starkingenuity | (no subject)

Neither of them are ever going to be poster children for good mental health.

"The fact that there's an again in there says everything I never wanted to know and more." As though the Tony Stark myth and reality didn't encompass that and more. If Bruce had a problem with it, they'd both have known years ago.

After a few seconds of looking around for something to do with himself other than trying to stay out of DUM-E's way, he shuffles a little because otherwise they might just moon at each other until one of them falls asleep. "So show me the parts of this place I need to know and let me know if there's anywhere you'd rather keep off the fifty cent tour."

Tony likes mooning. It’s so rare he actually feels the need to do it. And Bruce has been gone so long thst he might as well get two years worth of devoted admiration in while he can. Tony slips his hands into his pockets and tilts his head curiously to the left.

“I’ll let you explore later. What you need to know is that there’s nothing useful here. I’ve got stuff kind of centralized in this part of the mansion. The new spider suit is next door. My armor is in the garage.”

And that’s about it.

Minus the fact that he sleeps downstairs on the couch in the family room, off of the formal entry way. There’s too much to unpack about that one. Bruce won’t understand.

No one will.

“Are you crapping out on me already?”

"No good toys?" Bruce shakes his head, and only part of his apparent disappointment is feigned. "I thought you'd have something new to show off."

But the truth is, yeah, he's running a little low on steam. He's not as young as he was a week ago by his personal timeline.

"Then show me a place with a good couch where I can put my feet up while you tell me anything else I need to know." Because Bruce has such a good track record with jet lag and Tony unburdening himself. Why not revisit that?

"Do it and I'll cook later?"

It’s for the best that Bruce tap out while he unloads. It makes Tony more willing to talk and to say things he doesn’t really want anyone knowing. He knows it’s ridiculous. He’s well aware of the fact that he should be talking to someone with an actual degree in this and that could be the only way he actually finds closure.

But he’s too stubborn and too set in his ways. And besides. Banner is back.

“A real, home cooked meal, or are you gonna crack some eggs into a pan and call it quits?” It doesn’t matter what the answer is. They head downstairs and Tony gestures to a couch with some blankets piled on it. His bed. Already slept in.

There’s too many beds in this house and he picks this place?

“There a lot I want to tell you.” In other words, get comfortable. Because Tony keeps most things bottled up until Banner comes around to pop the cork.

Tony should be talking to an actual therapist, but it's not too surprising that he isn't. He's stubborn, he's ridiculous, and he doesn't like adding people to the small circle of friends with whom he's willing to be vulnerable.

And these days that circle is probably a literal straight line with two points: Bruce and Tony.

He eyes the couch, looks from it to Tony, then chooses not to say the obvious.

"A real meal as long as there's enough real food in the kitchen to make it happen." Wait a minute. If the kitchen's stocked with Tony in mind, that isn't going to do. "Hang on. FRIDAY, put in a grocery order, please."

He rattles off a list of ingredients for a dish that his landlady in Calcutta taught him. Indian comfort food is as much for himself as for Tony.

“I’m going to stink up the joint,” Tony laughs, putting ingredients together with the likely outcome. When’s the last time he’s had Indian? He can’t remember. He usually just has burgers wherever he is. Even if that means eating cow in a country where the animal is sacred.

Nothing at all is ever sacred to Tony Stark.

He drags in a recliner, his father’s but one he barely used save for when entertaining the rare guest, and plops down in it. If Banner is using his bed, he’s going to have to get comfortable somehow, right?

“I helped to draft the Accords to save the planet from me.” Hes never said the words out loud. “And you. And Cap. And Maximoff— From people that aren’t normal. From people that are okay with being vigilantes. We need oversight. Cap didn’t agree. Fine. That was never the problem. The problem was Bucky Barnes. He killed my mother. And Steve Rogers knew.”

"I think we have space to spread out. I'll just make you DUM-E's problem."

If he sleeps on the couch, is Tony going to crash in the recliner? They're pathetic bachelor stereotypes. Superheroes. Hah!

Despite that, he takes off his shoes and lines them up by the couch before stretching out and pulling a pillow under his head. He's going to close his eyes and let Tony's words wash over him, let it go the way he had for Tony's story of the Mandarin and Extremis.

Then Tony drops a bomb and he has to roll over onto his side and stare.

"Huh." Yeah, that's eloquent, Banner. "No wonder you and Steve broke up."

He's still going to take Steve's calls, Tony.

