muster up as much conviction as he could find to insist, "It's Tony, please," which also didn't come out sounding at all correct, and more like a completely unconvincing wheezing.

What was she doing here? He fell through her damn roof, that's what she was doing here. Though she could barely make sense of that croaking.

Catra started at the sudden appearance of the Ghost, hissing and almost reflexively moving to guard Tony's wrecked form before recognizing the larger figure that came after.

Her guard didn't lower nearly so quickly as it had gone up, frowning, but taking a step back to allow Cayde to get closer.

"What are you doing here?" she accused, echoing Tony's earlier words, tail swishing warily. "Can you help him?"

The relief that he felt at hearing Tony speak up was immense, enough as it was to just be getting a response. Given the state of the building around them and what he'd seen of the crash itself, the man probably shouldn't have survived. Cayde stepped closer, reaching over to set a hand on Catra's shoulder, kneeling beside Tony.

"Saw the comms. Did some recon," was his reply whether the question was meant for him or not, but he flicked a glance at the girl as Sundance scanned Tony. "You okay?" She sounded steady as one could hope in such a situation, but she was definitely the most squishy of them. To her question the Exo redirected his attention to Tony.

"Not sure how bad the damage is. St- Tony, is this thing holding you together? Sundance, can you get vitals from this tin can?" He didn't want to risk moving the man without causing more injury.

The tin can was largely unresponsive, what little power that could travel spreading too thin as Tony tried to shift again and quickly going dark again. It left Tony quite immobilized, the armor too heavy for him to lift an arm in this state, but he twisted his wrist enough to flick a finger up to try to indicate opening, and belatedly realized he could try a thumbs up. It wasn't a great one, but his thumb was twisted toward the hole to the sky. The battered suit felt like it was pinching more than helping, or Tony hoped that was the reason it was so hard to take a breath. Catra had opened the suit once before, at least, though Tony didn't think he would ever be in the position to encourage that behaviour.

"I'm fine," she dismissed, cheeks stained with dirt where she'd tried to scrub those tears away.

Catra didn't have quite the same level caution or care, ears lowering at the sound Tony's labored breaths, and with a frown she abruptly sliced and pried at the armor over Tony's chest. It looked almost like she had snapped and was attacking him, until it became clear it was the crushed armor she was after. She pulled his chest plate off and tossed it aside, ears hyper focused to see if that made a difference.

A thumbs up was better than nothing, even if Cayde wanted to wince at how sad a gesture it was. He gave Catra's shoulder a light squeeze as he nodded, pointedly ignoring the tracks down her cheeks.

It was when Catra started prying Tony's armor apart that the Exo did openly cringe, but he paused when she did, looking anxiously at the helmeted face, not that it gave anything away. "Shoulda asked more questions about how this fancy gear worked," he muttered to himself. "Sundance, see if you can help whatever systems he's got working there. And find the release for his head, will you?"

The Ghost complied wordlessly, silvery light beaming out from her core, playing across the armor to pick at the overrides so Catra wouldn't have to use too much force to peel things off of Tony.

The moment the dented chest plate was off, Tony could take a deep breath, which he only regretted a little bit as he immediately started coughing, and every move was a throbbing rend of his bruised ribs. Bruised everything, really.

The helmet was much easier to cast off then, and Tony blinked until he was squinting one eye open against the dust and light and trying this best to understand the shapes looming over him. "Am I dead?" he rasped. He certainly didn't feel alive enough to move anything, but that could have been the armor still weighing him down. It was difficult to tell.

"You better not be," Catra grumbled, eyes sharp with a very real threat, but she was clearly relieved. He still smelled like blood and metal, but if he was talking and breathing that meant he could be fixed.

"If you were, that'd mean we all were, in which case your reentry must have triggered some citywide catastrophe," Cayde offered, his grin crooked and forced. "Which I'd be upset about, by the way."

