(hi! nasafic here. this drabble is,,,, a little different from most of my content, but I saw you love AUs and wanted to try a unique one out. I hope you like it, and steve doesn't read too strange to you - he's a little outside his usual MCU characterization, but given the circumstances, it seemed to make sense? anyway, I hope it's okay, and happy holidays!)
“Penny for your thoughts, Tony?”
Tony blinks, the black and white tiled floor coming into sudden focus. He looks up at the tired face of the group therapist. Those bags under her eyes aren’t normal. Tony thinks he should really get Pepper to look into her finances. She shouldn’t be stuck here just because she’s got debts.
“It’s Mr. Stark,” he tells her.
The corner of her mouth flickers, barely perceptible. “Of course, Mr. Stark. Care to share with the class?”
She gestures to the sparse group gathered around the rickety little card table holding the juice. It’s not even good juice today - it’s grape, Tony’s least favorite kind of juice. He’d come anyway, because what else is he going to do in the five hours between lunch and dinner? It’s not like he can do work - they won’t give him so much as a double A battery in here. Something about being a risk to himself, with his skills he can make a lethal device out of anything, blah blah blah. He’d be flattered if he wasn’t so fucking frustrated.
Now, he just shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “Not exactly a lot going on in here.”
The therapist hums, not dissuaded. “You could tell us more about how you got here,” she says. “It’s been a few weeks now, but you still haven’t mentioned it in group.”
Tony’s hand comes up to his chest, a nervous tic, but he drops his hand as soon as he can. “Not much to say,” he says.
“Your case is very unique, Mr. Stark,” the therapist says, leaning back in her chair. “But not so unique you’re different from anyone else who’s here.”
Tony looks around the circle. It’s a ragtag bunch, that’s for sure. Only half the patients seem to have shown up; that’s grape juice day for you. Tony doesn’t know anything about them but distant stories: one is a gamma radiation scientist who apparently had a rage attack and almost killed his girlfriend; another is a big, buff blonde dude who seems to genuinely believe he’s a Norse god; and then there’s Steve.
He’s the only person here who’s name Tony knows, because he introduces himself at the beginning of every therapy session, to every person he talks to. He’s exceedingly polite. He’s also exceedingly handsome. Tony’s pretty sure if he looked like this Steve guy, he would have gotten the Sexiest Man Alive last year, instead of being slighted for Depp.
Fucking Depp.
Anyway, Tony’s been watching him since he got here, partially because mm, that ass, and partially because he’s curious; and his curiosity hasn’t been sated in the slightest. He still has no idea what got him here.
“Fine,” Tony says, glancing briefly over at Steve. Steve’s eyes are on him, too-knowing, and Tony yanks his gaze back forward. He tells himself he’s not blushing. “Uh. My name is Tony Stark. I’m here because my uncle tried to kill me, and staged it to look like a suicide. Pretty sure he bribed the police to believe him, because I don’t know who would try to kill themselves by stabbing themselves in the chest, but. You know. And now I’m here.”
The therapist’s gaze is shrewd. “So we’re still on that story,” she says.
Tony flashes her his biggest grin, and, oh, yeah, he remembers why he hasn’t tried to tip her before now. “Still on the truth, if that’s what you’re asking. Of course, a few more months in this shithole and I might actually be persuaded to change my story, Making a Murderer style. Except instead of framing someone for murder, someone gets off. It’d make a good Netflix documentary, for sure. Is that your endgame? Because, if so, I applaud you, really.”
The therapist sighs. “Thank you for sharing, Mr. Stark. Would anybody else like to go?”
The other three are silent.
“I guess we’re done for the day, then,” she says. “I’ll be here again tomorrow. It’s fruit punch day.”
Of course it is. It’s Wednesday. Even the greenies know that.
God guy leaves pretty much immediately, and the angry one follows suit. Steve, though, waits in his little rickety chair, along with Tony, sitting frozen as the therapist packs up her things and heads for the break room.
He waits until the door swings shut behind her to rise to his feet. “Mr. Stark,” he says, stepping forward.
Tony meets him halfway. “Tony,” he offers, and accepts Steve’s handshake. His grip is unexpectedly firm, his hand warm.
“It’s good to meet you,” Steve says. “I’m sorry I didn’t approach you sooner, I wasn’t sure what your story was.”
“Yeah, well.” Tony reaches for his chest again, that unconscious tick. He forces himself to still. “Now you know. What’s your deal?”
