Chapter Text
It was a week after Tony had returned from his time with the Ten Rings that the world found out that he was a mutant.
He’d been keeping himself away from the public eye, perhaps for the first time in decades, taking the time to recover, to work, to find a way to remove – and when that proved as obviously futile task, find a more permanent solution to – the shrapnel inching its way towards his heart. He’d buried himself in work, in comforts and luxuries that he had taken for granted, in the company of the people he cared about most, but that didn’t mean that his head was entirely in the sand. Pepper had told him that journalists were practically camped outside Stark Industries, knew that there was some firmly rooted outside his own home, and without anything but the officially vague statement that those in public relations had issued, they were desperate. Tony found twisted amusement in some of the stories that were being spread, at how far from and how close to the truth they were.
But this story was different. This was accurate. Terrifyingly so. Leaked information, the reporters claimed. Anonymous sources. Tony Stark: Mutant? splattered across every newspaper and every blog, the headline of every news broadcast.
Pepper had hoped to catch it before Tony saw, but of course, that was ne’on impossible when the man had JARVIS tuned to notify him of any wind of his name and the word ‘mutant’. He stared at his tablet with a blank expression, sat forward on the armchair that had once been his father’s. He didn’t react to Pepper’s presence in the room, even though he knew that she was there. No one elses heels clicked like Pepper Potts.
“I’m handling this personally,” she informed him immediately, and as he knew it was her intent, Tony felt comforted. He thought about trying a smile, but couldn’t bring himself to do so. He nodded instead.
It was Howard who insisted on the secrecy. It was the 70s, and the possibility of mutants had just become public knowledge. No one knew how to react to the knowledge that their neighbours, their grocers, their children could be different. That had been how his mother had said it. Maria had tried to smile wide and brave, as if she wasn’t so completely terrified of what her son could do. She held onto his shoulders with her impeccably manicured hands and told him that he was different, but that isn’t a bad thing sweetheart, it’s not. Perhaps in some way, Maria hoped that her words would be enough to shield her son from the harsh views of the worlds, of the views of his father, but she never repeated them to him, they had since lost their meaning.
He had an affinity for metals, for machines. He had been three when he had made the lights flicker on and off in his parent’s room until the nanny was sent to fetch him. He was four when he had been refused television time, and had made the images leap to the screen with a mere frown. He was five when he had created a robot from his old toys and made it dance to keep him entertained on those lonely evenings. He was six when his parents couldn’t keep pretending anymore.
In a way, Tony was glad they had. If they hadn’t, he wouldn’t have met Uncle Erik and things would have been entirely different.
He snapped from the memories when Pepper said, “who else knows?”
“No one who would say anything,” Tony responded, and ran the list over in his head. Father, Mother, Aunt Peggy, Uncle Erik, Obadiah, Pepper, Rhodey, those he had studied with at Xavier's School for the Gifted. A small list that had only gotten shorter with his parents’ deaths and Aunt Peggy’s dementia settling in. Absentmindedly, he made a note to make sure Sharon could cover her medical bills.
Pepper pressed her red painted lips together, her eyebrows furrowed unhappily. She was just worried, he knew, but there was only a handful of people who he could trust and her lack of faith in them rubbed him the wrong way.
“So what do the PR nuts say we should do?” he diverted.
Pepper sighed but allowed it. “Denise says that we should come forth and make a statement, denying the accusation. Say something short and sweet and politically savvy. Nothing that will anger either side of the fence.”
Tony nodded slowly, accepting. He pressed the button on the corner of the tablet and watched the screen go back. His own face reflected back. He frowned, rubbed a hand over his jaw. He needed a trim.
Pepper didn’t say anything for a moment, just watched him. He smiled charmingly at her and asked her whether she had gotten lost in his eyes. “Don’t be ashamed,” he mock comforted, “Lots of people have”. On any other day, Pepper would have rolled her eyes. Maybe knocked him with her clipboard. Today, the creases in her face only deepened.
“We don’t have to say that you know,” she reminded him firmly, “You shouldn’t be ashamed.”