He was of the same mind as Catra in that so long as Tony was able to ask questions and was vaguely aware they were with him that he was going to be fine. He kept his expression light despite being shaken by the reminder of how fragile people were.

"We're gonna have to get you to the hospital, chief. I don't know if we should shuck the rest of this armor off or if it's bracing anything important. How many fingers am I holding up?"

Tony frowned as though he didn't really believe Cayde would be all that upset and rolled his eyes up to the sky to try to indicate just how spectacular that kind of catastrophe would have to have been, and, honestly, that sounded like Cayde's idea of a good time and it wasn't like he hadn't been through worse. This was a far too complicated thought to attempt to articulate, though, especially with both of them looming like that as Tony's focus slowly sharpened and he could start to read their expressions. He was used to Catra looking pissed, slightly less used to Cayde looking...like that, and insisted, "You're about to have a few less if you keep it up," with an indication with his chin toward Catra. With any luck she'd be reliably erratic, because Tony did not have much more leverage to argue against the hospital. "Just get this off of me," he grumbled with another weak twist of his wrist to escape from the heavy, inert armor. So much for that Iron Man.

"Yeah, you don't have brain damage do you?" Catra demanded, grabbing at his head like it was something she could see from the outside if she looked at it from the right angle.

Thankfully for Tony, she was quickly distracted with her new task, releasing his head to start working on tearing the armor away piece by piece.

The roll of Tony's eyes got a more honest grin from the Exo. He even chuckled at the suggestion that Catra was set to take anything out on him. "Hey, I'm not the one who dropped in on her. You probably shaved off five of her lives with that stunt. -careful with the goods there, Kit-Kat. Don't wanna accidentally snap his neck off."

Cayde let her take care of armor removal while he looked around for something that wasn't crushed to lie Tony on once he was extracted. He tipped over a long section of what might have been part of some kind of work table to knock off the dust and debris scattered across it before kicking apart its remaining struts so he could drag the slab over.

"Eugh, god--I do now," Tony complained as Cayde chastised Catra and her grip on Tony's head left him dazed enough again to squeeze his eyes shut as she worked him free of his coffin. "Now we have something in common." Cayde's rummaging around and the screeching complaint of metal that echoed through the empty factory were equally horrid assaults, so the moment Tony actually realized he had an arm free, he brought it up to his face to try to cover whatever orifice would save him from this torture. He couldn't quite fine the correct one. For this, he wanted to snipe at Cayde, too, but putting in the effort to sit himself up for the proper emphasis on his complaining only left him powerfully nauseous, like the floor had opened up below him and what came out was a far more inquisitive, "What are you even doing here?" That was the question that Tony meant to ask, but not exactly with that sentiment until he heard it out loud and realized he did kind of want to know the answer. To Catra, it had just been an objection, but she lived here.

"Kit-Kat?" she repeated, but she released his head.

The armor tore away piece by piece, but the effort was gradually wearing Catra down, breaking a sweat and panting as she pried another piece off. Her poor claws were going to be worn down to nothing.

There was a dull thud and crunch accompanied with a fresh puff of dust as Cayde released the slab once he was within a couple steps of the two. He walked around the other end to pick it up and move it parallel to Tony, dusting his hands off as he wandered back around by them.

"Here," he said, pulling out the large knife from his belt and offering it to Catra handle first to help with the prying. She'd been doing a good job with taking care of that armor but those mangled bits were going to be harder on her claws. Moving opposite of her, the Exo pulled another knife from his boot to work at some other bit of armor plating. "Saw some crazy message pop up on the comms, got me kind of concerned so I was doing some scouting," he said as he worked. "Was just out of the library when I saw a falling star."