“He picked some soulless guy with greasy hair who strangled my mother over me,” Tony says with a seriousness that might actually make Bruce think that break up is the best term to use for what happened and not just some sort of funny euphemism for friends no longer speaking. “Stringy greasy hair. Someone the Accords are supposed to protect against. I get that he was brainwashed and that it’s not his fault exactly but he’s still dangerous. And he seduced Cap away from all reason.”

Tony doesn’t disguise his bitter he feels about it. It’s in his eyes, intense and amber, the color of dripping syrup. He could start a fire with sparks like that.

“Okay, I over reacted. Maybe trying to kill Barnes was stupid. But Rogers... he never stays the fuck down.” Tony doesn’t usually sink to language like that. It’s hard and wrong off of his tongue, the edge too sharp. “He threw a freight car on a kid he didn’t know could handle it and then he shattered what’s left of my sternum with his shield. And I miss him. After all of that, I miss the asshole. It’s hard being the boss. It’s harder to actually lead. To have all of this on your shoulders— This isn’t what I signed up for. “

This isn't the kind of news you take lying down, especially when it adds still more context to Tony's volatility. Bruce pushes himself back upright and leans forward, elbows on his knees.

"Tony, I--" --have no idea what to say to that. He's damn well not going to offer to take that off his hands. He's not a leader. He's not really a follower, either. Just call him the freelancer.

The problem is, Tony's better in that category, too, and leading's clearly just one more thing to eat him up.

"I want to help you." He doesn't want to stick his foot back in the crazy that is the Avengers, but running away obviously hadn't helped. "With no Hulk and knowing that I'm not leading anything bigger than a team of lab techs."

“What are you supposed to help with? Five years ago, we could have really decided that running a group of lab techs could be in the cards. Maybe even two years ago when I officially tried to retire after I talked you into helping me create something that killed thousands of people.” How does a man age in minutes? Tony’s lived through s lot. He’s had a crazy life, right up to and including being possessed by an alien that wanted to have babies with this guy here and might have left some residual feelings for Bruce behind (she didn’t, they were always there, Tony just is trying to ignore them). He just looks so old now. So ancient.

It’s the problem with being a genius, of being effortlessly rich, of never actually having to care until your own shell is used to blow up your escort and you’ve got a car battery keeping you from dying for a few months. One day it all just catches up with you—

Well. That’s not true. Without Pepper, or Steve or Bruce in his life, he’s become the crazy guy sleeping on the couch in a mansion he owns. And technically, this is how he’s always been, shouldering it all in public and collapsing when he’s alone. He doesn’t deal so well. He makes mistakes. People suffer. Lose everything. Die.

“I’m trying to fix the things I broke. Buildings and cities I can do. But people are a lot harder.”

And now he’s dumped all of his crazy on Bruce, a guy he probably would have confided in about the palladium poisoning too if the guy had been in his life back then.

"I have no idea," Bruce admits tiredly. Because he knows how he deals with things when he makes mistakes and people suffer, lose everything, and die, and Tony takes a slightly less literal approach to running away than Bruce does.

He'd had a good couple of years as an Avenger. He'd had friends, a sense of purpose, an idea that he could do some good in the world, and then Ultron. It had felt like a slap in the face that had woken him up from a dream. He'd had plenty of those, and his patterns were so deeply ingrained that even Hulk stayed true to Banner form when the chips were down. Only when Hulk had run away, he'd run away from the whole solar system, not just to another country.

What Hulk had done was as over the top, larger than life, how can anything so big be real? as Hulk himself.

"Want to grab a wormhole and go? You, me, a well-equipped quinjet and a couple of suits?" He doesn't really mean it. Okay, he means it marginally more than he'd meant the suggestion of getting married in Australia.

He can't even fix himself. He is Not Qualified to fix anyone else.

“You’re going to have to put up with the crotch,” Tony says. He’s tempted. He’s more than tempted. Running away isn’t his thing, but what is his thing isn’t working out at all for him. At all. “I’m not making you something from scratch. If we’re going, we’re going now before we decide it’s a bad idea.”

Tony’s already up. The guy who had been on the verge of a breakdown is suddenly on the move, recliner left half open as he has FRIDAY project current stock on the wall. He can’t bring a lot with him if they’re going by power armor… Though he does have a prototype tool kit hard pack he’s planning on filling with toiletries.

If you can’t find good deodorant in the Middle East, there’s no way you’re gonna find it on a trash planet. He turns, calculating cubic inches of products in his head, and arches his eyebrows at Banner. “C’mon.”

"I meant for you." Tony needs backups.