“I’m not ashamed,” Tony was quick to say. Truth was, he wasn’t 100% sure that was true. Pepper looked as if she knew that too. Tony shouldn’t be surprised. Pepper was like an extension of himself at this point. She, alongside Rhodey, knew Tony better than he knew himself at times.
This was not one of those times.
“Release the statement,” he ordered. He didn’t let his voice waver, stood up sharply and retied his dressing gown around him. He left the room, without another word. A tad childish perhaps, he could just hear Erik’s voice chiding him for such, but today of all days, he deserved some leeway.
-
At six, Tony had known of uncles. He just hadn’t been aware that he had any. But that’s what the man before him had claimed to be, and although his father stood away, arms folded over his chest, lips angled downwards, he wasn’t disputing the claim of brotherhood with the stranger. Must be true, Tony reasoned, although that didn’t stop him from regarding the man suspiciously.
Erik, that’s what he said his name was, with an accent that Tony didn’t recognise. He wanted to ask, but thought it might not be appropriate. His eyes went to his father and back before he introduced himself.
Erik grinned at him, all his teeth on display, and in the depths of his mouth, Tony could see the glittering of gold that was almost mesmerising.
“He has our eyes,” Erik mused, glanced over his shoulder at Howard, who reluctantly agreed. “Your grandfather’s genes are very strong,” he informed Tony, who nodded in understanding.
“I haven’t met my grandfather. Daddy says that he’s dead,” Tony informed lightly.
“That’s okay,” and Erik leant forward, as if to share a secret when he said, “I haven’t met your grandfather either.”
-
Tony spent the day in his lab, ripping apart vintage cars only to reassemble them. It took moments to do one, and minutes to do the other. A simple thought, a flick of his wrist. Destroy. Create. Destroy.
It had always relaxed him. Using the power that ran through him was almost as good as the buzz of whiskey. It made him feel powerful, invincible, in control for once, and without all the horrible realisation that it was all an illusion after. He burst AC/DC and Metallica from the speakers until his blood pumped in time with the drums. A headache followed, but he ignored it. Kept working. Had to change the battery hooked to his chest once, with trembling breath and sweaty hands. Just like every time he had to so, he swore he would find something, anything, to make this better.
Tony slept on the sofa there, never bothering to make it to his bed. He always regretted sleeping in the lab, the crick in his back did nothing to help the pain in his chest. He’d have to take better care of himself, he warned, and wondered whether anyone in his family actually knew how to do that. Squinting around the mess he had left his space in, Tony asked JARVIS for the time.
“Its nine am sir,” there was a pause and, “Mr Rhodes has been in the lounge since seven.”
Tony jumped. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he complained.
“Because three hours of sleep isn’t constructive to your health,” JARVIS explained coolly, and Tony wondered whether he had programmed JARVIS so that he didn’t have to do the caring himself.
“Thanks buddy,” he muttered, and struggled into the jeans he had abandoned the night before. Breathing made everything ache, and with each step that he took towards the elevator, Tony rubbed at the scarred tissue like that would make it easier. It didn’t. When the doors opened, he pressed himself against one of the corners and pretended that he didn’t feel like death warmed over.
“Sir, your heartrate is accelerating to 110.1 beats per second,” JARVIS informed him. Tony didn’t have to be the one who designed him to hear the worried edges to the words, “May I suggest breathing exercises? Any uptake will lead to changing your battery more frequently than is advisable.”
Tony’s hand dropped from his chest and patted at the battery pack attached to his thigh. It was huge and bulky, cold even through the thick fabric of his sweatpants. It felt strange, that this is was the only thing keeping him alive at the moment. It made him feel vulnerable, a little weak, and he despised that. It made him think about the suit he had made, the one that he had used to escape. He built it in a cave, when he was terrified, when his muscles ached and his eyes burnt from fear of sleeping any more than minutes at a time. He remembered the thrill of flying, before he had crashed, the twisted satisfaction that curled in his stomach when he fired blasts from his hands, when explosions ripped those horrendous people apart.
“Sir,” JARVIS warned him again, and Tony made a show of breathing, deep and careful.
“JARVIS,” he muttered as the doors the elevator whirled open, “get the semantics for the armour up. I want to look at them when I’m back at the lab.”
