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The sun had finally found its way out from behind the clouds and Bruce was sure to take Peter and Tony out of the labs the second F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed him of the weather change. Peter, because he was still a kid, and Tony, because he was still halfway certain that Peter was an LMD and that the rebuilt New York was a hologram.
Central Park was still fairly empty since many were still afraid of stepping into the outside world and the demons it held.
Bruce was hoping to break that habit in his two charges.
“Bruce, I really don’t think-”
“It’s a good idea, don’t worry, Tones,” Bruce assured, turning Tony again toward the back exit of the Tower. Peter trailed behind him, fingers playing along his jacket.
“If Mr. Stark doesn’t want to-” He quieted at Bruce’s look, wiping his hands on his jeans.
“We’re just going on a walk,” Bruce promised.
Tony nodded. He clasped Peter’s shoulder momentarily, then grabbed Bruce’s hand, confirming their validity, before opening the door.
“The ground’s wet,” Tony commented absently, the material around his ankles now soaked in water from where he'd, unaware, stepped in a puddle.
“It’s rained the past few days.”
“Oh.”
“Mr. Stark, look!” Peter took the opportunity to jump into the next few puddles, relishing in the splashes, never one to miss the simple gift of soaking his shoes and raising Tony’s spirits.
Bruce chuckled good-naturedly. Tony looked vaguely nauseous, but he still forced a smile.
It was a few more blocks before they reached the entrance of Central Park. Tony trailed a hand along the fence, eying it as if he expected it to start talking to them.
They walked aimlessly for a while, stumbling upon a daycare field trip and a yoga class. Eventually, they came across a man selling soft pretzels.
Bruce bought three and passed them out.
Peter ate his quickly, scarfing it down. Bruce had found him ‘forgetting’ to eat frequently. The boy was only willing to when Bruce got Tony to join him, which was already difficult. He had no idea how May got through to him.
That pretzel was gone before they found a bench, but Tony had barely taken a bite of his own.
He was suspicious of the pretzel at first, cautious. He watched it as if he lost concentration, looked away for a second, the pretzel would be gone and the rest of the world with him.
It wasn’t a wholly unsubstantiated hypothesis.
Bruce ate in the seconds between watching the pair.
They sat and watched the few people milling about.
A few fields away, there was a game of ultimate frisbee going on, which Tony took particular interest in.
When asked, Tony said that he liked that he shouldn’t be able to see it in focus. That he was unfamiliar with the game anyway. That he should feel disconnected from it.
Bruce asked Peter about school instead.
The teen informed him that he’d been missing a lot of classes because he would get too anxious to leave his house and that he had a meeting with the Vice Principal about his absences on Tuesday.
Bruce stopped talking after that.
***
They trailed the edge of a lake, trying to enjoy the weather.
A mother and her daughter were walking toward them, taking their dog on a walk. Peter got a happy little smile at the picture, a bounce returning to his step. Tony’s grip on Bruce loosened a little as the family got closer.
“Hi, is there any way we can pet your dog?”
The mother blinked, brushing her dyed purple hair out of her face. She was trying to place where she knew them from her. Her daughter beat her to it.
“Ironman!” she squealed.
Tony grimaced. “Hi.” He was far away.
“Oh. Yeah, of course,” the mother offered. She got her dog, an overweight Corgi, to sit and Peter immediately kneeled to pet the dog, anxiety washing off him. Bruce made a mental note to ask his aunt about it. Tony took some more convincing.
“Bruce, I don’t want to.”
“Tony,” the doctor sighed. “It’s an abnormal texture. It’ll be grounding.”
Tony pushed away from Bruce. “I can’t be grounding if I can’t feel anything!” he seethed.
Despite the warmth of the sun, Bruce felt cold.
He smiled to the dog owner, thanked her. “Pete, we need to head home.”
Peter flashed him an uncomfortable look, but he stood, dusted off his hands, and waved to the dog and the little girl.
He began talking quickly to Tony, reaching him in a way that Bruce couldn’t. Peter was a kid, he could turn off his concern. Bruce envied him.
***
“Where’s Peter?”
“Happy took him home an hour ago.”
“Oh.”
“Come on, let’s go to bed.”
***
Tony was crying.
Bruce couldn’t tell if that was an improvement or not from his devoid face.
He pulled Tony close, rubbed his back.
“Tony?” What’s wrong?
“I’m floating”
“You’re floating?”
“Yes, I’m floating. And you’re fiction.”