He expects something mundane - most of the stories here are mundane, once you’ve heard enough of them - but instead, Steve glances furtively over his shoulder, then tugs Tony closer, so they’re sharing the same breathing space. “Can I trust you?” Steve asks, voice low and urgent.
Feeling very much like he’s in some sort of cheesy spy thriller, but not willing to sacrifice the really quite comforting touch of Steve’s hand on his shoulder, Tony nods. “What’s up?”
But Steve shakes his head. “I mean it, Tony. This is - this is big.”
“Well, I’m sure whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” Tony aims for reassuring, but it comes out more like patronizing. Steve, at least, doesn’t seem to notice.
Steve throws another glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know who’s listening,” Steve murmurs. “But I - when I heard your story, I knew I had to share.”
Now Tony is really curious. “What? What is it?”
“I was framed, too,” Steve whispers. “They say I sold government secrets to our enemies, but I didn’t, I would never.”
“Who?” Tony asks, heart rate spiking. “Is this - is this related to Obadiah Stane?”
“Maybe,” Steve says. “If he’s part of it. See, there’s this conspiracy, in the government. It’s this secret organization, like the Illuminati, but they call themselves HYDRA. They’re white supremacist, fascist Nazis trying to take over America in secret. They framed me because I was on to them, and I think if your Obadiah guy framed you, then maybe he could be in on it, too. Maybe you were getting close to an answer you didn’t realize was there.”
Steve’s eyes are blue, and bright, and totally sincere.
Oh, shit, Tony thinks, heart sinking. He’s nuts.
“Maybe we can work on this together, huh?” Steve says. “It’s so hard to get any information in this place, and I know they’ve got cameras everywhere. You seem really smart. I think we’d be a good team.”
The thing is - well, it seems cruel to say no. He’s so earnest, after all. It’s like a puppy. And the fact he’s got that sexy, mussed hair, and that beard, and those biceps, good lord. Also, his hands are really warm. And standing this close, Tony has the weird, ridiculous urge to hug him.
“Okay,” Tony hears himself say, and is rewarded by Steve’s bright, blooming smile.
“Really?”
“Really,” Tony agrees, and Steve laughs with joy.
You’re gonna regret this, Tony thinks. This is definitely a mistake.
Oh, well. What else does he have to do in here, after all? At the very least, it’ll be interesting.
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timeasmymeasure
Non-powered, mental hospital AU
Date: 2019-12-13 07:23 pm (UTC)“Penny for your thoughts, Tony?”
Tony blinks, the black and white tiled floor coming into sudden focus. He looks up at the tired face of the group therapist. Those bags under her eyes aren’t normal. Tony thinks he should really get Pepper to look into her finances. She shouldn’t be stuck here just because she’s got debts.
“It’s Mr. Stark,” he tells her.
The corner of her mouth flickers, barely perceptible. “Of course, Mr. Stark. Care to share with the class?”
She gestures to the sparse group gathered around the rickety little card table holding the juice. It’s not even good juice today - it’s grape, Tony’s least favorite kind of juice. He’d come anyway, because what else is he going to do in the five hours between lunch and dinner? It’s not like he can do work - they won’t give him so much as a double A battery in here. Something about being a risk to himself, with his skills he can make a lethal device out of anything, blah blah blah. He’d be flattered if he wasn’t so fucking frustrated.
Now, he just shrugs. “Not really,” he says. “Not exactly a lot going on in here.”
The therapist hums, not dissuaded. “You could tell us more about how you got here,” she says. “It’s been a few weeks now, but you still haven’t mentioned it in group.”
Tony’s hand comes up to his chest, a nervous tic, but he drops his hand as soon as he can. “Not much to say,” he says.
“Your case is very unique, Mr. Stark,” the therapist says, leaning back in her chair. “But not so unique you’re different from anyone else who’s here.”
Tony looks around the circle. It’s a ragtag bunch, that’s for sure. Only half the patients seem to have shown up; that’s grape juice day for you. Tony doesn’t know anything about them but distant stories: one is a gamma radiation scientist who apparently had a rage attack and almost killed his girlfriend; another is a big, buff blonde dude who seems to genuinely believe he’s a Norse god; and then there’s Steve.
He’s the only person here who’s name Tony knows, because he introduces himself at the beginning of every therapy session, to every person he talks to. He’s exceedingly polite. He’s also exceedingly handsome. Tony’s pretty sure if he looked like this Steve guy, he would have gotten the Sexiest Man Alive last year, instead of being slighted for Depp.