“Of course sir,” was the agreed reply, and then JARVIS fell silent to allow the old friends to talk.
Rhodey stood up quickly from his place on the sofa when Tony appeared around the corner. His eyes widened just so, and he attempted to school the action before Tony noticed. It didn’t work. Tony wondered whether he looked that much worse than when Rhodey had found him in the middle of the desert all those days ago. He probably did. His hand tapped on the battery once, twice, before he forced a grin and made himself take the steps to greet his friend.
“What do I owe the pleasure?” he smiled with all the charm that he could muster for the mask that fell into place.
Rhodey’s smile was all wavered at the edges. “I saw the news reports. You think I wasn’t going to come as soon as I could?”
“They’re nothing,” Tony brushed it off, dropped into an empty space on the sofa and groaned pathetically at the tightness in his muscles.
Rhodey looked like he was going to comment on that, but didn’t. One battle at a time. “They’re not nothing. They’re kind of important. Pepper said that it came from a trusted source, someone who knows. This isn’t just someone making up a story to sell, this is someone who’s trying to hurt you.”
“Aw, you worried about little old me?” Tony teased, fluttered his eyelashes.
Rhodey didn’t even so much as roll his eyes. “I’m always worried about you Tony.”
But that’s Rhodey for you. He’s a worrier. Rhodey had the same look on his face now as he had when they first met. Tony had been thirteen and he’d sunk out from his boarding school in upstate New York to go to the city. He’d missed the city, missed the people and the bustle of it all. The countryside, while beautiful, just couldn’t compare. He’d be trying to scale a building, get to the rooftop so he could sit and enjoy it all before he was found. Shimming up a drainpipe had sounded like fun. It just happened to be the Rhodes’ family home that he chose.
“What are you doing?” fourteen year old James had asked, leaning out of his window.
Tony paused only for a second to look up at him. “Climbing.”
“You’re going to get hurt,” James lectured. Tony rolled his eyes and denied it.
“Why are you climbing up my house anyways?” he’d questioned, and Tony responded with, “I want to see the city better.”
James pressed his lips into an unimpressed look. “You could have just knocked.”
Tony didn’t get to see the city as well as he had wanted to, but he spent the rest of the afternoon playing video games in Rhodey’s – Tony declared him such, “It’s a much better name than James,” he had decided – bedroom, and when Logan showed up with a cigar handing out his mouth, and an unimpressed angle to his eyebrows, Tony had promised to come back to visit, even if just for Mama Rhodes’ lamb curry. (To this day, Tony would still claim that to be his weakness, and Mama Rhodes would beam and pinch his cheeks affectionately).
Tony snapped from his memories with a shake of his head. The dent between Rhodey’s eyebrows had deepened. “You don’t have to,” he replied, knowing that it was seconds too late.
“Tough luck,” Rhodey quipped back and squeezed his shoulder. Even though it irritated him, he appreciate the sentiment. “Papers this morning had a statement from Stark Industries saying that it’s just a rumour created by competitors to ensure the loss of half of your investors.”
Tony hummed. “People buying it?”
“It’s about fifty-fifty,” Rhodey admitted, and then after a pause added, “You should tell them. There’s no reason to keep it a secret right? Times have changed.”
“Not enough,” Tony echoed words that weren’t his own with a sad and twisted smile.
Rhodey returned it with one of his own.
-
“You got a family?” His own voice sounds so far away, distinct in the heaviness of the air around him. There is nothing to see only blurs of colours and lights that mean nothing, that do nothing except exist.
“Yes,” the word drawls out, closer than his own, like hot breath against his ears. He sees the flesh of leathered skin, of glasses and the smile that only those who know so much can pull off. The words continue, “And I will see them when I leave here.”
But he knows that’s not true. Can feel it with every fibre of his being. He will not see them. He will not leave. The smile cracks and blood pools. Ragged breaths against Tony’s ears seem to make his eardrums burst, the pain is so intense but it never stops. Will never stop.
“And you, Stark?” he can make that out just barely over everything.