Maybe Tony didn't want to know the answer that badly. He was slow to look away from Catra then, like he suddenly had to carefully watch her progress now that they were working his legs free, or maybe it was just the fact that she had a knife. That had just created a future tragedy that almost had Tony laughing at the inevitability of it. When his gaze did slide reluctantly toward Cayde, it was with a shamed apology, and some pleading not to make those apparently obvious connections for everyone else because he could see now that he maybe hadn't thought through this plan enough before enacting it and, really, he was experiencing his punishment already, wasn't he? He raised his arms in confident anticipation--which looked like he was reach for a hug, so he flexed his fingers, come on, to be pulled free from the last of the armor and out of the crater.

Ooh, a knife! Catra was happy to take the blade, and if Cayde wasn't careful he wouldn't be getting it back again. Having a task made it easier to push those feelings aside, concentrating hard on prying away each piece, those her ear was turned back to listen carefully to their conversation. The library? She frowned, and shifted back so Cayde could help him up.

If Catra wanted a knife so bad all she had to do was ask. Otherwise Cayde was definitely claiming it again- he kept very close tabs on his weapons. Maybe he could have been a bit more roundabout with an explanation, spin a yarn to get people's minds off of things. It'd be his usual route. This whole thing just shook him a little too close to home.

With the last of the encasing armor freed, the Exo spun his knife and tucked it back into his boot, tapping a finger in Catra's direction to make her aware that she's still got one of his on rental before he hops to his feet and looked at Tony's open arms.

"Oh, now you want a hug?" he said, and not without a grin as he rebounded, but he stepped forward to carefully grab a hold of the man to haul him out of his metal coffin.

"I couldn't deny you any longer," Tony grumbled back, without the energy he was hoping for as he closed his eyes again to stretch up onto his feet. He was not going to stay upright for very long, they hadn't quite reached that stage in this development project, but he probably didn't have to hang on around Cayde's neck for as long as he did to get steady enough to move, either. He wasn't going to give either of them the chance to comment on it, nudging Cayde suddenly to help him over to his inviting morgue slab so he could roll onto his stomach and press his face into the cool surface, arm hanging limply over the side of the table like he was immediately unconscious again.

She toyed with the blade, giving Cayde an innocent look. Like she was going to try and keep it...she was definitely going to try and keep it.

Catra payed close attention as Cayde helped him out, and then frowned at Tony's ultimate prone form.

"Is he dead again?"

The look Cayde gave her in return was something of an eyebrow raise and a half smirk. He left the matter at that, preparing to be one knife short but if the cat needed it more than he did, well he didn't mind it too much.

Cayde carefully brought Tony over to the makeshift gurney, which, to be fair was more of a morgue slab in this state, but at least it wasn't crushed ceiling and floor. A look of concern flitted across his metal features as the man lay there so still flopped out as he was, but the Exo looked over at Catra, snorting even as he faked a grin.

"Exhausted. You'd be too after all that. Got any bandages?"

"Only trying to be," Tony answered, muffled against the slab, though it might have come slower than he intended it and not sounded like it was an answer to anyone actually in the room. Catra didn't deserve that, he did realize just as belatedly; the aching tone of her voice and her streaked cheeks hadn't escaped him, and he took an agonizing breath to force one eye open and wave his dangling hand, dismissing the bandages and trying to coax Catra closer. "No one else is going today, Annie," he promised more softly. He wasn't in a great position to make sure that happened, but he wasn't going to be the one causing the problem, either.

Bandages? Catra looked pointedly about the factory. She'd dragged in a few trinkets in her time her, but medical supplies hadn't been on her list.

"...I have sheets? Would that work>" she asked, before giving Tony a quizzical look, "...Who the hell is Annie? He does have brain damage."

Edited 2021-05-09 11:05 (UTC)

Nah, he was just causing other problems. Cayde shrugged, having even less of a clue as to who Annie was and not particularly arguing Catra's conclusion. Instead, he focuses on the initial question. "If you don't mind shredding them up," he said. "I'll find you some new ones later," he promised.