And there goes Tony... Bruce watches in helpless bemusement as his not-quite-a-joke is met with a measure of seriousness he really should have anticipated.

He thinks about pulling it back. Telling Tony he didn't mean it and he can't run away from the shitshow on Earth.

Seriously, though? He doesn't want to. He pushes himself to his feet and says, "Friday, I'm going to need you to change that grocery order."

He pokes Tony in the arm. "This isn't bugging out; this is a vacation. Set a time frame, then we have to come back." They both have messes to clean up, but Tony clearly, desperately needs some time to clear his head, and that isn't going to happen for him anywhere on Earth.

“If you think, for a second, that I can live on a trash planet for the rest of my life, you’re mistaken,” Tony says, an off-hand remark that is delivered with a smirk to his friend. He knows what he’s leaving behind. Rhodey still needs him for tune ups. The rest of the Avengers need him to sign off on missions-- But to get away from it? Even for a little while?

Tony will just pack a whole lot of hand sanitizer and extra socks. And then they’ll be good to go.

Bruce is welcome to following Tony around, but he won’t get much out of the engineer until he’s finished getting his things together. He’s decided to bring his current armor and one of the larger armors. It will give Bruce the space he needs and Tony can probably get away with shoving some extra supplies in there with him. What? He’s nothing if not resourceful!

“I only have one stipulation,” he says as he shoves a can of tuna into Bruce’s shirt. “No hooking up with Kiara.”

Bruce doesn't waste time following Tony around. Once it's obvious that (they both should be committed) that Tony is committed to this direction, Bruce takes the path of least resistance and jogs back upstairs to find his bug out bag, the one he'd left behind when he left the tower behind. For him, having that backpack is true luxury.

In the meantime he tells FRIDAY to put a rush on his amended food order.

He's quite certain that he's lost his mind.

Back downstairs, he fumbles at the tuna can and gapes at Tony. "That's your stipulation? Fine, but you can't sleep with her either. That would be taking a scarily narcissistic turn."

Edited (Sorry, i suck at phone posting) 2017-12-20 17:35 (UTC)

“Deal. You’re the prize anyway.” And that is wholly serious, though it’s very hard to tell just how serious Tony is even when the corners of his lips don’t turn up in sarcasm. It’s a wonder anyone’s ever dated him, much less a smart woman like Pepper, and for so long! To follow the tuna goes an entire loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter. Tony’s just committed to being able to eat comfort food while they’re gone and this armor of Bruce’s has lots of extra space to hide fishies and chocolate bars—

Well. Maybe not chocolate bars. Bruce runs hot. He’ll be a sticky mess in no time. Tony shoves his arm into the neck of the armor to retrieve the candy, forehead and overly producted bangs brushing the other man’s neck.

They’ve not yet discussed how Bruce feels about being in the Iron Man armor. Tony doesn’t intend to discuss anything. FRIDAY can fly the scientist around just fine.

But that’s not the problem. And Tony is planning to ignore all problems right now.

"Some prize," Bruce mutters, because he absolutely doesn't see himself that way and can't imagine that Tony's doing anything other than giving him a hard time.

Then he's wriggling away from the hand going down the armor because wow, that's weird. "Tell me again why I'm wearing armor now? Can't we save that for when the feces flies?"

He's not arguing against the armor at all because there will be no Hulk on this getaway, but this seems-- "It's premature, and why are you shoving chocolate in here with me? Isn't that a terrible idea? And get your hand off my ass."

The last is just to get a little of his own back, since Tony's not actually near his ass.

"Your ass has no problem with my hand," Tony says, peeking down to see where he might out more of Bruce's grocery order in. Or some spare socks. "And you're wearing the suit so we can get to the wormhole. I'm not taking the quinjet right back there. Someone will notice and someone will wonder why I'm hanging around. These suits have better stealth capabilities. Aren't you supposed to be a genius? Do I have to explain everything to you?"

No, Tony. You don't have to explain everything but you do have to explain something. Like how Bruce is going to be contained in a tiny, dark, man-sized shell and flown around on repulsors.

The guy doesn't like to fly. How do you think he feels about the lack of cocktail service on this particular flight?

"Are you done complaining? No? Take it up with management. And don't hold your breath. You're not going to suffocate in there."

"This sounds like a terrible vacation." He'd been thinking something a little less... armored. "We could do camping out a lot more comfortably in a quinjet."

He's trying to turn circles to see what the hell Tony is doing and it's disconcerting the disconnect between the effort he feels like he needs to put out and the reactions of the armor.