His mouth moves of its own accord. “Yes.” He doesn’t elaborate, has become so used to the quiet and the secrets that he doesn't even feel the need to share, doesn’t feel guilty for not doing so. But the blood is crawling towards him, climbs him, wrapped and stings, burns the skin that it touches, bruises his throat and his wrists, his ankles, his stomach. Constricts around him until he can’t breathe, and reaches for his chest. He attempts to struggle, attempts to scream, but nothing. No movement. No sound. The blood touches him and blackens as if poisoned. Perhaps it is.
It doesn’t deter. It forces itself in, fills up his chest cavity. Fills his lungs with liquid that makes him gargle each breath. Wraps around each rib until they crack and splinter. Wraps around his heart and squeezes until his body spasms. He feels vessels burst in his eyes, clouding his vision red. He feels his nose burning, feels his tongue gain weight until it feels like the pressure is going to make his jaw unhinge. It doesn’t though. It’s like a promise that can never be kept.
Sad and bitter smiles. “So you truly are a man that has everything, Mr Stark.”
Tony awoke with a scream. He didn’t sound like his own, but the hoarseness of his throat told him otherwise. He forced the noise to stop, snapping his jaw and clamping tightly. His fingers knot in the sheets below him, as if that will keep him grounded, and in a way it does. The softness of the mattress, the sweat soaked into the fabrics, it reminds him that he’s here and not there.
When his hearing returns to him, he can hear JARVIS’ rapid speech informing him of body functionary and reassuring him it was only a nightmare. Tony laughed at that. He wished it was only that.
“Do you want me to place a call?” JARVIS inquired carefully, perhaps already knowing what the answer will be.
Tony shook his head. “No. I’m…I’m good buddy, I’m good.”
“Sir,” JARVIS started to complain.
“I said I’m fine, JARVIS, don’t make me mute you,” he threatened, and felt immediately terrible when JARVIS stayed quiet. He muttered an apology, and closed his eyes briefly. They burnt with exhaustion but there was no chance of sleep tonight. When he opened them again, he asked quietly for the time.
“It’s 4am sir.” Five hours sleep. Better than the night before. Good.
Tony reached blindly for his phone, something that had been shoved inside his bedside table the minute that he had gotten the thing replaced. He wasn’t ready to speak to the world just yet, but now, he would rather do that than attempt sleep.
QUICKIE [SENT 5:24AM, ONE WEEK AGO]: The news says you’re back!!!! Are you okay????#?
QUICKIE [SENT 5:26AM, ONE WEEK AGO]: ??!!!???!!!??
QUICKIE [SENT 5:30AM, ONE WEEK AGO]: alright I’m running over!
QUICKIE [SENT 5:31AM, ONE WEEK AGO]: so I’m not allowed to run over
MINDMELT [SENT 5:33AM, ONE WEEK AGO]: I stopped Pietro. You’re welcome.
MINDMELT [SENT 6:00AM, ONE WEEK AGO]: Pay me back the favour and tell me that you’re in one piece.
MINDMELT [SENT 7:00AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]: I don’t like the fact that I have to hear from your assistant rather than you. Just stay safe. Get better. Do as the doctor’s tell you.
QUICKIE [SENT 7:13AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]: want me to spring you?
LIAH [SENT 7:15AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]: do not let Pietro take you from that hospital Tony I swear to god, don’t make me tie you down. You know that I would.
LIAH [SENT 7:50AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]: your cousins are worried. I’m worried. Answer your goddamn messages, okay?
MINDMELT [SENT 8:34AM, FIVE DAYS AGO]: dad said that we have to wait for you want to want to talk to us. He’s probably right. He knows you better. Just drop Pietro a call, okay, you know he worries about you.
QUICKIE [SENT 11:25AM, FOUR DAYS AGO]: im going to stock up on those m&ms you like for when you visit
QUICKIE [SENT 4:02PM, FOUR DAYS AGO]: I have eaten all the m&ms
Tony didn’t bother suppressing a snort, something that seemed to pierce the silence of the room. He had forgotten what it felt like to be surrounded by them, by the strange quirks of his family. He had spent so much time in that cave, he hadn’t thought about what it must have been like for them, waiting for, not knowing. Not knowing is always the worst part. He’ll visit soon, he decided, when he had the solution to…
His hand went to his chest, felt around the edges of the makeshift life support and swallowed around the pang of anxiety. The edges of the nightmare crept back towards him, made his fingers shake ever so slightly, and he knew he would never truly escape the darkness there, not with the hole in his chest. The evidence that it was real, so persistent in reminding Tony of its presence.