The way he figured, it was easier keeping busy than thinking about the things that had happened. Not that there wasn't genuine concern about Tony's health. Had he any internal damage? Broken bones? Sundance could only scan for so much and Tony's suit hadn't exactly been in the best of states to be helpful in providing any specific status reports.

"Should we go grab a doc, chief?" Who even was handling the hospital anymore? Still Billy?

It wasn't a particularly helpful answer, but as Cayde was organizing the sheet-shredding Tony muttered, "...get your gun..." Which he did recognize sounded like it would be a request of either one of these two, and not much in defence of his functional brain. To better make his point, he shakily sang, "Anything you can do, I can do better..." and would have laughed if that didn't make him cough and wince.

That did put him in a particularly perilous position to insist, "No leave him alone, he'll just...make a voodoo doll of me and say a prayer, nobody there does medicine anymore." Christ, this revelation was just getting worse, Tony was not about to trust anyone else to yell at him about his health. "It looks way worse than it is, I promise, won't even remeber it happened in the morning," he groaned as he tried to make his escape, giving up the cool support of the slab.

"Okay," Catra agreed, "Make sure he doesn't die," she instructed, frowning at his babbling that she didn't understand and hurrying off to go fetch the sheets.

It was a bit of a jaunt to cross to the other end of the factory and back, leaving the two with some alone time.

"No one's dying on my watch," Cayde replied, aiming to make that as much of a promise as the sheets as he nodded at Catra before she went off. As though he didn't notice Tony's attempted movement, he sat himself at the edge of the slab as they waited.

"...Ghosts can't fix people aside from their Guardians," he said as he fiddled with his knife, studying the blade. He'd probably have to resharpen this one after wedging it between metal plates. "And obviously I'm no doctor and neither is Catra, so if you don't let us know if there might be some real damage there, somewhere- well I doubt the kid'd attempt an operation at least."

Watching Catra go with some longing, both sure she would have left him to die in peace if he made enough of a nuisance of himself and guilty about her stained cheeks, Tony ended up pushed up with one foot on the ground, other knee still bent on the table where he leaned over it on his hand with an arm wrapped gingerly around his ribs. He was slow to look Cayde's way, keeping his gaze low, and slower to produce a shrug, tipping his head slightly to expose the pressure welt rubbed into his neck where he drew the nanoweb down like a viscous spill of golden oil, then back up to cover the growing bruise and smooth over it like a layer of new skin. "I can take care of it," he muttered, "just takes a little longer." Extremis hadn't been working particularly efficiently since he arrived here, but it didn't feel like anything was broken or fatally compromised. As far as Tony could be relied upon to properly estimate, anyway.

Not that it really mattered, and if Tony had any control over it he'd rather be nursing the bruises than the ragged tear in his chest. He tried for a deep breath to admit, down at his fist curled on the table and his voice tight, "I don't know what to do." He should have been prepared for this after Steve left, and instead all he had to show for his effort was the twisted scrap of what used to be Iron Man.

Cayde nodded, hoping they weren't empty words, but also knowing it didn't sit well with him to just leave it at that. And it would be a shame to have had Catra go off for nothing, so he was convinced that while things would take a while, there wasn't any harm in helping make sure nothing ended up worse for lack of effort.

Unfortunately he hadn't any better responses when he heard that admission. He wasn't sure what sort of metal guts he had, knowing there was no stomach there yet unable to help for the sensation that a lead weight had settled in it. The glowing blue of his optics shuttered into darkness as he closed his eyes, sighing a breathless sigh, his shoulders sinking with it. "Wish I had some suggestions," he murmured. He thought he should have been more prepared for the possibility, but obviously he hadn't put much effort into considering, relying too much in a baseless hope that maybe just maybe...

The Exo shook his head. "I could tell you all the cliche think-positives but it wouldn't change anything, would it? So right now, just get better. For the kitten, for me- and then once you're good to go we'll both go tell off the Agrii and whoever else is listening, show 'em they can't just swap people in and out like game pieces."

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