"And you are the management, so I'm taking it up with you. Are we just going to go tromping around Sakaar in these things?"

It's just so... vulnerable. Yes, he knows it isn't, but has Tony ever really gotten it through his head that Bruce feels vulnerable all the time?

"Well Management is busy right now. Leave a message." Tony thinks about Tony first. He'd had his little breakdown but now he's back to the mania we all know and love. And that means that to Tony, Bruce is just a willing participant in whatever he wants to do. He's a Tazmanian Devil here, he's a whirling dervish and Bruce simply can't avoid him.

"I saw a whole huge tower. You're going to tell me that there's no place to stay there?" Tony isn't buying it. "You stayed there for years. Let's go see your digs."

With Bruce suited up and loaded to the brim with mostly snack food, Tony tells FRIDAY that he's good to go, and that means that the rest of the armor is just going to morph over Bruce's head. He can't very well fly without his helmet on. The G-forces would trigger the Hulk immediately!

"I never saw Hulk's digs." Not his. Hulk's. Don't you start conflating them, too, Tony.

He twitches inside the suit when the helmet closes around him, but FRIDAY has anticipated his responses at this point and keeps him from falling back through a wall or stomping through the floor. At least if he did either of those things, he might be able to dissuade Tony from this course of action.

"And we don't have any local currency and unless you're using cans of tuna as trade goods, I don't think we're going to get far in polite society." He's not going to panic. He's not going to panic. He's going to close his eyes, take a few deep breaths and--

"There's got to be a better way!"

Still wandering around in comfortable pants and a t-shirt, Tony takes Bruce by the shoulders of his arm and leans in towards the helmet. His image, projected on the faceplate, distorts this close and Bruce can't feel his breath or the heat of his skin as he might have done without the helmet on. A blessing and a curse. When's the last time Tony's brushed his teeth?

"Try to trust me a little. I'm never going to hurt you." Purposefully. He's not saying that out loud though! "This is the best armor I've got. It's the sturdiest and the easiest ride. You can sleep in it and you'll hardly even know you're moving. It'll be smoother than a car."

Hulk isn't around right now to tell them that they can't have a good time in his bachelor pad on Sakaar. And it can't be so hard to find. Hulk's...Hulk. And evidently civilized when on alien wormhole trash planets. So there's that.

"It's going to be fun, Banner! Promise!" And off he goes, that whirlwind at it again, getting himself tidied up in his own armor, a garish, shiny gold.

While Bruce believes that Tony won't intentionally hurt him, if something goes unintentionally wrong, one or both of them has a much greater chance of getting stranded on Sakaar.

He comes close to just tapping out, refusing to go, declaring this all a stupid, reckless, insane idea. He doesn't, and it's solely because of the tired, worn down man who'd been sitting across from him in a living room that had clearly been used as a bedroom lately. If he taps out, he honestly doesn't know if that'll be the straw that breaks the camel's back, or just one that'll be counted among many when the day comes that Tony finishes breaking.

He just can't do that to Tony. Won't do it.

"We aren't getting involved in any wars, no revolutions, no reordering of a corrupt system. We're there for a break, not more of the same."

And he's never ever said that to himself and then gotten involved in something he shouldn't. No. Never. Not... once.

Are his pants on fire yet?

“We’re there to play in an openly hedonistic society for a little while, Banner! Don’t worry, I have no intention of changing s thing!” They’re off a moment later and Tony’s right. If Bruce closes his eyes, he isn’t even going to notice that they’re flying. If he wants to watch and participate however, FRIDAY is very willing to help out. She’s a great tour guide too.

Getting to the wormhole this time is so much faster than before. It really does pay to have taken the armors with them. Even full of junk food and scared — and elated — scientists.

Tony doesn’t let himself hesitate before he flies through the camouflaged opening. If he does, he’ll never do it and getting off of earth seems like the best bet for healing.

He’s thrown around a bit, but comes out all right on the other side, blasters on full to keep from hitting the trash.

"We're both on a road paved with good intentions," Bruce mutters.

He doesn't try to take over flying; he'd rather let FRIDAY do it than throw himself into a spin that turns the suit into a vomit comet.

And speaking of vomit comets. He keeps his eyes tightly closed going through the wormhole, and when the Gs get high for a few seconds, he makes a few noises that are pretty close to whimpers before they're through and hovering over a planet he'd been happily certain he'd never visit again.

"Have you ever thrown up in the suit? Oh yeah, and welcome to Sakaar. One small step, etc., etc."