Tony looked to his phone again. There were more messages, a ton from Pietro and Wanda, a little less from Liah. A handful from Storm. A few from Kitty and Bobby and Kurt. One from Logan that just read, ‘Knew you wouldn’t die kid’. Tony wasn’t sure what he expected from him. They reminded him that people cared, but it wasn’t enough to distract, wasn’t enough to remove the feeling of itchy skin or the want to never sleep again. He let the screen of his phone go blank and held it to his chest protectively.
No, the messages wouldn’t solve this, but he had an idea what might.
-
“We’ll find out who did this,” was the first thing that Obadiah Stane said when Tony entered his office. It was the first time he’d made the venture from his home to Stark Industries since before he had been taken. Pepper had been dropping off paperwork and watching him like a hawk to make sure it was actually completed (also, in Tony’s opinion, watching over him made her feel better, knowing that he was there, and he was grateful for her company). He’d needed to get out eventually though, and this was something that he wanted to do in person.
Stark Industries had only been shifted over into Tony’s control in the last five years. Before that, after his father died, it had been Obie’s to protect. Tony hadn’t minded, had appreciated those extra years of freedom before he had taken control. He had never wanted the company, to be the CEO but he wasn’t dumb enough not to appreciate that it was this company that had given him the amount of privilege that he had now. Things that his parents, this uncle, hadn’t always had.
In another world, he and Obie might have been close. He could see the man as being another of his father, with more smiles, with more attention, with nicer words. In another world, he might have needed that. But, in this world, Tony had respect for Stane if nothing else, and when the man clapped his hands on Tony’s shoulders, a version of an embrace, Tony accepted it with a smile.
“How have you been? Good?” Obie questioned, and Tony had barely nodded when he exclaimed, “Excellent! The workers will be pleased to hear so. We’ve all been worried about you, of course.”
“Of course,” Tony echoed back, although he wasn’t entirely sure whether he believed it.
“Work was down 4% while you were gone, did Ms Potts tell you?” Obie continued, “4%! Figures have never dropped so low, not even when your mother and father past – God rest their souls – so you can imagine my shock. 4%! But with your safe return, numbers are higher than ever before. Perhaps you should find yourself kidnapped more often.”
It was joke. Tony knew that, but in poor taste, and he struggled to laugh along with it. Quick to divert the subject away from that particular point, he spoke hurriedly, "I have something important I wish to discuss with you.”
Obie clasped his hands together. “Strange. I was about to say the same thing to you. Tell me Tony, have you figured out a solution for your,” his eyes flickered downwards, to Tony’s chest but didn’t finish.
Tony’s jaw clenched for a moment. “It’s a work in progress.”
“Excellent, because I think I’ve found what you're looking for,” he announced, stood up quickly from his leather chair and gestured Tony after him.
The journey to the basement was long and taken in silence. Tony had never been there before. The basement was mostly filled with labs, engineering platforms. Tony had one of those himself in his home, and if there was anything that needed to be discussed, skype was a wonderful thing. It’s a shame he hadn’t thought of it first. They were a lot busier than he had ever seen, but then he supposed that was to be expected. He tried to focus on that, the people, the noises, and not the promise for something that could fix him.
“You’re father invented it,” Obie casted the explanation over his shoulder, “It’s supposed to be used for the next generation of warfare, but he hadn’t never been able to get it to work. Not efficiently enough.”
“The arc reactor,” Tony recalled, remembered the words from plans long ago, remembered his father’s frustrated expression. “It powers Stark Tower.”
“Yes,” Obie nodded, “But it could be so much more, with the right mind put to it.”
“What makes you think I’m the right mind?” Tony wondered.
“Because you are your father’s son,” Obie reminded him. Tony remembered Erik saying such words to him long ago.