Fucking Depp.
Anyway, Tony’s been watching him since he got here, partially because mm, that ass, and partially because he’s curious; and his curiosity hasn’t been sated in the slightest. He still has no idea what got him here.
“Fine,” Tony says, glancing briefly over at Steve. Steve’s eyes are on him, too-knowing, and Tony yanks his gaze back forward. He tells himself he’s not blushing. “Uh. My name is Tony Stark. I’m here because my uncle tried to kill me, and staged it to look like a suicide. Pretty sure he bribed the police to believe him, because I don’t know who would try to kill themselves by stabbing themselves in the chest, but. You know. And now I’m here.”
The therapist’s gaze is shrewd. “So we’re still on that story,” she says.
Tony flashes her his biggest grin, and, oh, yeah, he remembers why he hasn’t tried to tip her before now. “Still on the truth, if that’s what you’re asking. Of course, a few more months in this shithole and I might actually be persuaded to change my story, Making a Murderer style. Except instead of framing someone for murder, someone gets off. It’d make a good Netflix documentary, for sure. Is that your endgame? Because, if so, I applaud you, really.”
The therapist sighs. “Thank you for sharing, Mr. Stark. Would anybody else like to go?”
The other three are silent.
“I guess we’re done for the day, then,” she says. “I’ll be here again tomorrow. It’s fruit punch day.”
Of course it is. It’s Wednesday. Even the greenies know that.
God guy leaves pretty much immediately, and the angry one follows suit. Steve, though, waits in his little rickety chair, along with Tony, sitting frozen as the therapist packs up her things and heads for the break room.
He waits until the door swings shut behind her to rise to his feet. “Mr. Stark,” he says, stepping forward.
Tony meets him halfway. “Tony,” he offers, and accepts Steve’s handshake. His grip is unexpectedly firm, his hand warm.
“It’s good to meet you,” Steve says. “I’m sorry I didn’t approach you sooner, I wasn’t sure what your story was.”
“Yeah, well.” Tony reaches for his chest again, that unconscious tick. He forces himself to still. “Now you know. What’s your deal?”
He expects something mundane - most of the stories here are mundane, once you’ve heard enough of them - but instead, Steve glances furtively over his shoulder, then tugs Tony closer, so they’re sharing the same breathing space. “Can I trust you?” Steve asks, voice low and urgent.
Feeling very much like he’s in some sort of cheesy spy thriller, but not willing to sacrifice the really quite comforting touch of Steve’s hand on his shoulder, Tony nods. “What’s up?”
But Steve shakes his head. “I mean it, Tony. This is - this is big.”
“Well, I’m sure whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.” Tony aims for reassuring, but it comes out more like patronizing. Steve, at least, doesn’t seem to notice.
Steve throws another glance over his shoulder. “I don’t know who’s listening,” Steve murmurs. “But I - when I heard your story, I knew I had to share.”
Now Tony is really curious. “What? What is it?”
“I was framed, too,” Steve whispers. “They say I sold government secrets to our enemies, but I didn’t, I would never.”
“Who?” Tony asks, heart rate spiking. “Is this - is this related to Obadiah Stane?”
“Maybe,” Steve says. “If he’s part of it. See, there’s this conspiracy, in the government. It’s this secret organization, like the Illuminati, but they call themselves HYDRA. They’re white supremacist, fascist Nazis trying to take over America in secret. They framed me because I was on to them, and I think if your Obadiah guy framed you, then maybe he could be in on it, too. Maybe you were getting close to an answer you didn’t realize was there.”
Steve’s eyes are blue, and bright, and totally sincere.
Oh, shit, Tony thinks, heart sinking. He’s nuts.
“Maybe we can work on this together, huh?” Steve says. “It’s so hard to get any information in this place, and I know they’ve got cameras everywhere. You seem really smart. I think we’d be a good team.”
The thing is - well, it seems cruel to say no. He’s so earnest, after all. It’s like a puppy. And the fact he’s got that sexy, mussed hair, and that beard, and those biceps, good lord. Also, his hands are really warm. And standing this close, Tony has the weird, ridiculous urge to hug him.
“Okay,” Tony hears himself say, and is rewarded by Steve’s bright, blooming smile.
“Really?”
“Really,” Tony agrees, and Steve laughs with joy.
You’re gonna regret this, Tony thinks. This is definitely a mistake.
Oh, well. What else does he have to do in here, after all? At the very least, it’ll be interesting.