The room opened up into a circular space. There was a walking platform, around a glass enclosed machine and inside that, was something that Tony had never seen before. Metal casings and filaments and sparks of electricity that whirled so fast that it appeared blue. Tony walked mesmerised towards it, gripped the banister when he was close enough, and felt the metals sing to him. He could see the way it fit together in faint outlines before his eyes, could see how easily it would be to break apart.
“Electromagnets,” he murmured. How hadn’t he thought of this before? His hand wrapped around the bottom of the hidden battery and he swallowed around the thick emotion that told him he was going to live.
Beside him, Obie hummed. “Could do the trick, yes?”
“Yes,” Tony croaked out.
“I’ll send the blueprints to your office,” Obie sounded explicitly pleased with himself. “And while you’re there, perhaps you can find the solutions that your father couldn’t. These would be weapons that our buyers would pay millions for.”
Those words brought Tony back to the room. His fingers flexed nervously, once, three times, around the bannister before he turned to face Stane. “Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
Obie arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
And then he made the announcement that would change everything. “From now on, Stark Industries is getting out of the weapon making business.”
-
“’Stark drops the bomb on the bombs’,” was quipped down the phone, “A rather wonderful headline. Witty even.”
“It’s better than the ones from their last story, although I’m not sure Staine would agree. Obie seems to think that he can convince me out of this,” Tony stated.
“Can he?”
“No.” Tony answered honestly, paused and then added, “You didn’t call.”
“With you, I have come to realise that it’s better to wait for you to come to me. You’re far more agreeable that way,” he responded, his voice droll.
Tony rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks Uncle Erik.”
“Are you denying it?”
“As if you would let me.” Tony tried a laugh, but didn’t succeed. “Someone told the press.”
“Perhaps someone just a made a guess. There wasn’t any details.”
“No, I know. I don’t want to believe it but I know. Someone told.”
“Most likely,” Erik agreed.
“Was it you?” Tony had to ask.
“Do you think it’s me?”
“No.”
“Good. I thought I taught you better than this. This wasn’t done as a kindness, this was done to cause you pain. We’ve had this discussion many times. I would never.”
“And I believe that, but it means that someone I care about is trying to hurt me.”
Erik sighed. “Hardly a more fitting alternative. Charles has offered to look for the culprit, if you are willing.”
“What other choice do I have?” Tony muttered lowly, scrubbed a hand over his face. “Many” Erik would say but things are different for the two of them.
There was a long moment of silence, where both listened to the other breathe, before Erik spoke once more, “Charles also has another offer for you, regarding the events with in Afghanistan.”
Tony’s chest tightened and breathing was difficult for a moment. Erik didn’t know the full extent of what happened, only the titbits that Pepper had told him, which was even less than what Tony had told her. Rhodey was the only one who knew. Perhaps Charles would know, but he trusted the man a lot more than he thought he would, and his old headmaster would never dip into his mind for such information. Not without permission. Which is what was being asked for. “The Professor isn’t a therapist.”
“No, but he can just as good as one,” Erik reminded, and Tony knew that to be true. He didn’t say anything though, so his uncle continued, “Charles believes it’s wise for you to speak to someone and I’m inclined to agree. Do you wish for me to pull the ‘I’m your family and I have concern for you’ card?”
“If I said no, wouldn’t you just use it anyways?” Tony grouched.
Erik hummed, pondering. “Perhaps,” he confessed, and didn’t seem sorry about it. “Ms Potts says that you’ve been having nightmares.”
“Well, you, Pepper and JARVIS gossip like old maids,” Tony responded, and glared to his ceiling. The AI remained suspiciously silent, and Tony supposed that’s because JARVIS thought he was right.
“Should I tell Charles to expect a visitor?” Erik continued coolly.
Tony sighed in defeat and glanced to the semantics for arc reactor technology that was still blinking upon the screen. He had been scouring them for days now, knew the theory inside and out. Now, he just had to build the thing. He’d never attempted something so complicated before, and not something as important as this. The arc reactor would either save him, or kill him. But, he thought, looking at the gap in his chest, at the battery, at the wiring, aren’t I already dying?
“Next week,” Tony told him finally, “I’ll get to the manor next week. There is something I need to do first.”